Tell Me No Secrets Read Online Free PDF

married three times and was rumored to be having an affair with a senior official in the police department. Still, in law, as in life, what was importantwasn’t the way things actually were, but the way they were
perceived
to be. Image, as the ads stated, was everything. And Rosemary Michaud looked like the kind of woman who would never defend a man if she truly believed him to be guilty of so vile an act as rape, or aggravated criminal sexual assault, as the state was now calling it. In her conservative blue suit and unadorned face, Rosemary Michaud looked like the very idea of defending such a man would offend her to the bone. Douglas Phillips had been smart to hire her.
    Rosemary Michaud’s motives in accepting Douglas Phillips for a client were harder to fathom, although Jess well understood that it was not the lawyer’s job to determine guilt or innocence. That was what the jury system was all about. How many times had she heard argued, had
herself
argued, that if lawyers started acting as judges and jurors, the entire system of justice would fall apart? The presumption of innocence, after all; everyone was entitled to the best possible defense.
    Judge Earl Harris cleared his throat, signaling he was about to deliver his instructions to the jury. Judge Harris was a handsome man in his late sixties, his light black skin framed by a close-cropped halo of curly gray hair. There was a genuine kindness to his face, a softness to his dark eyes, that underlined his deep commitment to justice. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury,” he began, managing somehow to make even these words sound fresh, “I want to thank you for the attention and respect you have shown this courtroom over the past several days. Cases like this one are never easy. Emotions run very high. But your duty as jurors is to keep your emotions out of the jury room, and concentrate on the facts.”
    Jess, herself, concentrated less on the message being delivered than on how it was being received, her focus returning to the members of the jury, all of whom were leaning forward in their brown leather swivel chairs, listening attentively.
    Which side’s vision of the truth were they most likely to adopt as their own? she wondered, aware that juries were notoriously difficult to read, their verdicts almost impossible to predict. When she first came to work at the state’s attorney’s office four years ago, she’d been surprised to discover how wrong she could be, and how often.
    The woman juror with the intelligent eyes coughed into the palm of her hand. Jess knew that women jurors in a rape trial were often harder to win over than their male counterparts. Something to do with denial, she supposed. If they could convince themselves that what had happened was somehow the victim’s fault, then they could assure themselves that they would never meet a similar fate. After all,
they
would never be so careless as to walk alone after dark, accept a ride with a casual acquaintance, pick up a man in a bar,
not wear any panties
. No, they were much too smart for that. They were too aware of the dangers. They would never be raped. They would simply never put themselves in so vulnerable a position.
    The woman juror became aware of Jess’s scrutiny and twisted self-consciously in her seat. She drew her shoulders back and lifted herself just slightly out of her chair before settling in comfortably again, her eyes riveted on the judge’s mouth. In profile, the woman seemed more formidable, her nose sharper, the shape of her face more convex. There was a familiarity about her that Jess hadn’t noticedbefore: the way she occasionally tapped her lips with her finger; the way her neck arched forward on certain key phrases; the slant of her forehead; the thinness of her eyebrows. She reminded Jess of someone, Jess realized, drawing in an audible intake of air, trying to block out the thoughts that were taking shape in her mind, trying to banish the picture that was quickly