Dead Ringer

Lisa Scottoline

Dead Ringer

The tenth book in the Rosato and Associates series

1

Be

Be

“How?”

“Take your foot off his head.”

Ray didn’t smile. His gaze remained fixed on the vacant jury box, with its black leather chairs swiveled in different directions. The jury had been charged on the law this morning and they’d been out deliberating all day. That meant Ray and Be

“Okay, no more jokes,” she said. “Tell me about your son’s baseball game. I’ll pretend I don’t know about the home run or the catch at third base.”

“Second base.”

“See?”

Ray’s chin dropped to his hand. His brown eyes were bloodshot from three weeks of sleepless nights and his cheeks hollow from the ten pounds he’d shed during the trial, even though he was completely i

“Look, Ray, we don’t have to stay here. I have my cell phone, and the deputy clerk has my number. How about we take a field trip? We can go see the Liberty Bell. It’s only a block away.”

“No.”

“This land is your land, Ray. This land is my land.”

“No.”

“Come on, it’ll do you good to go out and walk around.” Be

“When do you think they’ll come back?” Ray didn’t have to explain who “they” were. The jury.

“End of today.” Be

“I can’t take another day of this. You sure they’ll come back today?”

“Positive. This is a simple fraud case, in federal court only through the miracle of diversity jurisdiction. And Thursday is a good day for juries to go out. They get it over with if they come back today, then they go home and make it a three-day weekend. They won’t go to work on a Friday after jury duty.”

“How do you know?”

“Trial wisdom. The elders pass it down in a secret ceremony. We call it the bar exam to fool gringos like you.”

“But what are they doing in there for so long?” Ray rubbed his forehead with leftover fingernails. He looked older than his fifty-one years, and oddly, he’d become more nervous as the trial wore on, not less. Ray wasn’t a lover or a fighter. He was an accountant.

“A day is nothing. We just had a fifteen-day trial with one hundred twenty-six exhibits and twenty-eight witnesses. You want them back sooner?” Be

Suddenly, the paneled door next to the dais opened and the deputy clerk entered. He was tall and fit, and his polyester blazer made an officially swishy sound when he walked. When Be

“They got a question. They sent a note. Court’s in session in five minutes. Plaintiff still in the attorney’s conference room?”

“Yes,” Be

“What does he mean, a question? The jury has a question? What question?”

“Relax. Sit down.” Be

“A question? How typical is that? I don’t understand. What does he mean, a question?”

“It happens from time to time. The jury sends the judge a question about the evidence or the law. It’s nothing to be-”

“I mean, what do they have to know?” Ray raked his free hand through his thi

“Because this is America. Now stay cool. Curtain’s up.” Be

Be

“What do you think they’ll ask? What could they not understand?”

“Quiet. Stand up.” Be

“All rise!” cried the deputy clerk, needlessly. The parties were already on their feet and the gallery was empty. “Court is now in session, the Honorable Judge William Delburton presiding.”

“You may be seated,” the judge said. “Good afternoon, everyone.” He glanced at Be

Ray grabbed Be

Judge Delburton slipped on black reading glasses that matched his robe. “The question reads, ‘Judge Delburton, are we allowed to give the plaintiff more than the three million dollars he is asking for?’”