Chapter 8 The Client

• Library: How to Win an Acquittal (ABA) (2011 Ed.)

CHAPTER 8 The Client Trial Diary 31

Today the jury heard the law. Well, the law according to Judge B. Not the law the way we defense guys like it. I'm pretty certain jurors can make little sense of the jury instructions we give them. Rarely plain English. Often complicated concepts, and long. Way too long. So I sat and squirmed in my chair and snuck glances at the jurors as Judge B. read at them for two-plus hours. Luisa was next to me hyperventilating. And as I heard the judge's words, it sure sounded to me like he was telling them to convict. But of course that's my seasoned paranoia.

Then began the waiting. Often the worst time for the defense. Confusion and apprehension combine. Worry dominates. I had sent Luisa and her family home. The judge gave us a 30-minute "on call" status, which was very nice. Some judges tell you to sit in the courthouse. Here we had choices. Our choice was to stick near. So the defense team crowded into a nearby witness room, where we sat and talked and tried to pass the time. And time passed very slowly. Tom G. got on a computer trying to book an island getaway for him and his wife. For sure we all needed getaways after the war we had been through. Tom is a very, very good man. Tall, big guy. Affable. Extremely talented. With a terrific sense of humor. When the ex-governor's shopper testified—an attractive and stylish woman, hired to improve Acevedo Vila's image during the campaign; she did so by dressing Acevedo Vila in expensive Italian suits—Tom asked her to agree that no Italian suit could make Tom look good.

While we sat around in the windowless and cramped witness room, Tom started saying how he wished he could give his closing again, how he'd left stuff out, how his closing in the shower that morning was so much better This is what we do when the trial ends Our minds race like a Schindler's list, going over all the other things we could have done.

At 5:00 pm, the judge's courtroom deputy knocked. We all jumped. She told us to relax, that the judge was sending the jury back to their hotel for the night. We asked if there had been any jury notes, and she confirmed none. So we sighed. And packed up. And took the long walk out through the mob of press outside. What do we think? Is it a good or bad sign that there is no verdict? How are our clients holding up? And a lot of stuff in Spanish I completely missed. I escaped and took a leisurely walk up the street to where I was keeping a small office in a law firm near the courthouse. The sun was starting to set. It was muggy but with the promise of a beautiful night ahead. I was debating whether it was time to start visiting bars, and dreading a Saturday to be spent sitting around the courthouse as deliberations continued. As I walked into my office, my cell phone rang. It was Harry. Harry had stayed behind to talk to the press. Harry spent most nights after court giving press conferences interpreting the day's events. I had left Harry still talking to reporters when I walked to my office. Harry told me to come back. There's a verdict, he said. I told him to stop joking. He said he was serious. I told him again to stop joking. He repeated this was real, and Acevedo Vila was already on his way back. Dang. 6:00 pm. Three-hour deliberation. Verdict. Dang. I called Luisa and told her. She was...