Free Bear Is Broken by Lachlan Smith Page B

To get him off the hook, of course, and to
harm and humiliate Lorlee, supposedly her best friend but in reality
her rival, the person who stands in the way of her being with Mr.
Bradley. You’re all experts in human nature, the defense attorney said.
Think about the attitude of a mistress toward her lover’s wife. Think
about the jealousy Sharla Johnson feels for Lorlee. The hatred. You all
saw it in her face, the sheer ill will that comes from having to settle
for another woman’s leftovers.”
    She went on like that for ten minutes. As she spoke, my breath
seemed to die in my throat, and all the exhilaration and satisfaction I’d
felt after my own performance withered away, my heartbeat slowing to
a crawl. It seemed to me that Melanie had picked up my whole speech
and neatly inverted it against me, showing all the points I shouldn’t
have conceded, showing the jurors that the portrait I’d painted of Ellis
was in fact the portrait of a guilty man.
    By the time Melanie finished with her rebuttal I was certain Ellis
was going down, guilty on all counts. Judge Iris was kind enough, but
she would throw the book at him.
    Ellis was still sketching, withdrawn into his private world. It was a
good hobby for prison. He would have a lot of time to work on his art.
I glanced back and saw Detective Anderson sitting in the back row
of the courtroom.
    All that was left now was the jury instructions. The judge had to
read them verbatim. This usually took more than an hour. We had
to sit there pretending to follow along while the jury pretended
to listen.
    About halfway through, between the instructions for the battery
charge and the rape charge, Ellis ripped the sheet from the pad and
pushed it over to me. It was the page he’d been drawing on all through
the closing arguments, a lifelike caricature of a hero, half-monkey, halfboy,
wearing an oversize suit but with bare clawed feet and a short cape
embroidered with a stylized “MB.” The monkey boy was swinging
down into the courtroom with a law book in one hand, his lips parted
in savage ferocity, while a sexed-up version of Melanie cowered behind
the prosecution table, her easel and pad fallen beside her.
    Monkey Boy to the rescue. I supposed it was his way of saying no
hard feelings, Monkey Boy, you did your best.
    Ellis’s drawing remained in the file for over a year. Eventually I
rediscovered it and had it enlarged on matte paper. I even got him to
sign it and had it framed. To this day it occupies a place of honor on
the wall behind my desk.

Chapter 8
    The daylight surprised me. A high wisp of cloud dispersed the light
without dimming it, leaving nowhere to rest the eyes. I had to fight
the urge to close mine and leave them closed.
    I walked down across Market and managed to hail a cab before I
reached Teddy’s office. “SFGH,” I told the driver, then let myself back
into the corner of the stinking vinyl seat and closed my eyes.
I’d shaken Ellis’s hand and left him to the peanut butter sandwiches
and daytime television in the lockup. Judge Iris’s clerk had my cell
phone number so the court could call me if there was any news, a
verdict or a question from the jury.
    Teddy was in the neurotrauma intensive-care unit at San Francisco
General. I later learned that there was no better place for him to have
ended up, that he was in the care of some of the best neurologists in
the country.
    At the desk in the ward I told the nurse I was there to see Teddy
Maxwell. I had to present an ID before she showed me to his room.
She pointed out a chair, promising to be back in a minute.
    My brother lay surrounded by equipment on all sides, his bulk
covered by a doubled sheet. His head and eyes were thickly bandaged.
    An ooze of bloody fluid showed through the brown elastic overwrapping.
A faint beard had grown on his neck and cheeks, and the skin
underneath his stubble looked very pale. The respirator tube was in
his throat rather than his mouth, connected to an accordionlike