Page 21 of Courtroom Drama
Durrant Hammerstead is quick in response with a nearly indiscernible elbow into Margot’s hip. She recoils, only slightly, her eyes catlike and predatory as she glares at her estranged father.
Judge Gillespy lectures Mr. Frankel about contempt. There’s a swell of a low murmur within the room, and I feel like a bystander trapped in the middle of an argument between an angry parent and willful child.
I’m convinced the only reason Ken Frankel is allowed to remain on the stand is so the defense can get a chance at him. I squirm in my seat awaiting Durrant Hammerstead’s cross-examination.
When the room has settled, Durrant Hammerstead rises slowly from the defense table, as I’ve come to know him to do. No rush in his movement, no panic in his face. Cool. Always cool.
“Mr. Frankel,” he begins, “you mentioned that the community came together in search of Margot during those seven days?”
He clears his throat and looks up at Judge Gillespy, who is staring down at him with the sternest of looks, her jawline pulsing. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“Meaning, she was a beloved member of the community?”
“In the way one becomes when missing.”
“And when she returned home, the community once again rallied in support, isn’t that right?”
“Some did. Others were skeptical, wondering what had happened.”
“Well, there will always be naysayers, just go on the internet.” Hammerstead smiles at the jury box as if he’s just delivered the most fulfilling punch line. It does nothing to defuse the heightened anxiety of the courtroom. I glance at Margot, who looks small and frail, like a child whose parent is publicly chastising them. The situation isn’t that far off.
“Am I supposed to respond to that?” Ken Frankel asks.
Hammerstead ignores him and instead says, “Must be someone of incredible likability, popularity, and character for a community to come together in that way.”
The conversation meanders to an unfulfilling end, and I find myself not just tired after this testimony but to-the-bone weary.
So much has come to light in the last few minutes. I have trouble accepting any of it. Margot has been estranged from her father for almost thirty years, since she disappeared for a week at sixteen. While she’s been living the high life in L.A., her father has continued working his labor-intensive job. Margot grew up in an often anger-filled household.
And while I’ve always held an affinity for Margot, I had no idea our kinship extended this far.
Damon shifts his notepad toward me, his large thigh tapping mine. It reads.
WHERE DO YOU THINK SHE WAS DURING THAT WEEK SHE DISAPPEARED?
I stare at Margot, who appears even more broken than moments ago despite her resolute face.
I need to know what happened to her during those seven days at sixteen, unwilling to believe any of it could point to her being capable of murdering Joe.
12.
Juror Misconduct (n., phrase)
when the law of the court is violated by a member of the jury
what happens in the presidential suite...
Three days into the trial, and I’m drained. Sitting in an unyielding wooden chair all day, doing nothing but listening and taking notes—it’s somehow more exhausting than a day on the go.
Besides the damning testimony from Tenley Storms and Margot’s father, we’ve heard from a handful of witnesses whom the prosecution has paraded to the stand, one after another, all to call Margot’s character into question. A makeup artist who claimed Margot degraded her by getting her exiled from herAuthentic Momsclientele after Margot was turned into a meme of a witch because of her heavy black eyeliner at a Sea Save Foundation charity event.
There was a former teacher at her son’s elementary school, to whom Margot had left a lengthy, strongly worded voicemail about her dissatisfaction with Dover not being selected as the lead kindergarten role of Poppy Number One in the school’sWizard of Ozproduction. That same teacher also recounted a one-sided argument in the school parking lot about a girl in Dover’s class to whom Dover had gifted one of Margot’s diamond Cartier bracelets only to have the parents deny they had it. She said Margot threatened to have her fired.
And perhaps most damning, D.A. Stern called to the stand a formerhouse manager named Sylvie, who claimed she witnessed Margot and Joe in a physical altercation where Margot slapped Joe’s cheek with an open palm. Turns out, as we learned during Durrant Hammerstead’s redirect, that slap was in response to Margot’s learning of one of the growing list of Joe’s sexual indiscretions. This time, it was the barely of age woman who worked the front desk of his chiropractor’s office.
So far, Margot has been painted as an inept woman who needed a man like Joe to hand her a cushy life, only to grow dissatisfied and scornful, all while constantly displaying impulsive and outsized behavior. We are three days in and still with no direct path to or details of Joe’s death.
After we’ve retreated to our rooms for the evening, I sit at the edge of the bed, staring at the inoperative TV. I’ve barely slept between thoughts of Margot and Damon. I’m definitely not thriving in my goal to get to know the other jurors, either. Damon has managed to sit next to me for every meal. I’ve stopped trying to evade him, though I have managed to keep him at arm’s length.
