Next up is the prosecutor, after all, who conducts cross-examination while the defense lawyer gets to sit and relax. But relaxing simply wasn’t part of Jaywalker’s vocabulary when he was on trial. On trial. A friend, a banking lawyer, had once accused Jaywalker of misusing the phrase. “It’s the defendant who’s on trial,” she’d said. “Not you.” She’d obviously never tried a case. Certainly not a criminal case. So Jaywalker didn’t even think about taking the evening off. Time off was something he treated himself to after a trial, not during it, and even then, only if he’d won. Until the moment he heard the verdict delivered, there was simply too much to do. And if he lost, there would be still more. It was one of the reasons he fought so hard to win, so it would be over. He could still feel the sting of learning he’d flunked the bar exam the first time he’d taken it. Not because he felt stupid or because his pride was hurt. Jaywalker and pride had barely been on speaking terms for as long as he could remember.
