Table of contents is here .


LAST TIME ON EMII:

Time, CJ realised, was fast running out. He gathered the girl and the dog into his arms, prayed his aura would protect them, and levitated, flying them to safety.

An almost deafening sound of tearing alerted him to the imminent collapse of the building. Then there was a rumble worse than any Mid West summer thunder CJ had ever heard as the roof caved in.

In the eerie hush that followed, CJ heard a woman suddenly cry out to the heavens: "Gabby!" Then, almost hysterically, she began explaining to anybody and everybody. "We were almost out. I was carrying Mickie and she went back inside... I told her not to, but she said she had to get the damned *dog*! Oh... Gabby..."

"Mommy!" The girl in CJ's arms wriggled in response to the woman's voice. "Mommy!"

Wonder warring with hope, the woman's' voice echoed towards CJ. "Gabby? Oh, my God... Gabby?! Where are you?"

CJ landed lightly at the back of the crowd and called, "She's right over here, ma'am."

Heads turned in his general direction then passed over him as their owners searched for the little girl. As Gabby's mother, holding a baby – Mickie, he guessed – in her arms, pushed her way through the crowd, looking for her daughter, CJ shrank back into the shadows. By the time anyone thought to look for Gabby's saviour, he had disappeared.

NOW READ ON...


CHAPTER FIVE

CJ dug himself a little indentation in the snow then sat down. He watched a group of penguins waddle down to the edge of the ice sheet then leap into the frigid water beyond and he smiled ruefully. It felt like a profligate use of his power reserves to have wantonly flown to the South Pole on a whim – surely he should have saved them for something more worthwhile – but he'd needed to go somewhere where he could think without being disturbed. That wasn't going to happen as long as he remained in Metropolis.

After saving Gabby, CJ had flown home, only to leave again almost immediately so that he could deal with a crashed car. The driver, who had veered off the carriageway and into a lamp post, had remained unconscious as CJ, using his super breath, cooled the fuel in the tank, preventing it from igniting. By the time CJ had made everything safe, an ambulance was already pulling up. Knowing that the paramedics could do their jobs better than he could, CJ had left the driver to their care.

He closed his eyes and found an image of Lois floating behind their lids. His smile shifted from rueful to something more genuine and uncomplicated. She was, he thought, bright, beautiful and quick-witted. Moreover, when she forgot to use her sharp tongue to its fullest effect, she was also fun to be with.

The evening with Lois had gone... He searched for a word. Well, he supposed. It had gone well.

He'd known before his visit, of course, that the jury had been rigged and he had, before his sojourn to the other world, told Lois that much. What he hadn't realised – hadn't expected – was that she would take him seriously enough to pursue the lead. She'd been right, of course; he had been pleased with her discoveries, even if they were of only limited use. He didn't think that even Judge Diggs would allow a mistrial on the grounds of illegally obtained evidence. However, if he could convince her to issue a warrant so that he could get duplicate information legally... At least he knew now that the evidence was there for him to find.

More than that, though, CJ and Lois had argued and talked and they'd come to some sort of understanding. They'd even forged an alliance, at least temporarily. Given Lois's less than orthodox techniques for getting information, he found that almost surprising. If he hadn't spent so much time with the other Lois, he wasn't sure that he would have tolerated this one's behaviour. Or maybe he was tolerating it because this was his Lois, and he would accept from her behaviour that he would find unacceptable in others. Or maybe, given that he was fighting Luthor, he was settling for expediency over what was legally acceptable. Did that, he wondered, mean that he was a hypocrite? Or did it mean that, under some circumstances, there was a good greater than the letter of the law? And, if so, did that mean that he was fighting for justice – for what was right in the greater scheme of things – when he flouted the laws he had, for so many years, struggled to uphold?

How far along that path was he prepared to go?

His thoughts drifted slightly. The two rescues he had performed had left him feeling exhilarated. He felt... empowered, he though, grimacing at the pun. Suddenly he realised just how long it had been since he'd felt needed, of value. It had been a long time since he'd achieved a similar level of satisfaction from his actions in court. Still, if he and Lois succeeded then one impediment to his feeling that way again would be removed. CJ had no doubt that bringing Luthor down would do much to enhance the value of the role he served as a lawyer.

Luthor, he thought. How easy it would be to just crush the man! With his powers, CJ could do almost anything. Rather than doing things the proper way, why shouldn't he do things in the quickest and easiest manner possible? No more playing Luthor's power games, just fly to his penthouse, break in and kill... CJ felt bile rising in his throat. It was tempting, he conceded, but it was wrong. Wrong. Wrong!

And yet... If Lois was right, and the world was painted in shades of grey, at what point did the grey shift into black? He could bring himself to accept the idea of hacking into others' bank accounts. Could he likewise bring himself to commit a murder? Both were wrong, he thought. Maybe so, but killing Luthor simply because Luthor was a worse evil than the crime of murder went several steps too far for CJ. He realised that went a long way towards answering his earlier question of how far was he prepared to go.

CJ pushed the disconcerting thoughts away, returning to think of other problems – ones which didn't carry with them such ethical dilemmas. Tierney had said that the jury – all twelve members – had fallen under the influence of the defence. CJ found himself trying to work out when that could have happened. Surely there hadn't been enough time since their selection for the defence to get to everyone on the panel! Besides, was it naïve of him to find it incredible that all twelve would willingly be bought? He would have expected that at least a few of them would have had more scruples than that.

So, what if...? He stood up and began to pace, the ice crunching beneath his feet. What if the defence team had got to the jurors before selection? What if the defence had known who it was safe for them to select? Of course, that would mean trying to bribe the whole pool of jurors, approaching each of them on the off-chance...

It seemed like a huge task. Impossible for anyone to even contemplate, at least anyone without the ability to achieve the impossible.

CJ's pulse quickened.

Luthor, he thought. Maybe he was stretching here, but Luthor had the kind of power such a task would require. He was, as far as CJ was aware, about the only person in the city who did.

If the alternates had also been in receipt of a payment, might that not suggest that they too had been "got at" pre-selection? CJ would need to know about the people who both he and the defence had vetoed also. Had they been paid, too? And if not... Someone upstanding enough not to have accepted bribes might also be prepared to go on record and talk, thus providing another way to collect the evidence he would need if he were to ask for a mistrial.

He nodded to himself, promising to look into matters tomorrow – or, rather, later on today. First thing in the morning, he thought, he would go back to Lois and ask if she would mind checking out the other people he'd just added to his mental list.

Meanwhile, however, it would now be just after nine a.m. in England, and CJ had some detective work to do.

*****

From the Antarctic, CJ flew north, back to his apartment. There, he turned on his computer and began to investigate.

According to Lois and Clark's information, Nigel St John had originally hailed from London and, even while he'd involved himself with Metropolis's underworld, he'd retained ownership, albeit under an assumed name, of a flat in Cadogan Square. A quick consultation with British Telecom's on-line directory suggested that in this world St John still owned the flat, this time under his own name. That bothered CJ a little: did the fact that St John felt no need to obfuscate his presence in London mean that he had nothing to hide? CJ feared so. Nonetheless, St John still had to be investigated, just to make sure. CJ went to another website and called up a street map so that he could locate Cadogan Square on the ground. Then, on a last minute impulse, CJ routed around inside his desk for a handful of coins he had left over from a European tour he'd gone on about four years previously. Who knew? Maybe a little currency would come in handy.

*****

CJ landed behind some shrubs in Green Park. He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and reread St John's address, reminding himself of precisely where it was that he needed to go. Then he began to walk in a southerly direction. The roads were busy, he noticed, but the pavements fairly quiet. Presumably, the local work-force were already in their places of business, and the tourists and shoppers were yet to emerge for the day.

Used as he was to the gridiron layout of North American cities, CJ found the irregular pattern of London's streets confusing and he quickly discovered that he was, if not lost precisely, then at least disoriented. He shook his head, irritated with himself. He should have printed out the map, rather than trusting the information to memory. Oh, well, he thought philosophically, if he couldn't remember how to reach his destination, he'd just have to ask someone.

Five minutes later, after being pointed in the right direction, he found himself at the entrance of what he hoped would be St John's building. Now that he was here, though, he suddenly wondered what he was going to do. He shrugged the doubts away, hoping that something would occur to him, and looked at the names next to the bells. St John's was not there. In its place was the name M. Pollack.

Hesitantly, CJ reached out and pressed the bell. There was no response, so he tried again, pressing slightly harder and longer this time.

After a minute or so, a sleepy woman's voice echoed through the intercom's speaker. "Yes?"

"Hi. I'm looking for Nigel St John?"

CJ could have sworn that he heard the woman yawn at him before she said, "Doesn't live here any more. I bought the flat off him two months ago."

"Do you have any idea where he went?"

"No, not really. I think he mentioned something about Docklands, but I could have got that wrong. Now, if you don't mind, I want to get back to sleep. I was working all night."

"Okay. Thank you for your help," answered CJ, but the sudden silence from the speaker told him he was already talking to himself.

Docklands, he thought. Where was that? He was, he realised, going to have to ask for help again. He therefore walked into a newsagents, located in a side street. There was a short queue of people waiting to be served, so CJ idly began to browse the shelves while he waited.

And there, staring back at him from the front cover of the latest edition of Hello, was the face of the very man he'd come to London to investigate!

CJ's mouth opened in mute astonishment. He grabbed the magazine off the shelf and scrutinised the cover. St John was seated on a sofa next to a younger man, who the magazine identified as Mark Bromley. Their hands were clasped together in a very telling way. Overlying the picture was a caption written in large white letters inviting CJ to "...join us inside their new penthouse home". CJ rifled through the pages until he found the article. He began to read.

*****

CJ hesitated for a moment, his finger poised lightly against the door bell, wondering whether six thirty was too early to call on Lois. However, after a few seconds, he decided that he could hear sounds of movement. She was, he concluded, already up. He smiled as he heard her singing softly under her breath as she walked around the apartment.

CJ caught himself guessing what she might be wearing and how she might be moving, perhaps swaying her hips in time to the music she was creating, and he felt himself flush guiltily at the images his brain was conjuring up for him. Fantasising about a beautiful woman wasn't what he had come here for!

Quite why he had come, however, he wasn't sure. While it was true that he had a lot to tell and ask her, he wondered whether that was an excuse. Did he need to be here so early, or was it that he wanted to be? Was he making excuses for himself, just so that he could see her again? He shook his head, told himself sternly that time was of the essence in this investigation; every hour counted, if they were to make any significant progress before his powers failed.

Pushing his doubts aside, he committed himself to one course of action and pushed the bell.

"Yes?" Her tinny voice sounded a little harried and suspicious as it came out of the speaker.

"Lois?" he asked tentatively, as if there were actually any doubt.

"CJ?! What are you doing here?"

"I've been doing some thinking, as well as some investigating, and I wanted to talk to you."

"Um... Okay..." The door released and he found himself retracing the path to her door, which now was almost familiar.

She was standing on the threshold of her apartment, waiting for him. Dressed in a brown towelling dressing gown that was an anti-fashion statement, her appearance was at odds with the pictures his imagination had been painting. Her hair was damp and, in her left hand, she held a hair dryer. She should, by rights, have looked unattractive, even dishevelled. However, to CJ, she looked as beautiful as always, and he was forcefully reminded of the first time he had seen her, four years earlier. That particular memory was an uncomfortable one. "Come in," she said, gesturing.

Rendered ill at ease by his intrusion at what appeared to be a less than convenient time, CJ automatically apologised.

Lois had, by now, swallowed the last of her surprise and asked wryly, "You didn't bring any flowers with you this morning?" She looked, he thought, almost as awkward as he felt. Perversely, he drew strength from that and found himself beginning to relax.

CJ shook his head. "Sorry. No. But I have brought breakfast, if you've got time for it?"

"Breakfast?" She quirked an eyebrow.

CJ held up a paper bag. "Patisserie. From France. Pain au chocolat to be precise."

The slightly wary look around Lois's eyes dissipated into a warmer and more open expression of welcome. "How did you know that I can't resist chocolate?" CJ opened his mouth to try to frame a reasonable-sounding response, but Lois continued before he had a chance to do so, and he realised that the question had been rhetorical. "Okay, you'd better come in. I'll tell you what: you make the coffee while I get dressed."

*****

"So," said CJ fifteen minutes later as they finished the last of the food and sipped from their mugs, "Nigel St John is a gay hairdresser—"

"Which is, in itself, a major cliché," interrupted Lois.

"True," acknowledged CJ, before continuing. "He's cohabiting happily with someone called Mark Bromley, who, apparently, is one of Britain's most popular actors and who can be seen four times a week on some prime time soap opera. Anyway, I brought you a copy of the magazine, if you want to read more."

"How could I resist?" asked Lois in a slightly mocking tone that warned CJ that she was verging on being sarcastic.

He reached over to his jacket, which he'd taken off before sitting down, and pulled the copy of Hello, along with a buff-coloured envelope, out from one of his pockets. He laid both items on the kitchen counter then pushed the magazine across in her general direction. "Here you go," he said.

Lois slid it to one side, giving the cover a cursory once over as she did so, and said, "Maybe later, after you've gone." She picked up her mug and sipped. "Right now, though, I have things to tell you, too."

"Oh?" asked CJ curiously.

Lois made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat. "H'm. After you left last night, I tried running a few names through the computer. I've still got a heap of work to do, but I made a little progress. Want to hear about it?"

"Sure!" said CJ.

"First, Asabi is neither mystical nor mysterious. In fact, he's married, has three kids and runs a restaurant downtown. Ever heard of The Eastern Star?" There was a curious note in her voice that somehow blended rueful with playful as she asked the question. CJ understood why: just about everyone in the city had heard of The Eastern Star. It was one of the most fashionable places around.

"Yeah, of course," he answered. "Who hasn't? It's supposed to be excellent. Pricey, but excellent."

"Just so. And it's Asabi's. You'll have to take me there sometime."

CJ looked at her sharply. She'd spoken lightly, making it difficult for him to gauge precisely what she meant by that last comment. Had she really almost asked him out? And, if she had, was it intentional or a slip of the tongue? Or was it a light-hearted comment that meant nothing at all? He hoped fervently that it wasn't the latter.

So busy was he trying to deconstruct her comment that he almost missed the next part of the conversation. "Miranda, your perfume expert, is dead. A couple of others... Jules Johnson and Mrs Cox... They apparently did live at the addresses you've got, but neither do now. In fact, they both seem to have disappeared. I'll keep digging."

CJ nodded his appreciation then said, "And while you're digging up information on them, I was wondering..." He trailed into an uncomfortable silence.

"Yes?" asked Lois.

"There's something else. In fact, it's the main reason I came over this morning."

"Oh? Sounds intriguing."

"I was thinking some more about the jury." Briefly, CJ ran through the line of reasoning he'd developed on the ice-flow. Then he held the envelope out to her. However, before releasing his hold on it, he said, "I'm sure I shouldn't be giving you any of this information, but, under the circumstances, it seemed like the best thing to do."

"What is it?" she asked, tilting her head towards the envelope, which they were now holding between them. She tugged lightly on it to reinforce the question.

"The voir dire questionnaires the prospective jurors were asked to fill in, as well as my selection chart."

"The voir what?" asked Lois, sounding confused.

"Voir dire." He paused thoughtfully, then said, "How much do you know about jury selection?"

Lois shrugged. "Not a lot. I mean I know that there's a selection process before swearing in, but that's about it. What else is there to know?"

CJ grinned and almost chuckled. "Quite a bit, actually. Okay, Jury Selection 101. How this is done varies slightly from case to case, but this is what happened with the Allen trial, okay?"

Lois nodded and let go of the file. CJ put it down next to him again. "Go on," she said.

"First of all, I was given – as was the defence, a list of all the prospective jurors. It doesn't really give that much information: only their names and the towns they live in."

"So you know in advance who might be involved in the trial?" asked Lois. CJ noticed the way frown lines etched themselves across her forehead and between her eyes as she thought about the implications of what he was saying.

"Yes. That's right."

"So anyone could get access to that list?"

"Not anyone, no. But anyone connected with either the defence or the prosecution could. Mind you, we don't get to see it very much in advance, so I would have thought the information, to be of any use, would have had to come from the person who draws up the lists in the first place – and that would be the Clerk of the Court."

"Interesting," murmured Lois. "Go on."

"On the day of the jury selection, all the prospective jurors were gathered together and Judge Diggs talked to them. She introduced herself, and us – by that I mean the lawyers for the defence and the prosecution. Then we questioned the prospective jurors individually – that's called voir dire questioning." Lois nodded, but with little conviction this time, so CJ elaborated. "The purpose of voir dire is to try to ensure that there are no biased people on the jury. Anyone who knows the attorneys, the parties involved in the case, the victim or any of the witnesses will be automatically eliminated from the panel. Then anyone who looks as though they won't be impartial – and that gets picked up through the judge's questions as well as our own – is disqualified from being part of the jury."

"Impartial, how?"
"Oh, for example..." CJ scrabbled around for a suitable example. "Say, if a potential juror says something like, 'The defendant obviously did something wrong; he wouldn't have been arrested otherwise'. Similarly, potential jurors who have a moral objection to the death penalty will be excluded from any trial where a death sentence might be passed. During the selection process, attorneys can challenge any number of jurors on the basis of cause, as it's called. "

"I see," said Lois.

"Sometimes the questioning is done verbally. Sometimes there is a pro forma questionnaire. In this case, we used a mixture of both. What's in there," said CJ, waving his hand in the general direction of the envelope, "are the questionnaires the prospective jurors had to fill in, as well as my personal selection sheet. In addition to excusing jurors on the basis of cause, attorneys can make a limited number of what are called peremptory challenges. With those, they don't have to give any reason for excusing a juror. As you'll see, the defence in this case used nearly all the challenges they were allowed in this case – seventeen out of a possible twenty. At the time, I wondered why they'd used so many; now, of course, I think I can guess. They were working to their own agenda. Anyway, that's about it. After the jury was selected, they were sworn in and we were able to start the case."

"I understand now, I think. And, yeah, I'll take a look for you."

"Thanks, Lois. I appreciate it."

This time, when he held out the envelope to her, he let her take it. She didn't open it immediately, however. Instead she held it to her chest, in her right hand. She rested her left elbow on the counter, cupped her chin in her left hand, and gazed at him speculatively. "What?" he asked, discomfited by her scrutiny.

"Nothing much," she answered, her eyebrows rising slightly. "I was just thinking that your attitude this morning is rather different to last night. Did you have a change of heart about what is acceptable behaviour or something?"

"Maybe," said CJ awkwardly, still uncertain about the choice he had made. It was incredible how she could get to the crux of an issue. Beautiful and intuitive, he thought. It was a heady combination.

CJ was grateful then, when Lois leaned back and turned her attention to the envelope, allowing the awkward moment to pass. She opened it, pulled the contents out and began leafing through them.

CJ saw her frown as she reached a point half way through the papers, her attention snagging on something she had just seen. Noticing her distraction, CJ asked eagerly, "What is it? What have you found?"

Thoughtfully, Lois said, "Maybe nothing. But one of the names here..." She frowned then shook her head. "Nah, it's just a coincidence. I thought for a moment that this one – Judith Myerson – might be Clive Myerson's wife."

"Myerson? As in the guy who shot at you?" CJ sounded incredulous.

"Yeah. But I just remembered: his wife is called Hannah, so it has to be a coincidence." She shrugged, then tapped the list for emphasis and said, "I'll look into it for you, anyway."

"Thank you, Lois. Now, I'd better get a move on. Corrupt jury or not, I'm expected in court in a couple of hours and I need to do some preparation first."


TBC