Unlucky in Law by Perri O'Shaughnessy

Author:Perri O'Shaughnessy
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Tahoe, Mystery & Detective, Women Lawyers, Lake, Legal, Fiction, Nina (Fictitious Character), Mystery Fiction, Women Sleuths, Region (Calif. And Nev.), Reilly, Thrillers, Legal Stories, Lake (Calif. And Nev.)
ISBN: 9780385336468
Publisher: Delacorte Press
Published: 2004-07-01T04:00:00+00:00

15

Tuesday 9/23

THE BAILIFF OPENED THE COURTROOM DOOR AND BECKONED. NINA watched Alex Zhukovsky straighten his tie and follow him in.

On Nina's left and right, people fidgeted, always keen to see a new face. Zhukovsky walked the central aisle, all eyes fastened on him, looking as conspicuous and anxious as an executioner on his way to the hanging. Passing through the low gate, he looked toward the tables on his left and right, defense on the left, Stefan's miserable gaze following him, the jury on the left against the wall. Klaus glared at him. Alex didn't look at the old man but let his own glance catch on Nina, who ignored him and doodled on her legal pad. As if embarrassed by her indifference, he looked at Judge Salas, a head and black-robed shoulders visible above the massive wooden dais. He stopped where directed. The court clerk told him to raise his right hand.

“My name is Alexis Constantinovich Zhukovsky,” he said, swearing to tell the truth. He mounted a step and entered a lower, smaller box attached to the judge's dais and turned around to the roomful of faces. He looked toward the prosecutor. The questioning began.

Sitting, not standing, the D.A., asked him a series of simple questions about his work. Alex Zhukovsky responded, sounding stiff to Nina. “I am an instructor in Russian language and history at Cal State Monterey,” he said. “I also teach other courses. I've been there for the past six years.” He told the court he liked his job, and was brother to the victim in this case, Christina Zhukovsky, and son to the man whose bones had been disinterred.

“My father was named Constantin Nicholaevich Zhukovsky. Our mother, Davida Zhukovsky, died in a car crash when we were young. My sister was eleven. I was only seven.”

For a while Jaime's questions were simple, and Zhukovsky, required to explain very little, answered yes or no. Then Jaime began asking Zhukovsky about Christina, her life and work.

“How can you reduce a person's life to a few sentences?” Zhukovsky complained. “She had many facets.”

He told the court about her work at the university. “Her last job was working at Cal State Monterey in the Romance Languages Department as the Public Affairs Officer. She helped with organizing the conference, and was very involved in all aspects of it. It was one of the largest and most successful conferences held at the college so far. People came from all over the world to attend.”

Sandoval gave him a photograph of Christina and, shaking, Zhukovsky studied his sister's image. In this picture, which Nina also studied, Christina, wearing a neat designer suit, smiled proudly, intelligently. Her face wore hope, ambition, and all the glorious things a human face, a living face could hold, when born to optimism. Holding the photograph, Nina felt sad that nobody would ever see her again as she had undoubtedly been, with shiny brown hair and a shy way of looking up at an observer. Nina would bet she used the weak glasses to disguise a driven nature.

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