Page 78 of Desert Loyalties
“Not at all,” Christina says. “In a jury trial, twelve people from the community listen to the evidence and decide the verdict. In a bench trial, it’s just the judge. No jury. Just law.”
I shift in my seat. “And you think we should go judge-only?”
She nods slowly. “Leaning that way, yeah.”
Drake crosses his arms. “Why?”
Christina’s tone stays calm. “Because this case is thin on hard evidence. No body. No murder weapon. No direct witness. Just a CI who vanished, a lot of noise, and the government's suspicion. A jury could be swayed by that, by the drama of it all. The implication of gang ties, the tattoos, the lifestyle.”
She looks at Drake. “No offense, but you're an easy person for a jury to stereotype.”
He gives a dry chuckle. “None taken.”
“A judge, though?” Christina continues. “Judges deal in facts. In law. Not how you look walking into the courtroom, well they care a little. If we go bench trial, we’re asking someone trained to separate emotion from logic to focus on what the prosecution doesn’t have and they don’t have enough.”
I frown. “Isn’t a jury supposed to do the same thing?”
“In theory. But juries are human,” Christina says. “They get caught up. If the prosecution tells a good story, even without solid proof, that can still land. But a judge is harder to fool with narrative alone.”
Drake leans forward. “So, you think we’ve got a better shot banking on logic?”
“I think if this stays circumstantial, no body, no smoking gun, we’re better off with a bench trial. But that decision isn’t ours alone. Even if we ask for it, the judge has to approve it too. Prosecution can oppose it but they don’t have much sway here.”
He nods. “Alright.”
She flips a page and continues, businesslike. “There’ll still be pretrial hearings and motions to file. I’ll handle those. If we go to trial, Drake, you’ll be in court every day. No exceptions. You won’t testify unless I think it helps us and in a bench trial, that decision gets even more surgical.”
Drake nods once, jaw clenched.
I lean forward, locking eyes with her. “So, when will we find out if the judge grants the bench trial, or if it goes to a jury?”
She nods, as if expecting the question. “According to federal law, the decision on whether to grant a bench trial usuallyhappens quickly, often within a few days to a couple of weeks after the request is filed. The judge reviews the motion and the circumstances, then makes a ruling. We won’t have to wait long before we know.”
Jonah reappears with a tray I didn’t even know we owned and four steaming, mismatched mugs. He sets them down in front of us without a word. Christina doesn’t even pause, just grabs the closest one and keeps going.
“I’m going to prep both of you separately for the next phase. What to say, what not to say, how to keep a straight face when opposing counsel goes fishing for anything that smells guilty.”
“There’s something else,” I say, sliding my hand across the table until it covers Drake’s. Our fingers lock. “Drake and I… we got married. Yesterday.”
Christina blinks once. “Perfect.”
Jonah grins. “Congrats.”
Christina echoes a beat later. “Congratulations.”
I shrug, smiling a little. “We just wanted to make it official.”
Christina lifts a brow, raising her mug. “Then say exactly that. Word for word.”
I must look confused, because she leans forward slightly. “If they try to put you on the stand, I’ll revoke spousal privilege. And that may raise questions, the prosecution will try to paint it as calculated, something to protect him, or you. Just keep it about love. Always.”
Drake nods. “Got it.”
Christina sets her mug down. “Now, heads up. The prosecution’s going to try and paint you—” she points at Drake “—as an emotionally detached monster who manipulated and eliminated a friend. And to do that, they’re going to subpoena people who know you. Especially from the club.”
“They’d never betray me,” Drake says, calm but firm.
Christina doesn’t flinch, but her eyes are flat. “They won’t have a choice, Drake. A subpoena isn’t a request, it’s an order. And even if they don’t say anything harmful, the way they look with their muscles, tats, vests, nicknames, it all sends a message. I’ve been to the clubhouse. I mean, is ‘six-foot and built like a battering ram’ part of the membership requirements? And don’t get me started on the names. Knuckles? Ice? Really? At least yours isn’t so bad. That’s probably the only reason the prosecution isn’t slipping it into every question they ask.”
