“You’ve been eating okay?”
“I had a lobster roll for dinner last night, a lobster roll for lunch today, and I may grab a couple of lobster rolls for dinner tonight.”
“Sounds like a balanced diet.”
We talk a little more; mostly it’s her telling me that everything is fine at home. I’m feeling guilty that I’m not there, although Laurie is more than capable of picking up the slack. Since I do little other than walk the dogs, there isn’t that much slack to pick up.
It’s raining, which influences my dinner plans. I’m not going to go back to my outdoor lobster roll place, so I head into Damariscotta. Last time I was here I ate at a terrific restaurant/pub called King Eider’s, so I try it again.
It hasn’t changed a bit, still has great atmosphere and delicious food. The place is crowded, so I sit and eat at the bar, watching the Red Sox game on the overhead television.
There is some talk about the game, though not as much as I would have thought. That’s because a more intriguing topic is on the table, or actually on the bar, and that is the arrest of Matt Jantzen.
The talk ranges from a rehash of the murders themselves, to their having finally made an arrest, to a possible motive, and how the accused has himself a big-shot lawyer from New York City.
The inability of these people to distinguish northern New Jersey from New York is somewhat inexplicable, but apparently widespread. Believe me, people who live in New York and New Jersey definitely know the difference.
One thing that does not come up in the bar conversation is the possibility that Jantzen might be innocent. People refer to the police as having “caught the guy that did it,” and the speculation is about what his sentence will be.
They seem to be nice enough people, and one guy who seems more intent on the baseball game than the murder case even offers to buy me a drink. But they are absolutely positive that Jantzen is guilty without having any apparent knowledge about the actual case.
It pains me to say it, but I must have defense attorney blood coursing through my semiretired veins, because it’s annoying me. One thing is for sure: getting an impartial jury is not going to be a picnic.
Glad I don’t have to worry about it.
I’ve finished dinner, so I have some coffee and settle in to watch the end of the game. The guy who offered me the drink asks me whether I live around here and I say, “No, I’m a hotshot lawyer from New York.”
The word gets around at bar speed, which is 30 percent faster than warp speed. Rather than its generating any ill will, everyone seems intrigued and asks me about the case. They all suddenly profess open-mindedness, which is a cross between their just being nice and total horseshit. If Derek Jeter showed up here, they would claim to be Yankees fans.
I wind up having a pretty good time. These are good people to drink and watch sports with, but I still wouldn’t want them on my jury.
As I’m leaving, I’m approached by the man who has been manning the reception desk. He identifies himself as Jed Weiss, one of the owners, and says, “Thanks for coming in.”
“Good food, good company, and I’m okay with the Red Sox winning.”
He smiles, but the smile quickly fades. “I knew Matt Jantzen when he lived here; we went to high school together.”
I don’t say anything because it’s clear Jed has more to say, and I’m not sure where this is going.
“There is no way that the Matt Jantzen I knew put a gun to anyone’s head.”
“Thanks. Good to hear.”
“He’s the kind of guy that if he saw something like that happening, he’d try to stop it.”
I nod. “Thanks. I actually already knew that.”
Matt Jantzen looks none the worse for wear from his extradition trip to Maine.
Obviously he wasn’t taken from New Jersey to Maine on a forced march and, not surprisingly, has been treated reasonably well. Based on what I’ve seen so far of this place, he’s probably been sucking down prison lobster rolls.
We meet in an anteroom in the Wiscasset courthouse. It’s the main courthouse for Lincoln County and looks very much like a church. It was built in the early 1800s, which probably makes it one of the newer buildings around here. When locals refer to a building as “prewar,” they’re talking War of 1812.
“I’m amazed that you’re here,” Jantzen says.
“Join the club.”
“What happens now?”
“Well, in the short term, you’re going to be arraigned and charged with these crimes. Your only role is to plead guilty or not guilty. If it’s not guilty, a tentative trial date will be set.”
“And in the meantime I’ll be in jail?”
I nod. “No question about it. I’ll ask for it, but based on the nature of the crimes, you have no shot at bail. You’ll also be considered a flight risk, since they believe you’ve been on the run since the murders.”
He nods sadly. “I figured that.”
“So since we have no control over that, let’s focus on what we can control … your plea.”
“I’m not guilty.”
“Is that how you will plead? Taking this to trial would obviously remove the chance of negotiating a lighter sentence, although I am just speculating as to whether that would even be possible. The prosecution’s willingness to deal would depend on the strength of their case, and they have not produced any discovery yet.”
“I understand.”
“Even if you plead not guilty, that doesn’t remove the possibility of making a pretrial deal later, if that’s the way you ultimately want to go.”
He shakes his head firmly. “I’m not interested in a deal. I’m not guilty and I won’t say that I am. No matter what.”
I nod. “Fair enough. When they ask you to plead, just say, ‘Not guilty, Your Honor.’ Say it just like you just said it to me.”
“Have you learned anything about their evidence?”
“No. But I honestly have no reason to. I’ve been straight with you; this is as far as I go.”
He nods his understanding. “How should I go about getting a lawyer?”
“I’ve attempted to jump-start that process already, but it’s not going to be easy. Representing the accused in a case like this is inherently not terribly popular, but there are usually lawyers willing to do it. When you add your inability to pay their fee into the mix, the attitude changes.”
“So it’s the public defender?”
“That’s my first stop when I leave here.”
The bailiff comes in to tell us that the arraignment is ready to begin. We go out to the courtroom, and I’m surprised to see a fairly large crowd in the gallery; it’s a good-sized room and is maybe two-thirds full. This is an important case here; I’m afraid that the community has waited a long time to get their revenge on whoever the killer might be. Now they have a name and face to put to it.
The judge, Denise Pressley, comes in and takes her seat. The prosecution team is present in force: four lawyers. I only learn the name of the lead prosecutor when the judge refers to him as Mr. Steinkamp.
As promised, Charlie Tilton is at the defense table waiting for us. We agreed that he will handle the details, after first informing the judge that we are both the attorneys of record for this hearing only. She doesn’t question the arrangement.
Things go according to form, and Jantzen delivers his not guilty plea as I advised, firmly and with conviction. We request bail, which is denied, and a trial date is set. It’s probably way too soon, especially since the defendant doesn’t even have counsel yet, but the date can be changed later on, by his actual lawyer.
When the hearing is gaveled to a close, Jantzen shakes our hands and thanks us. “Will I see either of you again?”
We both hesitate in our answers.
He nods. “That’s what I figured. But I appreciate what you’ve done for me.”
“I knew it was too early for Christmas,” Joel York says. “Just last night I said to my wife, ‘It’s too early for
Christmas.’”
York is the director of the Public Defender’s office in Lincoln County, and he’s reacting to my having just told him that his agency’s services will be needed to defend Matt Jantzen.
“I’m impressed with your knowledge of the holiday calendar,” I say.
“Thanks. When I first learned that they arrested somebody for the murders, I was upset, you know? I mean, if the guy is really guilty, then I’m glad they caught him, because the murders were terrible, just terrible.
“But I don’t have to tell you that arrests mean clients, and clients are something we don’t need more of. We’ve got plenty of clients, but lawyers? Not so many. And money? Even less. But then I heard you were taking the case, and it felt like Christmas. But down deep I knew it was too early for Christmas. I even said so to my wife.”
“It’s uncanny; and here I thought Christmas was next week. But you, and your wife, knew better. Now, can we talk about Matt Jantzen?”
York frowns. “If we have to.”
“He’s going to take this to trial; at least that’s his current plan. He has no money to hire a private lawyer, so I took him through the arraignment, and I am assisting him in finding counsel. Which brings me to you.”
“It’s a stone-cold loser. I’m told they have DNA … blood on the scene. What’s he claiming, that he showed up, bled for a while, but had nothing to do with the murders?”
I’m not happy with York’s attitude, even though he is being honest and is probably correct. A defense attorney who decides in advance that his case is a “stone-cold loser” is unlikely to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.
“I generally like to hear both sides before I judge guilt or innocence.”
“I’m happy for you,” he says. “So do I. And we’ll handle the case professionally; if he goes down, it won’t be because of bad lawyering. But we don’t exactly have the funding to conduct full-scale investigations, you know? So if there’s another side to this story, it better not be buried too deep.”
It’s not exactly a situation unique to Lincoln County, Maine. Public defenders never have enough staff or funding to do all that they could do. For the most part they are good, dedicated lawyers carrying their caseloads uphill. I don’t know if that is also true for York’s department, but I’m betting that it is.
“The case is yours,” I say. “If there is a line of investigation that is promising but requires money, call me.”
“You’ll put money up for this?” he asks, not masking his surprise.
“If it could make the difference, yes.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Just please give this your best shot; he’s in your hands.”
“I knew it was too early for Christmas. I even said it to my wife.”
I leave York’s office feeling uneasy. I can’t escape the feeling that I’m abandoning Jantzen to a life sentence, although intellectually I know he is not mine to abandon.
Since I don’t have Tara to talk to on our nightly walk, I talk to myself while driving in the car. “It’s ridiculous for me to feel guilty. I’ve already done more than any other lawyer in my position would have done. If we hadn’t gone for those damn bagels, I wouldn’t even be here.”
Tara is not there to answer, so I’m met by silence. I’m used to that since she never answers even when she’s with me. She’s a dog and therefore does not talk, yet it somehow always makes me feel better when she’s there to listen.
I head back to the hotel to call Laurie. It’s a brief conversation since I’m not in a talkative mood and because she’s busy. Ricky has two friends over and she’s trying to prevent them from destroying the house. I’ve been there; it’s an uphill struggle.
I give her a brief rundown on what has transpired, then I tell her that I’ll be home tomorrow.
“You sure about this?” she asks.
“I’m sure.”
“No regrets if and when you read that he’s been convicted?”
“No regrets. I’m sure the public defender is good; he knows the holiday calendar like the back of his hand.”
I turn on the local news and there is a story about the arraignment and status of the case. The reporter accurately says that I am resigning from representing Jantzen, though the clear implication is that I am bailing out. Certainly there is no recognition that this was the plan all along.
It’s a negative for the public, which includes the jury pool, to get the idea that Jantzen’s lawyer is abandoning him. A natural inference would be that I don’t want to represent such a client, perhaps because he is a double murderer.
When I am feeling this crummy, I generally try to drown my sorrows in lobster. So I head back to King Eider’s, both for the food and because the Red Sox are playing the Yankees tonight. It should make for an interesting dynamic.
When I get there, Jed Weiss is again at the main desk. “Somebody is here to see you.” He points to a table across the room.
A young woman is sitting there alone; is it possible that the big-shot, big-city lawyer has already acquired a Maine groupie? Alas, I doubt it.
“Who is she?”
“I’ll let her tell you. But she’s a nice lady.”
I nod. “What’s the score of the game?”
“Two–nothing, Red Sox, top of the second.”
“So everyone is happy?”
He frowns. “It’s a mixed blessing. We sell more beer when they lose.”
“Hello, Mr. Carpenter. I’m sorry to intrude on your dinner, but I would appreciate it if we could talk.”
She is pleasant looking, maybe in her late twenties, but with a weariness that speaks to a less-than-easy life. She has a nice smile, which she uses on me to good effect, but this is no groupie.
Someday I really want a groupie, just so I can tell Laurie I have one. Although … is it possible to have just one? Doesn’t a groupie by definition have to be part of a group? These are the kind of questions that haunt me.
“How did you know I’d be here?”
“People who come here have a tendency to return. And I know you were here last night.” She shrugs. “It’s a small town.”
I sit down across from her. “You have the floor. Or the table.”
She nods. “My name is Mary Patrick; people call me Mary Pat. I am Matt Jantzen’s half sister. I saw him today, and first of all I want to thank you for what you’ve done for him so far.”
The words “so far” are not lost on me; as a shrewd conversation analyst, I know where this is going.
She continues, “I feel like I’m to blame for his predicament.”
“How is that?”
“Well, let me start at the beginning. About six weeks ago I got a phone call from Matt; I had never spoken to him in my life. Until his call, I did not even know he existed.
“He had sent his DNA into one of those ancestry services to try and see if it could turn up any family that he wasn’t aware of. His father, who it turns out was also my father, didn’t stay in any one place for very long. Anyway, that’s how he got my name; I had used the same service a couple of years ago.
“He came here to see me, and it was quite wonderful. We found out that we had many of the same likes and dislikes, personality traits, that kind of thing. It was a long time since I had any warm feelings toward my father, but in a way I was grateful to him for giving me Matt.
“Then a few weeks ago, the police came to the house looking for him. I knew where he was; he was up in Acadia doing some hiking and fishing. But I didn’t tell them that because I remembered something.”
“What was that?”
“A few months after I sent in my DNA to that service, the state police came by asking questions about where I was back around the time the murders were committed. I don’t think they thought I did it, and I couldn’t have, because I was away at school in Delaware. But they asked me if I had any siblings, and I told them I didn’t. I was being honest because I didn’t know about Matt then.
“But
I put two and two together and I realized that his DNA must have connected him to the crime, in their eyes. So I warned him. He had no idea what I was talking about; he barely even remembered the murders. But I convinced him to leave until we could figure out what to do.
“He left, and I heard nothing else until the news said he was arrested. He didn’t do this, Mr. Carpenter. Like I said, he didn’t even really remember the murders until I reminded him.”
“And you believed him.” It’s a statement, not a question, and unnecessary, since she clearly believes him.
“He’s family,” she says, as if that explains everything, and it probably does.
“Where is your father now?”
“He passed away about a year ago. Believe it or not, the way I found out was by googling his name. He was living in New Hampshire; based on what I could tell, it was a heart attack.”
“Could he have had other children besides the two of you?”
“I suppose so, but I’m not aware of any. Of course, I wasn’t aware of Matt for all that time.”
The truth is that it doesn’t matter if Mary Pat and Matt had other siblings. It was Matt’s DNA that was found on the scene. If he had an identical twin, then it could matter, but that seems like a long shot.
“So Matt asked you to convince me to stay and defend him?” I ask, confronting the elephant in the room.
She smiles. “No, I came up with that on my own. Look, I know he can’t pay you, but my husband, Frank, and I, we have some money. I can give you seventy-five dollars a week for as long as it takes to pay the full amount, and I know that can be a very long time.”
I hear a huge moan, and I realize that it is coming from me. It’s not audible to anyone else, it’s only in my head, but it’s loud and anguished.
“This is not about money, Mary Pat.”
“You’re the only chance he has.”
“Okay. I’ll do it.” I look around to see who said that, then realize it was me. I’m hoping I didn’t say it out loud, but the look on her face says that I did.
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