Naive

by Charles Royce

  “A non-disclosure agreement. Which you are violating right now.”

  “Yes.”

  “And why are you putting yourself at risk like this?”

  “To help Micah.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I believe in him.”

  “Thank you, Jenna. I know that was hard.”

  Jenna finally looks at him. “All of this is hard, Shawn.”

  Maybe it was her whispered response that only he could hear. Maybe it was her pointed, blank stare that seemed to mask a thousand emotions cutting right to his soul. Whatever the cause, it has made Shawn’s throat swell, and he coughs aloud. Then coughs again.

  “Excuse me.” Shawn returns to his seat, grabs the stale coffee that has been resting on his desk all day, and takes a big sip.

  “You okay, Mr. Connelly?” asks the judge.

  Shawn grabs his chest, gives a thumbs-up to the judge, and returns to Jenna.

  “Ms. Ancelet, do you have any knowledge of Lennox and his history with drugs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you explain his relationship to a character you all refer to as ‘Ghost’?”

  Some of the jury members smile and look at Astrid, who raises her eyebrows, puckers her lips, and turns her head to the side in agreement.

  “Oh yes,” Jenna answers. “This guy’s the real deal. Lennox was petrified. He tried to help this man, but he turned out to be bad news, threatened Lenny’s life several times.”

  “Why did you refer to him as Ghost?”

  “Well, he’s not a ghost, obviously. Lennox described a tattoo that this man had on his arm, said it looked like a ghost, with some words underneath that he said looked like French, but I couldn’t translate it. Some of the words were missing from the tattoo, he said, because of a bullet wound that had been scarred over.” She takes her finger and draws a small imaginary circle on her shoulder.

  “You’re fluent in French, though, correct?”

  “Yes. But these words were put together strangely. Like a mix between French … and Italian, maybe?”

  “Do you remember any of the words?”

  “Oh, no. In one ear, out the next. No, wait, I remember the French word for ‘home,’ which is maison. But I’m sorry, nothing else. What I do remember is that what Lenny was describing as far as what this man looked like and who he was, was terrifying.”

  “Terrifying, huh?” Shawn shows Jenna a picture of the heroin bag from evidence. “Is this similar to the ghost tattoo he was describing?”

  “Yes! This is exactly what Lenny drew for me. Looks like a skinny house with a line through it. Where did you get this?”

  “From bags of heroin in Lenny’s bedroom, one of them half-empty.”

  “Impossible! Lennox was not dealing with that man again, trust me.”

  “Toxicology results showed no drugs in his system, which means he had not used in the past three months or so. But I’m curious, what makes you so sure he hadn’t been buying drugs from this man again?” Shawn asks.

  “Because of the letter,” Jenna says.

  “The letter? What do you know about the letter?”

  “Objection!” Astrid appears to have reached her limit. “Counsel is trying again to introduce another red herring. There is no letter. No letter. It does not exist.”

  “The witness introduced it. And I’m curious to see where this is going,” says the judge. “Proceed with caution, counselor.”

  “The letter about this Ghost guy, Lennox transcribed it to me,” Jenna says. “I don’t remember everything because after I printed it out, he told me to delete it, which I did.”

  “Can you paraphrase it at least?”

  “The gist was that this guy, this Ghost character, had been Lenny’s drug dealer during the time he was using. When Lenny started getting clean, he tried to shake this guy. Even tried to help him by suggesting recovery. The guy threatened Lenny several times, stalked him outside meetings, beat up some of his friends, even pulled a knife on him once.” Jenna looks at the jury. “He was petrified, said if anything ever happened to him, to look for the guy. Even gave his address.”

  “Do you remember where this Ghost guy lives?”

  “Somewhere in Alphabet City. Avenue C? D? I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

  “Thank you, that’s all we have for this witness,” Shawn says, followed by an immediate, “One more thing, Jenna. Did you know your Wi-Fi is accessible from Shawn and Lenny’s apartment?”

  “Objection!”

  “Sustained! Mr. Connelly, would you like to lay a foundation for this shiny new narrative?”

  “Not at this time, your Honor.”

  “Somehow I didn’t think so. Your witness, Ms. Lerner.”

  “I have nothing for this witness.”

  “Court is adjourned until tomorrow at 9:00am,” says Judge Wilson, banging his gavel. “Let’s get an early start. If anyone comes across a Starbucks on their way, I’d like an almond milk latte.”

  C h a p t e r 3 9

  “You’re coming across as kind of a dick,” Micah says as soon as Shawn enters the visiting room.

  The sunlight that normally beamed through the small opening in the top of Micah’s visiting room is fading into a blurry illumination on the ceiling just outside. Micah is dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, while Shawn is still in his tan tweed suit from court. Noticing the disparity, Shawn loosens his tie.

  “I’m sure I was.” Shawn changes the subject. “Now listen, even though Jenna just implicated James West’s company, and we already talked about his voice message the night of Lenny’s death, I am not bringing him in as a witness. The first rule of calling a witness is to know what they’re going to say. If West simply denies everything, we look like complete idiots. If he brings up some angle about the phone call that lets him off the hook completely, we’re fucked. And I think it’s always better to just leave the question lingering in the jury’s minds, which it already is, but I’ll make sure of it in closing argument. Remember we don’t have to prove the company did this, just simply argue that you didn’t.”

  “Makes sense.” Micah says with little affect. He stares at Shawn.

  “Then why do you keep looking at me like that? What? That little outburst pointed at your girlfriend? Micah, I did that only to set up a very particular part of our defense.”

  “What? Pointing in the direction of Jenna? She was cleared, Shawn. Clear alibi, like Josh. Like me. All at the same event.”

  “Did you know her Wi-Fi is available from your condo?”

  They both stand arms crossed, almost like funhouse-mirror reflections of each other. About the same height, same age, yet Micah is clearly bigger, and without the dad bod.

  “So, you found a familiar Wi-Fi accessible from our home, and now you think Jenna recorded us in our living room? Why on earth would she do that?”

  “Hey, my job is to defend you zealously, blah blah blah.”

  “Shawn, I’m serious. She’s my friend, and I thought she was yours too.”

  Shawn knows he’s walking a tightrope. He senses his strategy is coming to life, but he also feels like it’s killing him.

  “She is a friend.” He buries the emotion. “A friend who got fired by your husband. A friend who lives close to you, who has access to your home, who used to work balls-deep for a corrupt company. Do I think she could do this to Lenny? No! Do I think I need to suggest that she could? Absolutely. You didn’t stab your husband, so who did? The company, the jilted employee, the Ghost. They didn’t follow through with anybody. So they’re gonna get it all.”

  C h a p t e r 4 0

  ((Bang bang bang.))

  The judge hits the gavel on its stand, rattling the Starbucks cup resting next to it. He takes a sip.

  “Okay, who’s up?” asks the judge, wiping the froth from his lip with his robe. “Thanks for this … whoever gave me … anyway, okay, let’s go.”

  Shawn recognizes his cue. “Defense would like to recall Officer Mateo
Palino.”

  While Officer Palino takes the stand and is sworn in, Shawn takes a small white metal table from the side of the room and rolls it in front of the jury. On top of the table sits the small African box that houses the tiny camera that could have recorded the murder. Astrid feels her eyes begin to roll, but stops and blinks instead. Shawn puts on blue latex gloves, opens the plastic bag containing the hand-carved box, and removes the camera from inside.

  “Thank you, officer. I just have a few questions about this box right here. First, can you tell me where you found it?”

  “Yes, it was in the back left corner of the victim’s living room, where the kitchen peninsula meets the back left wall, sitting on top of a side table.”

  “And which direction was it facing?”

  “Toward the living room away from the wall.”

  “And what did this hand-carved box have inside of it?”

  “A camera.”

  “What type of camera?”

  “It was wireless.”

  The jury begins to move a little. Some look at others right next to them. Some move forward in their chairs as if they want to hear better.

  “A wireless camera. And can you read me your notes about this wireless camera, please, officer, right there?” Shawn points downward.

  Officer Palino has his notes on the witness stand right in front of him, courtesy of Shawn, who had placed them there earlier in anticipation of the day’s events.

  “Wireless camera still warm. Possible recording of murder.”

  “So according to your own notes, this camera, which could have recorded everything, was still warm when you found it?”

  “That’s what it says.”

  “That’s what you said, sir. These are your notes from the evening of August 17, 2018, are they not?”

  “They are.”

  “Thank you. Your witness.”

  “Officer Palino,” Astrid says in an exasperated tone. “In your opinion, does this camera have anything to do with this murder?”

  “We have found no correlation. No evidence that there was a server or hard drive or anything that it recorded to.”

  “Thank you.” Astrid dismisses the witness.

  “Is there a redirect?” asks the judge.

  “Yes.” Shawn stands. “Officer Palino, in your professional opinion, do you believe a hidden camera in a living room would exist merely for decoration? For some interior design nuance?”

  “Objection,” says Astrid.

  “I withdraw the question. We have nothing further for this witness.”

  Palino leaves the stand.

  “The defense would like to recall Detective Bronson Penance,” says Shawn.

  Detective Penance enters and takes his place on the stand.

  “Detective, you and I had a conversation the day my client was arrested, did we not?”

  “I’m sorry.” Detective Penance is confused at the line of questioning, which isn’t what he thought he was there for. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

  “Let me refresh your memory. We were in that dreary brick building where you work, and you gave me a brief tip that might steer me in a better direction for my client.”

  “I wouldn’t have done that.” He remembers the conversation now.

  “Well, you did, and you also said, ‘Contrary to popular belief, we do our job here,’ do you remember that?”

  “I do remember that.”

  “Do you think you did your job when it comes to this camera and what it may or may not have recorded?” Shawn asks.

  “Objection! Detective Penance is not on trial here.” Astrid stands to make her point. “There’s simply no reason for this attack.”

  “Your Honor, I’m simply trying to show that the prosecution has not explored all obvious avenues of investigation, and therefore, my client has been unfairly rushed to judgment.”

  “I’ll allow a rephrasing of the question,” rules the judge. “Strike the first one from the record, and be careful, Mr. Connelly.”

  “Detective Penance, did you or any member of your department ever find the recordings from the wireless camera?”

  “We did not. But not for lack—”

  “That’s all I needed to know.”

  “That’s not all he has to say, Mr. Connelly,” says the judge. “Detective, you may continue.”

  “We tried everything we could to find that recording, alleged recording,” Detective Penance begins. “We logged over 250 man hours on this issue alone, issuing search warrants for residents in the Garfield Building, interrogating adjacent neighbors. Because of the location of their condo among many other large residential buildings, there are over seventy Wi-Fi accounts that are accessible to the living room in question; anyone within five hundred or a thousand feet could have had access to that camera, even a passerby on the street.”

  “Even a friend who lives close by?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Detective,” Shawn says, then looks at Astrid. “Your witness.”

  Astrid pauses, shuffling through papers as she thinks. She could bring up the African box that Detective Penance found in James West’s office, she could talk about the company keeping tabs on conspirators in financial cover-ups, she could bring up the possibility of the camera accidentally recording the murder. But would the jury buy the idea of a camera accidentally recording a murder? Too convoluted, too reasonable-doubty, she concludes.

  “No questions for Detective Penance, except to say thank you for your tireless service to this community.”

  “Defense would like to recall Jenna Ancelet.”

  “Again?” asks the judge.

  “Final time, I swear.”

  Jenna takes her seat and looks directly at Shawn. Her eyes do not blink.

  “Ms. Ancelet, did you know that your Wi-Fi is accessible from Micah and Lenny’s condo?”

  “No, I did not. I am not surprised, though. It’s a pretty strong signal.”

  “Did anyone else have your password?”

  “Everyone does. I mean, shit, my password is “password”. You want access to my phone? It’s 1-2-3-4-5-6. That’s my phone’s password. I have nothing to hide.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Ancelet. I have nothing further for this witness.”

  “Ms. Ancelet, apologies from the court,” says Astrid. “Is it true that you have been cleared of any wrongdoing, and your alibi is unshakable for the entire evening of the victim’s death?”

  “Yes, so I’ve been told.”

  “Thank you.”

  “The witness is dismissed,” says the judge. He smiles. “Thank you for coming again, Ms. Ancelet.”

  Jenna forces a grin and begins her exit from the courtroom.

  This needs to be over, she thinks on her way out. Disappointed and betrayed, she is careful not to look directly at either of her friends. As the judge calls the next witness, she sees Shawn and Micah out of the corner of her eye, whispering between themselves.

  Probably a fake conversation, she thinks. Goddamn hypocrites.

  “Please state and spell your name for the record,” says the court clerk.

  “Talbot Lexington. That’s T-A-L-B-O-T Lexington, L-E-X-I-N-G-T-O-N.”

  “Thank you for coming today, Talbot. Is it okay if I call you Talbot?” Shawn asks his young witness. Softer and gentler, Shawn’s tone is noticeably different than the one he’d taken with the other witnesses.

  Talbot is dressed in baggy jeans and a hoodie, with a crisp, white, button-up shirt underneath. With blondish-brown hair flattened by a cap he is no longer wearing, he sits with his back curved in a slight hunch, as if waiting to be punched from above.

  “Sure thing,” Talbot answers.

  “Talbot, first of all, I’m sorry about your friend. He got hurt pretty bad, huh?”

  “Yeah.” A nervous, inappropriate laugh accompanies his response.

  “You and your friend Frank were sponsees of Lennox Holcomb in Narcotics Anonymous, is that correct?”
<
br />   “I’m not supposed to say.” Talbot cowers under the fear of exposing his anonymity.

  “It’s okay, we can speak in a general sense.” Shawn has dealt with people in recovery before. “You and Frank were in recovery together, and Lennox was helping you through it, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how long have you been off drugs?”

  “Two days ago, I celebrated sixty days.”

  “Whoa! That’s amazing. Sixty-two days clean. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He moves closer to his witness. “Talbot, for the purposes of today, can you tell me what happened to your friend Frank?”

  “He overdosed on some shit he got from a friend of Lenny’s.”

  “Okay, wait, let’s back up. How do you know Frank got drugs from a friend of Lenny’s?”

  “Lenny always told us beware of this guy he called Ghost. He knew we was heroin addicts, like he was.”

  “What did he tell you to beware of?”

  “Well, he said he was bad news. He described him as all freckly and shit, like an albino black guy or something. We had other friends who knew the guy, said he wasn’t that bad. Said he had awesome heroin. We always thought of him as this badass superhero villain dude. He was kinda like one of those myths, ya know? Like somebody you heard about but never could see?”

  “Like a ghost?”

  “Psshht. Yeah.” Talbot laughs again.

  “So, what happened the other night. To your friend Frank?”

  “Well, Frank, the dumbass, was thinking about using again. I tried to stop him. But he was jonesin’ bad. He texted me all this shit about setting a deal up in the middle of the night.”

  “Can you read aloud for me the texts from that night? And can you read the times of these texts as well, so the jury has an idea of when all of this happened?”

  “Sure.” Talbot says. He begins to read in monotone.

  “11:07pm, Frank:

  Doing it. Made a new friend LOL

  11:08pm, Talbot: