Shake the Trees

by Rod Helmers

  “No, Your Honor,” Pierson replied.

  No, Judge,” The Mouth mumbled.

  Then both lawyers turned around as a man in the gallery stood and cleared his voice. The man was large and rangy and appeared to be in his seventies. He was deeply tanned and wore a full head of white hair and a bushy white mustache. Sam leaned into The Mouth and whispered. “That’s Sandi’s dad.”

  “Your Honor, I’m not exactly sure of the proper procedure here, and that got me into trouble once already today.”

  “State your name and address for the record, sir.”

  “Rodger Rimes. San Luis, New Mexico.”

  “What’s your business with the Court, sir?”

  “I have a certified check here.” Rodger held up a large business-sized check that had obviously been folded and compressed into a shape that matched the billfold he held in is his other hand. “Made out to the United States of America. But it isn’t for the correct amount.”

  Turnbull was trying to be polite, but was beginning to get annoyed. “There’s no layaway plan here, sir. The Court is unable to accept any cash payment less than the full amount due in lieu of bond. Fifteen million dollars.”

  “Well, see, that’s not the problem. This one here is too much.” Rodger replied.

  “Excuse me?”

  “This one is for seventeen and a half.”

  “Are you telling me you have a certified check for 17.5 million dollars?” Turnbull responded in apparent disbelief.

  “Yes, sir. It’s drawn on the San Luis State Bank. I was wondering if the Court could issue a refund to Mr. Chubbs Mulligan of San Luis, New Mexico for the overage? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. Your Honor.”

  Sandi was shocked. She had no idea. Sam buried his face in his hands. Quietly sobbing. Dustin still had his eye on Franklin Pierson, who sprang to his feet. Like a jack-in-the-box.

  “Your Honor, we have no assurance that these funds aren’t fruit of the underlying crime!” Pierson was gesticulating wildly as he spoke.

  Rodger’s cheeks flushed and his self-restraint evaporated in the heat of Pierson’s comment. “Does this kid just get to make stuff up like that?” He thundered to no one in particular. Rodger turned slightly and spoke directly to Judge Turnbull. “Somebody needs to straighten that boy out.” Then Sandi pulled at Rodger, and he reluctantly took his seat.

  Pierson immediately seized the moment of silence. “Your Honor, I’m an Officer of the Court, and that man just threatened me.”

  Several people in the audience snickered at Pierson’s comment, and Turnbull pounded his gavel until everyone was amazed that it had remained in one piece. “Quiet,” he roared. As the courtroom became still, he began to speak.

  “Mr. Pierson, if I thought you’d survive, I’d throw you and Mr. Rimes into the same cell. I strongly suggest that you keep quiet, or I may change my mind. And Mr. Rimes, if you don’t mind, and with no intimation of wrongdoing on your part whatsoever, would you please explain the source of these funds?”

  Rodger again rose to his feet. “My neighbor and friend Chubbs Mulligan, who I’ve known my entire life, sold his ranch recently. A ranch that had been in his family for four generations.” Rodger then directed his attention toward Franklin Pierson. “You can confirm that with the San Luis Title Company and the San Luis State Bank, or pretty much anybody walking down the street of San Luis, New Mexico. And I’d be happy to testify about it under oath.”

  There was a tittering in the courtroom as Pierson’s ears turned pink around the edges. Turnbull halfheartedly tapped his gavel twice. “That won’t be necessary. I assume that Mr. Mulligan knows Mr. Norden quite well in light of his generosity?”

  Rodger again looked over at Pierson. “Sam is plenty well-known in the community. As an honest and upstanding businessman. Chubbs knows that he’ll be getting his money back soon enough.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Rimes. Please provide the Clerk with your check upon the conclusion of the hearing.”

  Then Turnbull turned his attention to Sam. “Mr. Norden, I wish I could tell you that you are free to go, but I cannot. These administrative matters take time, and your release may be delayed a few days, as the details are resolved. I’m sorry.”

  Now Turnbull turned to Pierson. “As I said earlier, there is much about this case that is troubling. More specifically, I have great concerns about the sufficiency of the affidavit submitted in support of the warrant.”

  Pierson again popped up. “Your Honor, that matter has already been ruled upon.”

  Turnbull wore an expression of exasperation as he looked down at Pierson over his reading glasses. “Yes, Mr. Pierson, I am quite aware that a magistrate judge issued the arrest warrant. And I am also quite aware that he did so based solely upon a single affidavit. An affidavit of a FBI agent. Which affidavit, by the way, Mr. Brown insisted my Clerk read in its entirety. You see, Mr. Franklin Roosevelt Pierson, I may be old as dirt, but I’m not senile. Not yet.”

  Again a tittering spread thru the courtroom. And again Pierson’s ears pinked up. “Yes, Your Honor. I mean no, Your Honor.”

  CHAPTER 41

  James was pacing behind his father’s antique desk. He’d pulled the heavy drapes closed, but the muted light of the late morning sun still filtered thru. He’d told his temporary judicial assistant to hold his calls. His chambers felt serene, or maybe even somber. The funereal mood he’d created seemed appropriate to the task at hand.

  Instinct told him that the end game was unfolding. That the sand was draining swiftly from the glass, and there would be no chance to start the process anew. He picked up the disposable cell phone lying on the desk and pushed the button.

  “Hello?” Elizabeth answered in a fog of sleep and medication. After returning from her nighttime outing, she’d used the keys recovered from the now deceased big-bellied man to enter the unit next door. She’d found a bottle of bleach and cleaned the blood from the floor of her unit, and even a few splatters from the walls. Then she took a couple of sleeping pills and fell into a deep slumber.

  “It’s me, Elizabeth.”

  “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Is everything okay?” Elizabeth struggled to infuse emotion into words crushed flat by medication and depression.

  “No, Elizabeth. Everything is very much not okay. The police - the FBI or the FDLE - have identified you. And now they’re following me. They’ve connected you to me, Elizabeth.” James’ accusatory tone held no trace of kindness.

  Elizabeth began to cry. “I’m so sorry, James. It’s all my fault. Everything has gone wrong. I’m sorry.”

  “You do understand that we can’t be together now. Don’t you?”

  “I know, James. We have to wait until this blows over. We have to be patient.”

  “No, Elizabeth,” James snapped. “The theft of $150 million doesn’t blow over. I can’t be connected to you. Ever. It’s over, Elizabeth.”

  Elizabeth began to sob in a pitiful childlike way, but James was unmoved. “I’m not him, Elizabeth.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not your father.”

  “I know that, James.”

  “He was a very special man.” James answered softly.

  Elizabeth began to weep again, and James knew that he was treading a very fine line.

  “I miss him, James.” Elizabeth spoke with tender sincerity.

  “I know. I know you do.” A compassionate note had finally found its way into his words. “Someday you’ll be together again. In a better place.”

  “Do you really think so?” She haltingly choked out the words between sniffles.

  “Goodbye, Elizabeth.” James hit the end button and pondered the conversation. Had been too kind? Did he push hard enough?

  Judge Turnbull had called a ten-minute recess, and Tillis found Sally sitting on a bench down the hall peering into her laptop. She’d arrived a few minutes late for the hearing, and discovered that the doors to Courtroom A were locked. Apparently His Honor didn’t like inter
ruptions. From lawyers or spectators.

  Fortunately, the federal courthouse had free wireless, and she put her involuntary downtime to good use. Sally knew that Tillis would be monitoring his BlackBerry, so she’d emailed him. And told him she’d uncovered something interesting.

  Sally sensed Tillis standing over her. “Did you know the federal courthouse has free wireless?” She asked as her fingers continued to ply the keyboard.

  Tillis nodded. “What do you have for me?”

  “I’ve been Googling combinations of surnames.”

  “What?”

  “You know. Like ‘Tillis Brown’.” Sally looked up and smiled endearingly. “Nothing on you two. Yet.”

  Tillis looked around to make sure no one was within earshot.

  “Still not entirely comfortable with the relationship, I see.” Sally noted with professional disinterest.

  “Is this why you wanted to talk to me? To bust my balls about The Mouth?”

  Sally chuckled quietly. “I also Googled ‘Hayes Norden’. After wading thru a lot of crap, I stumbled upon an interesting article in The San Diego Union. From November, 2000.”

  “Really?” Tillis struggled to see the laptop screen.

  “Um-hm. In the fall of 2000, an insurance company executive by the name of Charles Hayes was shot and killed in an apparent home invasion in Orange County. There were suggestions that the home invasion was staged, and that Hayes killed himself. But eventually his life insurance paid off on a million dollar policy.”

  “Why was suicide suspected?”

  “A few months earlier, Hayes had lost everything in the tech meltdown. Apparently, he’d hit a few home runs in the market before that, and was getting ready to retire to a life of leisure.” Sally explained.

  “Any children?” Tillis asked with raised eyebrow.

  “One. A daughter. Name of Elizabeth Ellen Hayes.”

  “No shit?”

  Sally looked up. “No shit, Tillis.”

  “What about Norden?”

  “Charles Hayes had a young hot-shot stock broker. During the late nineties, this kid was being touted in the media as some kind of tech stock wizard. He had Hayes 100% invested in internet stocks. When the shit hit the fan, the wizard hit the road. Lots of lawsuits. Lots of bad press.”

  “Sam Norden.”

  Sally nodded. “Turns out he was taking care of his mother in Nebraska. She was dying from terminal breast cancer. A widow. Her husband - Sam’s father - had died a little more than a year earlier. From a heart attack.”

  “Talk about between a rock and a hard place.” Tillis mumbled.

  Sally again nodded her head. “After that Sam Norden falls off the face of the earth for a couple of years. Then he turns up owning a small real estate brokerage in the mountains of New Mexico. A tiny little place called San Luis.”

  Tillis smiled knowingly. “Sounds familiar. A good place to run away to.”

  “I guess Elizabeth Ellen Hayes blamed Sam for the death of her father.” Sally added and then studied the floor for a long moment. “I feel sorry for the guy. I think he’s paid his debt.”

  “Yeah. With interest.” Tillis agreed. “You think its time I did something about all of this, don’t you?”

  Sally met Tillis’ gaze. “You worried Franklin Pierson’s gonna take you off his Christmas card list?”

  “No. I’m worried that The Mouth is going to make the news. Again.”

  “Think of it this way. You’ll be part of something bigger than yourself. You’re helping create a new American hero.”

  Tillis snorted. “Hero my ass. I’m helping create a monster. An attention-loving publicity-seeking bullshit-breathing American monster.”

  “It is my intention to review the issuance of the arrest warrant by the Judge Magistrate. On my own motion.” Judge Turnbull said with set jaw. “I am scheduling an evidentiary hearing for that purpose. The government will produce the affiant FBI agent for cross-examination, and offer any additional evidence it may wish to submit in support of the warrant. How does next Monday sound?” Turnbull looked at Franklin Pierson, and then at The Mouth.

  As both Pierson and The Mouth began to stab buttons on their BlackBerrys to check their calendars, Tillis completed an e-mail marked urgent and hit send. In a moment, Pierson turned around in his chair and studied Tillis’ face. Tillis nodded. Then Pierson stood.

  “Your Honor, the United States of America is ready to proceed.”

  “Now?” Judge Turnbull asked incredulously. “Is the FBI agent present?”

  “The government withdraws the affidavit, and will present live testimony. Of a single witness, Your Honor. I think we can wrap this matter up before lunch. Unless, of course, Mr. Brown is unprepared to respond on such short notice.” Pierson said tauntingly.

  “And who is this witness, counsel?” Turnbull asked with obvious curiosity.

  “FDLE Special Agent Tillis.”

  Turnbull and The Mouth looked at Tillis’ blank face. Then Judge Turnbull turned to The Mouth. “Mr. Brown, I realize this is short notice. On the other hand, we are all assembled here today. Do you have any objections to proceeding?”

  The Mouth had been taken by surprise, but thought he’d caught the slightest wink by Tillis. He stood and looked down. He studied Sam’s face for an uncomfortably long period of time. Then placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder and looked up at Turnbull. “Innocence and truth are the shield and sword of the wrongfully accused. Sam Norden is ready to proceed.”

  Tillis brought his hand to his forehead. As if to shield his eyes from a bright light. Then took a deep breath as his stomach slowly rolled over.

  Turnbull turned to Pierson and spoke with touch of disbelief. “Call your witness, counsel.”

  “The United States of America calls Florida Department of Law Enforcement Special Agent Tillis to the stand.”

  Tillis briskly made his way to the witness stand and was sworn.

  “Please state your name for the record,” Pierson asked.

  “Tillis. FDLE Special Agent Tillis.”

  “Hold on a minute,” Turnbull interjected. “What did you say your name was?”

  Tillis scowled. “Tillis. Just Tillis.”

  Turnbull turned to face Tillis. He held a straight face, but his eyes were smiling. “I’m confused. Do you mean you have one of those one-word names? Like those singers?”

  Turnbull pointed at his bailiff while continuing to hold Tillis’ gaze. “Who am I talking about, Dave?”

  Dave shrugged. “Madonna? Prince?”

  Judge Turnbull nodded. “Like Madonna or Prince?”

  Tillis looked at Turnbull sternly. “No. My last name is Tillis. I go by Tillis.”

  Turnbull looked displeased. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tillis. We’ll need your full legal name, please. For the record.”

  Tillis pursed his lips for a moment and then pronounced his name as if it were one long multi-syllable word. “Elmer Winfield Tillis.”

  “Is that it?” Turnbull asked airily.

  “Junior.”

  Now Turnbull looked satisfied. “You may proceed with your questions for Mr. Elmer Winfield Tillis, Jr., counsel.”

  “Were you able to gain access to the file, Mr. Tillis?” U.S. Attorney Franklin Pierson asked in the most serious tone he could muster.

  “Yes. The file was password protected and encrypted, but we were able to access the file.”

  “What was the nature of the information contained in the file?”

  “The file literally contained hundreds of lines of programming code. It took several FDLE computer experts all night to fully decipher it. Essentially the program broke down $150 million of money market funds held by American Senior Security into much smaller electronic packets of funds and bounced those electronic packets around the globe. Ultimately they all ended up in the nation of Myanmar. Formerly Burma. We don’t know what happened to the money after that.”

  “And Mr. Norden has a degree in computer engineering and programming, d
oesn’t he?”

  “Yes, sir. That is my understanding.” Tillis answered.

  Pierson immediately spit out his next question. “And he has a MBA from the prestigious Wharton School of Finance, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes, sir. I believe you are correct.”

  The Mouth was starting to get worried. Wondering if he’d been wrong about Tillis. Thinking maybe he’d been suckered.

  Franklin Pierson paused until it was evident to everyone that the next question was the crux of his direct examination. “And is it reasonable to assume that Mr. Norden was involved as President and CEO of American Senior Security in the transfer of those funds to the nation of Myanmar?”

  “No, sir. It is not.” Tillis answered confidently.

  Pierson inhaled. The Mouth exhaled. Both stared at Tillis. As did Judge Turnbull. And everyone else in the courtroom. Then in his confusion, Pierson again violated the cardinal rule. The rule every trial lawyer has ground into his or her brain from day one. He asked another question to which he did not know the answer.

  “Why not?”

  “The file was date stamped by an independent remote server. That date stamp has been authenticated and verified. The program was written in late summer of 2007. Long before Sam Norden ever came to work at American Senior Security. Long before he was ever contacted and asked to interview for an executive position there. It appears that someone within that organization framed Sam Norden. And that he was hired solely for that purpose.”

  CHAPTER 42

  U.S. Attorney Franklin Pierson glared malevolently, but the crack of the bat was unmistakable. He’d tried enough cases to know the sound of a home run when he heard it. “The government has no more questions for this witness.”

  Turnbull turned to The Mouth. “Cross examination, Mr. Brown?”

  “We’re good, Judge.”

  Turnbull again directed his attention to Pierson. “Five minutes for argument, counsel.”

  “The government reserves its time for rebuttal, Your Honor.” Pierson responded in a downcast tone. Then took his seat. Knowing he was about to have his ass handed to him on a silver platter. With grits and gravy on the side.