“God, I hate hockey!” Sarah practically screamed at her Mother’s back and slammed her bedroom door while Carolyn quietly laughed.
A few minutes later the three of them were walking down the front porch steps, Sarah glumly, reluctantly bringing up the rear when a car turned into the driveway. Instead of continuing to her car, Carolyn and the two kids hurried to the one pulling up. Her husband popped the Buick’s trunk lid to allow Jimmy to stow his equipment bag while Carolyn got in the front passenger side and Sarah the backseat behind her.
“Do I have time to change?” he asked as Carolyn reached across to kiss him.
“Nope. Sorry. Should’ve gotten here sooner,” Carolyn answered.
“Hi, baby, What’s wrong?” he said to Sarah who sat with her arms crossed against her developing breasts, her chin down, obviously displeased..
“Hi Daddy,” she softly, pleasantly answered. “I hate hockey.”
“Really? I don’t remember you ever mentioning that before,” he mockingly said to her, which brought a smile to both her and Carolyn as Jimmy took the seat behind his Dad.
“Hey, Dad,” Jimmy said as he lightly patted his father on the shoulder. “How ya’ doin’?”
“Ya’ know,” he began to answer as he turned in his seat to look down the driveway while backing up the car. “I’m beginning to see Sarah’s point of view. I mean, spring hockey, summer hockey and now, fall hockey. Whatever happened to just winter hockey?”‘ he asked Carolyn.
“One word: scholarship,” Carolyn answered, a reminder that their older son, Matt, was about to begin his second season on the Gopher’s varsity team and Jimmy was a better player than his brother.
“Oh, yeah,” he said as he turned to go down the street. “Now I remember.”
The hour long, unofficial, practice session for the Donner High School hockey team was almost half over when Jimmy scored his first goal. A ripping thirty-foot slap shot that blew past the goalie so fast the puck was in the back of the net before he could lift a glove. Carolyn, a hockey mom with well over a decade of experience, was on her feet leading the cheers as if Jimmy had just won the Stanley Cup.
She resumed her seat on the bleacher board, gently poked her husband in the ribs with an elbow and said, “Your son just scored.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” he answered softly.
“Well, she said arching her eyebrows at him, “try to control yourself.”
“It’s a practice game, Carolyn.”
“Are you all right?” she asked, concern in her voice. “You seem a little preoccupied. Everything okay at work?”
“I’m sorry, babe,” he said as he looped an arm around her shoulders and gave her an affectionate kiss. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He turned to the man seated behind him, said something to him that Carolyn couldn’t hear and a moment later Carolyn saw the man hand him a cigarette. He stood up and headed toward the end of the bleachers while Carolyn watched him go, now genuinely concerned. He rarely smoked anymore and when he did, she knew him well enough to know, there was something bothering him. She sneaked an occasional glance at him through the glass doors as he smoked and paced in front of the arena.
Later, at dinner, he was more quiet than usual and the rest of the evening he was preoccupied and distant.
“Okay, buster,” she said to him as she pulled back the blankets on their bed, got in and moved over to her side. “Let’s have it. What’s wrong?” She laid on the bed propped up on her left elbow watching him prepare to join her.
He unclipped the holstered pistol from his belt and placed it and his detective’s shield on the dresser while she silently watched him, waiting for a response. He began to undress and she continued to wait, a look of concern on her face.
“Can you talk about it?” she softly asked.
“I need to see your boss,” he finally answered.
“Which one?” she asked although she was fairly certain she knew the answer.
“Marc,” he answered as he slipped off his trousers. He placed them neatly on the chair next to the closet door and removed his socks letting them drop to the floor. He leaned against the dresser, his butt on the edge clad only in his shorts, looked down at her and said, “I think I better see him. We need to talk.”
“You wanna talk about it?” she asked.
“No, hon,” he said smiling weakly at her. “I think I better see Marc first.”
“Okay,” she nodded. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow. You guys can set something up. Now, John Lucas,” she said patting the bed next to her, “get your butt in here. You look like you could use a little lovin’ and I know I sure could.”
The next morning, after Sarah and Jimmy had left for school and the two of them were about to leave for work, he handed her a sealed, plain, white envelope. “Here,” he said as he placed it in her hand, “just give this to Marc. Don’t open it. Don’t show it to anybody else. The less you know right now, the better for both of us. Okay?”
“Okay,” she answered placing the envelope in her purse.
“I’ll tell you all about it later. But, for now, just trust me. Okay?”
“Of course I trust you,” she said her eyes narrowed with concern.
“Relax,” he said as he put both arms around her and gave a hard squeeze. “I’m not in any trouble,” he continued as he kissed her.
EIGHTY
Marc tried waiting patiently for the deputy to bring Carl up from the jail so they could confer before the court session began. He smoothed his tie for the third or fourth time, looked at his watch less than a minute after he last checked it then, finally, crossed his legs, leaned back in the chair and began lightly drumming his fingers on the tabletop. After a minute or two like this he heard the doorknob click open and Carl came into the small conference room. While the deputy held the door open for him, Marc caught a glimpse at the spectator area and noted it was rapidly filling up. Full crowd again today, he thought as Carl slumped heavily into the chair across the small round table.
“Is this lyin’ sonofabitch actually gonna testify today?” Carl asked without a greeting or an attempt to hide his bitterness.
“Yeah, it looks like it,” Marc quietly replied as he sat up, folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “We talked to Prentiss and he said the problem that came up yesterday is over now so, we’ll wrap up the prosecution’s case.”
“Any more surprise witnesses gonna show up? Any more bullshit I gotta listen to besides this asshole what’s-his-name?”
“Not that I know of,” Marc said shaking his head two or three times. “You gonna be okay? You seem a little stressed today?”
“I dunno,” Carl said, his eyes darting about the small room. “I’m just sick of sittin’ there listenin’ to this shit, ya’ know.”
“We’re doing just fine, Carl. Hang in there. After today, the worst will be over then we get our shot.”
A short while later everyone in the crowded courtroom was sitting back down after Prentiss had taken his seat on the bench. Prentiss looked down at Slocum and gave him permission to call his next witness, which he promptly did. Marc and Carl both turned in their seats to watch Marty Hobbs come in from the hallway through the room’s double doors. He calmly passed through the gate in the bar, went quickly to the witness stand, was sworn in and took the seat behind the microphone. Marc had personally spoken to Hobbs on two occasions and, not surprisingly, the man seated in front of him, held little resemblance to the scruffy street hustler he remembered. He leaned forward into the microphone as he spoke and gave his name and address for the record and remembered to turn his head slightly to the left to look at and speak to the jury.
Slocum started slowly by tossing softball questions to him. Background things to relax a potentially nervous witness, develop his credibility and build rapport with the jury. Tell the jury that this witness was basically an ordinary, everyday kind of guy. Someone, essentially, just like themselves. He spent the best part of an hour with these things. school, work, family, fr
iends. He touched on Hobbs’ criminal history which, of course, there was none. Any dealings with the police? Ever been a witness in a trial before? Any personal gain in being here? All answered firmly in the negative. Slocum was smooth and very much in control. Easy to listen to and he had a natural sense for when to move things along, before the inanities became boring and the jury’s attention would begin to wane.
Marc allowed himself the luxury of a slight, unnoticed smile or two during the performance. Hobbs had been thoroughly and, at least to Marc’s trained eye, obviously well prepared. He hoped the jury would see it that way as Hobbs went through his routine of sitting up straight while the question was asked, leaning toward the microphone to answer and then shifting his gaze to the jury while speaking. Unfortunately for the defense, Slocum noticed it too and eased the effect by having the witness admit to a bout of nervousness.
Slocum made a smooth transition into the case at hand and Marc could sense, more than see, his client tense up. Carl’s composure had been a source of concern for Marc from the very beginning. He could only wonder what it must be like, how difficult it must be for an innocent man to sit in jail for months and calmly take in weeks of damning testimony and evidence, all directed at you. Designed, manufactured really, for the sole purpose of painting you as a crazed, mass murderer. This morning’s brief meeting had clearly shown Marc that the strain was starting to take its toll.
Hobbs was sitting back in the chair, becoming more relaxed, more comfortable. Marc could only guess but he figured the initial questioning may have made Hobbs a bit uncomfortable. Talking about himself and his seemingly empty life was not something Marty Hobbs liked to do, Marc believed. He testified about his knowledge of the case before he became personally involved. The news reports in the paper and on TV. The conversations he had with friends and coworkers.
Slocum moved him on to the events of the night of the last murder, the death of Alice Darwin, in Powderhorn Park. Hobbs testified he was walking down Chicago Avenue, heading towards a friend’s house when, all of a sudden, he looked up and saw a man running down the sidewalk right at him.
At this point Marc unobtrusively reached down between his and Carl’s chairs and silently opened his briefcase. He had laid it on the floor under the table between them when they had first sat down leaving the clasps undone. He slipped his right hand inside and, while continuing to watch the witness, immediately felt his cell phone, placed strategically where he would find it quickly. With a practiced touch, he ran his index finger over the buttons until he found the correct speed dial, pressed the button to send and returned his hand to his lap. Exactly thirty seconds later, he again reached into the briefcase and hung up the phone.
“And then what happened?” Slocum asked.
“Well, like I said, I was walkin’ down the street and I see this guy turn the corner up ahead and come runnin’ right at me. So, I keep walkin’, ya’ know, I mean, I didn’t think nothin’ of it at first so I kept walkin’ then, I was about three or four houses from the corner of 35th and Chicago, and right as I was goin’ past a streetlight, the guy comes up on me.”
“You were walking past a streetlight?”
“Yeah, right when he got to me. And he kinda spooked me, too.”
“Why was that, Mr. Hobbs?” Slocum asked. “Why did he spook you? Do you mean frighten you?”
“Well, yeah he did a little. Cause when he got to me, he slowed down. Stopped runnin’ and looked right at me. And his face, well, he looked wild. It was a cool night. Not hot at all and his face was all sweaty and his eyes ... well, his eyes were kinda wild lookin’, ya’ know. Wide open and starin’ right at me and he had this kinda smile on his lips. But not really a smile. More like a, I dunno, a sneer I guess.”
“Is it fair to say you got a good look at him?”
“Oh yeah,” Hobbs answered, nodding his head several times for emphasis. “Yeah, I gotta real good look at him. The light from the streetlight shined right on his face. I’ll never forget it.”
At that precise moment the courtroom door leading into the hallway opened and Maddy Rivers strolled in. She stood inside the doorway, looking over the crowded gallery, ostensibly trying to spot an open seat. There was a slight, almost imperceptible stir arising from the spectators as she stood in the aisle. Of the players, it was Steve Gondeck who noticed her first. He had glanced back over his shoulder after sensing the commotion and almost wrenched his neck when his head swiveled at the sight of her. Maddy had done up her hair and spent a half hour with makeup that morning. She was wearing four inch heels and a low cut black dress whose hemline stopped just above her knees. All very tasteful that would not have looked out of place at a symphony, an opera or a Broadway play. But, on a scale of one to ten, she looked like a twelve and in a matter of moments every eye in the courtroom, with the exception of Marc, Carl and Slocum, was no longer fixed on the witness.
“And is that man in the courtroom this morning?” Slocum asked as Maddy slowly moved toward a seat she knew would be waiting for her. Reserved by Joe Fornich in the front row directly behind Carl.
“Um, oh yeah,” Hobbs stammered his answer trying to avoid the distraction that even Prentiss could not resist. “Yeah, that’s him there,” he said pointing at Carl, remembering to look at the jury, none of whom were paying the slightest bit of attention to the witness.
Slocum, still oblivious to the distraction, said, “Let the record reflect that the witness has identified the defendant, Carl Milton Fornich, your Honor.”
There was a pause in the proceedings as Prentiss, and everyone else, continued to watch Maddy as she slipped past the three people between herself and the open chair. Finally, snapping back to his surroundings, Prentiss said, “Yes, of course, the record will so state. You may proceed um, Mr., um, Slocum...”
“Thank you, your Honor,” Slocum answered, puzzled at why the effect of the identification had not been more dramatic. “What did you do then?”
“Well,” Hobbs began with a visible gulp. He then went on with his story and for the next hour he and Slocum told the jury how he had called the police the next day and the entire sequence of events that he had gone through that led him up to today.
About halfway through Hobbs’ testimony, the part that came after Maddy’s entrance, Marc could again sense Carl tensing up. At one point he patted him lightly on the arm but Carl quickly jerked it away. After Hobbs had talked about spotting his photo and picking him out of a lineup, Carl clenched his hands together on the table and would no longer look up at the witness. Then, just as he was about to finish his direct exam, it happened. The explosion Marc had feared, counseled and repeatedly warned Carl about from the beginning.
“Goddamnit,” he roared as he slammed a fist down on the table and came out of his chair.
“Carl...,” Marc quickly said, a look of panic in his eyes as he reached for his client.
“No, goddamnit,” he snarled at Marc. “I’m sick to death of this shit,” he bellowed. “You’re a goddamn liar,” he yelled, now pointing an accusing finger at Hobbs as he began to climb up on the table while Marc stood up and grabbed at his shoulders to try to force him back in his chair. Carl turned his head to Marc, a wild, angry look in his eyes, roughly shoved him back with a push to the chest as the deputies began to move.
“You weren’t there! You didn’t see me there you lyin’ sonofabitch,” he screamed while kneeling on the tabletop. Except for the three deputies, no one moved. No one else said a word. The jurors all stared, wide-eyed, transfixed on the accused whose demeanor, until this point, had been exemplary. Slocum and Gondeck both sat quietly, Gondeck a hand lightly over his mouth. Slocum a sly smile coming to his lips. Prentiss too, was momentarily frozen. Uncertain, for the few seconds this scene played out, what to do.
But the deputies definitely knew what to do. Years of training and experience came immediately into play for the two men and one woman. They were on him like cats. All three pouncing at the exact same instant and while Carl
continued to yell and struggle, they had him face down on the table in seconds and while the woman and one of the men held him, the third wrenched his arms behind his back and, none too gently, snapped the handcuffs into place.
“Remove him from the courtroom,” Prentiss bellowed from the bench after finally snapping to. “Now! I want him out of here immediately.”
Without waiting for the judge’s order, the three deputies jerked Carl over the table and quickly half walked, half carried him toward the door to the holding area. As they dragged him across the courtroom, Carl continued to yell the same phrase, repeating it over and over. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see me…” while Marc stood frozen in place watching several months of extremely hard work being led away.
EIGHTY-ONE
Marc reached down with his left hand and scooped up another handful of pebbles. He leaned forward on the park bench, elbows on his knees, and, one-by-one, idly tossed the tiny stones into the water, the scene from the courtroom being replayed in his mind. It was like a videotape that he couldn’t shut off. In a continuous loop, the morning’s events kept going round and round in his head as if he had been a spectator, watching the show but not involved. Carl kneeling on the table, screaming and pointing at Hobbs. The deputies surrounding him, slamming him down on the table, snapping the handcuffs on then dragging him across the room and through the door. All the while Carl struggling and yelling that same hideous, ear-piercing phrase. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see me there.”
Without being aware of it, Marc must have looked at the jury to see their reaction because that image too kept replaying itself as part of the overall scene. Each of them staring at Carl, their eyes wide open, unblinking. Several of them with their mouths open in disbelief. Shock registering on all of their faces. How could they possibly not wonder how Carl would know whether Hobbs was there or not and did not see him there if Carl wasn’t there? One of them coming to this conclusion is all it would take. If one of them made that point in deliberations, just one, the rest of them would jump on it like a pack of ravenous wolves and Carl would be gone. Case closed.
(2012) The Key to Justice Page 42
