by Tim Green
Some low chuckles erupted in the courtroom, causing the judge to raise his gavel and look threateningly around before setting it quietly down.
"Detective, you've been a cop for fifteen years," Madison said sternly. "Are you going to sit there and tell me that in that time, you never heard from a convict or an ex-convict or a snitch where incriminating evidence was hidden or allegedly hidden?"
Zimmer thought of Agnes Tuttle from the morning and tried to think if Madison could come up with something solid to throw in his face. He watched her pick a piece of paper up off of her desk and study it. That made him waver, and he decided to answer her honestly.
"Most times, if someone wants to lose the weapon or a garment, they'll toss it in some lake or river, or bum it."
"But this shoe didn't get burned or make it to the river, did it?"
"No."
"Why do you think that was?" Madison asked.
"You tell me," Zimmer responded hotly.
Madison looked at Walter, who was listening as if he wanted to know as well.
"That was because whoever left that shoe under the bridge wanted it to be found," she said, gazing over at the jury to make sure they followed her.
"Objection your honor!" Rawlins crowed. "Who is testifying here? Counsel or the witness?"
"Sustained," the judge said. "Counsel, please limit your cross-examination to questioning the witness. You will have the opportunity to digress in your closing statement."
"How far was that shoe from the river's edge when you found it?" Madison asked urgently.
"About... ten feet."
"Couldn't whoever put it there simply have tossed it into the river?" she said.
"I don't know," Zimmer responded.
"You could have thrown it into the river, couldn't you?"
"Yes."
"And I certainly could have, couldn't I?"
"Probably."
"And it's a fact, isn't it, that a man of Cody Grey's strength and athletic ability could have thrown that shoe into about the middle of that river, where it would never be found? Isn't that true?"
"I guess he could have, I really don't know."
"But he didn't?"
"No."
"Do you really expect this jury to believe," Madison said incredulously, "that Cody Grey was clever enough to commit this crime, take the incriminating evidence to the river to dispose of it, and then when he is ten feet from the water's edge, he decides to simply leave it there, right next to a jogging trail?"
"Objectionl" Rawlins bellowed. "Counsel is badgering the witness!"
"Sustained," Judge Connack growled. "That will be enough of that, Ms. McCall. The witness has answered your question."
"I have only one further question, your honor," she said innocently. "Detective, in how many of your fifteen years of experience, and over a hundred murder investigations, have you had an anonymous caller phone in to the police station from a pay phone and disclose the location of a blood- soaked garment that was the key piece of evidence in a murder trial?"
Zimmer looked to the judge and Rawlins for help, then shrugged and said, "I don't really remember."
"Would it surprise you if I said you don't remember because such an event is very rare?"
"No, it wouldn't surprise me," Zimmer said, "but unusual things happen in cases from time to time."
"Would it surprise you," Madison said harshly, "if I said that never, and I mean never, has something so outrageously and obviously fabricated happened not only in one of your murder cases, but in any murder investigation in this city over the past fifteen years?"
"No," Zimmer said. He just wanted to get down.
When the trial adjourned for the day, Ben Cherrit crossed the space between the defense and prosecution tables and handed Madison several pieces of paper clipped together. He said nothing. He simply stuck them in her hands and walked away hurriedly.
"What the hell is that all about?" Marty said, looking over her shoulder as she was reading.
"Sons-of-bitches," she murmured under her breath. Then she looked up and said to Marty, "Cherrit just served me with a notice that Yusef Williams has yet to formally waive his right to a speedy trial, and that if he doesn't do so by tomorrow, Cherrit will move to begin the trial by the end of the week."
"What's it mean?" Marty said.
"It means that they're trying to do everything they can to pester me to get my mind off my cross of Hauffler tomorrow," she told him. "I have to somehow get Yusef here in this court tomorrow, or Cherrit is within his rights to force the trial, and 1 need more time."
"Why didn't you do it already?" Marty asked.
"Normally it's not a big deal," she told him. "But normally the D. A. isn't trying every trick in the book to win a murder case that he guaranteed to the voters one week before an election."
"What are you going to do?" Marty said.
"I'll have to deal with it," she told him with a disgusted face.
Then she turned to her client and said, "Cody, I'll see you tomorrow morning. Get some rest. 1 want you to take the next two nights off so you look fresh for the jury. Nothing looks more guilty than a defendant with bags under his eyes. We'll go over your testimony on Wednesday night. If things keep moving this quickly, you'll be on the stand some time Thursday. I'm saving you for last. I think together we can leave the jury with a good feeling about you, which I can slam home during the closing argument."
"Do you think we're doing good?" Cody said.
"Yes," she told him patiently, "as good as we can do. Don't worry. Go with Marty and get some rest. I'm going to talk with Walter about this other case and get it off my mind. I'll see you tomorrow."
The judge was out of his robe when she arrived in his chambers. He wore a pair of pale-yellow paisley suspenders that she imagined were big enough to hold up a building.
"Fine job, today, my dear," Walter said, his voice taking on a mellow quality that hadn't been audible all day long.
"Thank you," she said, handing him the notice given to her by Cherrit.
"What's this?" he said, putting on his reading glasses to see. "I'll be damned. I wondered what this was about. Ben put this across my desk three weeks ago, but I haven't even thought about it since. So Cherrit sprung it on you?"
"I'd say more like Van Rawlins sprung it on me," she said disgustedly. 'This isn't a Cherrit maneuver."
"All right," Walter said. "Let's not get hot about it. Let's just diffuse it. The boy has to be present for this, so I'll call the jail and have him brought here first thing in the morning. You can waive the right to a speedy trial with him at eight-forty-five and still have time to start the Grey trial at nine, on time. Fifteen minutes for us both, and a ride across the county for him. No big deal, eh?"
Madison smiled warmly at the judge.
'Thank you, Walter."
Van Rawlins went directly from the courtroom to his offices. Even though it was only four-thirty, Jenny Grey was already there waiting for him. Kooch explained to his boss in the hallway outside the office that he thought it was prudent to bring her himself, to prevent her from having an opportunity to change her mind and bring a lawyer in on the whole thing.
"I found her at her country club. She really wanted to make a call," Kooch whispered, "but I said I thought it would be best if no phone calls were made until the two of you spoke. She's acting pretty cool, but on the other hand, she got what I meant and came right down here without any fuss at all."
"She's a real piece, huh?" Van said with a lurid smile.
"Damn straight," Kooch said. "I can see why Cody Grey is punching guys out all over the place. She's a number that'd be hard to walk by without taking a shot."
"All right," Van said, "come on. 1 want you to hear this."
Jenny remained sitting as Van Rawlins entered his office and sat down behind his desk. Jenny looked over her shoulder with a glance at Kooch before turning to meet the D. A.'s eyes.
"So, here I am," she said coolly.
; "Yes," Van said, unable to keep from admiring how seductively beautiful she was in her short linen skirt and flimsy silk blouse. "Thank you for coming."
"1 wasn't really given a choice, was I, Mr. Rawlins?" she said, gracefully crossing her long legs and giving him even more to look at. "No, 1 guess you weren't," he said, trying not to stare. "So, you already know from my very presence that I do not want you to pursue whatever it is you know about my problem with the IRS. What is it you want from me?" she asked, arching an eyebrow. "I want you to testify tomorrow." She thought for a moment before asking, "Why?"
"Because we all already know that if you testify to what you already told the police, your husband's alibi will be shot to hell. I think he's going down anyway, but there are some questions being raised about the possibility of another party being involved in framing your husband. I think if the jury knew what you know, that he has no alibi, it would pretty much kill that conspiracy theory. His attorney already told the jury in her opening statement that your husband returned home immediately after leaving the bar on the night of the murder. But we both know that's not what happened."
"And you need me to willingly testify against my husband?" she said. Van nodded and said, "Quite frankly, Mrs. Grey, and I have reason to believe you don't care much anyway, but whether you testify or not, in all likelihood that jury is going to send your husband away for the rest of his life, however long that might be. So, as far as your marriage, if there is one left, it won't be much good to you if he's in jail or on death row. You're going to need all the resources you can get your hands on without your husband in the picture, and I can't imagine you'd want me bringing up whatever it is about this bank account to the IRS when apparently the only other person who knows what it's really all about is already dead."
'You're not suggesting that I had anything to do with all this, are you, Mr. Rawlins?" Jenny said to him calmly.
"No, that's not what I'm suggesting," Rawlins said evenly. "But I am suggesting that your financial troubles may reemerge if I have to continue to dig for evidence in this case. With your testimony, I can't imagine why I'd look any further."
Jenny sat for several minutes coolly looking over the D. A. "When?" she said finally.
'Tomorrow," he told her. "First thing in the morning, nine o'clock."
Jenny nodded her head and stood to leave.
'Then I'll see you in the morning."
"There are some things you should know," Van said to her before she reached the door.
"What are those?" she asked impatiently.
"When you go on that stand, Madison McCall is going to try to tear you apart. I know things aren't going that well with you and your husband. I don't care. But if you've been seeing other men, or if you've spoken with your husband about a divorce, she'll ask you about all that."
Jenny seemed unconcerned, but she said imperiously, "And I have to answer those questions?"
Van nodded.
Jenny tilted her head down, then looked up and said, "So what are you telling me to do?"
"I think," Van said, "that if you simply tell the truth about your past behavior, no matter how embarrassing it might be, that the whole thing will be over a lot quicker. I'll also do a redirect to rehabilitate you if she tears you down too bad, and you'll get the last laugh."
Van knew he'd just put a whole new spin on things, but he also knew that he had her. He had Jenny Grey where he wanted her, and she would do as she was told.
"All right," she said, then turned and walked out the door. When she was gone. Van and Kooch celebrated with an enthusiastic handshake.
"Call CNN, Kooch," Rawlins said, "we're going national...."
"Damn," Striker said. He was sitting with Jenny in his living room. They were sharing a bottle of red wine and waiting for the food Striker had ordered in from a nearby Italian restaurant.
"You'll have to do it," he said. She had just recounted for him her conversation with Van Rawlins.
"I know," she replied.
Then, after a slight hesitation she said, "I want you to come with me."
Striker looked at her as if she was crazy. Then he laughed with a series of low guttural grunts.
"I think you've had too much wine,- I'm not going with you."
"Why not?" Jenny asked, her eyes blazing.
"Why?" Striker said, amused. "1 told you, our meetings must be on a random casual basis, nothing more than serves the recreational copulation of two adulterers."
"1 want you there, Striker," she said firmly, as if it were no longer a request.
There was a knock at the door. It was their food. Striker paid the boy and tipped him generously before taking the boxes into the kitchen where he put the food onto china plates. Jenny went into the dining room, bringing the bottle of wine with her. Vivaldi filled the room at a low volume. The high window at the end of the room was covered with long, elegant white and gold drapes. The table was long enough for ten people. Jenny sat down, listening to the beautiful music in silence and waiting for Striker to bring their dinner. He came in backward through the swinging door that led to the kitchen with the plates on his arms. He put them on the table and then sat down, snapping his napkin deftly before placing it in his lap. He began to eat without a word.
"This is excellent, would you like to try some?" he said after several minutes. "Oh? You're not eating."
"I want you there," Jenny said, taking a sip from her wineglass and looking directly at him. She had pulled her hair back and was wearing a low-cut, dark blue cotton dress. Her large blue eyes looked even larger than usual. "I don't think it would be inappropriate at all. We have been lovers for months now. I am in a crisis situation. I need your emotional support. I think it looks very normal. Your CIA people might even think you're partly human...." Striker looked at her incredulously.
"Emotional support?" he said, setting down his fork. "You sound like a therapist."
Jenny continued to look right at him. As she did, her eyes began to brim with tears. She blinked and one rolled down her cheek. "I love you," she said, reaching her hand out across the table.
Striker took her hand in his and said quietly, "I love you too."
"I need you there. It's hard to explain, but what I'm going to do to him is... I know I'm leaving him, but we've been through a lot, not all good, but some good. It's been a long time. I can walk away, but to do this ... I just want you there. Please ..."
Striker considered her appeal. He had never seen her so emotional. He needed her to be sharp for her meeting with the general. Striker knew he would be calling any day now. He needed her resolve to be firm. He wanted to make sure she pushed that button, the one that would leave the general and the money in a trillion unidentifiable pieces all over Route 16.
"I'll compromise," Striker said, after thinking. "I won't go in with you, Jenny. It would be foolish--" He held up his hand when she opened her mouth to protest. "Let me finish. I'll take you to the courthouse. I'll drop you off in the back. You can go in there. I'm certainly not walking up those steps with you with all those cameras on us. I've made too many exceptions already with you, lenny. I'll be there for you when you come out. But I'm not going in."
Jenny gave up with a sigh. She knew she was lucky just to get Striker to take her.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Madison drove herself to the courthouse. She got there by eight because she wanted some time to talk to Yusef Williams. Even though she wasn't getting paid to defend him, she wanted him to know that she was on top of his case and that she hadn't forgotten him. She could only imagine the horror of being sixteen years old and in jail with the prospect of the death penalty looming. She knew Yusef wasn't a model citizen, but she didn't think anybody who'd had his kind of life could be. She was allowed to see him in a private conference room adjacent to the holding cells in the courtroom. The room had no windows, and the table and two chairs were simple pieces of scratched and battered oak. Still, it was the most dignified setting she'd seen him in to date. Except
for his bright orange jumper with a number stenciled across the chest, the meeting could have been nothing more than a high-school student with his guidance counselor plotting his future.
"Have you thought about what I said about getting back into high school after the trial?" Madison asked him.
Yusef nodded. He still had a hard time looking at her, or anyone.
"I been going to the classes they give in jail," he said quietly, stealing a glance to see how she took that information.
Madison smiled broadly at him.
"That's wonderful, Yusef," she said. Then sternly she reminded him, "Because, you know, if we can get you out of here, it's only the beginning. I want you to remember that. If you don't get through high school and some kind of training or college, you'll end up right back here, I promise you.
"And I don't do two free trials in the same lifetime," she added lightly.
This brought a smile to the boy's face, and he looked at her sheepishly and mumbled something incoherent.
"I'm sorry, Yusef," she said, "what did you say?"
"Said, thanks," he grunted.
Madison knew from the torment on his face that it took a lot for him to say that. He probably had never thanked anyone for anything in his life. He'd probably never had cause to.
"You're welcome, Yusef," she said. "You really are.
"All right," Madison said, back to business, "here's where we are. You know already that I've got the bullet, and it matches the wound in Ramon's ear, we've been through all that. You know I've got a detective working on trying to find out more about the man in black. He's got nothing so far, but he'll keep working. If the man in black is out there, maybe he'll appear in the neighborhood again somewhere. If a tall, thin white man with dark hair walks into the neighborhood, he's going to stand out, so let's keep our fingers crossed. Also, the detective has taken the list you gave me of the friends and family of your ... your ... the two other boys who were with you. He's going to go to each one of them and try to see if they know of someone matching that description. We're really doing everything we can think of.
