“Yes, I have it here, right in front of me.”
“You’re in the office?”
“Yes. I’ll be working here for a couple more hours. I have a trial in the morning.”
“Yes, I know. I’m going to observe.”
“Good. It’s a DUI—the guy blew a point-one-eight, but he’s pleading not guilty. He’ll try to get the breathalyzer results thrown out, so you’ll get to see how that’s handled. Maybe I’ll get to read through your notebook tonight, but if not, surely before Friday. You’ll be in Friday, right?”
“Yes, in the afternoon.”
“Good. We’ll go over it then. Stop by midafternoon. I’ll be here.”
“Thanks,” said Jessica, and she hung up.
Scott went back to work on his cases. And he had a phone call to make. He checked the UC Berkeley website and found the number for Dr. Rebecca Morgan. He expected to get voice mail, but she answered in person.
“Dr. Morgan, this is Scott Marino. I’m an assistant DA in Savannah, Georgia. I was involved in the John Harrison case, for which you were listed as a witness.”
Dr. Morgan interrupted. “Which case?”
“John Harrison, tried here in Savannah earlier this week.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“Max Gordon informed us that you were to be an expert witness in the case.”
“Max Gordon? I haven’t spoken to Mr. Gordon in several years. I did testify in a case he was handling in Los Angeles several years ago. That was the last personal contact I’ve had with him.”
“I apologize for bothering you, Dr. Morgan. But thanks for taking my call.”
Scott hung up, but he had the information he needed—and expected. Max Gordon never planned to call Dr. Morgan or any other witnesses. He knew there would be no need for a defense case, and informing Nick that he would be calling a Dr. Morgan as an expert in eyewitness identification was just another ruse. Criminal defense counsel stacking the witness list with names of witnesses they have no intent to call, to mislead and redirect the prosecution is an old defense artifice, but this is the first time Scott had seen an expert witness included. And it was just one additional clue that Max Gordon knew what the state’s witnesses would say. He made a note in his “Post Harrison” file and returned to his trial preparation.
Just after eight, he heard a light knock on his door. Expecting it to be the office cleaning service, he called, “Come on in.” The door opened. It was not the cleaning service. His visitor stood in the doorway wearing tight black slacks and an aquamarine blouse that perfectly matched the color of her eyes.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
She was smiling broadly.
“Well hi, Jessica. Come in.”
“Thanks.” Jessica walked to the chair closest to Scott’s desk, then moved it even closer and sat down.
Scott sat up fully in his high back chair. Jessica’s smile was inviting, but to what, Scott was uncertain. A hint of the perfume he remembered from his recent visit to her apartment made its way across the desk. Everything about his student was intriguing—and appealing—to his senses. Yet, there was a look in her eyes that contradicted the smile. He wondered if she was concerned about her next trial, and he regretted not taking a better look at her notebook.
“Is there something wrong, Jessica?”
“No, not yet.”
“Not yet?”
“I mean you can help. I need your help.”
“Of course. What specifically? Your Tuesday trial?”
“No, I’m fine with that. At least I think I am. What I need is help with my Advanced Research Project.”
Advanced Research Project? Scott wanted to say, Are you serious? You drove here tonight to get help with your Advanced Research Project? Scott was familiar with the requirement. All students at Savannah Law must complete a comprehensive research paper after their first year and prior to their final semester, under the supervision of a faculty member. It was a project that swallowed big chunks of precious time for every student and could be root-canal painful, especially when supervised by one of the well-known faculty bullies. Most students get an early start and take two or three semesters to finish, doing much of the research during summers away from law school, but this was the first time Scott had heard Jessica mention her research project.
“How can I help?”
“I want you to be my supervisor.”
Scott was puzzled. “Who is your supervisor now?”
“I don’t have one. I haven’t started.”
A deep frown appeared on Scott’s face. “You haven’t started? Why, Jessica?” Scott said with obvious concern. To not even start the project until the senior year was unheard of. The Advanced Research Project, or ARP as it was called, was one of the key educational components of a Savannah College of Law degree. It was often a talking point at job interviews and displayed prominently on graduates’ resumes.
“I don’t really know. I guess I thought I could do it next semester, after I complete clinic.”
“But you know it must be completed before your final semester. You signed a form during freshman orientation acknowledging all graduation requirements.” Scott hoped this did not come off as scolding, but of course it did.
“I know that now. I was a transfer student and didn’t go to freshman orientation. Sharon Simms, Dean of Academic Affairs, called me in yesterday because I had not registered my project as required. That’s when she told me this was the last semester for me to complete it.” Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes.
“Have you chosen a subject?”
“Yes—I had to give Dean Simms the title. It’s here on my ARP application form. All you have to do is sign it.”
She handed Scott a form that contained the ARP title and a signature line at the bottom for the supervising faculty member’s signature.
Scott read the title: “Retroactive Federal Tax Consequences after Fraudulent Executive Stock Options.” He placed the form on his desk.
“Jessica, I know nothing about this subject. Besides, an ARP must be supervised by a full-time faculty member.”
“I spoke with Dean Simms about that. I asked if I could have an adjunct supervise the project. She said that they rarely made exceptions to that rule, but because I was a transfer student who had not signed the form, she would allow an exception in my case, as long as the adjunct had knowledge of the subject. I checked with Professor Layton, and he assured me that clinic supervising attorneys were considered adjuncts. So, if you agree, you can be my supervisor on the project.”
“But Jessica, I don’t have knowledge of the subject. I know little about federal taxes, much less about retroactive taxes, and nothing about executive stock options. You need to see Professor Gershon. He’s the tax expert.”
“Scott, please … let me explain.” Jessica took a deep breath. “This is really, really important to me. It won’t take any of your time, and you won’t really have to be involved, except for signing off on it. I’ll be working with a senior at the University of Miami Law School—a good friend. He’s a former CPA and is completing a similar project at the University of Miami. He’s allowing me to piggyback. You may find this a bit irregular, but it’s done all the time. I really need this favor.” She wiped her eyes and tried to smile.
“Jessica, I really can’t do this.”
“You have to understand, Scott. I graduate next May—or don’t graduate, if you don’t help. It’s that important, and I need you. And I promise, just help me. I’ll do anything for you. Do you understand? Anything.”
Scott wasn’t sure he understood, but he was afraid he did. He remained silent, looking across the desk at his troubled intern.
“Scott, we could be very good friends—really good friends.” Jessica smiled broadly. Scott could not tell if it was forced, but it appeared sincere.
“We are friends, Jessica. And you are also my intern, and I want to help you. But I can’t be part of the program you are suggesting. You are an
intelligent student, capable of completing the ARP in a subject of your choosing. I know most of the faculty, and I can help in getting someone to supervise your research. It’s late, yes, but you can do it. You have until the start of the next semester in January. That’s almost four months.”
Jessica got up and walked toward Scott’s desk, leaning back on the desk just inches from where he was sitting. She looked straight into his eyes and said, “I’m taking a very heavy load this semester, Scott, and this project is almost complete. Right now it’s 119 pages and about 274 footnotes. My partner knows the subject, and his research is solid. I can show you a copy next week. Now why don’t you just relax about this? It’s not a big thing to you, but it is to me. Do it for me, Scott. I promise, there will be benefits.”
Scott turned casually toward Jessica, observing her exquisite beauty and inhaling the luxurious aroma of that perfume. A minute passed, but he did not respond.
Jessica began toying with the top button of her blouse. Soon it was undone, her fingers pressing on the second button. “Scott, I’m not really bad, but I’m not a saint, either. This could be a win-win for us both. We seem to get along well. I enjoyed curing your headache in my apartment. Remember? Now let’s just be friends—with benefits. I’ve proved I’m good at keeping secrets, haven’t I?”
Jessica picked up the ARP form from the desk top. “Scott, please sign this and then let’s celebrate at my apartment when you finish here tonight. I’ll pick up some Chinese food. And some beer … and provide anything else you may want.” Jessica smiled broadly. “Anything.”
“Let me make a quick phone call first,” said Scott.
“Sure,” said Jessica as she moved away from the desk. Scott reached for his phone and dialed.
“Rafael, are you busy right now?” Scott said when he heard someone pick up on the other end. Jessica returned to her seat on the other side of the desk.
Scott spoke again. “Yes, my office.” There was a slight pause, then, “Right away.”
Jessica watched as Scott picked up the ARP form once more and examined it. He read the title aloud, slowly, as if he were studying the meaning of each word. Then he picked up a pen from his desk. Jessica rose from her chair so she could observe the signing. Just then the office door opened, and Rafael, a night security guard entered.
“Rafael, my intern was just leaving. It’s rather late—would you please see that she gets out of the building safely.”
“Sure, Mr. Marino.”
Scott walked around the desk and handed the unsigned form to Jessica. “Let me know, Jessica, if I can help you find someone to sign on as supervisor. But I would suggest you choose another topic.”
Jessica ignored the paper and gave Scott an icy stare, which he returned with a smile. Rafael held the door for Jessica, then the two walked down the corridor to the elevator.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
September 20, 2007
Thursday’s trial had gone about as well as Scott had hoped when the judge recessed for lunch. The breathalyzer evidence was challenged but admitted, and Scott had only one more witness yet to testify. The defense was expected to have a single witness—the defendant—so the case should be going to the jury by midafternoon. There had been only a handful of spectators, and Jessica was not among them.
Scott saw that he had a phone message as soon as he entered his office. It was from Nick.
“I know you are in trial, but if you have a chance, stop by my office today. I have a brief matter to discuss. Thanks.”
Scott walked down the hall to Nick’s office. The door was open, and Nick was seated at his desk. Scott knocked lightly to get his attention.
Nick waved him in and walked toward the door. “Thanks for coming, Scott. Have a seat.” Nick motioned to two chairs directly in front of his desk and then closed the door. Nick took a seat in the chair next to Scott.
“How’s the trial going?”
“Good. I expect to wrap it all up this afternoon.” Scott made his answer short, as he was fairly sure he had not been called into Nick’s office for a DUI trial update. Something else was up. Scott had noticed when Nick carefully closed the office door and took a seat next to him, rather than behind his desk.
“I got a call from Will Draper this morning. Professor Layton asked him if we would consider reassigning your intern—Jessica, I believe is her name—to some other supervising attorney. She claims a personal conflict has arisen. I told Will you should be consulted before any reassignment was made.”
That explains where she was this morning, thought Scott. So, we have a personal conflict. I wonder what else she told Layton.
“Personal conflict? What kind of personal conflict?” asked Scott.
“Will says all Layton got out of her was she has some deep-down feeling you just don’t like her or trust her. That surprised me—I recall you told me last week that you were impressed.”
Scott considered just how much he should tell Nick about Jessica’s visit the previous evening. Did he want to get into a “she-said, he-said” confrontation? It was true that he didn’t trust her—and never would. She didn’t belong in a prosecutor’s office. Or anywhere in the legal profession. Her plan for satisfying the requirements of the Advanced Research Project was a serious ethical breach, as was the personal price she was willing to pay for his participation. But neither had been, nor would be, accomplished. And if he made the accusation, he had no proof except his own word. He paused, searching for an appropriate response.
“I was impressed. She handled her first trial quite well, and I told her so. Right now, Nick, she has a lot on her plate and is under significant pressure. She has a very big research project to complete this semester and a full load of classes. Rather than reassigning her, I would suggest that she drop clinic.”
“That wasn’t part of the request. The request was for another supervising attorney.”
“You, Will, and Layton could do that without my consent. You called me in here, as you termed it, ‘for consultation.’ Consider that my advice.” Scott was sure that his response would be received as a bit insolent, but he didn’t care. His suggestion would be good for the office, as well as for Jessica.
“I’ll relay your suggestion, but I expect she will be reassigned.”
“To whom? She has a jury trial coming up next Tuesday.”
“I don’t know. I’ll let you know when I do.”
****
The jury in Scott’s trial came in with its verdict shortly after 5:00 p.m. Only forty-five minutes of deliberation before the guilty verdict. When Scott returned to his office he had another message from Nick.
“I’ll be here until six. See me today or first thing in the morning.” Scott went immediately to Nick’s office.
“I got a call from Will this afternoon. Your intern has been reassigned. Apparently she didn’t want to take your advice to drop clinic.” Nick chuckled to himself. “She said she came to law school hoping to become a prosecutor someday. Don’t they all?”
“Who’s she been assigned to?”
“Moose. Will couldn’t find any of his assistants free for her next Tuesday, and I couldn’t either, except for Moose. Since he didn’t have a case load and the grand jury wasn’t in session, he volunteered.”
“Permanent assignment?”
“I suppose so, but that will be up to Moose.”
Scott smiled. She didn’t get along with him—so they assigned her to Moose. He was a bit miffed at the way this transfer had gone down, but it was a done deal, so he decided to change the subject.
“Nick, I had an interesting phone conversation yesterday. Just a bit more proof that the Harrison trial was fixed from the get-go.” Scott briefed Nick on the phone conversation with Professor Morgan.
“I’m glad you checked. More assurance we’re on the right track. I’ll feed that information to the GBI.”
“The GBI’s handling the investigation?”
“Yes. The DA called them in. I got a call from the
agent assigned to the case today. Carl DeBickero. I’ve worked a number of cases with him. He’s good.”
Scott recognized the name. “Yes, in fact I’ve met him. He handled the Nolan death investigation last year. Smart guy.”
“I gave him your name as principal office contact. You’ll be hearing from him soon. He said he would call you early next week.”
Scott was pleased to hear the GBI was now on the perjury case, but his mind kept wandering back to Nick’s news of the reassignment. Moose … hasn’t tried a case in a dozen years but the smartest lawyer in the office … has replaced him as Jessica’s supervisor… should he be pleased or insulted?… Moose and Jessica…Miami Beach cool and south Georgia jock … this would be interesting.
Scott got up to leave. “I’m going to see if I can find Moose now. I have Jessica’s trial notebook and some clinic papers he’ll need.”
“Yeah, sure,” said Nick. “Keep me posted on the investigation. I don’t expect a quick break—Gordon has a clever team, but with this many crooks, one of ’em will eventually make a mistake, and Carl will nail him.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Scott walked down the hall and around the corner to Moose’s office. The windowless solid wood door gave no clue if Moose was in. Scott knocked and barely heard the invitation to come in.
As he opened the door, he surveyed the converted storage room that served as Moose’s office. It looked the same as it appeared during his first visit. Blinds on the single window were drawn tight, and the odor of the room reminded Scott of the stodgy, mold-laden furniture warehouse he worked in one summer in Tuscaloosa. Not a picture, photo, plaque, or other decoration anywhere in his office. The walls were bare, but the floor was covered with case files and books—some open, some closed, all askew, as if there had recently been a desperate search for a treasure map. Lying on top of a stack of books in a corner was a tarnished, brass tenor saxophone. Against one wall was a homemade bookcase—concrete blocks and wood planks similar to one Scott had when he was in undergraduate school. Only this one was bigger, much bigger, stretching from one wall to the other and at least six feet high. Piled on top of the planks were hundreds of law books, including what appeared to be a complete set of West’s Georgia Cases 2d, which reports the decisions of Georgia courts back to 1936. West’s Supreme Court Reporter, containing the decisions of the United States Supreme Court since 1882, occupied one end. On the other end were various treatises on criminal law, evidence, and court procedure. Why anyone would maintain such a private library in this age of rapid electronic research—research available and free to any assistant district attorney—was unfathomable to Scott.
The Indictments Page 11
