The Indictments

by William Eleazer

  The recording session the previous evening with the seven Ivy Leaguers—the “fillers”—had been planned carefully and had gone smoothly. Each had been given the script to read over several times so that they would be comfortable with the text and not appear to be reading. This voice ID lineup had been planned with equal care. Majewski had listened to the cassette with Harrison’s testimony and picked five fillers whose voices most closely matched the tempo and characteristics of Harrison’s. These five cassettes would be used in the mix with Harrison’s cassette, and they would employ a double-blind testing technique.

  Nell Rose, an experienced detective and head of the Metro Police Financial Crimes Unit, would be conducting the ID. She did not know which cassette contained the voice of John Harrison and would be the only officer in the room during the ID. Majewski had consulted with a sound expert, who had recommended the speakers that would produce the most natural voice sounds from the cassettes. The six cassettes were randomly placed in a small box. Each witness would take them out, one at a time. Scott and Detective Majewski would remain outside the room, listening and observing through a one-way glass. Only they knew that John Harrison’s trial testimony was cassette number five.

  Daniel Voss was the first witness to listen to the cassettes. “Mr. Voss, I’m Nell Rose, I’m a detective with the Metro Police Department. Other than playing the tapes, I have no connection with this case. We want you to identify any voice that you believe is the voice of the robber you heard at Toussaint’s. There are six tapes. It’s possible that two or three contain the voice, or all, or maybe none. I don’t know—my job is to just play the tapes and record your response.”

  She paused a moment, then asked, “Do you have any questions?”

  Voss shook his head.

  “Then we’ll begin. And don’t feel that you must make an identification—this investigation will continue regardless. Please take one of the cassettes.”

  He removed a cassette, number three, and Rose played it.

  “Is that the voice of the robber?” asked Rose.

  “I can’t … I don’t really know. I only heard a couple words, and he was shouting.”

  Rose noted his response and asked him to choose another cassette. It was cassette number two, and his response was the same. The ID process continued in the same manner and Voss’s response was essentially the same for each cassette including number five.

  “That’s what I expected from Voss,” said Majewski. “Neither he nor his wife saw or heard much. It happened so quickly, and as he said, he only heard a few words.”

  Mrs. Voss was next. Rose repeated the instructions, and Mrs. Voss listened to each tape. Her answers were similar to her husband’s. She just couldn’t say—she heard only a few words, and the robber’s voice was not calm, as in these tapes. “I just don’t know,” she repeated after each tape.

  The next witness was Mildred Thompson. She was escorted into the room by Eddy, who took a seat beside her. Again Rose explained the procedure, and Mildred started with tape two. She lowered her head and listened.

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  Then tape four and the same response. Her third pick was tape five. Her head was down initially as she listened, then suddenly she raised her head and spoke, even before the tape ended.

  “I believe that’s him. Yes.” When the tape ended she added, “I can’t be certain, but yes, I think that may be the robber.”

  Detective Rose made some notes, and the remaining cassettes were played. After each she said, “Doesn’t sound like him.”

  As she gave her response to the last tape, Majewski turned to Scott. “Good,” he said, “but I wish she could have been a bit more positive.”

  “That’s probably as good as we should expect, John. The voice on the tape was someone testifying in a trial. The robber was speaking with a command-style voice, yelling at times, making an ID really tough. The important thing is she got it right.”

  Donaway was next. Samarkos entered the room with him and took the seat at his side. Rose began to explain the procedure but was quickly interrupted.

  “I know what’s going on,” Donaway said. “Just play the tapes—I’ll recognize his voice.”

  “Sir, I just want to remind you—his voice may or may not be on any of the cassettes.” Rose pointed to the box of tapes. “Just pick one and we’ll begin.”

  “You just pick one. Cut to the chase—get on with it.”

  “Troy, she has a procedure she needs to follow,” Samarkos said. “It’s to be a random selection by you. Just reach in, and hand her one cassette.”

  “OK, OK. Big deal.”

  Donaway did as his attorney directed, pulling out cassette number six.

  “Nah, not the robber. Not a chance.”

  The second selection was tape number one. It drew a similar response, but the third cassette was tape number five.

  “That’s it, that’s the son of a bitch,” Donaway said. “I knew I’d recognize that voice.”

  “Sir, how sure are you?”

  “One hundred frickin’ percent. I do this all day. On my show, callers are limited to one call-in a week. Some of them try to sneak in another, and sometimes they get by my screener. But they don’t get by me. I catch ’em every time. I hear a voice once, I’ve got it. I’ve got the ears and the brains for it. That’s the guy at Toussaint’s. No question.”

  Rose asked Donaway to initial the tape, then made some notes and asked Donaway to pick another cassette.

  “What? Pick another one? I just picked the guy. You don’t need me to pick another one.”

  Samarkos intervened again. “It’s a necessary part of the procedure, Troy. Just do it.”

  Donaway grimaced but complied. The remaining tapes were played and quickly dismissed.

  When it was over, Majewski looked at Scott. “That smart-ass is my hero, but don’t ever let him know I said so. With his attitude, he may be a disaster on a witness stand, but right now he’s the best we’ve got.”

  “He’ll be difficult, but you’re right, he’s our best witness—and our ‘best witness’ is about to be a convicted felon. I wish you guys could have just overlooked that silencer.”

  “Yeah, wish we hadn’t found it, but we did and we—rather you—will just have to deal with it. Have you talked to the DA about a plea offer?”

  “No, but I talked to Moose. He was going to speak with the DA, but I haven’t heard. Right now we just need to focus on John Harrison.”

  “Yes, and with the evidence this afternoon—Thompson’s ID and especially Donaway’s ID—and the evidence of Harrison’s purchase of a pistol that fires the same rounds fired at Toussaint’s, we’ve got our probable cause to arrest him. Agree?”

  “I agree. But we should get both an arrest warrant and a search warrant before you go to pick him up. Since he’ll likely be found at Alexia Dimitris’s place on Tybee Island, we’ll need a warrant to search her house both for Harrison and for the pistol he purchased. Need to include her car and his car on the warrant—and any other vehicles on the premises—and all the out buildings.” Scott paused. “Do you want any help with the warrants?”

  Majewski smiled. “I’ve done a few in my twenty-seven years in law enforcement. But if you want to check my work, hang around.”

  “Sorry—no offense,” Scott said, “I have no doubt you’re up to it. I just want you to know I’m willing to share the load on those warrants. When do you expect to serve them?”

  “As soon as I can get them signed and get a team together. We’ll be going out in force, and I want some experienced officers on this. Don’t want a chance of a screw-up—this is going to make a big splash. And of course, I want to run it by the chief. I don’t want him to find out about it in the morning paper.”

  “Right. I’m going back to the office now to brief Moose. I’m sure he’ll inform the DA. Don’t want him to find out about it in the morning paper either. Give me a call on my cell when the eagle has landed.”

 
; CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Scott was home when he answered his cell phone and heard Majewski’s voice on the other end. “The eagle has landed.”

  “How did it go?”

  “The arrest? Easy. The search? Not so good. I’m still at the house. Can’t find the damn pistol, and Alexia Dimitris is going berserk. She keeps screaming, ‘There’s nothing here, nothing here.’ We may have to arrest her to keep her from interfering with the search, but I’m beginning to think she’s right. He could have put the pistol anywhere. But it’s not in his car—we searched everywhere but the gas tank.”

  “Where is Harrison now?”

  “Cuffed and on his way for booking.”

  “Well, that’s good news,” Scott said. “Thanks—and thanks for the update. Call me when you find the gun.”

  “If we find it.”

  At last Scott had something he could share. He placed the call immediately. It was payback time for his most reliable news source.

  “Bill, where are you now?”

  “Sitting at the bar at Churchill’s—working of course.”

  “Well, pay your tab and get down to the jail, now. They’re booking Alexia Dimitris’s house guest. But you didn’t get this tip from me, understand?”

  “I do indeed, and I’m on my way. Thanks.” The phone went dead.

  Scott looked at his watch. It was 7:30 p.m. He was anxious to tell Jennifer about the day’s events. He called her cell phone. She answered but kept her voice very low.

  “Where are you?”

  “Sitting in a carrel at Savannah Law, finishing a paper that’s due Friday.”

  “How long will you be there?”

  “Not long, I’m about finished. Why?”

  “Can you meet me at the Library?”

  “Of course. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  ****

  Scott found the Library Bar and Grill quiet, with only a few customers seated at the tables and none at the bar. Juri was standing behind the bar, carefully polishing wine glasses, when Scott entered.

  “Where’ve you been? Haven’t seen you in a while,” Juri said, as Scott took a seat at the bar.

  “Juri, some of us have to work to pay the outrageous prices you charge for your watered-down beer.”

  “Only lawyers complain. Which reminds me of a story. Want to hear it?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “No. This man going through a divorce walks into a bar. He’s just come from a meeting with his wife’s lawyer, and he’s really pissed. The bartender gives him a drink and asks what the problem is. He responds loudly, ‘All lawyers are assholes!’ A man sitting in the corner shouts, ‘I take offense to that!’ The angry guy asks him, ‘Why? Are you a lawyer?’ And the guy replies, ‘No, I’m an asshole.’”

  The joke was older than he was, but Scott laughed in spite of himself. “Why do I come here, knowing my profession is going to be insulted every time?”

  “You’ve got a point, Scott. I may need to quit telling lawyer jokes. You know the problem with lawyer jokes?”

  “No, what?”

  “Lawyers don’t think they’re funny, and no one else thinks they’re jokes.”

  “Will you stop it? Get me a beer—and hold the water.”

  Juri walked to the end of the bar, filled a cold mug with draft beer and, with a single motion he had perfected through years of practice, slid the beer twenty feet. A perfect shot—it came to rest immediately in front of Scott.

  “If the Braves had your arm, Juri, they would’ve made the playoffs this year.”

  “Man, don’t bring up such painful memories. It still hurts.”

  Juri looked toward the front entry and saw Jennifer walking towards them.

  “I see a beautiful blond heading our way,” he said. “Must be time for a blond joke.”

  Scott turned her way as Jennifer arrived. He pulled out the stool next to him, and Jennifer settled in.

  “Get Jennifer whatever she wants and no blond jokes, OK?”

  “Sure, but I do have a question for her. Did you hear about the two silk worms that had a race?”

  “No.”

  “They ended up in a tie.” Jennifer laughed, which was just the encouragement Juri needed to continue. “But I’ve got some news—no joke. You know that nudist colony out on Tybee Island?”

  “No, I didn’t know there was a nudist colony out there,” Jennifer said.

  “It’s a new one. They put a tall wooden wall around it, but someone bored a hole. The police are looking into it.” They all laughed, and, as usual, Juri’s laughter was the heartiest.

  “Juri, this is fun, but we need some private time.”

  Scott reached for Jennifer’s hand and led her to an empty table in a far corner. He told her about the results of the voice ID lineup, the search warrant, the arrest, and the phone call from Majewski.

  “So what happens next?” Jennifer asked.

  “Harrison will hire a lawyer, who’ll file a hundred motions, and we’ll keep searching for new evidence and take this case to trial sometime next year.”

  “And if you don’t discover new evidence?”

  “We’ll still take it to trial. But I expect some breaks. Majewski has a good team on it. He’ll eventually find the pistol, and now that he has a particular individual to concentrate on, he’ll come up with more. But I must admit, right now it’s a pretty weak case.”

  “Who do you think he’ll hire?”

  “I don’t know. If he’s wise, he’ll get Jeff Brown or Harlow Stern. Samarkos is taken. But who knows? He may even bring in Max. After all, Max is the reason he traded an eight-by-ten cell for a Tybee Island beach house.” Scott smiled at Jennifer. “Enough about John Harrison. What’s going on with you?”

  “Friday’s the last day of classes, then four reading days, and exams start Wednesday. It’s pretty rushed this week in all the classes—professors trying to make up lost time. Last night’s seminar was interesting. Jessica showed me her Advanced Research Project. She was very proud of it.”

  “She’s finished?”

  “Yes, and it’s well over a hundred pages—it looked very impressive.”

  “Do you recall the subject?”

  “Something about retroactive federal tax and stock options, I think. It wasn’t something I’m very interested in, but for some reason she seemed to think you would be. She told me to make sure I told you. Had she discussed it with you?”

  Scott thought for a brief moment that he should tell Jennifer all about their “discussions” but just as quickly decided: bad idea. He really wanted to forget that encounter.

  “We discussed it briefly,” Scott said. “I really don’t know anything about the subject either.”

  “She said Moose Mosley served as her advisor and signed off on it Tuesday morning. She seemed really relieved. And I guess she should be. That’s a big project. I’m still trying to come up with my subject. But it certainly won’t involve federal tax.”

  The whole scheme flashed through Scott’s mind. Friends with benefits.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  November 29, 2007

  Thursday morning’s paper reported the arrest on the front page with photos of Harrison and the home of Alexia Dimitris.

  Police Make Arrest in Toussaint’s

  Restaurant Robbery and Murder Case

  John Harrison, son of former Senator

  David Harrison, arrested on Tybee Island

  By Bill Baldwin, Times senior staff writer

  The facts in the lengthy two column article were essentially correct, even though the reporter noted that the investigative report had not been released. A detailed summary of the shooting at Toussaint’s was followed by a report that Harrison had purchased a pistol of the type used in the murder, just a few days before the robbery. The article noted that the robber, whose face was concealed by a ski mask, had been identified via “voice identification.” The reader was left to ponder just what that meant and how the identification
was made. The article claimed that this was based on information provided by an anonymous source close to the investigation. The report noted that the defendant had been jailed without bond. Several parties with a special interest in the case were quoted congratulating the Metro Police for their efforts in solving the case, including the mayor, and Toussaint’s owner, Carl Brewster. Walter Clarke, president of the Savannah Restaurant Association, said this was “the best news in months,” as the unsolved restaurant murder was having a negative impact on all Savannah restaurants.

  Midmorning, Scott received a call from Moose. The DA wanted a report on the case as soon as possible. Was he available? Scott said he was, and the two of them reported to the DA’s office, where Scott gave a detailed report.

  “Excellent work, Scott. I’m very pleased,” the DA said. He was a tall, trim man in his mid-fifties, with a full head of wavy silver hair. Although well-known for his forceful voice in a courtroom, in his office he spoke softly. He got up from his chair and walked around his desk to shake Scott’s hand. “Please relay my congratulations to Detective Majewski. And let me know if you need help with anything. Sometimes I’m able to expedite matters.”

  “Well, I do have one question,” Scott said.

  “Good, what is it?”

  “My first contact with this case was the night of the murder, because I was the duty DA and was called to the scene. Afterwards, Moose gave me the case. I believe I’ve taken care of it pretty well, and I want to keep it. I’m aware that it is, and will continue to be, a high profile case, with perhaps some political considerations. I’m also aware that I’m new, and there are many felony prosecutors with much more experience. So, I’d like to know if you are contemplating assigning it to another assistant DA.”

  “A fair question. And it is something I’m considering.”

  “Well, I would welcome an experienced prosecutor on the case—to assist me and not the other way around. I request that I not be made second chair in this case. I would like to take it to trial as lead counsel.”