“In a hotel; I’d rather not say where.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m being protected by the FBI, because I am a witness in a case the federal government is prosecuting,” he says.
“What kind of case?”
“It involves diamond smuggling, and murder.”
“And the FBI feels your life might be in danger, perhaps from those you are testifying against?”
“That’s exactly right,” he says.
“Are you frightened?”
He nods. “Let’s say I’m concerned. I’m not used to knowing that there are people who would prefer I were dead, and who are willing and able to make that happen.”
I’ve opened in this manner both to demonstrate that there are dangerous people involved, but also to emphasize Turner’s being an important federal witness. If the Feds trust him enough to base their case on him, then my feeling is the jury will trust him as well.
“Did you ever meet Gerald Downey?” I ask.
“I did not.”
“Ever heard of him before he was murdered?”
He nods. “Yes. A number of times.”
“How did you come to hear of him?”
“He was involved in a diamond smuggling operation run by my boss at the time, Alan Divac.”
“What was Mr. Downey’s role, if you know?”
“He was a low-level operative, not a significant strategist. His importance came in a particular contact he had,” Turner says.
“Who would that be?”
“He knew a customs official at Port Newark who looked the other way when the illegal diamonds came into the country. His name was Gino Parelli.”
“Do you see Mr. Parelli in the courtroom today?” I ask.
“No, he was murdered himself not long ago.”
“Are you aware of anything that Mr. Downey did to anger his bosses in the smuggling operation?” I ask.
Turner nods. “Yes. He became involved with Eric Brantley, who was setting himself up as a competitor to Alan Divac.”
“And Mr. Divac is a man who does not take kindly to competition and competitors?” I ask.
“That would be the understatement of the year.”
“Where is Mr. Divac now?’
“In jail, awaiting trial,” Turner says.
Dylan’s first question on cross-examination is, “Mr. Turner, do you have any evidence that anyone other than the defendant murdered Mr. Downey?”
“No,” Turner says. “Nor do I have any evidence that the defendant did it.”
“I’ve got an idea,” says Dylan. “Why don’t you answer only the questions that I ask you, and then we can move this along. Okay?”
“Fine.”
“Did you ever hear anyone threaten Mr. Downey?”
“No.”
“Ever hear anyone say they were going to slit his throat?”
“No.”
“Now you say that Mr. Downey was in a smuggling partnership with Eric Brantley?” Dylan asks.
“I didn’t describe it as a partnership. I said he was involved with him.”
“Did you ever meet Mr. Brantley?”
“No,” Turner says.
“Ever see him with Mr. Downey?”
“No.”
“Ever hear them discuss their partnership? Pardon me, their ‘involvement’?”
“No.”
“Is there anything that you’ve testified to today that you didn’t hear secondhand?”
“I saw or heard almost all of Mr. Divac’s dealings.”
“And yet you never heard him order the murder of Mr. Downey?” Dylan asks.
“No, I did not.”
“Thank you. No further questions.”
I think Turner was an effective witness, and an intelligent, fair-minded juror should at least entertain the notion that Downey died as a result of what his diamond smuggling bosses considered his betrayal.
On the other hand, an intelligent fair-minded juror would have trouble getting past the fact that Tommy threatened to slit Downey’s throat, just before he got his throat slit … by a knife buried in Tommy’s backyard.
Turner leaves the stand and comes over and sits down near the defense table. When Judge Klingman adjourns the court session, Turner comes over and says, “Is there a room back there that I can wait in for a while? There are media people out front, and I want to avoid them.”
“Sure,” I say. “Follow me.” I lead him to an anteroom in the back, the one where I meet with clients. “I’m sure you can stay in here until the media clear out.”
He smiles. “Thanks. I’m not a big fan of crowds these days.”
“I can understand it.”
I leave him in the room. I have no doubt that he couldn’t care less about the media, and instead is going to go out the back way to get away from his government protectors.
I just hope Marcus is following him.
Thirty-one strangers, entering this area of Maine, are an unusual occurrence, to say the least. That is why they separated into twos and threes, and most of them did not quite go all the way to Ashby. They were being extra careful, as the risk was not great. No one was going to see a few strangers and call in the Marines, yet that’s pretty much what it would take to derail their operation.
The plan had been set in stone for a very long time. Four men of their group would go out in a twenty-five-foot motorboat which had already been rented. They would meet the boat carrying the arms, and board it.
The crew of that boat would leave in the second boat they had brought with them, and the four men would bring their cargo to shore. As they were doing it, the remaining twenty-seven members of their group would enter Ashby.
Once the arms reached shore, in a secluded area, most of the men would be there to help unload the arms and make them operable. Then, in rapid succession, they would blow up both the bridge separating Ashby from the mainland, the small police department, and the town hall.
Their force would be overwhelming, and most of the townspeople who did not go into hiding would be rounded up as hostages. Anyone who resisted would be killed.
The insurgents would declare the town to be in their control, and negotiations with the American government would begin. Those negotiations would go nowhere, and eventually force would be used to recapture the island.
During the course of that operation, every one of the insurgents and every inhabitant of the city would die.
In death there would be victory.
“Where the hell is Paul Turner?” asks Agent Hernandez. He was waiting for me in my office when I got back from court, along with a guy he introduced as Agent Phil Brooks of the FBI. Brooks has so far not said a word, but his facial expression is such that I’ve got a feeling I’m not going to like whatever he has to say, whenever he says it.
“How the hell should I know?” is my response. “Why don’t you ask the agents who are protecting him?”
“They said he went with you into a room in the back of the courtroom, and they never saw him again.”
“They sound like really good protectors. I have no idea where he is. He said he wanted somewhere to sit until the media people cleared out, so I showed him where he could sit.” So far everything I’ve said is true, including not knowing where he is. I haven’t heard a thing from Marcus yet.
“Don’t screw around with us, Carpenter. This is too important.”
“I’m telling you the truth,” I say. “Whether or not you believe me is not something that’s going to keep me up nights. And by the way, why would I want to hide Paul Turner from you?”
Hernandez looks at Brooks, in a gesture that seems like he is turning me over to him. Brooks nods and speaks for the first time.
“Carpenter, you may be telling the truth and have no idea where Turner is. But if you do know, and you don’t tell us, you will go away for a long time; I will see to that. Are you familiar with the phrase, ‘You’re going down hard’?”
“Sure, I’ve heard it; that
’s an easy one,” I say. “I love word games. My turn, my turn. Are you familiar with the phrase, ‘Get the hell out of my office’?”
Agent Brooks looks like he is going to kill me, but opts against it, probably because it would involve too much paperwork. Instead he gives me his card, threatens me again, and leaves.
He has certainly left me with a lot to think about, and I head home to do it.
I have a quick dinner with Laurie and Ricky, then retreat to the den to figure out my next steps in a number of areas. Just as I’m settling in, the phone rings and Laurie gets it. A couple of minutes later, she comes into the den.
“That was Marcus,” she says. “Turner is in a house in Alpine; he appears to be alone. I have the address.”
“Good.”
“Should Marcus keep on him?”
“Absolutely.”
One thing I am thankful for, and that is the fact that today is Friday. I have big decisions to make regarding our case; in fact, it’s the biggest decision of all. I have to decide whether or not Tommy Infante will testify in his own defense.
He wants to; he’s said so on at least three occasions, and I certainly don’t blame him. If I were facing these charges, and I were innocent, I’d want to get in the jurors’ faces and scream it at them. The idea of possibly being convicted without speaking out in his own defense is an awful one to him.
But Tommy has also made it clear that I am in charge, and that he will go along with whatever decision I make. The temptation to let him testify is great, but the potential downside is enormous.
Under cross-examination, or maybe on direct, Tommy would have to explain why he threatened Downey in that bar. He couldn’t take refuge in the nonpayment of his share of the jewelry robbery, because there was no such robbery. Dylan would nail him on it, and Tommy would have perjured himself.
To tell the truth, that Healy paid him to do it, is even worse. It would align Tommy with the diamond smugglers, and make him one of their group. Our entire case has been based on getting the jurors to believe that the killers came from that ring; if Tommy admits to being a part of their operation, in whatever capacity, it turns our case on its head.
Even though court does not reconvene until Monday, I have to make the decision quickly. If Tommy is going to testify, I’ll need to spend most of the weekend with him, going over his testimony. If not, then I’ll need to get my closing statement ready.
It’s hard for me to focus on the issue, because my mind, which has a mind of its own, wants to ponder the visit from Agents Hernandez and Brooks today after court.
After Laurie puts Ricky to bed, I ask her to come in so we can talk about it. I describe the conversation, and ask her what she makes of it.
“The interesting thing to me is that the FBI now seems to be in charge,” she says.
I nod. “I was thinking the same thing. It’s a customs case that gets destroyed if Turner doesn’t return to testify against Divac. But the FBI guy, Brooks, seemed more anxious than Hernandez.”
“Which means that more than the customs case is at stake,” she says.
“They’re worried about something way bigger than the case; I just don’t know what it is. But it fits in with Cindy having told me that lives are at stake.”
“Are you going to tell them where Turner is?”
“I might, if I could figure out why having Turner in their protection saves any lives other than his. Until then, I think I’ll hang on to that hole card.”
“Is that a poker phrase?” she asks. “I didn’t know you play poker.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, babe. You’re just scratching the surface.”
“Maybe I should stop scratching.”
“The defense rests,” I say, when Judge Klingman asks if we have any more witnesses.
Dylan looks surprised; he probably spent the entire weekend preparing to cross-examine Tommy. The courteous thing would have been to tell him my plans, but since it was Dylan, I never considered doing so.
But to his credit, he is always prepared, and when Judge Klingman asks if he is ready to deliver his closing statement, he doesn’t hesitate.
“Ladies and gentlemen, first of all I want to thank you for your service. It is not easy for you to do what you have done here, but it is necessary for the preservation of our justice system, and indeed our democracy, and no one can say you have not come through.
“When we first convened here, I told you that this was basically a straightforward case, and that is just as true today. Mr. Carpenter has regaled you with stories about the bad people Mr. Downey associated with, but has not offered the slightest shred of evidence that any of them took Mr. Downey’s life.
“Sometimes, actually quite frequently, we find that murder victims have associated with less than completely honorable people. But the only dishonorable person you need to concern yourself with is the one who committed the murder, and that is Thomas Infante.
“When Judge Klingman discussed your responsibilities, he certainly did not instruct you to check your common sense at the door. And if you follow that common sense, then here is all you need to know:
“In a fit of rage, Thomas Infante told Gerald Downey he was going to kill him. He told him how he was going to kill him. He told him why he was going to kill him.
“And that’s exactly what he did.
“It’s rare that a killer, from his own mouth, provides us with the motive and the method. But Mr. Infante went a step further: he provided us with the murder weapon, by burying it in his backyard.
“Don’t make this more complicated than it is. Don’t let all this talk about international smuggling rings, and sinister cloak-and-dagger figures, distract you from what remains a very simple case.
“Thomas Infante brutally murdered Gerald Downey, and you must hold him responsible for his actions. Simple as that.”
Dylan has done a very effective job of presenting his case; right now if I was on the jury I’d probably vote to convict. And if I don’t effectively blunt his message, that is exactly what these jurors are going to do.
“Gerald Downey did not deserve to die, and he certainly did not deserve to die the way he did” is how I start. “I think everyone in this courtroom can agree on that. I know you must want to punish someone for it, and so do I. It’s a natural reaction.
“But that is not your job. Your job is to determine whether or not Thomas Infante is the one who should be punished. And if you say he is, and you’re wrong, then it only makes things worse, much worse.
“If you have a reasonable doubt as to Thomas Infante’s guilt, then you have to trust the system. You have to trust that the real killer will be found, and that citizens just like you will make the correct judgment about that person. That’s all you can do; it’s all anyone asks you to do.
“You’ve been bombarded with facts; I don’t envy you having to sort through them. I’d like to focus on one area right now, if I may. You’ve heard witnesses, people in a position to know, tell you that Gerald Downey was involved in a diamond smuggling ring.
“Paul Turner, the lead witness in a federal prosecution of the leader of that ring, laid it out for you chapter and verse. He told you Downey’s role in the operation, in detail.
“But even more importantly, he described the fate of other members of that ring, and what he said wasn’t opinion, it was fact. Eric Brantley was killed … that’s a fact. Michael Caruso was killed … that’s a fact. Professor Charles Horowitz was killed … that’s a fact. Gino Parelli was killed … that’s a fact. And the list goes on.
“No one is claiming, not Mr. Campbell, not the FBI, no one, that Thomas Infante killed any of those people. He has the best alibi one could ever have; he was in jail awaiting trial.
But somebody murdered them, and Mr. Turner has told you that they died as a result of their smuggling activities. The same smuggling activities that Gerald Downey was a part of.”
I stop for a moment, as a realization sinks in. It is stran
ge how the mind works, and I would imagine that mine is stranger than most. Things hit me at the weirdest times; I just can’t control it. This is certainly not the most opportune time, when I’m in the middle of addressing the jury, and it leaves me so stunned that I lose my train of thought.
It is not easy, but I recover and continue. “With so many people suffering the same fate at the hands of the same people, can you actually say that Gerald Downey did not do so as well? Can you say that, beyond a reasonable doubt? I would submit that you cannot.
“Thomas Infante is guilty: he is guilty of acting stupidly, and setting himself up as a patsy. Threatening Gerald Downey in the way he did made him a perfect candidate to be set up, and that is what happened.
“No, Gerald Downey did not deserve to die. And Thomas Infante does not deserve to go to prison. It is too late to right that first wrong, but not the second. That is in your hands. Thank you.”
I sit down next to Tommy, who whispers “thank you” to me. I think I did pretty well, but right now it’s one of the furthest things from my mind. All I want is for Judge Klingman to read his charge to the jury and let me get to a telephone.
It takes almost forty-five minutes for court to be finally adjourned, and the jury sent off to begin their deliberations. It’s among the forty-five longest minutes I can ever remember.
I go back to the anteroom, the same one I left Paul Turner in that day. I’m alone, so I take out my cell phone and dial FBI Agent Brooks, reading his phone number off the card he gave me.
He answers the phone on the third ring, and I say, “Agent Brooks, this is Andy Carpenter.”
“I’m listening,” he says.
“Good, because I’m talking, and you are a son of a bitch.”
“That’s what you called to tell me?”
“That’s part of it,” I say. “The other part is this: from this point on, from this very moment, we are playing by my rules.”
The house in Alpine where Paul Turner is staying is in a heavily wooded area. It’s a log-cabin style, but not the kind Abe Lincoln was born in. It’s the kind that Abe Lincoln would have been born in if his father had owned a hedge fund.
Who Let the Dog Out? Page 20
