“Mr. Blackburn, I went to work for the governor after I returned from active duty. When I took the job, I thought it would be a temporary position, something to fill my time until I went back to school. I discovered that I really enjoyed the work and revised my plans. Then the army changed my plans for me.
After I was discharged from the service I was happy to return to the governor’s office. I guess the governor reached the conclusion that I was an effective advocate for my neighbors. He knew that a State Representative position is a part time job. So yes, he was instrumental in my election and in my getting a job. I am grateful for his support.”
I noticed that two of the members of the jury straightened up when I made a reference to my military service. I figured they must be veterans.
“Yes Mr. Green, I’m sure the members of the jury are well aware that you’re some kind of a hero.” Blackburn said derisively.
The two veterans shot the prosecutor a look of disapproval.
“Mr. Blackburn, I’m no hero, and I never claimed to be one. But I was proud to serve with my unit. I consider all the men and women I served with to be my heroes.”
I noticed one of the veterans wipe a tear from his cheek. Blackburn must have noticed it as well.
“Why don’t we take a brief recess,” he said.
CHAPTER FIFTY TWO
A Waste of Time
The Judge reconvened the Grand Jury session. “Mr. Green, during your service at the Governor’s Office, did you have occasion to meet with State Senator Cingalia?” Blackburn finally got to the real line of inquiry.
“Yes Mr. Blackburn; although most of my contacts were with his staff.”
“Did you have occasion to meet with the senator alone, that is no staff just the two of you?”
“There were a few occasions that I can recall.”
“Why would you meet with the senator without his staff present?”
I shrugged. “I never asked for a private meeting with him. It just happened.”
Blackburn turned to the jury and with his back to me and asked, “Did any of these private meetings that just happened involve matters that the governor asked you to discuss with Mr. Cinaglia?”
“There was one that I can recall.”
“And did that one meeting that you can recall, did that take place in the senator’s private residence?”
“Yes.”
Blackburn turned again to the jury and asked, “Isn’t that unusual?”
“Isn’t what unusual?” I responded to Blackburn’s back.
“Mr. Green, isn’t it unusual to meet with the senator at his home at the governor’s request?”
“Mr. Blackburn, the meeting at the senator’s home only happened on one occasion, so it could appear to be unusual. However, I did not ask for a meeting at the senator’s home at the governor’s request, the meeting just turned out to be there.”
“Oh, I see. It just happened that way. Is that it?” Blackburn smiled at the jury.
I waited for the next question.
“Did you know that Earl Samson, the governor’s chief of staff met with the senator at the senator’s home at the request of the governor on numerous occasions?”
“No.”
Blackburn looked at me and turned to the jury, as if to convey surprise.
I waited.
“Are you testifying that you had no knowledge whatsoever of such meetings?”
“That’s correct.”
“OK. What was the purpose of your meeting at the senator’s home that the governor asked you to arrange?”
“The governor did not ask me to arrange a meeting at the senator’s home. He asked me to meet with the senator to discuss a problem the senator’s neighbors had raised concerning a zoning exception the senator had requested for his residence.”
“Did you see the application?”
“I don’t recall seeing that particular application. There had been a number of variances the senator sought in connection with the renovations he had been doing on his property.”
Blackburn again acted as if he were surprised. I wondered if the jury was growing tired of this routine.
“Let me get this straight Mr. Green. The governor asked you to meet privately with the senator about problems concerning a zoning variance application?”
“Mr. Blackburn, the governor did not ask me to meet privately with the senator, he asked me to meet with the senator about the zoning variance, it just happened to be a private meeting.”
“Did you know the FBI had the senator under surveillance when you met with him that day?”
“The senator told me he believed that the authorities were watching him.”
“Watching him?”
I nodded. “Yes, that’s what he told me. He said something about the Comcast truck that was parked across the street from his home as somehow being able to hear his conversations in his home.”
“The senator told you this. Did you believe him?”
“No. I thought he had been watching too much TV. I thought he was paranoid.”
“Then why did you continue your conversation with him in the cellar of his home. A location that was obviously impossible for the FBI to penetrate.”
“Mr. Blackburn, are you suggesting that the FBI was able to listen in on the senator’s conversations from a truck parked across the street from his home?”
“Mr. Green, I’m not suggesting anything.”
“Well then, Mr. Blackburn my following the senator to the basement of his home had nothing whatsoever to do with trying to avoid or impede the FBI which I had no idea was actually eavesdropping on our conversation.”
“So why did you go to his cellar?”
“He wanted to show me his gun.”
I watched as Blackburn smirked. God the answer sounded so lame, I could only imagine what the jurors would think. But it was the truth after all.
“Mr. Green, when you were in the cellar with the senator, did he mention a Mr. White?”
“No.”
“Did the senator ever mention a Mr. White to you at any other time?”
“No.”
“Do you know a Mr. White?”
I looked at Blackburn and shook my head, “No.”
The remainder of his examination was unremarkable. I reviewed my testimony with Joel Solomon as soon as I was dismissed.
“Joel, it seems like a waste of time to me. I mean, he didn’t ask me if I took any money from Cinaglia and gave it to the governor, or anything like that. And this is really strange-he asked me if the senator mentioned a Mr. White to me. What the hell is that all about? I mean the only Mr. White I know was a character in “Reservoir Dogs” you know the movie with the gangsters who used colors for their mob hit names, Mr. Pink and Mr. Blue.”
“Well Mr. Green, it’s not worth worrying about for now. Let it lie. We’ve got to get back to Harrisburg and finish the Wallander trial tomorrow. Hey, you all right?”
I nodded.
“OK. I figure the District Attorney is going to rest his case, so it’s show time for us,” Solomon said. Ever the litigator, he was already focused on the task that lay ahead. I envied his ability to allow nothing to effect his focus.
“You’ll start with the bartender, then the valet. You’ll give the jury plenty to think about. It’s called reasonable doubt. The DA has the burden to prove his case beyond a reasonable doubt.”
Solomon smiled as he pulled up in front of my building.
“Bernie, relax have a nice evening with your family. You’ll see everything is gonna work out.”
CHAPTER FIFTY THREE
Toto the Wonder Dog
“Do you mind taking Toto out while I help Bobby get ready for bed?” Nicky asked as she handed me the leash and a plastic bag.
Like the dog, I had been easily housebroken and enjoyed the dog walking ritual. Toto was a chick magnet and attracted the college girls and young women who hung out at Rittenhouse Square on summer evenings. I liked the attention even t
hough I had absolutely no interest in any other women.
I waved at Sam the Doorman as I stepped out onto the sidewalk. A wind from the south had put a chill in the air and I could smell the dampness of the approaching storm. “We’d better make this a quick one,” I said and patted the dog. Toto looked up at me as if she understood.
As we crossed Rittenhouse Street to enter the park, I noticed a beat up Ford Taurus that had been idling in the ‘Tow-Away’ zone slowly pull away from the curb and drive towards me. I gave the car no further thought as Toto and I made our way to the grass. Toto growled. “What’s wrong girl?” I bent down to pet the dog. At that instant I felt the bullets pass over me and heard them ricochet off the granite post at the entrance to the park.
“What the hell…” Another burst of rounds whizzed by as I dived for the ground. I dropped the leash and Toto ran off. I turned back to the Ford Taurus and watched as the shooter got out of the car and walk towards me. He was less than fifty yards away. There was no cover. As the shooter approached I could see him smile. The irony of my situation raced through my mind. I had survived two tours of duty in Iraq and I was about to be shot to death in Rittenhouse Square!
I reached back on the ground behind me desperately trying to find something - anything to use to distract my assailant. My fingers jammed into the sharp point of a rock. Without taking my eyes off the shooter, I clawed at the ground to get a better grip on the rock If the shooter got close enough maybe I could at the very least divert him. It seemed like everything was moving in slow motion. The shooter was twenty five yards away I locked eyes with him. Twenty yards, fifteen. I felt a drop of perspiration run down the back of my neck. Ten yards, I tensed ready to throw the rock. As I was about to roll to my left, Toto jumped at the shooter knocking him to the ground at the moment he pulled the trigger. I jumped up and threw the rock. It struck the shooter on his forehead.
I pounced on him as he laid there momentarily stunned. Toto barked and snarled at the prone figure. I grabbed the man by his collar and smashed his head into the sidewalk. The gun dropped from the shooter’s hand as he lost consciousness.
I could hear the sirens approaching. Someone must have called the police. Now it seemed as if everything was moving at double time.
I heard a moan and then saw a man sitting on the bench to the right of the entrance to the square holding his arm. I could see the blood running down the man’s arm.
Two police cruisers pulled up nearly hitting the Ford Taurus. A young female police officer jumped out of the cruiser closest to me. She had her Glock aimed at me.
“Get up and place your hands behind your head!” She shouted as she approached.
Another police officer got out of the other cruiser and walked over to the shooter who was still unconscious. The policeman kicked the gun further away and knelt down to feel for a pulse. Toto continued to bark. “Quiet girl, it’s OK,” I said.
“What the hell happened here?” The second police officer asked.
“That man there tried to kill me. He wounded the man on the bench. You better call for the EMT,” I replied.
“Who the hell are you?” The female police officer asked, her Glock was still pointed at me.
“I’m Bernard Green. State Representative Bernard Green. I’ll show you my ID if it’s OK.”
She nodded and I dropped my hands and reached for my wallet. I showed the officer my State Representative credentials.
“Mr. Green, are you all right?” Sam the doorman asked as he approached. “Stand back,” the female Police officer said as she waved him away.
“Officer, I’m the one who called 911. I saw the whole thing. That man fired a gun at Mr. Green!” Sam yelled at the Police woman.
“Sam, I’m OK. It will be all right, the Police will figure it all out,” I said. “Do me a favor, please call Nicky and let her know what happened and that I’m OK.”
“Sure thing.”
“Stop! Don’t go anywhere. We’ll need to take your statement.” The police officer said.
Within minutes at least five squad cars sirens blaring and panic bars flashing were parked at odd angles on the sidewalk. A crowd of several dozen or so gathered on the sidewalk across the street from the park. I could see several news vans double parked some on the curb and driveway in front of my apartment building. I searched the crowd for Nicky. A black Crown Vic pulled up. I watched as a detective climbed out and approached me. He was an older man graying at the temples; he was tall, over six feet tall and wide. He looked like he could have been an NFL lineman in his younger days.
“Are you Representative Green?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Izzy Ichowitz,” he said as he extended his hand.
My hand disappeared in the detective’s.
“I understand that man,” he pointed over at the shooter who was being attended to by the EMT, “tried to shoot you. Can you tell me about it?”
I described the entire incident from my first notice of the car pulling away from the curb. The Detective listened and looked at the different locations I pointed out during my narrative.
“Mr. Green, you’re a very lucky man. And that’s some smart dog you have there.” He said as he patted Toto. “Do you have any idea why that man tried to kill you?”
I stared back at the detective. “I’ve never seen that man before. Can I go to my apartment and talk to my wife. Let her know I’m all right?”
“Sure. We can talk about this later.” If it’s OK with you, one of my officers will go with you and make sure that you and your family are safe.”
Later that night as we lay in bed I listened as Nicky slept. I was frightened for the first time in my life. I had faced enemy fire and survived but now I was worried that something I did had put my wife and our daughter in harm’s way.
CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR
No Random Drive By
“LT, you all right?” Bob Gronski was the first of what would likely be several calls since word of the incident had been broadcast by the local media.
“I’m fine. Thanks for calling.”
“From what I heard on KYW this morning this was no random drive by. There’s got to be something more to this.” Gronski continued. “I spoke with Izzy Ichowitz, the Detective assigned to the case. Bernie, he’s a good guy. You can trust him. You need to let him know everything you can think of that could possibly explain why someone tried to kill you.”
I was struck by the concern in his voice. Bob Gronski only referred to me by my first name when there was mortal danger.
“Bernie?”
“OK Bob. I promise I’ll talk to the detective and share everything I can think of.”
“Good.”
“I’m worried about Nicky and Bobby. I’m concerned that whoever is behind this will…”
“I got that covered. There will be Police Officer from the District watching them around the clock. Give Izzy a call.”
“Detective Ichowitz, Bob Gronski told me you’re one hell of policeman.”
“Bob’s good people; he said a lot of nice things about you and your family too. And please call me Izzy.”
“OK, Izzy. Bob said I should tell you anything I can think of that might shed light on the shooting. Before I do, can you let me know what you found out about the man who shot at me?”
“The shooter, Roberto Sanchez, is here illegally. He has no local connections as far as we can determine. The car he was driving was reported stolen from Little Rock, Arkansas last month. Sanchez has no prior arrests or warrants in the states. According to the federal police in Mexico he was involved with drug trafficking in Tijuana. Nothing major; very low level stuff.”
“Sanchez refused to be interviewed. He asked for his ‘Advocate’ so we terminated the questioning. Mr. Green.”
“Bernie,” I interrupted.
Ichowitz continued, “Bernie, do you have any idea why a low level Mexican drug trafficker would drive up from Arkansas and try to kill you?”
�
��No.”
“Any ideas at all about who might be behind this?”
I told the detective about Robert Worthington and the Dunlap Group’s connection to the juvenile detention mess and the failed honey trap Worthington had set up.
“This woman Samantha Binnager, you haven’t seen her or had any contact with her for the past several weeks, is that right?”
“That’s correct.”
“OK, we’ll try to get a lead on her. In the meantime, if she tries to contact you, call me immediately. While you’re out of town, we’ll have the police watching your family.”
“By the way, I got a call from Major Miller from the Attorney General’s office. Do you know him?”
“He’s my father-in-law.”
“Oh.”
“What did he tell you?” I asked the detective.
“Let’s just say he’s not one of your supporters.”
“You got that right.”
CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE
Under The Influence
“The defense calls Marvin Maxwell.”
The baliff swore the witness in. Maxwell was a thin man, in his mid forties. His hair line was beginning to recede. He had kind eyes and smiled at the jurors as he waited for the questioning to begin
I approached the lectern.
“Good morning Mr. Maxwell. Would you please tell the jury where you work?”
“I’m a bartender at the Hideaway.”
I nodded. “And how long have you worked as bartender at the Hideaway?
Maxwell’s eyes looked up to the right as he thought for a moment.
“Let’s see. On and off, I’d say I’ve bartended there for about seven years or so.”
I asked Maxwell about the Hideaway’s operation. I walked him through the private parties that a variety of organizations had scheduled throughout his tenure.
“Mr. Maxwell on the night in question, the NRA had a private party at the Hideaway, is that correct?”
“Yes sir. They took over the whole place. It was quite an affair.”
“And, Mr. Maxwell, this wasn’t the first private party the NRA booked at the Hideaway, was it?”
The Pa-la-ti-'shan Page 23
