“No sir, I’d say the NRA was probably the Hideaway’s biggest client. They were good for at least four or five shindigs a year. And in election years, they probably doubled that.”
“Did you bartend on those occasions?”
“Yes sir, as many as I can. The NRA pays a very generous gratuity. And most of the guests tip too. I hate to miss an NRA party.” He nodded his head as he answered.
“At these NRA parties, do you see some of the same guests?”
“Uh-huh. I mean yes sir,” Maxwell provided the correct response, having been admonished by the judge for the less formal responses earlier in his testimony. The witness smiled at the judge, apparently not wanting to incur his wrath.
“In fact, I’ve had the privilege of serving his Honor, at several of the NRA’s affairs,” the bartender looked up at the judge and smiled again.
The judge blushed.
“Aside from his honor, there are a lot of elected officials who regularly attend aren’t there?”
“Sure. Just about every member of the House and Senate, and a lot of judges, attend the NRA parties,” he nodded and once again smiled at the judge.”
“Putting aside the elected officials, are there other people who regularly attend these functions?”
“Uh-huh…I mean yes sir.”
“Can you tell the jury about the other regular attendees?”
“Well, there are the folks from the NRA of course. And then there are a lot of other people too.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Maxwell looked momentarily stricken. His eyes looked up to the right as he tried to formulate his answer.
“Well, I’d guess you say there are some young women, and young men too, who attend to, shall I say, liven-up the evening for the guests.”
“How exactly do they liven-up the parties?”
“Well,” Maxwell paused again. “Geez, I mean they just do.”
“OK, let’s move on to the night in question.” I said.
I could see that both the witness and the judge looked relieved as I changed the course of the direct examination.
“Mr. Maxwell, do you remember seeing my client Representative Wallander at the Hideaway that night?”
“Yes I do.”
“By the way, Representative Wallander, he wasn’t one of the regulars at the NRA parties was he?”
“No sir. I saw him at a few parties, but I wouldn’t refer to him as one of the regulars. Not like the judge.” Maxwell looked up at the judge who stared daggers at the witness.
“OK, so do you remember anything in particular that Representative Wallander did that night?”.
“Yes sir. It was around 11:30 or so and Mr. Wallander came to my bar and asked me for a cup of coffee.”
“What’s unusual about that?”
“Well it’s what happened after that’s unusual.”
“OK. Why don’t you tell the jury what happened.”
“Well two of the young ladies that usually attend the NRA parties came over and started to talk to Mr. Wallander.”
“Did you hear their conversation?”
“Some of it.” The witness nodded his head. “Mr. Wallander told them he was waiting for a friend to pick him up and drive him home. The ladies told him it was too early to leave. They wanted to party with him.”
“Then what happened?”
“Well I had to serve some other people at the bar, so I couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation.”
“Did you see or notice anything else?”
The witness nodded again and said, “Yes sir. This is what was unusual. It was maybe 5 or 10 minutes later I saw the two ladies helping Mr. Wallander walk away from the bar.”
“So what was unusual about that?”
“Mr. Wallander didn’t need any assistance when he got to the bar, but he wasn’t able to get up and leave, even though all he had to drink was a couple cups of coffee.”
“Did what you observed concern you in any way?”
“Yes sir. You see the Hideaway has a pretty strict policy about letting folks leave the establishment if they appear to be under the influence. We don’t want them driving and having an accident or anything like that. There’s a law, the Dram Shop, or something like that.”
“Did Representative Wallander appear to be under the influence when you saw the two ladies help him walk away from the bar?”
“Yes sir, he sure did.”
“So why did you let him leave.”
“Well, I called the valet captain and told him to watch out for him. I gave him a description. The valets are real good at preventing people from driving away if they’re obviously intoxicated. I figured, since I didn’t hear anything about it that Mr. Wallander didn’t try to drive himself home. Anyways, from the looks of him, I didn’t think he’d be able to drive, even if he wanted to. I mean he could barely walk.”
“Mr. Maxwell, you testified that when Representative Wallander sat down at the bar he asked for coffee and told you he was waiting for a friend to pick him up and drive him home, is that right?”
“Yes sir.”
“Did you see him drink anything other than the coffee you served him?”
“No sir.”
“Did the two women who joined him, did either of them have anything to drink?”
“Yes sir I think they both had cosmos.”
“Did thy share their drinks with the Representative?”
“No sir, in fact they were kinda teasing him about not drinking anything. You know, like saying, these were girlie drinks and it wouldn’t affect a real man. Stuff like that.”
“So all you saw Representative Wallander drink was coffee and yet he was unable to walk away from the bar without the assistance of the two young women, is that right?”
“Yes sir, it was pretty strange. Usually when I serve folks coffee it wakes them up. Like when I served coffee to the judge…”
“I’ve completed my examination of the witness,” I said cutting Maxwell’s answer off.
The judge called for a recess.
CHAPTER FIFTY SIX
Not Guilty
“Has the jury reached a verdict?”
The Chairperson of the jury, a small, gray haired woman seated as juror number 8 stood up, “Yes your Honor, we find the defendant Phillip Wallander III not guilty.”
Phil hugged me and turned to his wife and father who were seated in the first row behind the defense table. Joel reached over and clapped me on the back as the judge thanked the jurors for their service and adjourned the proceedings. I felt like a great weight had been lifted from my chest. My first jury trial had been a success. The District Attorney shook my hand as he left the courtroom.
I watched as Joel approached Juror number 8. “Mrs. Winfield, could you tell us what the jurors determined to be the key to the verdict?”
I half listened to the response. Joel and I had come to the conclusion that the bartender and valet’s testimony along with the absence of conclusive forensic evidence from the Commonwealth was all that was necessary to establish reasonable doubt in the jurors’ minds. It took us several hours to convince Phil and his father that it was not in Phil’s best interest to take the stand.
“Joel and I believe it’s unnecessary for you to take the stand. You are seriously underestimating the DA. He will capitalize on the weaknesses in your recollection of the events that occurred when you left the NRA party. It’s just not worth the risk. You don’t have the burden in this case.”
We went round and round on the impression the jurors would take from his failure to testify. Wallander’s father and Seymour Arrington were pushing Phil to take the stand. They maintained that jurors do not buy the presumption of innocence. Arrington claimed that Dauphin County juries unlike big city juries needed to hear a clear denial from a defendant in order to acquit.
I had heard enough from Arrington and Phillip Senior. “Phil, remember when you asked my advice about what you should do when you didn’t know wha
t had happened to your truck?”
Wallander nodded. “You told me I should call the police and report that it was missing.”
“That’s right. And do you remember my advice when your father insisted that you should retain Mr. Arrington and go with him to report the incident.”
“Uh-huh, you said the police might find it suspicious that I needed a lawyer to report a missing vehicle.”
“This is your decision. Joel and I believe that it is not only unnecessary for you to take the stand, but that it would be detrimental to your defense. It’s up to you.”
Wallander looked from his father and Arrington to Joel and me.
“Bernie, I’ll follow your advice.”
As we left the courtroom Joel smiled. “So hotshot, do you think you’re cut out to be a litigator?”
I shook my head. “I got lucky and we both know it. I’m not so sure I’m cut out for this kind of thing on a steady diet. It was a lot easier leading a platoon in Iraq, and a whole lot easier dealing with politicians.”
“Don’t kid yourself, you have the chops it takes to make a formidable litigator. There are not many rookies who have the balls to take on a homicide case.”
“It’s not a lack of balls; it’s brains, that’s where I’m concerned I don’t measure up. Anyway, I still have some unresolved issues that need to be addressed before I give any serious thought to my career.”
With the trial over my thoughts turned back to the critical problems of the assault, the U.S. Attorney’s attempt to embroil me in the Cinaglia case and my father-in-law’s effort to break-up my marriage. As far as I was concerned everything took a back seat to my relationship with Nicky. Both my political and legal careers meant nothing if I lost her. I knew I had to tell her everything and it could not wait any longer.
I stared out at the countryside as Joel Solomon drove east on the Pennsylvania Turnpike to Philadelphia.
“Do the police have any leads on the guy who attacked you the other night?”
I shook my head.
“Dan Gross reported that this was not your random assault. He believes someone is after you.”
“Maybe the police should question Gross. He seems to know more about me than I do.”
Just then my cell phone rang. I looked at it. I was hoping Nicky was returning my call. It was the governor. I put it on speaker.
“Bernie, KYW just reported that Wallander was acquitted. Congratulations!”
“Thank you, governor.”
“Now that the trial is over you can concentrate on more important matters.”
“That’s what I was just thinking about sir.”
“Good, we need to find out what that fucking U.S. Attorney has up his sleeve with the Cinaglia case.”
Joel rolled his eyes.
“Governor, I’ll make sure that’s my number one priority.”
Solomon rolled his eyes again.
As we approached Rittenhouse Square I looked at the park. There was no sign of the attack that had occurred 72 hours before. The damage to the stone entrance to the park had been repaired. Even the tire tracks from the shooter’s vehicle and the police cruisers had been re-sodded. After all, this was one of the toniest spots in center city. It just would not be appropriate to have crime scene tape, and the debris of a criminal incident linger around this venue.
“You’re still experiencing the post trial adrenaline rush. Take the rest of the week off and kick back. I’ll fill Mike Bollinger in on the Wallander trial. Spend some quality time with Nicky and Bobby.”
I let myself in the apartment. Nicky had not yet returned my call. Instead of finding the quietness of the place reassuring I felt anxious and concerned. It was 3 o’clock. Bobby should be returning from school. Where was Nicky, and why hadn’t she returned my call?
My cell phone buzzed again, it was Detective Ichowitz.
I answered the call, “Any news Detective?”
“Unfortunately there’s nothing to report. The Public Defender is representing Sanchez and is maintaining that his client had no specific intent to target you, just a mugging that got out of hand when your dog attacked him. Of course we’re not buying that. I also have not been able to link the shooting with the Dunlap Group or Robert Worthington. But we’re still working on that angle.”
“So what can I do for you?” I asked.
“I wonder if I could have a talk with your wife?”
“My wife? Why?”
“I’d like to ask her about her daughter and the circumstances that resulted in her not knowing about her whereabouts for several years?”
“What has that got to do with the shooting?”
“Well, we’re not sure; it may not have anything to do with the shooting whatsoever. We’re following up every conceivable angle.”
I felt the detective was holding something back. “OK. My wife’s not in now. I’ll tell her you asked to speak with her and we’ll get back to you.”
Christ what angle could the police be investigating that connected the shooting incident to Nicky and Bobby. It didn’t make any sense to me. I called her again.
“Nicky, I got back from Harrisburg earlier than I expected. I’m home. Where are you and Bobby? Give me a call.”
I called the District Office next. “Carlota what’s going on at the District?”
“We heard you were successful in defending Representative Wallander. We received a lot of positive calls from constituents. Some of them were asking if you would represent them in criminal cases. I told them that you did not as a routine matter handle criminal cases. We referred them to the Public Defender.”
“Thank you Carlota. Is Mike Zeebooker around?”
“No. Today is one of his days to work at the Governor’s Office. I’m sure you can reach him there.”
“OK. Has my wife called the office today?”
“No Bernie. I haven’t heard from her today. She called yesterday and Mr. Zeebooker spoke with her. Is everything OK?”
“Sure. It’s just that I got back from Harrisburg sooner than I expected and I haven’t been able to get in touch with her.”
“Book, it’s Bernie. Give me a call when you get this message.”
It was 4:30. No sign of Nicky. No return call. I was beginning to get concerned. Where were they? It wasn’t like Nicky to forget to tell me where she and Bobby would be. I was about to call Detective Ichowitz when I heard the door open and Bobby followed by Toto and Nicky came in.
“Bernie! We heard you won! We’re so proud of you!” Toto barked and jumped up.
“Thank you sweetheart, where have you been?”
“Mommy and Mr. Collins took Toto and me to the zoo?”
I looked up as Jack Collins walked in.
“Well, if it isn’t himself.” Collins said by way of greeting.
“Jack, what are you doing here?”
“Well, it’s a long story, as I suppose you would have guessed. I’d be happy to tell it to you in all its fullness over a pint.”
“Nick?”
She dropped the bag she was carrying and hugged me. “I’m so glad you’re home. We stopped on the way back and I picked up some Guiness for our guest.”
“I’ve been calling your cell. You never returned my calls.”
“I’m sorry. Didn’t you get an email from Mike Zeebooker?”
I took out my blackberry. There were no emails from Zeebooker. “What’s going on?”
“Bobby, I think Sponge Pants Bob is on. Do you want to watch it while I get dinner ready?”
The little girl looked at us. “Toto, I think Mommy and Bernie and Mr. Collins don’t want me to hear what they’re going to talk about,” she confided in her companion.
“OK Mommy.” She said as she and the dog made their way into the den. “Mommy must think I’m not very bright,” Bobby continued to speak in a stage whisper to the dog.
“Mommy can hear you,” Nicky said stifling a laugh.
When I heard the TV go on I said, “Will somebody please
tell me what the heck is going on?”
CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN
Bernie’s Story
“Mike Zeebooker got me a new cell phone and he told me he would text you and explain everything,” Nicky said.
“Why did you need a new cell phone?”
Collins held up his hand. “We thought it best for Nicky to get a new number that only certain people would know about.”
“Why and who do you mean by we?”
“I received some threatening messages while you were in Harrisburg. I called your office when I wasn’t able to reach you during the trial. Mike decided that a new phone was a good idea.”
“OK, but what’s Jack doing here?”
“That was Bob Gronski’s idea he wanted to make sure that someone was with Bobby and me while you were out of town.”
“What kind of threatening messages did you receive and when?”
“I’m sure it was nothing. It sounded weird and scared me. Like, do you know where Bobby is, things like that.”
I could feel my face flush with anger.
“Anyway,” she continued, “when I spoke with Mike Zeebooker, he’s really wonderful, he took over. He immediately called Bob and Marti. Bob called the Special Victims section in the police department. Before I knew it I had a new cell phone with a new number and everything.”
“Bob and Marti came over and Jack relieved them. I told them it wasn’t necessary but they all insisted.”
I was stunned and tried to digest what my wife was trying to explain. My cell phone rang. It was Zeebooker.
“I heard you got back sooner than you contemplated. Why didn’t you respond to my text?”
“Mike, I never got it.”
“That’s impossible. Check your messages.”
I went through my log- no texts from Zeebooker. “Check your junk mail,” he suggested.
“My junk mail? What’s that?”
Zeebooler explained and I checked my junk mail folder and there it was. “I found your text it went straight to my Junk mail.” One mystery solved.
“Were you able to chase the source of the calls Nicky received?”
“Not yet, but I’m still working on it. So are the police.”
“Let me know if you find the bastard who’s doing this.”
The Pa-la-ti-'shan Page 24
