“Oh, I’m glad you told me that,” Margo Drake told Jack. “Because we don’t usually give out anything in the prosecutor’s separate file. That file contains all the prosecutor’s notes and everything. However, since this case is so old-and you just want Mr. Webster’s notes and not the prosecutor’s and Mr. Webster instructed you to call to tell me it is a public record-we’ll have to comply. It will take me a few days because those files are in storage.”
Jack thanked her and told her a few days would be fine. He then sent her a letter confirming their telephone conversation.
The notes arrived five days later. Anthony Webster had indeed interviewed James Vernon, and Vernon had told him essentially the same story he told Wofford Benton-that he was just a witness to the murder.
Jack’s dilemma still remained the same. James Vernon had told two different stories to four different people. He had no credibility, and therefore, in Jack’s mind, the question of Henry Wilson’s innocence was still very much in doubt. On the other hand, Anthony Webster’s notes changed the legal ballgame entirely. If Wofford Benton had been able to call the prosecutor’s investigator to the stand instead of a prison snitch to talk about what James Vernon told him after the state had put on its case and rested and after Vernon had taken the Fifth, Henry Wilson might not have been convicted. Jack’s burden was now clear: he would have to convince a judge that Anthony Webster’s testimony was newly discovered evidence.
He sent a copy of the notes to Webster, along with an affidavit confirming under oath that the notes were indeed his and that the interview took place during the prosecution’s investigation of the case, a month before Henry Wilson’s trial.
When he received the signed affidavit back in the mail, Jack called Wofford Benton. The judge was in the middle of a hearing. To Jack’s surprise, he recessed his hearing temporarily to take the call.
“What’s up, Jack?”
“Well, Judge, I just want to update you on the case. You asked me to do that.”
“Yes, I did. Thank you.”
“I just received an affidavit from Anthony Webster. He was an investigator at the state’s attorney’s office.”
“Yeah, I vaguely remember him. He was wound a little tight as I recall.”
“That’s the guy. Anyway, I found notes of an interview between Webster and James Vernon in which Vernon told Webster the same thing that he told you. Did you know that Vernon had spoken to the prosecutor’s man a month before the trial?”
“Of course not. How did you find out?”
“Ted Griffin told me when I talked to him.”
“Dammit!” the judge swore. In the silence that followed, Jack could hear Wofford breathing heavily on the other end of the line. He was processing the information, and it didn’t take him long to arrive at the same conclusion Jack had reached.
“Let me ask you this, Jack. Do you think Henry would have been convicted if I had been able to put the state’s chief investigator on the stand to testify on his behalf rather than that jailhouse snitch, Willie Smith?”
“I don’t think so, Judge.”
“Neither do I. I’ll go ahead and prepare my own affidavit, and you use it however you need to. Even though I don’t think you will be successful with the ‘incompetence of counsel’ defense, I understand that you have to raise the issue.”
Wofford Benton no longer appeared to be a disinterested observer. He had joined the appellate team.
Jack’s next call was to the Florida State Prison at Starke to set up an interview with Henry for that Friday. He now had some news for him.
That evening Pat and Jack took their treasured run along the river. “This is so boring,” Pat said as they jogged along together. “Every night the same thing-starry skies, peaceful waters, weeping willows, pelicans, owls. . I miss the action of the big city-the robberies, the murders, the rapes. You know what I mean, Jack?”
“I’m with you, honey.” She was always content, and she made him feel the same way no matter how his day had gone.
“So tell me about all this new evidence that you’ve uncovered.”
“Well, I talked to Ted Griffin, the lawyer, and Anthony Webster, the prosecutor’s investigator, and I got the notes of his interview with James Vernon. The bottom line is that James Vernon told the prosecutor’s investigator that he was at the scene of the murder and Henry Wilson wasn’t there, and Wofford Benton never knew about that conversation.”
“Would it have made a difference if he did?”
“Absolutely. When Vernon took the Fifth at trial and refused to testify, Benton called a prison snitch to the stand. If he had known about Anthony Webster and called him instead, Henry Wilson might have walked.”
“So Henry is innocent.”
“Not necessarily. The original source of all this new information was James Vernon and he may have been lying like a rug.”
Just then Pat saw something rise in the river. “Look!” she pointed.
“What is it?” Jack asked as they stopped to look.
“It’s a manatee!” she said gleefully. “I was just telling the kids about them the other day. Oh, I wish I had a camera.” They stood and watched as the big hulking thing lazily drifted down the river with not a care in the world. They only resumed their run when it was out of sight.
“Have you tried to locate James Vernon and what’s that other guy’s name-the witness against Henry?”
“David Hawke?”
“Yeah, that’s the one I was thinking of. Have you tried to find them and talk to them?”
“I did. They’re both dead. Vernon was killed five years ago in a drug deal gone bad and Hawke was also murdered-I don’t know when.”
“Is that good or bad for Henry?”
“It’s good if he gets a new trial. With Hawke dead, there’ll be no evidence to convict him. It won’t help him get a new trial though.”
“It sounds like you’ve got the evidence to do that.”
“Maybe. I don’t know if I can meet the legal standard, and I’m still not sure that he’s innocent.”
“Well, Jack, as I said before, present the evidence and leave the rest to fate. What’s the standard you need to meet-new evidence?”
“Newly discovered evidence.”
“Well, this is newly discovered evidence, isn’t it? How was anybody to know that the prosecutor’s investigator did this interview?”
“Wofford would have known if he had talked to Ted Griffin. Wofford didn’t talk to him, and he should have. Ted Griffin would have told him about Anthony Webster.”
“Wait a minute! You mean the prosecutor finds evidence that the person he or she is prosecuting may be innocent and they can hide it?”
“Something like that.”
“No, Jack. No. I won’t accept that. That can’t be the law. How can a prosecutor who represents all of us hide evidence of a person’s innocence? It doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s just an evidentiary rule.”
“Well, if that’s the rule, whoever said the law is an ass is right. That is asinine.”
Jack smiled to himself. Pat certainly had a way of getting to the heart of the matter.
14
It took about an hour for Ralph Giglio, the police sketch artist, to come up with a detailed picture of the man Paul and David had seen outside their window on the night of Carl Robertson’s murder. Nick and Tony were both impressed.
“We need to get this picture in the neighborhood-stores, shops, apartment buildings-everywhere,” Nick told Tony.
“How about the Post and the News?” Tony offered. “They’ve been following this case pretty closely. I’ll bet they’ll put something like this on the front page.”
“You’re probably right, but let’s wait. The last thing we want is for this guy to see his picture in the paper and skip town.”
Tony took another look at the sketch. “You know, this guy looks familiar to me. I think I’ve run across him in my travels.”
“Well, if you
have, it will come to you probably when you least expect it-like in the shower or something,” Nick said. “Take a copy of the sketch with you and start thinking about all the different places you’ve worked in your career. If you know him, he’ll pop up.”
“All right, I’ll give it a shot,” Tony said as he stuffed a copy of the sketch in his inside jacket pocket.
Meanwhile, Philly Gertz was getting his turn with Ralph. Their attempt to come up with a sketch of the woman who’d been with Angie was a little less successful. Ralph could draw the black hair, but the rest of Philly’s description just didn’t make it.
“She was beautiful.”
“In what way, Philly?”
“She was hot, you know what I mean? Legs up to her neck-man, I’m telling you, she was hot.”
“Can you give me any specifics about what she looked like?”
“I just did.”
“Can you describe her in any other way-her facial features, for instance?”
“All I can tell you is that they were like grapefruits. Not too big, just the right size. You know what I mean?”
“This guy’s impossible,” Ralph told Nick a half hour later. “If he tells me she had nice grapefruits one more time I’m going to club him.”
Nick shook his head knowingly. There were people who just couldn’t manage to provide an accurate description. It didn’t surprise him that Philly Gertz was one of them.
“Thanks, Ralph. I’ll let him go.”
Nick walked out into the waiting area where Philly was sitting.
“Ralph says you were a great help, Philly.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“Because I’m kind of a big-picture guy, you know? I’m not much for details.”
“Well, Ralph says he got the big picture.”
“Good, ’cause I was a little worried there.”
“No, you did fine. We’ll be in touch. Thanks again.”
“My pleasure, Nick. I won’t forget you guys, either-you know, when the press comes around.”
“Thanks, Philly.”
Nick had gotten in touch with Angie, and the next morning he and Tony arrived at her apartment to tie up some loose ends.
Angie looked much better this time. The dark circles under her eyes were gone and she appeared well rested. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, her blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. Nick could see the disappointment on Tony’s face. Tony had wanted to see Angie one more time in that nightgown. The man was hopeless. It wasn’t an entire disaster for Tony, however. Angie was just plain beautiful any way you cut it, and she looked especially sexy in jeans and a T-shirt.
“Won’t you come in, gentlemen?” She motioned to them with a polite smile on her face.
The apartment had changed quite a bit since their last visit. There were boxes everywhere, some of them half-filled, some already sealed.
“I’m not waiting for Carl’s family to get a court order. I’m getting my things and I’m getting out,” she told them before they could ask.
Tony and Nick both knew the operative part of that statement was “getting my things.” Once an executor was appointed, the apartment would be locked and all assets would be frozen. Angie was taking possession of what she could before that happened.
The couch and chairs were still there, however, and the three of them sat in the same seats as they had two days before.
“So what can I do for you?” Angie asked, her voice much stronger and more confident.
“We just want to ask a few more questions,” said Nick. “First of all, are you going to be okay? Do you have a place to stay?”
“Yes, I’ll be staying with my girlfriend in Queens. It’s not far, but it’s light-years away from here.” Both men nodded to let her know they understood. Queens was a blue-collar borough. Working people could no longer afford to live in Manhattan.
“We’re going to need that address and your friend’s telephone number,” Nick said as nonchalantly as he could.
“Fine. I’ll write them down. Anything else?” Nick noticed that her demeanor changed after he asked for the address. She sounded anxious, almost rude.
“What’s your friend’s name?”
“Barbara Verbinski.”
“Could you write her address and telephone number down for me now?”
“It’s Fifteen Demeter Avenue,” she said while writing on a piece of paper. “And this is her telephone number.” She handed the paper to Nick.
“You must know her pretty well-you didn’t have to look up her number.”
“I’m good with numbers. Now are we done?”
“Just a few more things,” Nick told her. He leaned forward in his chair. “During the course of our investigation we’ve learned that you had a woman staying with you a few days before Carl was murdered. Would that have been Ms. Verbinski?”
She hesitated momentarily. “No, it wasn’t Barbara.”
“Was this somebody else another friend, or a companion-”
“Just what are you implying, Detective?”
“I’m not implying anything, ma’am. I’m just asking a question.”
“Well then, yes, she was a friend.”
Nick had the commitment he needed. Now he could go to work. “Okay, she was a friend. What was her name?”
Angie didn’t hesitate. Nick knew she wouldn’t. Not yet. “Lois,” she replied.
“Lois what?”
“Barton. Lois Barton.”
“And how long have you and Lois known each other?”
“A while.”
“What does that mean-months, years?”
“Years, we’ve known each other for years. We’re good friends. Now if you two will just leave me alone, I need to get finished with my packing and get out of here.”
“I understand,” Nick said. “Just a couple more questions. Where does Lois live?”
Angie hesitated for the second time. Nick caught it right away. So did Tony, even though he didn’t seem to be concentrating all that hard on what she was saying. He was still trying to figure out if she was wearing a bra or not.
“Queens,” Angie finally replied.
“Where in Queens?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember her address.”
“I guess she’s not as good a friend as Barbara?”
“No, she’s not.”
“How about her telephone number?”
“I don’t remember that either.”
“Do you have it written down?”
“Somewhere.”
“Could you get it for us?”
“Not right now.” Angie stood up abruptly. “Look, I’ve got work to do here. I’d like to sit around and chat but I don’t have time.”
Neither Nick nor Tony moved. “We’ll be leaving in a minute,” Nick said, maintaining his soft, calm tone. “Where does Lois work?”
Angie slumped back on the couch. “I don’t know. I don’t know,” she replied, and then she started to cry.
Nick waited a minute or so, then continued in the same tone.
“Angie, Tony and I are professionals. We’re not here to judge you. We’re investigating a murder and you are a witness in that murder investigation. We’re going to find the truth eventually, and if you don’t give it to us you may subject yourself to criminal penalties. I know you were not involved in this murder. So I’m advising you for your own good-tell us everything.”
Angie stared at her lap, silently crying. Tony, the other professional in the room, waited anxiously to hear the exotic details of Angie and Lois Barton’s relationship. Nick had broken her down very quickly and very skillfully. Most cops would have tried to intimidate her and would have gotten nowhere.
“You have no idea what it’s like being alone all the time,” Angie began when she had composed herself somewhat. “I couldn’t bring another man into the picture. That wouldn’t work. I met Lois at a local bar a couple of weeks before Carl’s murder. We went out a few times tog
ether before I invited her home. It was nice-much nicer than I thought it was going to be. I’d never been with a woman before. It seemed to be going so well. Then she just disappeared a few days before Carl was killed.”
“When was the last time you saw her?” Nick asked.
“It was at a bar called the Crooked Fence. It’s not far from here. I yelled at some creep who was trying to come on to me, and he left the bar and she left the bar right after him. I never saw her again.”
“Did she go after him?”
“I don’t know. She just said, ‘I’ll be right back’ and left.” Nick took Ralph Giglio’s sketch out of his pocket and placed it in front of Angie. “Do you recognize this man at all?”
Angie looked at the sketch and shrugged her shoulders. “No, not offhand.”
“Could he have been the man at the bar that you yelled at?”
“He could have been. To tell you the truth, I never really looked at the guy. I just told him to get lost. If he walked in this room right now, I probably wouldn’t recognize him.”
“Anything else that you can tell us that might help us in this investigation?”
“No, I don’t think so.” She seemed calmer now. “Wait a minute.” She sat up straight. “There was one other thing. I didn’t realize it until the next afternoon when I went shopping, but one of my credit cards was missing. I immediately called the credit card company and canceled it.”
Nick stole a glance at Tony to see if he’d caught the significance.
“Can you give us an old bill so we can get the card number?” he asked.
“Sure, I have it right here.” She started shuffling through some papers on the coffee table in front of her. “Here it is.” She handed a single piece of paper to Nick, who passed it over to Tony.
Nick turned back to her. “Angie, just one more question, I promise. Did you ever tell Lois about Carl?”
Angie hesitated once more. Nick waited. There was no need to go through his criminal penalties speech again. She was a sharp girl. She got it.
“I think I may have,” she finally told him.
“Did you tell her about the money and how he brought it?”
“I think so. She’d asked me how I could afford such a nice place. I was trying to be honest.”
The Law of Second Chances jt-2 Page 8
