The Law of Second Chances jt-2

by James Sheehan

  On Sunday evening, Jack and Henry met Sam Mendelsohn at a warehouse just off Fulton Street in downtown Manhattan. The warehouse manager, a man named Hector Fuentes, was also there. They were standing by a large truck that was open in the back and stacked full of boxes. Henry was walking around checking the place out while Jack was being introduced to Hector; Henry wasn’t one for meeting people. He became very attentive, however, when Hector started describing the logistics of the transfer.

  “You sign the documents over right now to Mr. Tobin,” he told Sam Mendelsohn. “And Mr. Tobin, you be here tomorrow morning at nine o’clock. Ask for me, nobody else but me. Bring the documents and a truck and your people, and I’ll arrange everything. It will go very smoothly, I assure you.”

  While they were shaking hands and pretending they actually liked each other, Henry wandered over to the black security guard and struck up a conversation. Ten minutes later, Jack called him to let him know they were leaving.

  “This is a setup,” Jack told him when they were on the FDR Drive and headed to Harlem.

  “How do you figure that?” Henry asked.

  “Come on, Henry-this isn’t a business transaction, it’s a document production. We don’t need bills of lading to transfer this stuff. And this guy Hector has to be present at every step of the way? They want to know exactly when this truck is leaving the warehouse, and Hector is the man who’s going to give them that information.”

  “Who are ‘they’?” Henry asked.

  “I still have no idea,” Jack replied. “We’ve got to figure out a way to get those documents to Virginia without anybody knowing about it.”

  “Jack, you’re actually starting to think like a criminal.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.”

  “It is when you’re dealing with crooks.”

  The next morning at nine sharp they were back at the warehouse. Jack had the transfer documents Sam Mendelsohn had given him and was waiting to present them to Hector Fuentes, who had to be paged. Their own truck was not there yet. Jack looked a little concerned, but Henry informed him that it was still in Harlem waiting for his call to come to the warehouse.

  Hector Fuentes made them wait for ten more minutes just to let them know how important he was. Finally he showed up, accepted the documents from Jack, and once again led the way to the truck containing the records.

  “Where’s your truck?” he asked before allowing them to inspect the contents one final time.

  Jack was getting very tired of Hector’s demands. “It’ll be here in a few minutes,” he said. “Just open the truck.” Hector bristled for a moment, then noticed Henry standing right next to Jack. The look Henry was giving Hector assured him that opening the truck would be beneficial for his health.

  Hector unlatched the back and swung open the doors. His jaw dropped when he looked inside and saw that it was completely empty.

  “What’s going on here?” Jack yelled. “Where are the documents?”

  “I have no idea!” Hector replied. “They were here last night, I swear. You saw for yourself.”

  “They’re not here now,” Jack shouted. “What the hell kind of game are you playing?”

  “I’m not playing a game, I assure you. The records must have been stolen. I’m going to call the police myself right now. You can watch me call. You can be here when they come. I’ll get the night watchman in here as well. We’ll get to the bottom of this.” The man was clearly in a panic.

  “You’d better,” Jack told him. “I need those records today. I don’t have any time to hang around here. I’ll be back in two hours, and you’d better have some answers for me.”

  He and Henry got in their rental car and drove off, leaving the bewildered Hector Fuentes scratching his head.

  “All right, Henry, tell me how you did it.” They were back on the FDR Drive headed uptown.

  A smile broke across Henry’s face. “I simply negotiated a price with the night watchman last night while you were making small talk with the rest of them. We picked up the boxes at about one o’clock this morning. They’ll be at the lake house in another hour or so.”

  Jack just looked at him. “Are you sure you were just a small-time crook?”

  “I was young, Jack. I didn’t know my own potential.”

  Jack smiled. As they drove, he kept running through all the details in his mind. “I don’t like the fact that he’s making a police report, though.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll call in an hour or so and say there was some sort of mix-up and we have the records. They’ll know we pulled a fast one, but it won’t go any further than that. Remember, whoever is behind this is a hell of a lot dirtier than we are. And that’s where your real problem is, Jack.”

  “I’ve been a couple of steps behind you for a while now, Henry. I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

  “Look,” Henry replied, “I’ve been thinking about this over and over-who ‘they’ are. We still don’t know who engineered the plan to follow the records to their ultimate destination. We do know, however, that the attorneys for the telephone company and the estate had to be in on it. What did you tell me about that hearing-that they were in cahoots with the DA?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So the DA may be involved. Theoretically, the estate might have something to hide, and I guess they could be engineering this on their own but I don’t think so. This is too coordinated an effort.”

  “Henry, do you realize what you’re saying? You’re at the very least implicating an assistant district attorney in a plot to commit murder.”

  “That may or may not be true. I don’t know what the big picture is. I’m just trying to add the facts up as we go along.”

  “Look, the attempt on my life was right after the hearing to get the records. They want to follow that truck to get to my expert, you said so yourself. How did you put it? They want to kill two birds with one stone. I don’t understand. Why would the DA, with such a strong criminal case against Benny, be involved in a murder plot? It doesn’t make sense. It’s preposterous.”

  “Do you see it any other way, Jack? Do you see this whole thing going down without the DA knowing about it?”

  Jack thought about it for a moment. “Maybe it’s not the DA. It could be Spencer Taylor acting on his own. I don’t think scruples would get in that guy’s way. I’m positive that he orchestrated the last hearing.”

  “Hopefully when Charlie sorts through those records we’ll find some answers,” Henry told him. “In the meantime, what do you think the DA will do when he learns that you got the records and he doesn’t know where they are?”

  “Well, if I was him, I’d try to get this case over before anyone has time to review the records. Charlie couldn’t get through all those boxes in a month. If Spencer Taylor plays his cards right, this trial could be over in a week.”

  56

  Charlie called Jack at his new number on Monday night to let him know she got the records. “Jack, this house is beautiful, and so is the lake. And Joaquin and Dick are perfect gentlemen. I feel totally secure. Unfortunately, I can’t enjoy the house or the lake or the company because I’m buried in paper. Did you see the volume of documents they sent?”

  “I did.”

  “It will take me months to get through this stuff, let alone make any sense out of it.”

  “Just remember what we discussed, Charlie. Find the telephone records first. I’m really only looking for the last month or so there. With the financials, work your way backward. See if anything grabs you in the last six months to a year.”

  “I’ll give it my best shot, Jack, but finding the telephone records may take a week all by itself.”

  “Your best is all we can ask for, Charlie.”

  Jack spent all of Tuesday at Mike McDermott’s office working on the case. Mike set him up in a spare office and showed him where the copier and the fax were in case he needed them. Then he left Jack to himself. There was no way Jack could e
ver repay Mike for his hospitality, but when Mike came to check on him at lunchtime, Jack insisted on treating him to dinner that night.

  On Wednesday, Jack and Spencer Taylor appeared before the judge in his chambers for an impromptu status conference. The judge had called them personally, so there was no formal notice and thus no press.

  “I just want to get a few things straight and get the preliminaries down before the fireworks start,” the judge told them. “We’re going to be on center stage for the whole country, gentlemen, and I, for one, don’t want to look foolish.

  “The press has been hounding me from all corners of the globe. I appreciate the fact that you two have not been stoking the fire. I’d like that to continue. I’m allowing one reporter to represent all the major networks, and one to represent the local stations-they’ll serve as pool reporters. The foreign press gets one. The local papers each get one and, of course, the Associated Press.

  “There will be no electronic devices of any kind in the courtroom. Cell phones will be confiscated at the entrance. That goes for you gentlemen as well. If either of you needs a computer for this case, let me know now.”

  “I don’t, Judge,” Spencer Taylor answered.

  “How about you, Mr. Tobin?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I don’t want any speaking objections or grandstanding of any kind. You will stand, state your legal objection, and ask to approach the bench. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” they both answered almost in unison.

  “Have you seen each other’s documents?”

  “All but the ones we had the hearing about, Judge,” Spencer Taylor responded.

  “Mr. Tobin, did you get your documents?”

  “Yes, your honor. They were voluminous, however, and my expert has not been able to get through any of them yet. I won’t see any documents that my expert will present until the last minute, if at all. I mention that because we have stipulated that the prosecution’s inability to see the documents is not an issue.”

  “I recall that stipulation, Counsel. And I also recall that Mr. Taylor graciously waived any notice of witnesses that might arise from those documents. Is that correct, Mr. Taylor?”

  “Yes, your honor.”

  “How do you want to handle the jury?”

  “I’d like to question each juror individually, Judge,” said Jack. “And I’d like the courtroom closed for voir dire.”

  “Any objection?”

  “No, your honor.”

  “When we start the trial, we’re going to bring the spectators in an hour early so they will all be seated beforehand. I know this doesn’t involve you, but we are going to give tickets out on a first-come, first-serve basis downstairs after the press gets their tickets-I’m going to let them sit in the front rows. There’s a limited number of tickets, so if you have anybody that you want to be here, let me know now and we’ll give you tickets for every day. Nobody gets in the courtroom without a ticket.”

  “Judge, I’d like my investigator, Henry Wilson, to sit at counsel table with me when he is in the courtroom.”

  The judge looked at Spencer Taylor. “Any objection?”

  “No, your honor.”

  “So ruled. Anything else?”

  “Yes, your honor,” Jack said. “I’d like the defendant’s father to sit behind us.”

  The judge didn’t ask for Taylor’s comments on that request. “So ruled. Check with the bailiff before we start each day so he or she can make the appropriate arrangements. We don’t want any fights to break out over seating.”

  “Last request, your honor,” Jack told the judge. “I want to make sure my client is not handcuffed when he comes into the courtroom. His father is going to bring him a suit every day, and I’d like him to be able to change into it and be seated in court before the jurors are brought in.”

  The judge again looked at Spencer Taylor.

  “No objection, your honor.” Spencer wasn’t sweating the small stuff. He also hoped he was making points with the judge. Jack was making all the requests and he was just agreeing.

  “So ruled. You two gentlemen keep going along like this and we’ll be through with this trial in no time.”

  The hearing seemed to have given the judge confidence. He was warming up to the idea of being on center stage. Jack thought that was a good development. He needed a strong judge for his plan to work.

  On Thursday Jack and Henry had lunch in the city with Luis. The man was so nervous he was visibly shaking. For a moment, Jack thought back to their days with the Lexingtons. Back then Rico was so tough, so hard, so sure of himself. Jack was certain that person was still inside there somewhere. Luis had already lifted himself out of the gutter, but the situation with Benny seemed like it was about to knock everything out from under him.

  “How did your visit with Benny go?” Jack asked.

  “Great. Great. It couldn’t have been better. I owe that to the both of you. Whatever you said to him made him start to see things differently.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Jack replied. “It was Henry. He and Benny have traveled some of the same roads.”

  “It’s prison too,” Henry added. “If you’ve got half a brain, it makes you start thinking about things.”

  “Whatever it was, Benny and I are together now,” Luis responded. “I’m just so on edge. I’m so afraid the state is going to pull something in that courtroom that will send Benny to his death.” Luis started shaking again. Jack searched for something to say that would calm the man.

  “Luis, I told you before, I can’t guarantee the outcome of this trial. But I can guarantee you that Benny will get the best day in court he will ever have. Nobody is going to pull any shenanigans in that courtroom. I won’t allow it. I’m the Mayor of Lexington Avenue, Luis. And that courtroom is my turf!”

  Luis smiled. He remembered the day on a football field many years ago, when he had given that lesson to Jack. He was thankful that his friend had learned the lesson so well. Henry, on the other hand, had no idea what Jack was talking about.

  57

  The criminal courts building was a seventeen-story monolith located on Centre Street near the tip of Manhattan Island and within walking distance of the Fulton Fish Market, the South Street Seaport, and Wall Street. The surrounding area was a complex of judicial and government buildings. The civil courthouse was two blocks away, the federal court was on the next block, and City Hall was across the street. The area was always overrun with television cameras and reporters for one reason or another.

  For criminal trials, the networks set their little kiosks up on the sidewalk in front of Collect Pond Park, a small park directly across the street from the criminal courts building. Each kiosk had its own lights, its own camera on a tripod, and its own talking head. There were also producers and producers’ assistants and runners and plenty of others to give and take orders and to whisper about what was happening and create a buzz that would work itself into a frenzy that could be translated into exciting news for the TV screen.

  The press had gotten word that the courtroom would be closed for jury selection, so Monday morning was rather subdued. The kiosks were still being set up and reporters were there to meet the attorneys as they entered the courthouse, with cameramen at the ready to film them. But there were no crowds to speak of, no buzz and no frenzy-yet.

  The felony courtrooms were on floors eleven through sixteen. Judge Middleton’s courtroom was on the eleventh floor. The walls were covered with maple paneling for the first six feet. It matched the wood of the judge’s dais and the attorneys’ tables. The rest of the wall up to the thirty-foot ceiling was white and bare. There were four large, modern, ugly lights that lined the ceiling on each side of the room. Overall it was a sterile, cold environment.

  The judge’s dais was relatively modest for such an imposing place. The witness chair was to the judge’s right and the jurors’ box to the right of that. The lawyer’s rostrum was movable. During voir dire and opening and closing stat
ements it was placed facing the jury. For the questioning of witnesses it was turned to face the witness chair so that the witness would be looking directly at the lawyer and the jury could watch the interplay of questions and answers. The court reporter was also on that side right in front of the judge’s dais so as to be able to hear the questions and answers and record them. All other court personnel were on the far left side of the room opposite the jurors. Accommodations were tight inside the bar that separated the judge, the lawyers, the jurors and the court personnel from the rest of the courtroom.

  The benches for spectators were behind the bar and were set up on each side of the middle aisle like the pews in a church. Jack counted six rows on each side, each row accommodating maybe eleven people. When the trial started they would be packed in like sardines.

  This morning, however, since they were selecting a jury, the courtroom was empty of spectators. Only the judge, the lawyers, and the court personnel were present as each prospective juror was brought in for questioning.

  Jack had always felt that the term “jury selection” was really a misnomer. It should have been called “jury exclusion” because the purpose was to identify and exclude anyone with a bias. In order to do that for his part, Jack had to ask the right questions, and in order to ask the right questions, he had already made a profile of his ideal juror. He’d decided that it didn’t matter whether it was a man or a woman. He wanted people who were independent and open-minded and who had the intelligence to evaluate the evidence unemotionally and apply it rationally to the appropriate standard. He wanted to eliminate those who saw things in black and white, who never questioned authority, or who had relatives who were career military people or in law enforcement.

  So as Jack began the process, to find clues to their personality he asked all the potential jurors detailed questions about their family, their job, their relatives, their thoughts about current affairs, the books they read, and their hobbies. He asked how they felt about the legal system. As an experienced litigator, Jack knew that no matter how good a case you put on, no matter how well you cross-examined the other side’s witnesses, if you picked a bad jury you were dead out of the box. Jury selection was the most important part of any trial.