The judge didn’t have any questions. He looked to Spencer Taylor for a reply. Spencer had connected the gun to Benny, and he had Benny kneeling over the victim at the time of the murder. The jury had all the evidence they needed to convict on the charge of first-degree murder, which had been his goal-and that of his bosses-all along. He made a halfhearted counter to Jack’s argument on the felony murder charge.
Langford Middleton didn’t know why Jack was even wasting the court’s time with this motion. His client was about to be convicted of first-degree murder. He had a point, though, and he had the evidence, and the state didn’t seem to care.
“The court is going to grant your motion as to the felony murder count, Mr. Tobin. I find that there is insufficient evidence that the deceased was killed during the commission of a robbery. I deny your motion as to all other counts of the indictment. Are you ready to call your first witness?”
“Your honor, with all the delays we have had in this case, it has been difficult to schedule my witnesses, especially since most of them are coming from out of town. I would like to begin promptly at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“Very well, Mr. Tobin. This court is dismissed until nine a.m. tomorrow.”
Jack followed his usual procedure and went to Mike McDermott’s office for a couple of hours to prepare for the next day’s testimony. He didn’t know who was going to show up or what they were going to say. He prepared open-ended questions, hoping for the best. At seven-thirty, he hopped in a cab and headed uptown. His original plan was to go straight to Aunt Dorothy’s apartment and get to bed, but he decided to stop at P. J. Clarke’s for a beer or two. He needed to unwind.
The first beer didn’t do the trick, nor did the second. He had succeeded in getting the felony murder count dismissed, but Benny was on the verge of going away at least for the rest of his life. That reality weighed heavily on Jack’s shoulders.
65
The Tuesday-morning newspapers universally praised Jack for his tough, thorough cross-examination of the state’s witnesses the previous day. However, the consensus of every reporter was that Benny was going down. It was cold, rainy, and windy when Jack stepped into the back seat of the old Mercedes to have George drive him to the courthouse downtown. His head was buried in his files during the entire trip. Luckily, he didn’t have time to read the newspapers.
The courtroom was packed and buzzing. Luis was keeping a stiff upper lip. He patted Jack on the back when he arrived at counsel table and sat down. The guards brought Benny out a few minutes later. Benny’s face was drawn, as if he hadn’t slept. The reality of what had occurred in the courtroom the day before was written all over his face. He looked like a condemned man.
A few minutes before nine, Jack looked to the rear of the courtroom and saw Dick Radek and Joaquin Sanchez standing against the back wall. The guards wouldn’t have let anybody else do that: they were showing deference to the badge. Jack nodded at both men. He was visibly relieved to see his old friends, people he could trust-and had trusted-with his life. Just then, Henry walked in. Jack motioned for him to come to the bar.
“You can sit at counsel table with me if you want,” he told him.
Henry was dressed in blue jeans, a flannel shirt, and a leather jacket. He didn’t feel like sitting on the other side of the bar with the lawyers and the court personnel. Hell, even Benny had a suit on. “I’ll stand in the back with your cop buddies, if you don’t mind,” he told Jack.
“That’s fine. How many witnesses do you have for me?”
“Two,” he said, handing Jack a folder. “Charlie is ready to testify as well.”
“Great! Great job, Henry,” he said, opening the folder.
The judge walked into the courtroom just as they were finishing their conversation. Jack returned to his place and quickly started flipping through the few pages of notes and other documents in the folder; Henry moved to the back of the room and stood with Dick and Joaquin. Nobody told him to sit down.
When all the spectators and reporters had risen and were seated again, the judge addressed Jack.
“Call your first witness, Mr. Tobin.”
“The defense calls Mr. Valentine Busby.”
The bailiff left the room and returned seconds later with Valentine Busby. The old man looked fairly presentable in a pair of black slacks and a short-sleeved white shirt that he and Henry had bought in Wisconsin. Valentine raised his right hand, took the oath, sat in the witness stand, and stated his name for the record.
“Where do you live, Mr. Busby?” Jack began, still sneaking a glance at the notes.
“I live at 26 Robin Lane, Micanopy, Florida.”
“Do you live alone?”
“Yes, I live by myself.”
“And what do you do in Micanopy?”
“I’m a farmer.”
“Did you always live at that address alone?”
“No. I used to live with a man named Leonard Woods. I actually worked for Mr. Woods. I lived in an apartment attached to the main house. Mr. Woods left me the house when he died.”
“Was Mr. Woods a farmer too?”
“No. He was a professor of microbiology at the University of Florida in Gainesville, which is about twenty miles up the road from Micanopy.”
“Do you know if Mr. Woods knew a man named Carl Robertson?”
“Yes. Leonard had known Carl for about five years. They were working on something together.”
“Did you know Carl Robertson?”
“I met him once. He came to the house to see Leonard about a year and a half ago.”
“Do you know what they were working on?”
“I haven’t a clue. There’s a man in Wisconsin who knows. He was also a microbiology professor and a friend of Leonard’s. His name is Milton Jeffries.”
“Now, you were approached about this case by my investigator, a man named Henry Wilson, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Was he the first person who contacted you about this case?”
“No. A man named Sal Paglia called about six months ago. I told him that Leonard knew Carl and that they were working together on something, pretty much exactly what I told Henry-Henry Wilson, your investigator. And, of course, I told him that Leonard was dead.”
“How did Leonard die?”
That was enough for Spencer Taylor. “Objection, your honor. This entire line of questioning is totally irrelevant.”
The judge looked at Jack, who responded, “Judge, the next two witnesses will establish the relevancy, I assure you.”
Jack could tell he had piqued Langford Middleton’s curiosity. “I’ll allow it,” the judge announced. “Make it quick, Mr. Tobin.”
“I will, your honor.” Jack turned his attention back to Valentine. “How did Leonard die?”
“He was struck by a hit-and-run driver.”
“Was the driver ever caught?”
“No.”
“Tell the jury the circumstances of the hit-and-run.”
Spencer Taylor was on his feet again. “Your honor, this is totally irrelevant.”
“I assume that is an objection, Mr. Taylor? Overruled. Mr. Tobin, my patience is running thin.”
“Yes, your honor, I’m almost done.”
He didn’t have to ask the question again. “He was hit on Robin Lane at seven in the morning,” Valentine answered. “Robin Lane is a little dirt road that is very bumpy. Most cars can only go ten miles an hour on it.”
“And when did this take place?”
“As I said, seven o’clock in the morning. It was on September 2, 1998.”
Someone in the gallery let out a loud gasp, and there was a general murmuring. Obviously those who were following the case closely had picked up on the fact that Leonard Woods was killed the morning after Carl Robertson was murdered.
Judge Middleton banged his gavel for the first time in the entire trial. “Silence!” he bellowed. “If you want to talk, leave the courtroom. If you talk here again,
you will be removed.” The murmuring stopped.
“No further questions, your honor.”
“Cross-examination, Mr. Taylor?”
Spencer Taylor looked like he wanted to beat Valentine Busby over the head, but Busby was a dangerous witness, and there was nothing to gain by cross-examination. So far, he had just raised a coincidence. The defense still had a long way to go to connect the dots. “No questions, your honor.”
“Call your next witness, Mr. Tobin.”
“The defense calls Ms. Charlene Pope.”
Charlie was looking her professional best in a blue business suit, and she gave Jack a warm and encouraging smile as she sat in the witness chair. Jack first took her through her qualifications, then started in on the significant portion of his direct examination.
“Ms. Pope, were you hired by me to do anything in this case?”
“Yes, I was.”
“And what were you asked to do?”
“You asked me to review the last five years of financial records of Mr. Carl Robertson to see if there was anything in those records that might shed some light on why he was killed. You also asked me to review the telephone records of Mr. Robertson for the same reason.”
“Did you review the telephone records?”
“Yes.”
“Was there anything in those telephone records that appeared to you to be unusual?”
Spencer Taylor was on his feet again. “Objection. The question is vague.”
“Sustained.”
Jack tried again. “Had Mr. Robertson been in contact with anybody in particular before his death?”
Charlie answered right away before Taylor could object again. “Yes. In the month before his death he called Leonard Woods thirty-eight times. He called him twenty times the month before that.” The murmuring started up again, but it stopped immediately when the judge raised his gavel.
“Proceed, Mr. Tobin.”
Now it was time for Jack to venture into the unknown and ask Charlie questions he didn’t know the answers to.
“Were you able to determine from the financial records if Mr. Robertson was working on anything in particular before his death?”
“Yes.” Charlie turned and looked at the jury like a seasoned expert would. “You have to understand something. Mr. Robertson was a very rich man, a multibillionaire, a conglomerate unto himself. About five years ago, Mr. Robertson started buying up gas stations across the country. He owned at least five in every major city in the United States and at least one in every city with a population of more than a hundred thousand people.”
Spencer Taylor interrupted as Charlie was about to continue. “Your honor, what Mr. Robertson did with his money before he died is totally irrelevant to why we are here today.”
Jack couldn’t believe Spencer had made such a statement in open court. Besides being contrary to the judge’s specific instructions, it was the type of statement that could come back and bite him later on.
“Mr. Taylor, I warned you and Mr. Tobin about speaking motions. Approach the bench.”
When they got to the sidebar, the judge addressed Jack, not Spencer Taylor. “Where is this going, Mr. Tobin? It’s starting to sound like a wild goose chase.”
“It’s not, your honor. Milton Jeffries is here, and he will tell the court what Carl Robertson and Leonard Woods were working on when they were killed. I have a witness after that who will relate it all to the murder before this court.”
While the judge was thinking, Jack was hoping like hell he wouldn’t be asked what Milton Jeffries was going to say, because he had no idea.
“All right, Mr. Tobin. I’m going to give you some leeway because your client is on trial for murder, but if you don’t connect the dots I’m going to strike all these witnesses’ testimony. And if Mr. Taylor wants it, I’ll give him a mistrial. Do you understand?”
“Yes, your honor.”
“Proceed.”
Jack walked back to the podium. “You were talking about the gas stations, Ms. Pope.”
“Yes. In addition to the gas stations, Mr. Robertson was buying trucks-tanker trucks for gasoline as well as eighteen-wheel hauling trucks. He had a very large fleet at the time of his death. He also had constructed and tooled four large manufacturing plants-in the Northeast, Northwest, Southeast, and Southwest-and he was in the process of hiring people to work in those plants.”
Jack was doing everything he could to dampen down his own raging curiosity. He knew from his cursory look at Henry’s folder that Milton Jeffries was the payoff to everything Charlie was setting up. At the moment, though, he didn’t even know if Charlie was done. He looked at her intently and caught an almost imperceptible signal in her expression.
“Thank you, Ms. Pope. No further questions.”
“Cross-examination, Mr. Taylor?”
“Yes, your honor.” Spencer walked to the podium and glared at Charlie.
“You put a lot of time in on this, Ms. Pope?”
“Yes I did.”
“And how much were you paid for your services?”
“I wasn’t. I did it for free.”
“Free? And why is it that you devoted your time for free?”
“Because Jack Tobin is a friend of mine.”
“Oh! And did Mr. Tobin tell you that he needed you to find something in those records that he could use to get the defendant off?”
“Yes. If something was there.”
“If something was there? Let me ask you, then-do you know what Mr. Robertson was doing with all these gas stations and trucks and factories?”
“No, I don’t.”
“You don’t. You don’t even know what this so-called evidence you found for your friend means, is that what you’re telling this jury?”
“Yes.”
“No further questions.”
“Redirect, Mr. Tobin?”
“No, your honor.”
“Call your next witness.”
“The defense calls Mr. Milton Jeffries.”
Milton Jeffries was a tall man with a thick moustache and glasses. He wore a brown tweed jacket, and he looked like the stereotypical professor. Jack took as little time as possible over the preliminaries; he could tell the judge was losing his patience.
“Mr. Jeffries, did you know Leonard Woods?”
“Yes, I knew Leonard for many years. He was a colleague. We both taught microbiology-I at the University of Wisconsin, he at Florida. It’s really a small community. We’d meet at seminars a few times a year, exchange information, that sort of thing.”
“There has been some testimony about a project he was working on before his death. Do you know anything about that?”
“Yes, I do. I helped him a little bit on it.”
“Do you know who Carl Robertson is?”
“Yes. He was Leonard’s partner in the project.”
“Can you tell the jury what that project was?”
“It’s a little complicated, but I’ll try. Leonard had created a bacteria-cloned it, actually. This bacteria could break down biomass in a unique way-a way that had never been done before. Let me explain what biomass is. It’s basically the garbage of the environment-farm waste such as corn stems, cobs and leaves, sugarcane residues, rice hulls, wood wastes, and other organic materials.”
Jack could see Milton starting to drift off into that scientific no-man’s land. He needed to bring him back.
“What was the purpose of this bacteria breaking down this biomass?”
“That’s the exciting part. The bacteria can break down these waste products into ethanol.”
Jack didn’t understand, and he knew the jury didn’t either. He had to ask the question even though he was fumbling in the dark.
“So?” he asked.
“So, before this breakthrough, ethanol could only be made from high-value materials such as cornstarch and cane syrup, using yeast fermentation. In other words, the ethanol was more expensive than regular oil and the supply-corn and sugar-was limite
d. Leonard’s process created a virtually unlimited source for ethanol, and he wasn’t depleting the food supply. He and Carl calculated they could sell it for about $1.40 a gallon. They figured they could replace half the automotive fuel in the United States with this new fuel.”
Jack’s brain was firing with connections. It all made sense now: Gainesville and breakthrough, the relationship with a microbiology professor-and the high stakes that had somehow led to more than one murder. Henry was right. They were dealing with something way over their heads.
Milton Jeffries wasn’t through. “Leonard perfected his process just before he was killed. He was about to apply for a patent. Carl was going to start production-get the trucks rolling, so to speak-the day of the application. Carl had the factories in place and had acquired the gas stations so they could be on the market literally before anybody knew they existed.”
“They could be in business overnight?”
“Exactly! And that’s the only way they figured they could be in business at all. There are some powerful interests in this country that they expected would try to stand in the way.”
“And that’s when both of them were killed.”
Spencer Taylor finally woke up. “Objection. Speculation.”
“Sustained.”
Jack didn’t need an answer. It wasn’t a question-it was a statement.
“No further questions, your honor.”
“Cross, Mr. Taylor?”
Spencer Taylor seemed almost reluctant to get to his feet. He sat in his chair with his head down without responding to the judge.
“Mr. Taylor?”
Spencer raised his head at the second inquiry. “Yes, your honor.” He stood, walked to the podium, and snarled at the witness. “Mr. Jeffries, you knew both men were dead a year and a half ago, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Have you said anything to anybody about this during that year?”
“No.”
“You didn’t say anything until Mr. Tobin found you in Wisconsin and enticed you to fly back here to tell this wild story to the jury, is that correct?”
“It’s correct that I didn’t tell this story until now. It’s not a story, though. It’s fact. And I have the research to prove it.”
The Law of Second Chances jt-2 Page 36
