“Perfect, perfect!” Juri said, standing at the end of the bar. Scott turned just in time to see Juri kiss his forearm twice and say, “I’m sooo good!”
“Glad to see you in a good mood, after that disaster of a ball game by the Braves last night,” Scott said.
“Ah, don’t bring that up—one hit—one lousy hit from the whole team. With Chipper Jones being the only guy hitting over three hundred, what do you expect? What’s wrong, Scott?”
“Like I said last time you asked, nothing’s wrong except hitting, pitching, and fielding. Maybe they excel at base running,” Scott said with a grin.
“Base running! How would we know? They have to get on base first! No, Scott, I gave up on this gang a couple weeks ago,” Juri said.
“Did you see the night game on Sunday?” Scott asked.
“Yeah, seventeen innings. Almost midnight before Teixeira singles to bring in Blanco. Took ‘em seventeen innings!”
“So, you watched ‘til almost midnight. Admit it, Juri, you really haven’t given up on ‘em,” Scott said.
“No, you got me, Scott. I guess the Braves are in my soul. Division championships fifteen years straight. No one will ever top that. I can’t give up on ‘em, but they are making me hurt right now.”
“Me too,” Scott said. “But they’ll come back. Maybe not in time for this season, but they’ll come back. Winners always do.” Scott glanced at the entryway and saw Jennifer. “Speaking of winners, I see one heading our way.”
Scott stood, gave Jennifer a quick kiss, and they both took a seat at the bar.
“Well hello, Jennifer. I’ve got a good one for you,” Juri said, with a grin. He was immediately interrupted by Scott.
“Your manners, Juri, your manners. Get Jennifer something—her favorite, if you recall.”
“Sure, sure, sorry,” Juri said, turning and walking over to some bar supplies a few feet away. In just a few moments he was back with Jennifer’s drink. The grin returned, along with a twinkle in his eye. He turned his head side to side, looking to make sure he had both Scott’s and Jennifer’s attention before beginning once again.
“This blonde was trying to sell her old car. Problem was it had 250,000 miles on it. She told her friend about her problem. ‘Oh, I know a mechanic who can fix that,’ her friend said. ‘He can turn that odometer back. That’ll help you sell it.’ He wrote the mechanic’s address on a card. ‘Thanks, I’ll do it,’ the blonde said. A couple weeks later, friend sees her, and she’s driving the same old car. ‘Still trying to sell the old car?’ the friend asked.”
Juri took a step back, carefully surveying his listeners before continuing.
“‘No,’ the blonde says. ‘Why should I? It only has 10,000 miles on it!’”
Juri’s enthusiastic laughter after his own jokes was always contagious. Scott and Jennifer joined in, but at the same time Scott gave him a thumbs down with both hands. It did not deter Juri. “What’s the difference between a lawyer and a catfish?” he asked, but before anyone could answer, he said, “One’s a slimy, bottom-dwelling, scum sucker. The other’s a fish.” Juri continued laughing—he had not stopped laughing from his first joke.
“That’s awful, Juri—also, old and worn,” Scott said. “But why do you make fun of us? We’re just trying to make an honest living. And here’s something to consider—saw it on a bumper sticker this morning. ‘If you think lawyer jokes are funny, next time you’re in a jam call a comedian.’ What do you think of that?”
“Think of that? Well, it reminds me of another story. Woman lawyer walks into a bar holding a duck—”
“No! Enough! A curse on the Braves tonight if you continue. Jennifer and I are having dinner here, and any more we’ll both lose our appetites. Bring me the tab when you figure it up.”
“Tab’s on me if the Braves beat the Dodgers tonight and double on you if they lose,” Juri replied.
“You’re on,” Scott said. He reached for Jennifer’s hand and they left the bar for the Library dining room, just around the corner from the bar. The restaurant was not crowded, and they found their favorite table, a corner booth.
Once they were seated, Jennifer said, “Didn’t you want to hear about the woman lawyer and the duck?” She had a playful smile on her face.
“Not tonight. He’ll tell it the next time we’re here, and I wanted to tell you about a visit I had with the new attorney for Max Gordon.”
“Diamond Jim? You told me that Charles Samarkos had briefed you about him and his colorful lifestyle. Did he live up to it?”
“Sure did,” said Scott. “He’s even weirder than Samarkos led me to believe. And he plays the part, down to his attire. He was wearing a white linen suit and a black bolo tie. Black hair and moustache—moustache covered half his face, wide and rectangular. And diamonds. Diamonds on his tie, diamond cuff links, diamonds on his fingers. I’m not sure, but I think he had diamonds on every finger, both hands. You remember my friend, Grady Wilder, don’t you? My supervisor when I was interning at the DA’s office?”
“I never met him, but you spoke of him often,” Jennifer said.
“He’s a federal prosecutor in Atlanta now. I called him to see what he knew of Colosimo. Grady said his weirdness is part of his PR. He may in fact be weird, but it gets him a lot of publicity—and is attractive to the criminal element. Meet him, or see him or just hear of him, and you remember. Psychologically, I guess, diamonds mean success, and success means he’s a winner. Seems to work for him. Grady says he’s one of the go-to criminal defense lawyers in Atlanta and pretty good in the courtroom. But weirdness is not the only trait that sets him apart. He’s got the personality of a snake.”
“You found that out in the first visit?”
“Yes. He goes out of his way to insult. Grady warned me about it, so I was on guard not to lose my cool.”
A waitress came for their order, and they realized that while they had been talking neither had even picked up the menu. They took a brief glance at it, and both quickly ordered; they were eager to return to their conversation.
Scott continued. “As I was saying, he has the personality of a snake and a tongue just as venomous. He said I was young and inexperienced and had already made multiple mistakes. He may be correct on all points, but it was also an obvious attempt to insult. He listed three mistakes I had already made, the first, not accepting that I should be disqualified from prosecuting the case. That’s the motion Samarkos made and Judge McCabe denied. Then he said that I should realize that Max Gordon did not commit any crime and that it was ‘prosecutorial misconduct’ to charge him. Finally, he added that even with my ‘limited knowledge of the law’—mentioned that a couple of times—I should understand that I couldn’t prove perjury because of the two-witness rule. I suppose if Grady hadn’t told me that insulting the prosecutor was part of his MO, I may have gotten angry. Obviously that’s what he was hoping for. Fact is, I thought he was funny, in a pathetic sort of way.”
“I see what you mean by ‘personality of a snake’,” Jennifer said. “But snakes can be dangerous. Teamed up with his client Max Gordon, he could be really dangerous. I don’t see it as ‘funny’ at all. You better watch your back.”
“Same advice I got from Grady,” Scott said. “But let me tell you about the end of the conversation with this guy. He said he was a student of history of the Al Capone era, and there was a story I should check out. Seems there was a young, hard-charging Chicago prosecutor by the name of William McSwiggin, about my age. He was assigned to prosecute an indictment against Al Capone for a murder in a Chicago bar. Said I should look it up to see how that had helped his career. That’s all he said about it. I haven’t had a chance to check it out, but I am curious. I’ve read a few stories about Al Capone and his gang, but don’t recall anything about a McSwiggin.”
“Let me check it out. I’ll be over at the law library all day tomorrow, wor
king on my ARP. I’ll see what I can find about the career of McSwiggin. Sally Waters, one of the research librarians, has been helping me. She’s good. If I can’t find anything, I’m sure she can.”
“Thanks. And enough about Gordon’s weird attorney. How is the trip planning coming?” Scott asked.
Jennifer and her family were going to Europe in a few weeks. It was the main topic of discussion during the visit to Hilton Head the past weekend. Jennifer gave him an update on their plans. Their meal was served, and they continued the conversation without mentioning again the Gordon case or “Diamond Jim.” Afterwards, neither Wanted nor WALL·E seemed appealing.
“I have a better idea,” Jennifer said. “Let’s just go to my place. I’m sure we can find something to do more interesting than either movie.”
Chapter Ten
Wednesday, July 9
Scott arrived for work early the next morning. He had a busy schedule for the day, which included a briefing for Joe Fasi on his meeting with Colosimo Monday afternoon. Scott was still digesting the contents of the investigative file that had been prepared by GBI agent Carl DeBickero. It was several inches thick and contained quite a bit of criminal investigation jargon that was not familiar to Scott. Much of that concerned the transfer of payoff money. The delivery of the cash from Wilborn to Patel and Johnson was easy to follow, though Scott still wondered why Wilborn, with a half million in cash and driving alone across the country in his SUV, didn’t just skip the country. That could be expected from such a lowlife crook. After all, before hooking up with Max Gordon for the Harrison trial, Wilborn was just skirting by with a failing law practice conducted from a small office located between a tattoo parlor and pawn shop in a dingy strip mall on the south side of Macon.
The money transfer between Senator Harrison, Gordon, the drug cartel, and the eventual cash transfer to Wilborn, was complicated. He had discussed that with Carl, but even Carl had questions still to be answered. Carl had been unable to interview Senator Harrison, who was now hospitalized from another stroke from which he was unlikely to recover. Carl had obtained court orders for a massive amount of phone records, but there were no text messages in the records. These players had been too smart for that. And the phone records contained little more than originating and answering phone numbers, dates, and length of calls. That could be valuable in some criminal investigations, but not here, as Scott already had three of the four indicted defendants ready to testify—or they soon would be. Hopefully he would not need this extensive—and rather elusive—evidence from the investigative report. But he was still working hard to make sure he understood as much as possible and wasn’t missing something.
Midmorning, Scott received a phone call from Jennifer. “I was able to track William McSwiggin,” she said. “He wasn’t such an obscure person after all. I admit I’d never heard of him, but there’s quite a bit about him on the Internet.”
“Tell me about him,” Scott said.
“The research your new friend, Diamond Jim, recommended was about McSwiggin’s career, right?”
“Right—said I could learn something from researching his career,” Scott replied.
“Didn’t take long. His career was cut short,” Jennifer said.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning that for a young prosecutor, he should not have been saddled with prosecuting Al Capone for murder.”
“You’re not making sense,” Scott said. “Tell me about his career. That was the thing ‘my new friend,’ as you call him, said I could learn a lot from.”
“And that’s what I’m trying to tell you. Prosecuting Al Capone was not a good career start for William McSwiggin—he was murdered. And they never discovered who murdered him. Of course, Capone was one of the suspects, because McSwiggin was actively pursuing him. But Capone was never charged—no one was. Scott, I’m not joking; I think this is serious. That guy was trying to send you a message—you pursue Gordon and you’ll end up like McSwiggin—dead!”
Scott listened carefully to Jennifer. If her research was correct—and he was sure it was— Colosimo was indeed trying to send a message. During their brief meeting on Monday afternoon, Colosimo named three major mistakes Scott had made, and the first mistake he mentioned was not disqualifying himself from prosecuting Gordon. At the time, Scott thought he was merely trying to anger him by insulting him. But now, considering the McSwiggin tale and his insistence that Scott research McSwiggin’s ‘career,’ perhaps it was much more than an insult—a warning for Scott to step aside. He certainly could not discount that possibility. After all, he was dealing with a genuine weirdo obsessed with Chicago’s gangland history of the 1920s.
Scott noted the concern in Jennifer’s voice, and he did not want to further alarm her. “Oh, it was just part of his shtick,” Scott said. “Wanted to send me on a wild goose chase. And even if he was trying to send a message, it’s merely a lame attempt to frighten me. It failed. End of story.”
“Scott, that may not be the end of the story. He really may have something evil in mind. I’m concerned.”
“I wish you weren’t; it really should be of no concern. The guy is just weird. But if it will ease your concern, I’ll check him out—see if there is any violence in his past.” Scott had heard nothing from Grady to indicate Colosimo may be prone to violence. His weirdness was a PR ploy. He hoped this promise to check on him would satisfy Jennifer. It didn’t.
“Scott, I’m really concerned. I want you to tell your supervisor about it. Promise me.”
“I will, Jennifer. In fact, I have a meeting with him this afternoon.”
After the call, Scott sat at his desk for several minutes, just staring across the room at a bare wall. He wished that he had never mentioned the McSwiggin story to her. He could see that she was upset. But it was absurd to think this was an actual threat on his life. Yes, Colosimo may have been trying to anger and frighten him, but surely he did not expect Scott to drop out of the case. And murder? Ridiculous. However, he had promised Jennifer he would check him out. He placed a call to Atlanta.
“Grady, when you briefed me on ‘Diamond Jim’ Colosimo, you made it clear that he was one weird dude, but you never indicated any violence in his background. May I assume that there is none?”
“No, of course you can’t make such an assumption. Didn’t you listen to my lecture on assumptions?” Grady replied, with a laugh. “But I haven’t heard of any. Of course, I’ve been here less than two years. Can’t say I know a lot about his past. But violence? I think I would have heard if there was any. He’s a pretty talked-about guy. As I said, he’s weird, but his weirdness is deliberate. Why do you ask?”
“I met with him briefly in my office Monday afternoon. He was everything you said, and he did his best to insult me. But he went further. Ever heard of an Al Capone-era prosecutor by the name of William McSwiggin?”
“Can’t say that I have,” replied Grady.
“Well, Colosimo told me I could learn a lot by checking out a young prosecutor who was assigned to prosecute an indictment against Al Capone for murder. His name was William McSwiggin. Colosimo said I should check out how this helped his career. I mentioned it to Jennifer and she checked it out. Seems McSwiggin didn’t have a career after the Capone assignment. He was murdered. Capone was a suspect, but it was never proved. No one was ever charged. I think Colosimo was attempting two things: get me angry, as you said he would try, and to frighten me. He did neither. I think he’s a clown. But Jennifer’s concerned—made me promise I would check out the guy for violence. So, as I promised, I’m checking it out.”
“Well, I don’t have any knowledge of any violence, but this guy’s not a clown, Scott, if you are using that in the sense of his being stupid. In fact, he’s a shrewd Chicago-style lawyer. I think he’s capable of almost any shenanigan—inside and outside the courtroom, but I doubt that violence is part of his practice. Tell Jennifer that Grady said not
to worry.”
“Will do. Thanks, Grady.”
❖ ❖ ❖
Scott was in Fasi’s office at 3:00 p.m. for the scheduled briefing on the Gordon case. There were some preliminary questions about Scott’s case load, which now was one of the heaviest in the entire felony division. Fasi suggested that Scott try to unload more cases via pretrial agreements. He was aware that Scott preferred to take his cases to trial, and Fasi was insisting that he make better use of plea agreements.
“It’s a matter of good case management, Scott. We aren’t getting any more prosecutors in the felony division any time soon, but the number of new cases is increasing each month. We need to move them. I want you to bring me a list of the cases you have scheduled for trial for August and September. We’ll discuss them and together come up with a satisfactory plea agreement for each. How about Friday morning? Do you have an hour or so?”
“Sure. I have a hearing in a drug case at nine, but I should be out by ten or ten-thirty. How about eleven?” Scott said.
“Eleven is good,” said Fasi. “I want you to have a proposed pretrial for each case. We’ll discuss and together finalize it. Bring your October docket also. And if we need more time, we can finish early next week. Now, what’s the latest with the Gordon case?”
“Couple of things. Johnson—the guy from Colorado—was arraigned last week on both perjury and conspiracy to commit perjury. He’s represented by the PD and still hasn’t made bail. He’s got that $250,000 stashed somewhere, so he’ll eventually make bail—or maybe he won’t. If it’s not in a bank and he has it stashed somewhere, he’ll have to get help to get it. Who’s he gonna trust with that sum of money? I think he’ll remain in jail a while. Bail’s set at $25,000.”
The Two-Witness Rule: A Novel Page 6
