Most Dangerous Place

by James Grippando

  “But what am I supposed to do?” asked Isa. “You want me to lie about what happened and say I wasn’t raped?”

  “No,” said Manny, speaking in a flat, calm voice. “I want you to shut up.”

  She bristled at his words.

  “I want all of us to shut up,” said Manny. “We need to stop telling the prosecutor, the media, or anyone else that you were raped. I don’t want to put anything out there that could be used against us at trial to prove that Gabriel Sosa sexually assaulted you. Because as it stands now, I don’t see any way for the prosecutor to prove rape. No rape means no motive. No motive means no conviction.”

  “I don’t like that approach,” said Isa. “I don’t like it one bit.”

  Manny shrugged. “Then maybe you’ll like spending the rest of your life in prison.”

  She glanced at Jack, reaching out for help.

  “Manny, tone it down,” said Jack.

  “I say it like it is,” said Manny.

  “No, you say it as you want it to be.”

  “What do you think, Jack?” asked Isa.

  Jack still had his doubts about Manny, but he had listened with an open mind. “This is the toughest issue a criminal defendant can face: Should I speak up and explain my innocence or should I stand silent and say the government can’t prove my guilt beyond a reasonable doubt?”

  “But do you agree with Manny?”

  He looked only at Isa as he spoke, sensing that she needed the reassurance. “To some extent. If you say publicly that you were raped, under the rules of evidence your statement can be used against you at trial. It’s an admission. So I agree that you should make no public statement.”

  “Good,” said Manny. “Then we’re all on board.”

  “Not so fast,” said Jack, shifting his gaze toward his cocounsel. “I don’t agree that we should all shut up. The prosecution deserves every bit of the public backlash it’s getting for bringing murder charges against Isa. If the lawyers tell the media that Isa was raped, the prosecutor can’t use that against our client at trial.”

  “Now you’re splitting hairs,” said Manny.

  “No,” said Jack. “It’s an important point. Yes, Isa should be silent. But her lawyers will continue to work the media and keep the pressure on the state attorney’s office for building a first-degree murder case where the charges, if any, should have been far less serious.”

  “Are you saying that I won’t testify at trial?” asked Isa.

  “That’s a call that we’ll make way down the road,” said Jack. “Right now, the goal is to keep you from making some public statement before trial that will make it easier for the prosecutor to prove her case.”

  Isa breathed in and out. “I guess I can live with that.”

  Manny shook his head. “Well, what Jack says is very nice in theory, but the fact of the matter is that none of us can say anything about the sexual assault.”

  “Why?” asked Isa.

  “That’s the agreement I made with Sylvia Hunt. She agreed that the state attorney would not oppose bail as long as we agreed to have ‘no comment’ until the investigation into the misconduct of the correctional officer is completed.”

  “‘No comment’ on the investigation doesn’t mean that you and Jack can’t talk about what Gabriel Sosa did,” she said, and then she looked at Jack. “Does it?”

  “I agreed to a blanket gag order,” said Manny. “The defense cannot talk to the media. Period.”

  Things suddenly came clear to Jack. Manny had a strategy firmly in mind—Sosa didn’t rape Isa—and he’d single-handedly committed the defense team to it.

  “That doesn’t seem like the best result,” said Isa.

  “It’s the best possible result,” said Manny. “You’re out of jail.”

  Isa closed her eyes and massaged between them. “This is giving me a major headache.”

  “We’ve covered enough for one morning,” said Jack.

  “When should we meet again?” she asked.

  “Soon,” said Jack, and then his gaze drifted toward Manny. “But first, the lawyers need to have a talk. A good, honest talk. Just the two of us.”

  “Okay, call me when you need me,” said Isa. “Thank you both,” she added, and then left the room.

  “I gotta take off, too,” said Manny. “If I hurry, I can still make my tee time at La Gorce.”

  “I was serious about having a lawyers-only conversation,” said Jack.

  The refrigerator was acting up again. Manny kicked the side of it, and it went silent. “Cute little setup you have here, Swyteck. Let’s do that talk at my office.”

  Jack rose. He didn’t want to have it out with Manny with Keith and Isa in the other room, but it was getting hard to hold his tongue. “Is this the way you want to play it, Manny?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “If we’re going to be a team, you need to stop acting like you’re the captain of the ship.”

  “I am the captain. It wasn’t you who got Isa out on bail.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about, Manny. I haven’t said a single negative word about you to Isa. But everything you say and do is calculated to convince her that this is a one-lawyer operation. You decide what we say to the media. You decide the trial strategy. You’re the legal magician who got his client out of jail with the wave of his wand.”

  “I assure you, Jack, it wasn’t magic.”

  “I have no doubt. But, boy, wasn’t it one hell of a funny coincidence the way this case just fell in your lap? Especially within hours of Isa’s father coming into my office—my ‘cute little setup’—and telling me that he didn’t want me to be her attorney and that he would share his evidence that she wasn’t raped only with her new lawyer.”

  “Jack,” he said with a reproving shake of his head. “Are you accusing me of dirty pool?”

  “How many Venezuelan clients do you have, Manny?”

  “I’ve had many Venezuelan clients. It’s the nature of my business. Caracas is the new Medellín.”

  “Let me put it another way: How many Venezuelan clients named Bornelli do you represent?”

  He smiled a little, then turned serious. “The same as you, Jack. Same as you.”

  Jack met his stare.

  “My foursome’s waiting at the country club,” he said, the first to blink.

  Jack’s gaze stayed on him like a laser until his cocounsel showed himself out and closed the door behind him.

  Chapter 17

  Jack drove to Coconut Grove at noon. It was related to Isa’s case, but it wasn’t exactly a working lunch. He was paying a visit to Theo Knight.

  Theo was Jack’s best friend, bartender, therapist, confidant, and sometime investigator. He was also a former client, a onetime gangbanger who easily could have ended up dead on the streets of Overtown Village or Liberty City. Instead, he landed on death row for a murder he didn’t commit. Jack literally saved his life. With his civil settlement from the state Theo went on to open his own tavern—Sparky’s he’d called it, a play on words and double-barreled flip of the bird to “Old Sparky,” the nickname for the electric chair he’d avoided. Sparky’s success led to a second bar in Coconut Grove—Cy’s Place.

  Cy’s Place was better known for its late-night jazz than its lunch menu, so Jack had his choice of barstools. He took one in front of the television, which was permanently tuned to ESPN. Theo came over, reached over the bar top, and gave Jack one of those multistep handshakes that Jack could never keep up with, even if Theo did sometimes call him a brother.

  “Whassup, dude?”

  “Same old,” said Jack.

  “You hungry? How ’bout a Riley Special?”

  Theo had anointed himself Uncle Theo, and the Riley Special was a hot dog, no bun, cut into a hundred tiny pieces.

  “No, there’s a reason we call it the Riley Special.”

  “You could have brought my little niece, you know.”

  “Next time.�
��

  Andie wasn’t crazy about bringing a two-year-old to a bar and feeding her hot dogs. But what happened at Cy’s Place stayed at Cy’s Place—until their last visit, when Riley had gone home singing her own version of “Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall.”

  “Is your wife still pissed at me for teaching Riley to count backward?”

  “First of all, she wasn’t mad. Secondly, I don’t think ninety-tenty, eleventy-twelvety qualifies as counting, let alone counting backward.”

  “It was her first attempt, okay?”

  The couple seated at the other end of the bar flagged Theo’s attention. He broke away to check on them.

  Jack knew he wasn’t kidding about bringing Riley around more. Four years lost for someone else’s crime had left Theo in a perpetual mode of “anything worth doing is worth overdoing.” Theo wasn’t just an uncle; he was going to be the Willie Mays of uncles. Cy’s Place wasn’t just a jazz club; it was the reincarnation of Miami’s Overtown in its heyday. No one had to remind Jack what a special place this was. Creaky wood floors, redbrick walls, and high ceilings were the perfect bones for the club that Theo’s great-uncle had always dreamed of owning. Art nouveau chandeliers cast just the right mood lighting. At night, crowded café tables fronted a small stage for live music. More important, on these very barstools, at the grand opening, sparks had begun to fly for Jack and FBI agent Andie Henning. They’d talked and laughed till two a.m., listening to Uncle Cy give them a taste of Miami’s old Overtown Village through his saxophone. A few months later, on the second anniversary of Jack’s thirty-ninth birthday, Jack put a ring on her finger. Good times.

  Why does all that seem like a million years ago?

  “Be back in one second,” said Theo, as he breezed past Jack on his way to the kitchen. “I got some info.”

  Jack knew Theo wouldn’t let him down. Andie had given Jack good advice: if he wanted to know the real story behind bail, Jack needed to talk to Isa’s cellmate before she was swallowed up by the Justice Department’s investigation into the guard’s misconduct. The chances that she would talk to Jack seemed remote. It was the perfect job for Theo.

  The café doors swung open. Theo emerged from the kitchen, delivered a couple of sandwiches to the other end of the bar, and went back to Jack.

  “Were you able to set up a meeting?”

  “Yep. And you don’t have to worry about me doing anything illegal to make it happen, either. No bribery, no threats.”

  “How’d you do it?”

  “One of my old waitresses is locked up over there. Drug charge. I asked if she knows Foneesha Johnson. She did, and she put in a good word for me. Foneesha and me met this morning.”

  “How did it go?”

  “Pretty good. I’m gonna take her to a Heat game in about six months, if she’s acquitted. In about twenty-five years if she ain’t.”

  “I meant—you know what I meant.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I’m not totally messin’ with you. See, I think the chances are real good that she’ll be acquitted. You know why?”

  “I’m guessing that it’s not because she’s innocent.”

  “You exactly right. She’s got herself a top-flight lawyer.”

  “Yeah, I know. Her lawyer is Manuel Espinosa.”

  “But did you know this? Manny is doing it for free.”

  “Manny is defending her for free?”

  “Is there a fucking parrot in here?”

  “Sorry,” said Jack. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around this. Manny’s a drug lawyer. He wouldn’t represent his own mother for free.”

  “No shit. But it has to be true, dude. No way can Foneesha Johnson afford Manuel Espinosa.”

  He had a point there. “Okay. So how did Isa’s cellmate pull off a freebie?”

  “According to Foneesha, he reached out to her. He offered to be her lawyer free of charge if she met with him face-to-face. She said deal.”

  “There has to be more to it than that.”

  “There is. But this is where she got a little fuzzy on me. See, to get the free lawyer, she had to do something in exchange.”

  “Something like what?”

  “A favor. I don’t mean a sexual favor.”

  “I know you don’t mean sexual. Theo, just spit it out.”

  Theo leaned closer, as if sharing the world’s biggest secret. “She had to help Isa get out on bail.”

  “How?”

  “She wouldn’t tell me. Well, she wouldn’t tell me yesterday. She said she’ll tell me at the Heat game. Can you swing tickets? I’ll take anything. Even the sorry-ass Knicks.”

  “Theo, forget the Heat, okay? This is major what you’re telling me.”

  “Well, if it’s major I’ll take Golden State.”

  “Fine. You can have any game you want. Just shut up for sixty seconds and let me sort this out.” Jack closed his eyes, then opened them, thinking aloud. “Here’s what Manny told me. Follow the timeline here. A guard went to Isa’s cellmate. He tried to coerce her into being part of his plan to sexually assault Isa.”

  “Foneesha didn’t tell me anything about that.”

  “That’s fine. Stay with me. The cellmate went to Isa and told her about the guard’s plan.”

  “And then Isa called you?”

  “No,” said Jack, shaking his head. “She called Manny. Because Manny was Foneesha’s lawyer.”

  They looked at each other for a moment, trying to make sense of it.

  “That doesn’t really add up,” said Theo. “Foneesha told me that she got Manny for free after she promised to help get Isa out of jail.”

  “Right,” said Jack. “And Manny says the opposite—that he offered to help Isa get out of jail because he was already Foneesha’s lawyer.”

  “What do you think really happened?” asked Theo.

  “No idea.”

  “What do you think could have happened? Worst case.”

  Jack processed it for a few more moments. “Manny found out who Isa’s cellmate was. Manny met with Foneesha, and he offered to represent her for free if she would tell Isa that the guard was planning to rape her.”

  “So you don’t think the guard was actually planning to rape Isa?”

  “You asked me for the worst-case scenario.”

  “You think Manny put the words in Foneesha’s mouth?”

  “I’m just saying it’s possible.”

  “Whoa. A lawyer can get disbarred for making shit like that up.”

  “Yes, he can,” said Jack. “If someone can prove it.”

  “But I’m missing something. Why would Manny even want to help Isa get out on bail? He wasn’t her lawyer. You were.”

  “True. But this would be one way to become her lawyer.”

  “Come on, man. I Googled this guy. Espinosa isn’t hurtin’ for clients who got coin.”

  Jack thought back to the conversation in his office with Isa’s father—Felipe Bornelli’s pull-no-punches disapproval of the lawyer Isa had hired.

  “Maybe this isn’t about Manny getting a new client,” said Jack. “Maybe it’s not even about Isa getting a new lawyer. It could be about control.”

  “Control over what?”

  “Over Isa,” said Jack, “and her case.”

  “Serious shit,” said Theo, as he wiped down the bar. “’Course, all this depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Whether anybody can believe anything Foneesha says.”

  “You trusted her enough to invite her to a Heat game.”

  Theo laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I wouldn’t invite her to sit in the seat next to me if I was wearin’ an ebola suit. Those tickets are for me and my girl—Riley.”

  “So you don’t have any follow-up plans with Foneesha?”

  “Nah. I was lucky to get one visit with her. I got what I could. But don’t take her word as gospel.”

  “All right.” Jack rapped his knuckles on the bar top and climbed down fr
om the stool. “Thank you, pal. I will take this for what it’s worth.”

  Chapter 18

  At about two p.m. Sylvia entered the Village of Merrick Park, an outdoor shopping mall of upscale shops in Coral Gables. She valeted her car and followed the line of towering royal palms to the center of the open-air courtyard. A young woman was seated on the bench facing the fountain. Sylvia hadn’t seen her in almost five years, but as she approached from behind, she immediately recognized the posture, the hair, and the contour of her shoulders.

  “Hello, sweetie,” said Sylvia.

  The woman turned and caught her breath, startled. Sylvia smiled sadly. Still jumpy.

  Sylvia hadn’t visited this spot in almost five years—not since her last meeting with “Jane Doe.” Valerie Hinds was twenty-four years old now. Sylvia had met her when she was just a seventeen-year-old junior at Coral Gables High School. The mall was off limits to students during school hours, which made it the perfect meeting spot, because Valerie didn’t want any of her classmates to see her meeting with a prosecutor. She didn’t want anyone to know that she’d been sexually assaulted.

  It was Sylvia who’d prosecuted the three men who had raped her at knifepoint.

  Valerie rose and gave her a hug. “So good to see you.”

  They took a seat on the bench, shaded by palm fronds and surrounded by the shops of Tiffany, Gucci, and the like. They caught up briefly. Valerie was engaged. She showed Sylvia the ring.

  “Congratulations!” said Sylvia as she gave her a hug.

  Valerie thanked her and smiled. Then she turned serious. “I haven’t told him.”

  “About?”

  “Us. What happened to me.”

  “I see,” said Sylvia. She wasn’t shocked. The thought of testifying at trial had been so traumatizing to Valerie that she’d begged Sylvia to cut a deal—even to drop the charges, if necessary—so she wouldn’t have to face her attackers in court. Sylvia spent countless hours supporting her, consoling her, telling her that it would be all right. But in the end they cut a deal. Valerie just couldn’t do it.