“Why? Is that a problem?” I’m already wishing I had chosen someone else to go.
“Twice as much chance of crashing. Either way, I want to be in coach … in the back.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Planes don’t back into mountains.”
“Hike, are you at all interested in where you’re going?”
“Of course.”
“The Caymans.”
“The Caymans? You mean the islands?”
“No, I mean Hank and Shirley Cayman’s house in Vermont. Of course I meant the Cayman Islands, Hike. Fun in the sun.”
“I don’t know, Andy. Darlene has an aunt that lives on Long Island. We were going to invite her to the wedding.”
“It’s a different island, Hike. I don’t think you’ll run into her.”
“Still … it might remind me of her,” he says, clearly not convinced.
“Besides, Hike, you’ll be too busy working to think about Darlene’s Long Island aunt. Your mind will be occupied with other things.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Watch a phone booth.”
It’s been four days since Hike left for the Caymans.
So far, the only positive development is that neither of his planes crashed. No one has received a 5:00 P.M. phone call on the pay phone, and Sam has verified that in his monitoring of Benjamin’s calls.
I don’t have Hike watching the phone all day, so there is always the possibility that someone else called the phone at a different time. But to have him watching constantly might be a red flag that the target might notice and then change his methods.
I’m finding that I’m missing Hike more than I’d expected in jury selection. He has good instincts, though it took me a while to develop a technique to understand them.
Hike basically thinks that every prospective juror will vote against us, so I used to just disregard his views. Then I realized they could be valuable as long as I utilized them based on gradations of his pessimism.
His opinions of each possible juror ranged from “absolute disaster” to “not a good choice for us.” So when he said the former, then I would be more likely to shy away from that person. If his view was the latter, less strident one, then I’d see that person as someone to consider.
But I’ve muddled through, and we’ve picked twelve unlucky citizens and six almost as unlucky alternates. Seven women, nine whites, fairly elderly in composition … I think we’ve got a very good jury or a very bad one, depending on the verdict they ultimately reach.
Not only do these poor people have to put their lives on hold for however long the trial takes, but they are faced with one of three unpleasant outcomes. They can find Kramer guilty and then be afraid that they put an innocent man away for the rest of his life. Or they can find him not guilty and then be afraid they put a murderer back on the street. Or they can be hung and not come to a verdict, in which case they’ve simply wasted their and everybody else’s time.
Kramer has been mostly silent and disengaged through the process. He’s no dummy; I’m sure he views this as another step in what has felt like the system dragging him toward the edge of a cliff. The twelve people we have chosen are likely to be the ones who finally push him off.
We finish impaneling the jury at 3:00 P.M., and Judge Avery correctly thinks we should adjourn now and get started in the morning. I head home to have dinner with Laurie and Ricky. I’m not sure how often I’ll get to do that during the trial.
Laurie has made my favorite, pasta amatriciana, and Ricky loves it as well. Tara and Sebastian aren’t crazy about it, because it’s not a food that we can slip them samples of.
After dinner Ricky joins me on the walk with Tara and Sebastian through Eastside Park. It’s a cool early evening with a nice breeze. For the moment, all seems right with the world, and while that feeling is certain to be short-lived for me, I’m really enjoying it for right now.
Our walk takes more than an hour, longer than usual, because none of us want it to end. When we get home, Laurie is waiting for us on the porch. “Hike called,” she says. “The call came in.”
“What about Sam? Did you reach him?”
She nods. “I did. He confirmed that Benjamin made the call.”
As soon as I get in the house, I call Hike. “Tell me all about it,” I say.
“At five to five, this guy pulls up, driving a Mercedes. He gets out and walks to the phone, and five minutes later, it rings. I couldn’t get close enough to hear what he was saying, but they talked for maybe six or seven minutes. Then he hung up, got in the car, and left.”
“Great.”
“I was going to follow him, but I did what you told me instead.”
“You get the print?” I had arranged for Hike to have a fingerprint kit to take prints off the phone.
“I did. And then I wiped off the phone so there would be no sign that I did it. I scanned it and sent it to you; check your emails.”
“Perfect.”
“And I got the license plate; that’s in the email as well. I’m pretty sure it’s a rental car.”
“Great job, Hike. Come back tomorrow. I need you in court.”
“I will.”
“Have a safe flight,” I say.
“Flights,” is how he corrects me. “There are two of them.”
“I remember. And you’re sure you don’t want to upgrade to first class?”
“You know my feelings on that.”
“Right … mountains. See you tomorrow, Hike.”
I immediately check my email and call Pete. “Pete, I have a favor to ask.”
“What else is new.”
“There’s a fingerprint that I need you to run.”
“Forget it.”
“I was hoping that as my favorite client, you’d have a more positive reaction.” When Pete was himself wrongly accused of murder, I defended him, got him off, and didn’t charge him a dime. I am not above reminding him of this fact occasionally when I need something.
“You’re calling in a chip on a fingerprint?”
“Chips, Pete. I have many, many chips to use. We both know it.”
He gives an exaggerated sigh, a sure sign that I’ve won. “Where’s the print?”
“I’ll email it to you.”
Click. He hangs up on me, which in this case is a good sign.
That out of the way, I call Sam and give him the license plate number of the car used by the phone guy in the Caymans. “Can you find out who rented it?”
“If the rental car companies down there use computers. Any place that still has pay phones, you never know.”
“Okay. Get me the name, and if I’m in court and you can’t reach me, don’t let that slow you down. Find out everything you can about the renter.”
Roboton’s offices are located on Route 9W in Englewood.
It’s a sprawling, single-story building, very modern in design. Probably 70 percent of the exterior is glass. It’s lucky the glass is tinted, or everyone in the place would be charcoal-broiled on a day like today. I’m here to see Steven Henderson, who has the title of acting CEO since the death of the founder of the company, John Craddock.
The receptionist brings me back to Henderson’s office. I’d be surprised if he is thirty years old; my guess is that robotics is not a field with a lot of old people in it. He’s dressed in jeans and a Penn State sweatshirt, so it’s probably not a formal or fashion-conscious field, either.
“Welcome to the morgue,” is his rather unusual opening line.
“Not sure I understand,” I say.
“Let’s just say that losing John was not exactly good for business. Which makes sense, since John was the business.”
I tell him that I am representing Dave Kramer, which is what I had told him over the phone.
“He was here to see me,” Henderson says. “He was asking about John.”
“As am I.” I decide to be straight with him. “I am operating under the assumption that John’s death w
as not an accident.”
Henderson nods. “That’s what I figured when Kramer was here. But I’m afraid I’ll be as little help to you as I was to him. Not only was John a genius, but he was a well-liked genius. It seems very hard to believe he could have been murdered.”
“You know Tina Bauer?”
He seems surprised by the question. Then, “I don’t really know her, but I met her once. I’m afraid John was becoming more open about his women.”
“That bothered you?” I ask.
He nods. “In a way. Have you met his wife, Christine? There’s a lady who has been through enough and didn’t deserve the humiliation.”
“Have you had any contact with Tina Bauer since John died?”
He shakes his head. “None. But I don’t know why I would.” Then, “This was not the love of John’s life that we’re talking about. She was one in a series.”
“Are you going to be the permanent CEO?” I ask.
He smiles. “If you’re thinking I got rid of John to take his position, you might want to think again. Robotics is a business that depends on innovation and ideas and genius, and John provided all three. Everybody knows that; employees are already starting to leave. Unless we find someone to take his place, this company is history. And there is no one who can take his place.”
“Did Craddock own a good portion of the stock?”
He nods. “Yes. The employees all had a small interest in it; John was good that way. But Christine, his wife, now owns 90 percent, which by next year at this time might as well be Confederate money, for all it will be worth.”
“Are you exaggerating?”
He nods. “I guess so; I’m afraid I’m a little bitter. There are some patents that the company holds that are worth real money. But as an ongoing venture … I’m afraid not.”
“And you said you’re losing employees?”
“Some, but they’re in a difficult place. If they leave, they lose their ownership interest, which is worth money if we sell the company.”
“Are you planning to sell?” I ask.
“I’m afraid I can’t discuss that,” he says and then grins. “Unless you’re here to make an offer.”
“I forgot my checkbook. You said the employees are in a difficult place. Do they have other options?”
“Sure. If we go down, some other companies will fill the void. There are start-ups chomping at the bit right now. Robotics as an industry is not going away; it’s exploding.”
“What are you going to do?”
He smiles again. “I’m the captain; I’m going down with the ship. Besides, I owe everything I have to John. To leave now would feel like I’m abandoning his life’s work.”
Rodgers didn’t get where he was … or even survive … because he was careless. On the contrary, there was no one who was more careful, who planned for every eventuality with more diligence, than Rodgers. It had served him well in the past, and it would serve him well now.
The other trait that had always been his trademark was a complete lack of trust. He had people working for him that were the absolute best at what they did. But they were used to being number one, to answer to no one but themselves, and they may well chafe at Rodgers’s micromanaging style.
His people were smart, and they were tough, and they were not hindered by conscience or morals. Which meant that they were all candidates to turn on him. So he always had people watching them, and often he had people watching the watchers. It was an expensive way to do business, but ultimately worth it.
This was Rodgers’s philosophy, the way he conducted his business and his life, and it was about to pay off again.
The call came from his person in the Caymans. His only function was to spy on Elway; he followed him wherever he went, had bugged his apartment, and had a tap on his phone. He was a thorough professional, and even someone as savvy as Elway had no idea any of it was happening.
“There have been some developments,” he said. “Significant ones.”
“Yes?” Rodgers asked.
“I told you that Elway has been taking the calls on the pay phone.”
“Yes.” Rodgers knew about the procedure and actually approved of the caution that Elway was displaying in doing so.
“After a call today, I was about to follow him, when I noticed someone else approach the phone. That person took fingerprints off the phone. There is no question that he was after Elway’s prints.”
“Were you able to identify the person?”
“Yes, through the car rental company. His name is Edward Lynch; he is a lawyer from New Jersey.”
Rodgers knew exactly what that meant, and he knew that Elway’s cover was blown, completely and permanently. Fortunately, though Elway still had some value, he had already accomplished most of his work. But that no longer mattered.
Elway had become a liability.
“There is one thing that everyone in this courtroom can agree on. Judge Avery, Mr. Carpenter, the court reporter, the bailiff, and certainly myself … I don’t think I’m going out on a limb when I say that we all understand that you have a crucial and tremendously important job to do. It is the cornerstone of our democracy, as important to who we are as voting.”
Carla Westrum, I’m sorry to say, has an excellent court presence. She’s speaks in a firm, confident voice and clearly has the ability to hold the attention of everyone in the room. She is likable, one of the reasons I don’t like her.
She continues, “But important is not the same as difficult. Crucial is not the same as complicated. And the reason that I bring that up is because this case is not difficult, and it is certainly not complicated.
“Here are the facts that you will hear. The defendant, David Kramer, was convicted two years ago of assault against the victim, Kenneth Zimmer. Mr. Zimmer was hospitalized for his injuries. Mr. Kramer, perhaps in the bizarrely mistaken belief that he was the wronged party, then threatened Mr. Zimmer’s life.
“Then, two years later, he followed through on that threat. Mr. Zimmer was working as a truck driver, transporting endangered dogs to where they could be rescued. Mr. Kramer boarded that truck and shot Mr. Zimmer to death. Mr. Zimmer was not armed.
“Then Mr. Kramer ran, and was ultimately captured by the police. That is it; that’s the extent of it.”
She pauses and shakes her head as if saddened by the horror of it all. “There is nothing that I have said, not one word, that I am not prepared to prove.
“But that is where you come in. You have to decide whether I have done what I’ve promised. If I have, then voting guilty will be obvious and necessary, and I am sure you will do your duty.
“And if I have not, then you will and should vote not guilty. That is how our system works, and it is the best system in the world. And you, for whatever time you are in this courtroom, are a vital part of it.
“Thank you.”
We had gotten a late start this morning because the court heard various pretrial motions from both sides. Judge Avery was not inclined to grant any of the motions, which is the result I’d expected. We took a shot and tried to get him to keep out evidence of the previous assault on Zimmer by Kramer, but he wasn’t buying it.
But it did bring the conclusion of Carla’s opening statement to nearly lunchtime, which means Avery tells me that I should delay giving mine until the afternoon. That’s fine with me; I don’t want jurors hoping I’d hurry up and finish because they’re hungry and they want to eat.
There’s a message on my cell phone to call Sam, which I do. “Ready for this? The guy who answered the phone is using the name John Elway.”
“That’s not his real name?’
“Come on, Andy. John Elway used to be a quarterback for—”
I interrupt. “Trust me, Sam, I know who John Elway is. But it is possible that someone else has that name. He didn’t copyright it.”
“In this case it’s fake. He’s using a fake ID.”
I don’t bother asking Sam how he knows that; I don’t
need or want to know which laws he broke getting into which computers. I have this fear that someday I’ll be defending Hilda Mandlebaum for illegal hacking. If she gets twenty years, that will take her to 106. I wonder if Eli will wait for her.
I thank Sam and ask him to see if he can learn anything else about Elway’s actions in the Caymans, specifically in the area of banking. That’s where the wired money to Zimmer came from, and it’s very likely that Elway sent it.
Craddock’s death was about money; I’d bet that Benjamin and the guy who calls himself Elway and who knows else saw profit in it. They were willing to put up $75,000 to Zimmer, but I have no doubt that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
I can certainly assume that Craddock was personally worth a great deal of money. It would all go to his wife, so even though it’s counter to my instinct, there is always the chance that she is involved.
If Steven Henderson is correct, then the company’s value basically died with Craddock, so that couldn’t be the motive. Of course, Henderson could be lying. He moved up to head of the company, so that always creates a suspicion.
But again, my instincts say otherwise.
I trust my instincts; I always have.
The trouble is that sometimes they are full of shit.
The final shipment arrived on time.
It was considerably smaller than previous shipments, because most of the weapons had arrived earlier. So the means of delivery was changed as well; it involved a risk, but a risk Rodgers was willing to take.
The building outside of Chesterfield, New Jersey, was soon to be what would likely be the most high-tech barn in the history of barns. Built to hold hay and horses and farm equipment, it was by now holding the means to change the world.
Rodgers had a lot of work ahead of him, but it was work that he was competent to handle, and it was easy to undertake.
“Remember the first day you came to this courtroom?” is how I begin my opening statement. “This room, and the anteroom next door, were packed with people. I checked, and a hundred and fourteen people were considered to fill the seats that you’re in. And from out of that large group, the twelve of you were selected. Have you wondered why?
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