“Detective, do you have any evidence that Tina Bauer even knew Kenny Zimmer?”
“No.”
“Did she know David Kramer?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Did you, in your investigation, turn up any evidence at all between Tina Bauer and the issue that this jury is here to resolve?”
“I did not.”
“Thank you.”
We’re off this afternoon because the judge has to deal with some unrelated matters. It was a decent day for us, but I am afraid I’m dealing with a confused jury. They’re here to make a judgment about Dave Kramer, and they are hearing about something that seems to have nothing to do with him.
Judge Avery has allowed me a lot of leeway so far, but I’m going to need more time and space to make the jury understand what the hell is going on.
After lunch, I call Givens of the FBI to find out if he followed my advice and put pressure on Greg Hepner, who I believed profited from Craddock’s murder.
Once again, he gets on the phone immediately, and when he hears what I want, he says, “We did. He lawyered up immediately. The guy is definitely dirty, and he’s scared.”
“So what’s your next step?”
“We’re looking into his IPO money.” Then, “You have anything for me?”
“No,” I say.
“So why am I talking to you?”
“Because I’m charming.”
“Call me when you have something,” he says and hangs up.
Is it possible I’m not as charming as I’d thought?
Nancy Pierce definitely does not want to be here. She admitted as much to Laurie when they went over her upcoming testimony, but she’s stuck, since we subpoenaed her. And since she’s already told the story to law enforcement, she can’t lie about it now.
“Ms. Pierce, what is your occupation?”
“I am … I was … an escort.”
“You’re retired?” I ask.
She nods. “Permanently.”
“As an escort, what were your job responsibilities?”
“I would go on dates and see to it that those dates were satisfied.”
“Did that satisfaction include sexual satisfaction?”
“Frequently.”
“When did you meet Victor Andreson, the founder and chief executive of Victor’s Donuts?”
Carla stands up, looking exasperated. “Your Honor, may we approach?”
Avery okays it, and we head up for another sidebar. “Your Honor,” Carla says, “are we going to litigate every crime ever committed by anyone? When will we get to the Kennedy assassination? What does this all have to do with the case we are trying?”
Avery turns to me. “Mr. Carpenter, it is explanation time.”
I nod my agreement. “Your Honor, Mr. Benjamin was involved in a conspiracy to remove certain heads of companies through criminal means. They chose executives whose departures would do irreparable harm to their companies, and they were prepared to profit from it. One of Mr. Benjamin’s coconspirators has already been killed in the Cayman Islands to preserve their secret.”
Judge Avery says, “Interesting. What does that have to do with our trial?”
“Mr. Kramer was investigating the murder of John Craddock. He was close to exposing it, so they put him out of commission to ensure he would be unable to.”
“You can prove this?”
I’ve got to be careful here. “I can come close enough to convince the jury, if you’ll let me. I can cite rulings from various appeals courts to support my position.”
I hope he doesn’t ask me to cite those cases, because I made that part up. I raised the appeals court issue because I know he doesn’t want to be overturned down the road.
Carla says, “Your Honor, I renew my objection. We are here because of the murder of Kenny Zimmer, and Mr. Carpenter has the jury listening to testimony about hookers and doughnuts.”
Avery thinks for a few moments and then says, “Proceed, Mr. Carpenter.”
I resume questioning Pierce regarding her interaction with Victor Andreson. She describes him coming to the hotel room and their having sex.
“And then he left? Did he harm you in any way?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“What happened after he left?”
“Another man came to my room. We had planned it that way.”
“Who was the other man?”
“Eric Benjamin.”
“Did he harm you in any way?”
“Yes.” She proceeds to describe how Benjamin beat her and how she then went to the police and accused Andreson of doing it.
“Why did you agree to it?”
“He paid me $50,000.”
“So you lied to the police?”
She nods. “Yes.”
“What made you finally decide to tell the truth?”
“I saw on television that Benjamin was killed. He had told me only he could protect me from the people he was working with. So I got scared.” Then, “I’m still scared.”
Carla starts her cross with, “Ms. Pierce, you’ve already lied once about the facts you are testifying about today?”
“Yes.”
“Even though you knew a man might go to prison because of your lies?”
“Yes.”
“But we should believe you now?”
“I’m telling the truth now.”
“So you say.”
I object, and Avery sustains.
Carla once again is limited in how much she can challenge what these witnesses are saying, because they happen to be telling the truth. Therefore, the rest of her cross-examination is limited to pointing out that Pierce has absolutely no knowledge of anything having to do with the Kenny Zimmer murder.
The trial has fallen into a pattern. I think I am effectively driving home the point that Eric Benjamin was a bad guy who was involved in a criminal conspiracy. I think I could get the jury to convict him of murder, or if not that, some form of fraud. I certainly could nail him for the assault on Nancy Pierce.
The problem, of course, is that this judge and jury are not here to judge Eric Benjamin. And even if they convicted him, it would be tough to give him the death penalty, because he’s already dead.
Carla points this all out at every opportunity she has, and she makes effective points in the process. No matter how bad an actor Benjamin was, she points out, it has little to do with Zimmer and Kramer.
The only concrete link I have between Benjamin and the Zimmer killing is the fingerprint in the truck. I’ve used that as a jumping-off point to sell the jury on a completely different theory of the case, and I’m not sure that they have the slightest idea what I’m talking about.
I don’t have any choice but to continue down this path, of course, with no guarantee that I’m making progress defending Dave Kramer. But the one key decision that’s facing me is whether or not Kramer should testify in his own defense.
It’s the most important decision for a defense attorney in every trial, but it’s not one that I feel I can make on my own. My view is that a defendant always makes that final call; if he’s going to be convicted without speaking up for himself, that has to be his choice.
I always strongly advise the client on my point of view, and I can’t remember the last time I advised that he testify. Exposing him to cross-examination is generally an invitation to disaster. But this time may be the exception; it was only Zimmer, Benjamin, and Kramer on that truck, so Kramer is the only person left alive who knows without a doubt what happened. It might be effective for him to tell what he experienced to the jury.
I discuss it with him, and his inclination is to testify. I apprise him of the dangers, and he agrees with me that we should wait until the time comes to make that final decision.
My next witness is Sarah Maurer, a financial analyst for a large brokerage firm specializing in tech stocks. Within that area, her focus is on robotics, and she is considered the most knowledgeable in that field.
I
take her through her credentials, which are considerable. She’s the go-to person for business media when it comes to this industry, and if the jury watches CNBC, they will no doubt recognize her.
“Ms. Maurer, what was the effect on Roboton when John Craddock was killed?”
Carla objects, stating correctly that there has been no determination that Craddock was “killed” and that his death is still officially considered accidental.
Judge Avery sustains, and I rephrase the question. “Ms. Maurer, what was the effect on Roboton when John Craddock, an experienced hiker, inexplicably fell off a mountain?”
Carla objects again, and Avery warns me. I rephrase again, and finally Maurer gets to answer. “It was devastating for the company. Craddock was brilliant, and he was certainly the driving force behind Roboton. It was literally a case of the body dying when the head was cut off.”
“Are they still in business?”
“Technically, yes. But many of their top people have left, and they have lost most of their contracts.”
“Will the company recover?” I ask.
“Highly unlikely.”
“Is robotics a zero-sum game?” I ask. “By that, I mean if one company is hurt, does another thrive?”
“I’m not sure I’d characterize it exactly that way, but certainly the failure of one company, or the loss of one executive, does not mean the field is going away. So, yes, other companies will invariably pick up the slack.”
“In this particular case, has any one company seemed to benefit more than any other?” I ask.
“Yes. The clearest victor, if you will, is Sky Robotics. They are a direct competitor to Roboton; they are developing similar products. They were having their initial public offering just a few weeks after Mr. Craddock’s death. Almost immediately they hired two of Roboton’s top people.”
“What was the financial effect?”
She thinks for a few moments. “Well, most people thought the IPO would be priced at fifteen dollars a share. After all of this happened, the price went to twenty-seven dollars. So the value of the company increased by well over a billion dollars.”
“Who realized that gain?”
“Well, forty percent would have gone to the company founder, Gregory Hepner. The rest would have gone to his investors.”
“And I had asked you to look into who those investors might be. Did you do that?”
“I haven’t been able to figure that out yet. Another forty percent are mostly companies that are rather opaque; they seem to have been designed to shield the principals. A number of them are foreign based.”
Next, I turn the conversation to Victor Andreson. I ask her the same questions about the effect on his company.
She says, “The stock dropped almost twenty-five percent when the arrest was announced and more details emerged.”
“Did other companies profit by the fall?”
“Not really,” she says. “The field is fairly spread out with other large players. If there was an impact on their stock prices, it was minimal.”
“So did anyone profit from Mr. Andreson’s fall from grace?” I ask.
She nods. “Oh, yes. There were a number of outstanding put options at that time; actually, an unusually high number.”
I get her to give a brief explanation of put options, and she does so in a clear and concise manner. The main point, that the jurors could not miss, is that people who buy puts can make a lot of money when a stock goes down.
“And did you find out who bought these puts?”
“Again, much of it was opaque, and many of the companies were foreign.”
“Is all this unusual?” I ask.
“In my experience, to this level, yes.”
“How much could the holders of these puts have made with the drop of the stock?”
“Hard to figure, but definitely in excess of $250 million. Possibly more.”
“Do they still have the puts?”
She shakes her head. “No, they have all been exercised. The holders are long since gone.”
“So just to recap, there are people who earned huge sums of money because of the death of John Craddock and the downfall of Victor Andreson?”
“Absolutely.”
I turn the witness over to Carla, who starts off with, “Ms. Maurer, were you paid to be here today?”
“Yes.”
“Just like you were paid for other times you have testified?”
“Yes.”
“And you have always testified for the defense?”
“Except for a couple of times. But mostly for the defense, yes.”
“What do you charge for your role as witness?” Carla asks, deliberately not using the traditional word expert before witness.
“My standard rate is $10,000.”
“So you earned $10,000 for”—she looks at her watch—“forty minutes?”
Here it comes …
“No, I charged one hundred dollars in this case.”
Carla looks like she was hit by a verbal truck. “Why?”
“Because the idea that stock prices can be manipulated or companies destroyed through violence is so horrible that I want to make sure it is exposed.”
Kaboom. Carla made the classic mistake of asking a question she didn’t know the answer to.
“Very noble,” Carla says. “I think it’s awful as well; it just has nothing to do with this case.”
I object, and Avery reprimands her strongly for giving that unsolicited opinion.
The rest of Carla’s cross focuses on Maurer having no idea as to whether the people who made all the money had anything to do with Kenny Zimmer’s death. But basically, she just wants to get Maurer off the stand as fast as possible.
I definitely got my hundred dollars’ worth.
Dave Kramer has decided to testify.
I advised him against it, but I don’t feel nearly as strongly about it as I usually do. He’s an experienced witness from his time as a police officer, and not only does he have a story to tell, but he’s really the only one who can tell it.
He will be our final witness, and since it won’t be until Monday, we have time to prepare. I haven’t officially told the court that he will testify, so Carla will have to prepare for a cross-examination over the weekend. Hopefully she won’t work too hard on it, since she knows how rarely defendants testify in their own defense.
Hike and I are going to spend the day on Sunday at the jail going over his testimony. It’s fair to say I’m not looking forward to it, though surrounded by all that gray misery should be a fun time for Hike.
We have nothing planned for Saturday, though, so during breakfast, I say to Laurie and Ricky, “I’ve got a great idea. Let’s go to Chesterfield.”
“The old cigarette?” Laurie asks. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s in New Jersey; we can have a fun day. There’s lots to do there. There are roads, and farms, and grass, and stuff.”
Ricky chimes in. “Huh?”
“Sounds like a dream vacation,” Laurie says. “It wouldn’t happen to be connected to the case, would it?”
“Yes, but that’s the beauty of it. Everything we spend will be tax deductible.”
“Oh, boy,” she says. “But Ricky is spending the day at Will Rubenstein’s. Today’s Will’s birthday, so they’re having a party.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. Rick, we’ll find out all the great stuff to do in Chesterfield, and you can come next time.”
Ricky seems less than excited by the prospect. “Okay,” he says.
“What about Tara and Sebastian?” Laurie says, looking for an out. “They’d be alone a long time. Is this important, Andy?”
“Probably not, but it’s a box I have to check. With all that was going on, Benjamin took the time to drive down there; I’d sort of like to know why. If you don’t want to come, I understand.”
She smiles. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss it.”
So an hour later, we’ve dropped
Ricky off at Will’s house and we’re on the road to Chesterfield. Tara and Sebastian are in the back. Tara as always is up and looking out the window, while Sebastian sleeps next to her. It’s fair to say that Sebastian does not devour life.
Chesterfield is only about an hour-and-fifteen-minute drive from Paterson. It’s mostly the New Jersey Turnpike, and then it’s about a twenty-minute drive from that highway to Chesterfield. It’s a rainy day, so we don’t hit much traffic, since there are not many people heading down to the shore.
I only have three places that Eric Benjamin visited, as determined by where he’d used his credit card. One is a gas station, and we stop there. New Jersey bizarrely still prohibits self-serve gas pumping, so I ask the guy who does the pumping if he recognizes the picture I have of Eric Benjamin.
No surprise; he doesn’t. We’re making a lot of progress here.
Next, we stop at the hotel where Benjamin stayed. It’s a Holiday Inn Express; comfortable enough but not the lap of luxury. Of course, if Benjamin wanted to be in this area, he didn’t have many choices. No one will confuse Chesterfield with Vegas.
Once again, we get nowhere; none of the hotel employees we show the photograph to say that they remember.
So off we go again, driving around looking mostly at farmland. There are no signs saying, “Vicious murderer stopped here,” so we don’t learn much. All in all, it’s pretty boring.
“Can we come here again next week?” Laurie asks. “There’s just too much to do in one visit.”
“I told you I’d show you a good time. Are you hungry?”
“We just had breakfast a couple of hours ago.”
“Me too,” I say. “Let’s go eat.”
We head for the restaurant that Benjamin had been to, a diner cleverly named the Chesterfield Diner. Unfortunately, we can’t use the outdoor tables because it’s starting to rain, and they say we can’t bring Tara and Sebastian inside.
“State law,” the diner worker says. “You could take them to the Lazy Dog Diner. It’s a mile down the road.”
“They don’t obey the state law?”
He shrugs. “Guess not.”
Laurie, Tara, and Sebastian wait in the car while I ask every worker in the diner if they recognize Eric Benjamin. They don’t.
Rescued Page 19
