Trial by Blood
Page 24
“The conversation was already threatening. Dangerous. I used to be a teacher, and I always caution students, especially young girls, to take precautions. When you’re in a threatening situation, get your phone out. Take pictures, make recordings. I was just taking my own advice.”
“Of course, if you were that worried about it, you could have opened the office door earlier and intervened.”
“And then maybe I’d be the dead one.” She leaned forward, her voice forceful. “That man threatened to murder Harrison. And he said he’d done it before.”
“That’s not what Ossie—”
“This is not Ossie Coleman,” she said, loud enough to be heard in the next courtroom. “He’s a coldblooded killer. And I did not want to be his next victim.”
She whipped her head around toward the jury. “Lock that man up. Please! For everyone’s sake.” Her voice trembled. Her hands shook. Several members of the jury were visibly disturbed. “No one will be safe until you do. Lock him up before he kills again!”
The Beginning of Knowledge
Chapter 44
Conrad Sweeney surveyed his surroundings.
The crowd gathered before the two-story brick building was impressive. He expected the media, of course. They came anytime anyone beckoned. But the other spectators—that was somewhat surprising and entirely pleasing. These were private citizens, people who could’ve been out playing with their children, or walking their dogs, or making love to their wives, people who instead opted to gather here today—because Conrad Sweeney issued an announcement.
That was a tribute to the reputation he had built in this town. When he spoke, people listened. When he acted, people paid attention. He was St. Pete’s most prominent private citizen, a philanthropist and hero.
All he ever wanted was to be loved. Since he was a young boy. Blowing the lid off the achievement register while his parents reminded him what a disappointment he was.
No matter. The people in this town loved him.
Maybe not the mayor so much. But she was keeping her mouth shut today. She had too much at stake to cross him.
Pity her boyfriend didn’t feel the same way.
“I want to thank you all for coming today,” Sweeney said, once the cameras were rolling, “but this is not about me. I was the lucky one, the one who had the means and opportunity to help St. Pete emerge from a difficult period and become the city it was always meant to be. With Albert Kazan, we built the best park this town has ever seen. With Mayor Pérez, we built a dynamic series of women’s shelters. And now, with the Athena Recovery Clinic, we will provide counseling and rehabilitative services to those who need them, regardless of their financial status, gender orientation, race, creed, or color. This facility is all-inclusive. This is for everyone. Because when our citizens are stronger, our city is stronger.”
His words were met with tumultuous applause, which he modestly deflected. A series of meet and greets followed. He devoted time to as many people as he could, till he spotted Prudence giving him the slashed throat gesture. Time to move on.
Once he extracted himself from the well-wishers, he slid into the back seat of his waiting limo. Verity, his driver, started the engine.
Two other men were in back waiting for him. District Attorney George Belasco. And Paul Kilpatrick, the paid prosecutor currently handling the murder trial against the boy who claimed to be Ossie Coleman.
“I’m in a good mood, gentlemen,” Sweeney said, popping open his briefcase. “Don’t spoil it.”
“We won’t,” Belasco said. His slender frame made his blue suit look baggy. “Far from it. Everything is going according to plan.”
“You’ve got the trial locked up?”
“Certainly looks that way,” Kilpatrick said. “I’d give us an 80% chance of success.”
“I don’t want to hear about percentages. I want to hear about certainties.”
“No such thing, when you’re talking about juries. I don’t care how good you are, or how good a job you do. All it takes is one rogue juror with a forceful personality to throw every calculation off-kilter.”
Sweeney shook his head. “Foolish man. Everything is predictable. Assuming you have sufficient data.”
“I don’t have the power to read minds.”
“Or grease palms?” Sweeney smiled. “Not what I’ve heard. You didn’t get that perfect win record by trusting fate.” He turned to Belasco. “Are you paying this man enough?”
“I paid him everything we agreed on. More than our budget permitted.”
“That’s a problem for your successor to deal with. You need to focus on your mayoral campaign.”
“I am.”
“I need a mayor I can trust. Not a pain-in-the-ass crusader who thinks she knows better than everyone else. There is so much I could accomplish...”
“I’m your guy,” Belasco said, cocking a thumb toward himself. “We’ve always worked well together in the past, haven’t we?”
“I haven’t always obtained the results I wanted.”
“You will this time.” The limo accelerated as they merged onto the highway, rocking him backward a bit. “That audiotape hit the jury like a ton of bricks. Not a doubt in their minds now.”
“I hope you’re right. But we both know Pike will do everything he can to stir up doubt.”
“I don’t think Pike’s got the verve he had before,” Kilpatrick opined. “Seems like he kinda got the wind kicked out of his sails.”
“Indeed.” A small smile played on Sweeney’s lips. “I wonder how that happened.”
“Doesn’t matter. We expect the kid to tell his sad story, but so what? No one believed it before. Why would they believe it now?”
“Maybe you should offer a deal. Life imprisonment. Just make sure the kid is off the street and doesn’t inherit a dime.”
“Look, I know you’ve lost to Pike before—”
Sweeney leaned forward, grabbing Kilpatrick by the collar. “I have never lost to him. I never lose to anyone.”
“I—I didn’t mean—”
“Others may have lost. Not me.” Sweeney’s teeth clenched. “Temporary setbacks only make me stronger.”
“Sure. That’s what I meant.”
Sweeney loosened his grip, then slowly relaxed back into the padded seat. “You’re being paid to make sure I’m not disappointed.”
“Understood. You’re worrying too much. This is gonna be a slam dunk.”
“You’d best be right.”
Kilpatrick hesitated a moment. “You mind if I ask—why do you care so much?”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean—what’s it to you? I saw that crowd. Those people love you. This town loves you. You’re the most respected, most successful, most powerful person around. This is just a murder trial. A serious crime, sure, but in the big scheme of things—who cares? What difference does it make?”
“It matters.”
“Because—”
Sweeney sprang forward like a cobra. “Everything hinges on the outcome of this trial. Not only money, but power. Influence. Secrets. Which, if revealed, could be extremely uncomfortable. So we’re not going to let that happen. Are we clear on that?”
“Sure. Sure.” Kilpatrick held up his hands. “One hundred percent.”
“I’ve let Pike run free too long. Warnings don’t seem to be enough with that man. If you can’t put him down in the courtroom—then I’ll find some other way to do it.”
Chapter 45
Dan slowly rolled off the edge of the bed, hoping to shake the mattress as little as possible. Camila tended to be a sound sleeper, but you never could be certain, and he didn’t want to deal with a chili-pepper temper this early in the morning.
He stretched, forcing the kinks out of his aching bones. His ribs still hurt. Not as badly as before, but more than enough to remind him, every minute of the day, what a beating he had taken. How much they hurt him.
How much he risked by continuing with this case.
What was that noise?
He dropped the brush. The strength drained out of his arms. He felt his knees weaken.
What if it was them? The big man, and the UPS guy, and—what if they’d come back? What if their boss didn’t like the way the trial was going and decided to—
He clenched his eyes shut. Get a grip on yourself, Pike.
He listened harder. There was no one there. It was just the wind in the sail, or the creaking of the timbers. Nothing.
Maybe it was time to stop pretending the attack had made no lasting impression.
They were still with him, every second of the day.
He splashed cold water on his face, breathing deep, drinking in the air. He wasn’t even sure what question he should be asking himself. Do you have lawyer PTSD? What kind of crazy fool would continue with this case? Who are you trying to impress?
He grabbed a towel and dried his face, peering into the mirror. Who the hell are you, Pike? What are you doing here, with your life, with your client, with this woman in your bed?
For so long, he’d let his father’s tragedy define him. He’d been on autopilot since he was a teenager. The government railroaded his father, so he wouldn’t let them do it to anyone else. Fine. Except what did he ever do? Got a few people off the hook—and was well paid for it. But did he actually investigate his father’s case? Even when he had a chance to talk to Ellison, the man directly responsible for his father’s conviction, he avoided the subject.
Who are you? he asked the face in the mirror.
And why can’t you solve this case? It shouldn’t be that hard. A dead man, greedy relatives, a mysterious disappearance. Put it together already. Professor Plum in the Conservatory with the candlestick. Or something like that.
He heard a creaking door and fortunately did not jump. Camila shuffled behind him and pressed her warmth against his. “Pretrial jitters?”
“Something like that.”
“You could come back to bed. It’s not even light out.”
Her hair was a mess, sleep in her eyes—but still gorgeous. “My mind is already at the courthouse.” Bit of a lie, but it sounded good.
“Anything I can do?”
“Don’t think so. Got any more PR events with Sweeney?”
“No, thank God. I’ve had as much of that man as I can take. But I can’t afford to be rude, not when I’m fundraising.”
“I understand. Don’t like it, but I understand. I’m convinced that man is the puppet master pulling the strings in this case. And that he’s using DA Belasco.”
“There are ways we could deal with the district attorney.”
He turned—not easy in this tiny alcove—and gave her a sharp look. “What do you mean?”
“We could have him taken care of.”
He grinned. She was adorable when she pretended to be ruthless. “Just off him?”
“If he’s on Sweeney’s payroll, he deserves to be offed.”
“I don’t see you doing that.”
She looked him in the eyes, wide and watery. “For you, I would do anything.”
“Likewise.” He pulled her close and planted a kiss on her lips, lingering a long time. “Here’s an alternate plan. How about I win in court?”
She pressed harder against him, placing her hands in completely inappropriate places. “Are you sure you don’t have time to come back to bed? Clear your head? Relieve some stress? It would be therapeutic. Really, I’m only thinking of you.”
“Is that a fact.”
“I am your mayor. That makes me the city’s foremost service provider.” She wrapped her hands around his waist. “I aim to provide service.”
Chapter 46
Kilpatrick greeted Dan at the courtroom door, and not just to be friendly. To his surprise, the man offered him a deal.
“Life. No chance of parole,” Kilpatrick said, arms folded across his chest.
“You call that a deal? I call it your best-case scenario.”
“Have you been watching those jurors, Pike? Because I have. They’re ready to convict.”
“I haven’t put on my case yet.”
“From where I sit, you don’t have a case. You’ll put the kid up there to tell the same cockamamie story he’s been peddling since he appeared out of nowhere. No one bought it before, and no one will buy it now.”
“We’ll see. We might have a few surprises.”
“We have multiple witnesses putting him at the scene of the crime. His name was on the mirror. His prints were on the murder weapon. He threatened—”
“I don’t need a summary. I’ll take your offer to my client. But he’ll turn it down.”
“How can you be sure of that?”
“Because he didn’t do it.” He turned away and, as he did, noticed that the two remaining Coleman brothers, Benny and Phil, were seated together. For once, Dolly wasn’t hovering about telling everyone what to do. Zachary wasn’t with them, either.
Benny nodded amiably. “Morning, Pike.” He could be a decent guy, it seemed, when his wife was absent. Phil’s fingers were pressed against his forehead.
“You feeling all right?”
“Migraines,” Phil replied. “Stress always makes them flair up. I could barely move this morning.”
“Sorry to hear that. How’s your father doing?”
“Not well. This trial has been hard on him. But he’ll never admit it.”
Benny agreed. “The man is dying.” He drew in his breath. “But when this trial ends, he’s planning a bioluminescent kayak trip. Ever done that, Pike?”
“I’ve always wanted to. Where’s your father now?”
Phil answered. “Said he had to take a phone call. Must be something brewing. He was up late last night.”
Benny turned his head. “I thought I heard something.”
“Probably me. I never sleep well. Haven’t since Afghanistan.”
Dolly entered the courtroom and he tried to disappear, but didn’t move fast enough.
“Are you having an unauthorized meeting with my brother-in-law, Mr. Pike? I should report this to the Bar Association.”
“We’re not discussing the case.”
“Nonetheless, all three of us are listed as prosecution witnesses.”
“But you didn’t testify.”
“You’ve got an excuse for everything, don’t you? That’s how you slick lawyers work. Legal ethics are legerdemain.”
“Unlike the world of business, where decisions are made based upon the common good and the betterment of mankind.”
She smiled, in a lopsided way. “That was actually funny.” She took a step forward, swinging her enormous purse between them. “You know, once this case is over, we should get a drink. We might learn to like one another.”
That sent more shivers down his spine than the man who attacked him with a tire iron. “Would we invite your husband?”
“Why? Do we need someone to clean up afterward?”
Ouch. “I don’t think we’re compatible, Dolly. I did see the quarterlies in the paper this morning, though. Looks like your father-in-law’s business might be hitting a rough patch.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Just a momentary setback. Happens all the time. We’ve had glitches before. It’s part of the process.”
“If you’ll excuse me—”
“Of course.” She winked. “Don’t forget what I said. The mayor may be cuter. But there are times when a real woman has...advantages.”
He wondered what her husband thought about this banter. Didn’t matter, he supposed. Because that was never ever ever going to happen...
* * *
Dan found Ossie seated at the defense table. He looked nervous, but that was to be expected. Anyone who wasn’t nervous before he went on the witness stand to plead for his life was either completely a
moral or too experienced to be innocent. Ossie, on the other hand, was completely innocent and scared to death.
“You ready to do this?”
“Sure.” He took a deep breath, then released it. “I wish I could remember more.”
“Just tell them what you know. No one can blame you for not remembering everything. And no one is going to catch you doing anything wrong as long as you stay honest.”
“But what if they don’t believe me?”
He laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Give the jury some credit. Too often, public cynicism about lawyers spills over to juries—and that’s unfair. In my experience, juries work hard and try to do the right thing, despite the difficult situation presented by a keenly flawed system. They’re better at figuring out who’s telling the truth and who’s lying than you might imagine.” He smiled. “You just tell your story. They’ll do the rest.”
* * *
Dan took his time with Ossie’s testimony. He knew the jury had been waiting for this and had been hoping they’d hear from the defendant—far from a certainty in a criminal prosecution. There was no substitute for getting up close and personal with the man accused of committing the crime.
Normally, he would spend the first ten or twenty minutes establishing the witness’s background, but that was difficult in this case, because Ossie was so young and because he remembered so little. He hoped it wouldn’t matter. If the jury didn’t believe Ossie suffered from memory loss, they were sunk.
“Do you remember anything that happened prior to the police finding you on the street?”
“I get flashes—” Ossie’s face twisted, as if he were struggling for memories he could not retrieve. “But it doesn’t come together. I can’t place it. I can’t put it into context. It’s like a movie montage sequence—except I haven’t seen the movie.” He thought another moment. “I know I was alive before I was found in St. Petersburg. My movie didn’t begin there. But I can’t put complete scenes together.”
“Do you remember when the police came?”
“Yes. It’s my first clear memory. And I recall being taken to the hospital. Then the police station. Then the foster home. My clothes were torn. For some reason, I kept thinking about dogs. War dogs.”