“Simple,” Blackstone said. “Cheski figured you would panic and call him when you were arrested. And he was right. So when he heard you had been picked up and were on your way to the federal detention center, he made the call to the DOJ to make sure no recording was done. The fact is, you did make incriminating statements—and those statements were made when you called your lover boy, Victor Cheski.”
“And our ‘scheme’ that you keep mentioning,” Vinnie said, “that would be what?”
“To bilk Lord Dee out of twenty million dollars. That was the plan all along, I’m sure. From the very beginning, twenty million up front for the Langley note. That part never changed. Even after you were charged criminally in this case, the two of you decided to still pursue the plan, and so Cheski fired off a letter to Lord Dee offering the Langley note and mailing the letter from Savannah, the birthplace of the American version of speculative esoteric Freemasonry, just for dramatic effect. You would be unable to collect on the second twenty million, of course—but then you never figured on getting that second payment anyway, because that would require that you then produce the actual John Wilkes Booth diary pages. And of course, you wouldn’t want to do that, would you?”
Vinnie smiled again.
“Maybe not,” she said.
“No, obviously not,” Blackstone added. “Because the Booth diary never contained anything that Langley wrote in his phony note, did it?”
“I guess not,” she said.
“No,” Blackstone said. “Because that cryptic poem in Langley’s note was not copied from the Booth diary at all. It was in fact a construct set up by you and Detective Cheski, but actually authored by Horace Langley himself, the scholar on seventeenth-century English history as well as the American Civil War. You gleaned from Lord Dee the details of his cherished theory on alchemy and the elusive elixir of prolonged life, a theory which was fed by his crazed desire to find some occult, magic cure for his incurable condition of corticobasal degeneration.
“So you passed all that information to Horace Langley, who desperately needed some quick cash to pay off his gambling debts and avoid a scandal. Langley thought up the clever note, supposedly derived from the Booth diary, but which in reality was custom-built to appeal to Lord Dee’s esoteric fantasies. With a coded message that Dee would have little problem deciphering. But there was another problem—if anyone read the actual Booth diary pages that had just been discovered, they would realize there was nothing metaphysical about them…nothing whatsoever about alchemy or any golden tree or any rose crystal. By the way, what was in the Booth diary, anyway?”
“Oh, just Booth’s ranting against the North,” she said with a sneer. “And complaints about his own situation. That’s about it. Victor has it stashed away somewhere.”
“So the plan was,” Blackstone continued, “to fake a robbery of the Booth diary so that Horace Langley’s note would look like the only evidence of it that was left, right?”
“ ‘The best-laid plans,’ as they say…” she said.
“Then someone came up with the very nasty plan of not just faking a robbery,” Blackstone explained, “but actually killing Langley, then stealing the Booth pages and upping the shares the two of you would get when it was suggested to Lord Dee that the Langley note was now for sale. After all, Detective Cheski had confidential access to the note in his investigation, and Dee’s declining health made it impractical for him to be willing to wait for the note to finally be made public. But then something very unexpected happened—you actually got indicted and charged as a conspirator in the crime.”
At that point, it was like a switch had flipped. Vinnie started yelling and swearing about Horace Langley, and in between her string of profanities, complaining about why in the world he had to enter into his journal his dealings with her about the Booth diary, and why he made an entry in his computer log that he had given her the pass code to the side door.
Blackstone nodded, as he was now hearing the same kind of complaints Vinnie had made in her jail cell call to Cheski, statements partially overheard by Shelly Hollsaker.
“Was Langley trying to destroy me from the grave?” she screamed out.
Then she settled down.
“What’s done is done,” she said. “The point is, where you and I go now from here on. First, I’m a good student. I remember what you told me when I first hired you. Everything we just discussed is protected by attorney–client privilege, right?” she said.
“Right you are,” Blackstone said. “Everything up to now. So what happens with Lord Dee from this point on?”
“Well, now that the spotlight is on Victor, I suggest we make hay. As soon as I get processed out of jail and released today, we can get my passport back from the court clerk, and you and I can beat it over to Lord Dee in England. You have a copy of the Horace Langley note we can use, right?”
“Sure,” Blackstone said. “Why?”
“So, darling man—with just a few more details to work out in terms of strategy, of course—you and I get the note delivered to Lord Dee and pick up our twenty million dollars before someone leaks the note to the media. What else?”
“Oh—you mean deliver the phony note about the ‘rose of 6’ and all of that?”
Vinnie laughed and got up and knelt down next to Blackstone, wrapping her arms around him and beginning to kiss him on the neck.
“I still need a good attorney to negotiate this deal with Magister Dee,” she purred.
Blackstone took her hands off of him and then stood up.
“No, I don’t think you and I are going to be partners.”
Vinnie had a stunned look.
“So, you’re not going to be part of this?” she asked.
“Nope,” he said with finality.
“Well, fine. You’ve still got to keep your mouth shut, or I’ll have your license to practice law revoked.”
After thinking about that for a few seconds, Blackstone made a funny face. “Oops!” he cried out.
“What?” Vinnie asked.
“Well, the bit about attorney–client relationship—it only applies to past crimes. See, it doesn’t apply to your intentions to commit future crimes, like delivering the phony note to Lord Dee for twenty million dollars—you know, that stuff you just told me—it doesn’t apply to that.”
With that, Blackstone pulled out his pocket recorder and showed it to Vinnie.
“In other words,” Blackstone said, “the confession you just gave right now, recorded here, about your intent to commit fraud.”
“What are you doing?” she screamed.
“The rules of ethics for lawyers permit us to report to the authorities our client’s plan to commit a future crime. Which is what I will probably end up doing.”
Vinnie picked up a folding chair in the conference room and tried to hit Blackstone with it, but he ducked just in time. She screamed and pounded the table and threatened him for nearly a half an hour.
When she stopped pacing and swearing, Blackstone spoke up.
“Don’t be so bummed by all of this,” he said. “I’ve hinted to prosecutor Henry Hartz that I might be able to get your cooperation in testifying against Detective Cheski, in return for immunity from the really serious charges—and that you might be willing to plead guilty to a simple fraud charge…sentence recommendation of about ten years in prison. Not bad, really. I don’t think you could get a better deal from any attorney in the world. This terrifically great deal is available to you, of course, because I was successful in getting your charges dismissed this morning. That gave us some bargaining power. I trust you’ll accept the deal I’ve worked out for you.”
“Don’t bank on it,” Vinnie screamed back. “You’re fired!”
“Too bad,” Blackstone said, not at all disturbed. “Because I think that Hartz will revoke the plea deal I just mentioned to you if you don’t take it right now. And right here. And if you don’t, he will probably get Cheski to implicate you, and he could then ring up the mur
der conspiracy charges against you all over again.”
“Can’t do it!” Vinnie yelled. “My case was dismissed!”
“Oops!” Blackstone said again. “Yeah—well, you see, the dismissal in your case was ‘without prejudice.’ Which means that, while the judge dismissed the case against you based on what looked like new evidence, the prosecution can still recharge you all over again based on even newer evidence. Funny thing about the law and the legal system—sometimes truth and justice really do get vindicated after all.”
After another prolonged tirade, Vinnie started settling down.
At that point Blackstone stepped outside and walked up to Julia. She had been patiently waiting in the courtroom the entire time. Off to the side, Henry Hartz, FBI agent Johnson, and two U.S. marshals were also waiting quietly for the result they expected to emerge from the small conference room.
Blackstone stepped next to Julia and whispered in her ear.
“You were the best partner a lawyer could ever have,” he whispered to her. “I am regretfully accepting the termination of our partnership and your resignation immediately. Now, follow me…I am about to introduce you to your first solo client.”
Julia walked inside the room with Vinnie and Blackstone, and the conference-room door was closed. Then Julia’s mentor and former law professor looked at her and smiled warmly and explained what was about to happen next.
“Julia,” Blackstone began, “even though we were successful in obtaining a dismissal without prejudice this morning, my former client, Vinnie Archmont here, has made certain admissions to me just now that give us the full story behind the Smithsonian crimes. However, I think Henry Hartz may be willing to offer Vinnie a plea negotiation on very favorable terms.
“What I am about to tell you now will be the whole truth behind those crimes—and the terms the government will probably be willing to offer Vinnie in return for her cooperation. After I tell you everything, then I want you to tell Vinnie whether, in your professional opinion, she ought to accept this deal—or reject it. Hold nothing back.
“I had told you that, when the time came, I was going to need your brutally honest, objective assessment of something. Well, Julia, that time is now. I am formally stepping out of the middle of this matter. The client has fired me. Though I would have been forced to withdraw if she hadn’t. Vinnie, Julia here, I think, would be willing to represent you if you agree. If not, you are free to hire your own lawyer. Of course that takes time…and there is an excellent chance that by then, Cheski will have cut a deal, and the plea bargain I have suggested to you will have been taken off the table by Henry Hartz.”
Then Blackstone turned to Vinnie, who was simmering with anger behind a clenched jaw.
“Vinnie,” he said, “when my former partner here gives you her evaluation of your legal situation, I want you to listen to her very carefully. You reject her legal advice at your own peril. They don’t come any better or any smarter than her.”
CHAPTER 63
Six Months Later
Are you free, J.D., to discuss the final outcome of Vinnie’s case?”
“Sure. It’s all a matter of public record now,” J.D. Blackstone said.
His psychiatrist, Dr. Jim Koesler, was nodding, and then went to his next question.
“So Vinnie accepted the plea bargain, then?”
“Yes. At least initially,” Blackstone replied.
“But she came after you legally, is that it?”
“Oh gosh, yeah, you might say that,” Blackstone said with a chuckle. “After she accepted the deal and gave evidence against her partner in crime, Victor Cheski, and after Judge Templeton sentenced her to the ten years in prison she was expecting, then she turned on me. She fired my former partner, Julia, who had adroitly led her through the plea negotiation process and sentencing phase.
“Then she hired another attorney and filed a civil suit against me, and also complained to the bar association against me, and finally filed a motion with Judge Templeton saying she should be able to get her ten-year sentence vacated because I had ‘violated the attorney–client relationship in ways that shock the conscience and betray my oath as a lawyer.’ That choice of language in the paperwork was her lawyer’s, of course, not Vinnie’s. I’m sure Vinnie would have used a much more colorful set of descriptives.”
“The result?”
“She lost. I prevailed. On everything.”
“Do you feel vindicated, then?”
“That seems like a very hollow description of my feelings.”
“How would you put it?”
“ ‘Trying not to look back’—how about that?”
“And your former partner, Julia?”
“We’re talking about putting the law partnership back together again.”
“Sounds promising. And on a personal level?”
“A different kind of partnership may be emerging. I am getting Julia into horseback riding, mountain climbing, and kayaking—and she’s getting me into being more human.”
“That also sounds promising. And your interactions with your father, and your uncle?”
“Oh, the same. I don’t have much contact with Dad, I’m afraid. That is probably more my fault. Maybe I should do something about it. And my uncle—Reverend Lamb—he’s the same. He tells me that the human condition has two universal truths—that we are all sinners and we all need a Savior. He still invites me on a regular basis to get down on my knees, confess that I am a sinner, and believe in Jesus as the Son of God.”
“He was correct, in a way, about the Langley note, though—wasn’t he?”
“In a way, yes. He certainly figured out the word puzzle all right, even though the puzzle ultimately was proven to be a fake.”
Blackstone paused and thought about something.
“And I was right too.”
“Well, J.D.,” Dr. Koesler said, “your handling of Vinnie’s defense appears to have been brilliant. Gaining a dismissal of the charges, but then motivating her in the end to own up to the truth behind the crimes and receive some measure of punishment…while making sure that the trigger man, Victor Cheski, caught the full brunt of the punishment.”
“No,” Blackstone said, pondering it. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just that at some point I came to realize what Vinnie’s case was really about.”
“And what is that?”
“Two things, I think. The hunger of human beings for eternal life, and the power of greed.”
“Or as your uncle might put it, eternity and sin?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Blackstone said.
“So,” Dr. Koesler said changing the subject slightly, “you are here for another refill of your medication?”
“No, actually I am here to get rid of you.”
Dr. Koesler laughed. “When I hear that, I often think it can be a good thing—that the patient has progressed.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Blackstone said. “All I know is that I’ve decided to give up my membership in the ‘Better Living Through Chemistry’ club. Your pills give me four hours of sleep, rather than three and a half. It’s not worth the trade-off. There’s got to be a better way.”
“I respect that. But, how about the ‘not looking back’ part—how does that fit into everything?”
“Well, there is one thing I do need from you, now that you are no longer going to be my psychiatrist.”
“What’s that?” Koesler asked.
“An honest answer to an honest question.”
“Which is?”
“Your professional opinion regarding the cause, the etiology, of my accursed insomnia.”
“That’s really for you to answer more than me.”
“Come on, Jim, I know the drill here. The therapist thinks he needs to have the patient do the self-discovery. I know all that. Just give me your theory.”
“I really am hesitant,” Koesler protested.
“Okay, Jim, really—what do you have to lose? Look, let’s make it a bet,
alright? Like the old fraternity days together. I dare you, for the sum of ten bucks, in valid American currency—and I’ve got it right in my pocket here—I dare you to nail the cause of my insomnia. Explain it to me.”
“J.D., you’re smarter than I am. I’m sure you’ve already figured it out.”
“Well, let’s test your theory. Come on. Lay it on me.”
Dr. Koesler looked into the face of his friend. He was tempted to play the clinician. To play it safe. By the book.
But he didn’t.
“Alright,” Koesler said. “You told me once, in one of our first meetings, about the last thing you remember Marilyn saying to you before she left with your daughter for that music recital. What was it she said?”
Blackstone had been looking at Koesler, but now he looked down at some undetermined and unfixed point in space.
“She said…‘Don’t forget.’ ”
“Don’t forget what, exactly?”
“ ‘Don’t forget,’ ” Blackstone said, his voice faltering a little, “ ‘to set your alarm.’ So I wouldn’t sleep through Beth’s recital.”
“You were about to take a nap?”
“I had gone two weeks without a solid night’s sleep…handling a very demanding, very complicated trial…grabbing a few hours here or there each night, not much more. The case ended. We won. Wonderful. Great. I was exhausted. It was Beth’s recital that day. Rather than driving them to the recital myself, I said I needed to lie down for a few hours. But I would meet them at the recital auditorium…in time.”
“In time for Beth’s recital.”
“Yeah, of course, obviously,” Blackstone blurted out. “Jim, look—you’re the one with the MD degree, you’re the psychiatrist. I’m just the one who never bothered to finish my PhD in psychology. Why don’t you simply give me your brilliant psychiatric deduction, then? Just tell me!”
“Well, it seems to me,” Koesler said quietly, “ that the driving force in your internal struggle now is the fact that you didn’t drive them. Marilyn did. The route she took just happened to lead her into the path of an oncoming car. But you, J.D., who believe you are the one who has to be right all the time, you knew a different route. And I am guessing you feel you would have taken them on that different route—your route, a better route, a safer route—maybe even a quicker route, less traffic, that’s why you would have preferred it. But there was a problem…the fact that you needed sleep. So Marilyn ended up leaving first, doing the driving. She took her route, not yours. The accident happened. And you haven’t forgiven yourself for not being there to take care of your family. Not saving them from disaster. So the enemy of those you loved the most, in your view, ended up being sleep. Sleep—your need for sleep, then, somewhere on a feeling level, has been proven to be your mortal enemy. Or so you believe.”
The Rose Conspiracy Page 34
