Fink nodded.
"I'm not impressed. I've seen better work at high school mock trial competitions. Half the first-year law students at Memphis State could kick your butt, and the other half could kick Mr. Foltrigg's."
Fink was not agreeing, but he kept nodding for some reason. Ord slid his chair a few inches away from Fink's.
"What about it, Ms. Love?" Harry asked.
"Your Honor, our rules of procedure and ethics are quite clear. An attorney trying a case cannot participate in the same trial as a witness. It's simple." She sounded bored and frustrated, as if everyone should know this.
"Mr. Fink?"
Fink was regaining himself. "Your Honor, I would like to tell the court, under oath, certain facts regarding Mr. Clifford's actions prior to the suicide. I apologize for this request, but under the circumstances it cannot be helped."
There was a knock on the door, and the bailiff opened it slightly. Marcia entered carrying a plate covered with a thick roast beef sandwich and a tall plastic glass of iced tea. She sat it before his honor, who thanked her, and she was gone.
It was almost one o'clock, and suddenly everyone was starving. The roast beef and horseradish and pickles, and the side order of onion rings, emitted an appetizing aroma that wafted around the room. All eyes were on the kaiser roll, and as Harry picked it up to take a huge bite, he saw young Mark Sway watching his every move. He stopped the sandwich in midair, and noticed that Fink and Ord, and Reggie, and even the bailiff were staring in helpless anticipation.
Harry placed the sandwich on the plate, and slid it to one side. "Mr. Fink," he said, jabbing a finger in Fink's direction, "stay where you are. Do you swear to tell the truth?"
"I do."
"You'd better. You're now under oath and you have five minutes to tell me what's bugging you."
"Yes, thank you, Your Honor."
"You're so welcome."
"You see, Jerome Clifford and I were in law school together, and we knew each other for many years. We had many cases together, always on opposite sides, of course."
"Of course."
"After Barry Muldanno was indicted, the pressure began to mount and Jerome began acting strange. Looking back, I think he was slowly cracking up, but at the time I didn't think much about it. I mean, you see, Jerome was always a strange one."
"I see."
"I was working on the case every day, many hours a day, and I talked to Jerome Clifford several times a week. We had preliminary motions and such, so I saw him in court occasionally. He looked awful. He gained a lot of weight, and was drinking too much. He was always late for meetings. Rarely bathed. Often, he failed to return phone calls, which was unusual for Jerome. About a week before he died he called me at home one night, really drunk, and rambled on for almost an hour. He was crazy. Then he called me at the office first thing the next morning and apologized. But he wouldn't get off the phone. He kept fishing around as if he were afraid he'd said too much the night before. At least twice he mentioned the Boyette body, and I became convinced Jerome knew where it was."
Fink paused to allow this to sink in, but Harry was waiting impatiently.
"Well, he called me several times after that, kept talking about the body. I led him on. I implied that he'd said too much when he was drunk. I told him that we were considering an indictment against him for obstruction of justice."
"Seems to be one of your favorites," Harry said dryly.
"Anyway, Jerome was drinking heavily and acting bizarre. I confessed to him that the FBI was trailing him around the clock, which was not altogether true, but he seemed to believe it. He grew very paranoid, and called me several times a day. He'd get drunk and call me late at night. He wanted to talk about the body, but was afraid to tell everything. During our last phone conversation, I suggested that maybe we could cut a deal. If he'd tell us where the body was, then we'd help him bail out with no record, no conviction, nothing. He was terrified of his client, and he never once denied knowing where the body •was."
"Your Honor," Reggie interrupted, "this, of course, is pure hearsay and quite self-serving. There's no way to verify any of this."
"You don't believe me?" Fink snapped at her.
"No, I don't."
"I'm not sure I do either, Mr. Fink," Harry said. "Nor am I sure why any of this has any relevance to this hearing."
"My point, Your Honor, is that Jerome Clifford knew about the body and he was talking about it. Plus, he was cracking up."
"I'll say he cracked up, Mr. Fink. He put a gun in his mouth. Sounds crazy to me."
Fink sort of hung in the air with his mouth open, uncertain if he should say anything else.
"Any more witnesses, Mr. Fink?" Harry asked.
"No sir. We do, however, Your Honor, feel that due to the unusual circumstances Mark Sway should take the stand and testify."
Harry ripped off the reading glasses again and leaned toward Fink. If he could have reached him, he might have gone for his neck.
"You what!"
"We, uh, feel that-"
"Mr. Fink, have you studied the juvenile laws for this jurisdiction?"
"I have."
"Great. Will you please tell us, sir, under which code section the petitioner has the right to force the child to testify?"
"I was merely stating our request."
"That's great. Under which code section is the petitioner allowed to make such a request?"
Fink dropped his head a few inches and found something on his legal pad to examine.
"This is not a kangaroo court, Mr. Fink. We do not create new rules as we go. The child cannot be forced to testify, same as any other criminal or Juvenile Court proceeding. Surely you understand this."
Fink studied the legal pad with great intensity.
"Ten-minute recess!" his honor barked. "Everyone out of the courtroom except Ms. Love. Bailiff, take Mark to a witness room." Harry was standing as he growled these instructions.
Fink, afraid to stand but nonetheless trying, hesitated for a split second too long, and this upset the judge. "Out of here, Mr. Fink," he said rudely, pointing to the door.
Fink and Ord stumbled over each other as they clawed for the door. The court reporter and clerk followed them. The bailiff escorted Mark away, and when he closed the door Harry unzipped his robe and threw it on a table. He took his lunch and set it on the table before Reggie.
"Shall we dine?" he said, tearing the sandwich in two and placing half of it on a napkin for her. He slid the onion rings next to her legal pad. She took one and nibbled around the edges.
"Are you going to allow the kid to testify?" he asked -with a mouth full of roast beef.
"I don't know, Harry. What do you think?"
"I think Fink's a dumbass, that's what I think."
Reggie took a small bite of the sandwich and wiped her mouth.
"If you put him on," Harry said, crunching, "Fink'11 ask him some very pointed questions about what happened in the car with Clifford."
"I know. That's what worries me."
"How will the kid answer the questions?"
"I honestly don't know. I've advised him fully. We've talked about it at length. And I have no idea what he'll do."
Harry took a deep breath, and realized the iced tea was still on the bench. He took two paper cups from Fink's table and poured them full of tea.
"It's obvious, Reggie, that he knows something. Why did he tell so many lies?"
"He's a kid, Harry. He was scared to death. He heard more than he should have. He saw Clifford blow his brains out. It scared him to death. Look at his poor little brother. It was a terrible thing to witness, and I think Mark initially thought he might get in trouble. So he lied."
"I don't really blame him," Harry said, taking an onion ring. Reggie bit into a pickle.
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
He wiped his mouth, and thought about this for a long time. This child was now his, one of Harry's Kids, and each decision from now on would b
e based on what was best for Mark Sway.
"If I can assume the child knows something very relevant to the investigation in New Orleans, then several things might happen. First, if you put him on the stand and he gives the information Fink wants, then this matter is closed as far as my jurisdiction is concerned. The kid walks out of here, but he's in great danger. Second, if you put him on the stand, and he refuses to answer Fink's questions, then I will be forced to make him answer. If he refuses, he'll be in contempt. He cannot remain silent if he has crucial information. Either way,, if this hearing is concluded here today without satisfactory answers by the child, I strongly suspect Mr. Foltrigg will move quickly. He'll get a grand jury subpoena for Mark, and away you go to New Orleans. If he refuses to talk to the grand jury, he'll certainly be held in contempt by the federal judge, and I suspect he'll be incarcerated."
Reggie nodded. She was in complete agreement. "So what do we do, Harry?"
"If the kid goes to New Orleans, I lose control of him. I'd rather keep him here. If I were you, I'd put him on the stand and advise him not to answer the crucial questions. At least not for now. He can always do it later. He can do it tomorrow, or the next day. I'd advise him to withstand the pressure from the judge, and keep his mouth shut, at least for now. He'll go back to our Juvenile Detention Center, which is probably much safer than anything in New Orleans. By doing this, you protect the child from the New Orleans thugs, who scare even me, until the feds can arrange something better. And you buy yourself some time to see what Mr. Foltrigg will do in New Orleans."
"You think he's in great danger?"
"Yes, and even if I didn't, I wouldn't take chances. If he spills his guts now, he could get hurt. I'm not inclined to release him today, under any circumstances."
"What if Mark refuses to talk, and Foltrigg presents him with a grand jury subpoena?"
"I won't allow him to go."
Reggie's appetite was gone. She sipped her tea from the paper cup and closed her eyes. "This is so unfair to this boy, Harry. He deserves more from the system."
"I agree. I'm open to suggestions."
"What if I don't put him on the stand?"
"I'm not going to release him, Reggie. At least not today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day. This is happening awfully fast, and I suggest we take the safest route and see what happens in New Orleans."
"You didn't answer my question. What if I don't put him on the stand?"
"Well, based on the proof I've heard, I'll have no choice but to find him to be a delinquent, and I'll send him back to Doreen. Of course, I could reverse myself tomorrow. Or the next day."
"He's not a delinquent."
"Maybe not. But if he knows something, and he refuses to tell, then he's obstructing justice." There was a long pause. "How much does he know, Reggie? If you'll tell me, I'll be in a better position to help him."
"I can't tell you, Harry. It's privileged."
"Of course it is," he said with a smile. DUL u. 3 rather obvious he knows plenty."
"Yes, I guess it is."
He leaned forward, and touched her arm. "Listen to me, dear. Our little pal is in a world of trouble. So let's get him out of it. I say we take it one day at a time, keep him in a safe place where we call the shots, and in the meantime start talking to the feds about their witness protection program. If that falls into place for the kid and his family, then he can tell these awful secrets and be protected."
"I'll talk to him."
25
Under the stern supervision of the Bailiff, a man named Grinder, they were reassembled and directed to their positions. Fink glanced about fearfully, uncertain whether to sit, stand, speak, or crawl under the table. Ord picked at the cuticle on a thumb. Baxter McLe-more had moved his chair as far away from Fink as possible.
His honor sipped the remains of the tea and waited until all was still. "On the record," he said in the general direction of the court reporter. "Ms. Love, I need to know if young Mark will testify."
She was sitting a foot behind her client, and she looked at the side of his face. His eyes were still wet.
"Under the circumstances," she said, "he doesn't have much of a choice."
"Is that a yes or a no?"
"I will allow him to testify," she said, "but I will not tolerate abusive questioning by Mr. Fink."
"Your Honor, please," Fink said.
"Quiet, Mr. Fink. Remember rule number one? Don't speak until spoken to."
Fink glared at Reggie. "A cheap shot," he snaped.
"Knock it off, Mr. Fink," Harry said. All was quiet.
His honor was suddenly all warmth and smiles. "Mark, I want you to remain in your seat, next to your lawyer, while I ask you some questions."
Fink winked at Ord. Finally, the kid would talk. This could be the moment.
"Raise your right hand, Mark," his honor said, and Mark slowly obeyed. The right hand, as well as the left, was trembling.
The elderly lady stood in front of Mark and properly swore him. He did not stand, but inched closer to Reggie.
"Now, Mark, I'm going to ask you some questions. If you don't understand anything I ask, please feel free to talk to your lawyer. Okay?"
"Yes sir."
"I'll try to keep the questions clear and simple. If you need a break to step outside and talk to Reggie, Ms. Love, just let me know. Okay?"
"Yes sir."
Fink turned his chair to face Mark and sat like a hungry puppy awaiting his Alpo. Ord finished his nails, and was ready with his pen and legal pad.
Harry reviewed his notes for a second, then smiled down at the witness. "Now, Mark, I want you to explain to me exactly how you and your brother discovered Mr. Clifford on Monday."
Mark gripped the arms of his chair and cleared his throat. This was not what he expected. He'd never seen a movie in which the judge asked the questions.
"We sneaked off into the woods behind the trailer park, to smoke a cigarette," he began, and slowly led to the point where Romey stuck the water hose in the tail pipe the first time and got in the car.
"What'd you dp then?" his honor asked anxiously.
"I took it out," he said, and told the story about his trips through the weeds to remove Romey's suicide device. Although he'd told this before, once or twice to his mother and Dr. Greenway, and once or twice to Reggie, it had never seemed amusing to him. But as he told it now, the judge's eyes began to sparkle and his smile widened. He chuckled softly. The bailiff thought it was funny. The court reporter, always noncommittal, was enjoying it. Even the old woman at the clerk's desk was listening with her first smile of the proceedings.
But the humor turned sour as Mr. Clifford grabbed him, slapped him around, and threw him in the car. Mark relived this with a straight face, staring at the brown pumps of the court reporter.
"So you were in the car with Mr. Clifford before he died?" his honor asked cautiously, very serious now.
"Yes sir."
"And what did he do once he got you in the car?"
"He slapped me some more, yelled at me a few times, threatened me." And Mark told all that he remembered about the gun, the whiskey bottle, the pills.
The small courtroom was deathly still, and the smiles were long gone. Mark's words were deliberate. His eyes avoided all others. He spoke as if in a trance.
"Did he fire the gun?" Judge Roosevelt asked.
"Yes sir," he answered, and told them all about it.
When he finished this part of the story, he waited for the next question. Harry thought about it for a long minute.
"Where was Ricky?"
"Hiding in the bushes, i saw him beside the weeds, and I sort of figured he'd removed the water hose again. He did, I found out later. Mr. Clifford kept saying he could feel the gas, and he asked me over and over if I could feel it. I said yes, twice I think, but I knew Ricky had come through."
"And he didn't know about Ricky?" It was a throwaway question, irrelevant, but asked because Harry couldn't think of a better one at
the moment.
"No sir."
Another long pause.
"So you talked with Mr. Clifford while you were in the car?"
Mark knew what was coming, as did everyone in the courtroom, so he jumped in quickly in an attempt to divert it.
"Yes sir. He was out of his mind, kept talking about floating off to see the Wizard of Oz, off to la-la land, then he would yell at me for crying, then he would apologize for hitting me."
There was a pause as Harry waited to see if he was finished. "Is that all he said?"
Mark glanced at Reggie, who was watching him carefully. Fink inched closer. The court reporter was frozen.
"What do you mean?" Mark asked, stalling.
"Did Mr. Clifford say anything else?"
Mark thought about this for a second, and decided he hated Reggie. He could simply say "No," and the ballgame was over. No sir, Mr. Clifford did not say anything else. He just rambled on like an idiot for about five minutes, then fell asleep, and I ran like hell. If he'd never met Reggie, and had not heard her lecture about being under oath and telling the truth, then he would simply say "No sir." And go home, or back to the hospital, or wherever.
Or would he? One day in the fourth grade the cops put on a show about police work, and one of them demonstrated a polygraph. He wired up Joey McDermant, the biggest liar in the class, and they watched as the needle went berserk every time Joey opened his mouth. "We catch criminals lying every time," the cop had boasted.
With cops and FBI agents swarming around him, could the polygraph be far away? He'd lied so much since Romey killed himself, and he was really tired of it.
"Mark, I asked you if Mr. Clifford said anything else."
"Like what?"
"Like, did he mention anything about Senator Boyd Boyette?"
"Who?"
Harry flashed a sweet little smile, then it was gone. "Mark, did Mr. Clifford mention anything about a case of his in New Orleans involving a Mr. Barry Muldanno or the late Senator Boyd Boyette?"
A tiny spider was crawling next to the court reporter's brown pumps, and Mark watched it until it disappeared under the tripod. He thought about that damned polygraph again. Reggie said she would fight to keep it away from him, but what if the judge ordered it?
Grisham, John - The Client Page 28
