The long pause before his response said it all. Fink's heart was laboring and his pulse had tripled. Aha! The little bastard does know!
"I don't think I want to answer that question," he said, staring at the floor, waiting tor me spiaer to reappear.
Fink looked hopefully at the judge.
"Mark, look at me," Harry said like a gentle grandfather. "I want you to answer the question. Did Mr. Clifford mention Barry Muldanno or Boyd Boy-ette?"
"Can I take the Fifth Amendment?"
"No."
"Why not? It applies to kids, doesn't it?"
"Yes, but not in this situation. You're not implicated in the death of Senator Boyette. You're not implicated in any crime."
"Then why did you put me in jail?"
"I'm going to send you back there if you don't answer my questions."
"I take the Fifth Amendment anyway."
They were glaring at each other, witness and judge, and the witness blinked first. His eyes watered and he sniffed twice. He bit his lip, fighting hard not to cry. He clenched the armrests and squeezed until his knuckles were white. Tears dropped onto his cheeks, but he kept staring up into the dark eyes of the Honorable Harry Roosevelt.
The tears of an innocent little boy. Harry turned to his side and pulled a tissue from a drawer under the bench. His eyes were wet too.
"Would you like to talk to your attorney, in private?" he asked.
"We've already talked," he said in a fading voice. He wiped his cheeks with a sleeve.
Fink was near cardiac arrest. He had so much to say, so many questions for this brat, so many suggestions for the court on how to handle this matter. The kid knew, dammit! Let's make him talk!
"Mark, I don't like to do this, but you must answer my questions. If you refuse, then you're in contempt of court. Do you understand this?"
"Yes sir. Reggie's explained it to me."
"And did she explain that if you're in contempt, then I can send you back to the Juvenile Detention Center?"
"Yes sir. You can call it a jail if you like, it doesn't bother me."
"Thank you. Do you want to go back to jail?"
"Not really, but I have no place else to go." His voice was stronger and the tears had stopped. The thought of jail was not as frightening now that he'd seen the inside of it. He could tough it out for a few days. In fact, he figured he could take the heat longer than the judge. He was certain his name would appear in the paper again in the very near future. And the reporters would undoubtedly learn he was locked up by Harry Roosevelt for not talking. And surely the judge would catch hell for locking up a little kid'who'd done nothing wrong.
Reggie'd told him he could change his mind anytime he got tired of jail.
"Did Mr. Clifford mention the name Barry Muldanno to you?"
"Take the Fifth."
"Did Mr. Clifford mention the name Boyd Boy-ette to you?"
"Take the Fifth."
"Did Mr. Clifford say anything about the murder of Boyd Boyette?"
"Take the Fifth."
"Did Mr. Clifford say anything about the present location of the body of Boyd Boyette?"
"Take the Fifth."
Harry removed his reading glasses for the tenth time, and rubbed his face. "You can't take the Fifth, Mark."
"I just did."
"I'm ordering you to answer these questions."
"Yes sir. I'm sorry."
Harry took a pen and began writing.
"Your Honor," Mark said. "I respect you and what you're trying to do. But I cannot answer these questions because I'm afraid of what might happen to me or my family."
"I understand, Mark, but the law does not allow private citizens to withhold information that might be crucial to a criminal investigation. I'm following the law, not picking on you. I'm holding you in contempt. I'm not angry with you, but you leave me no choice. I'm ordering you to return to the Juvenile Detention Center, where you will remain as long as you're in contempt."
"How long will that be?"
"It's up to you, Mark."
"What if I decide never to answer the questions?"
"I don't know. Right now we'll take it one day at a time." Harry flipped through his calendar, found a spot, and made a note. "We'll meet again at noon tomorrow, if that's agreeable with everyone."
Fink was crushed. He stood, and was about to speak when Ord grabbed his arm and pulled him down. "Your Honor, I don't think I can be here tomorrow," he said. "As you know, my office is in New Orleans, and..."
"Oh, you'll be here tomorrow, Mr. Fink. You and Mr. Foltrigg together. You chose to file your petition here in Memphis, in my court, and now I have jurisdiction over you. As soon as you leave here, I suggest you call Mr. Foltrigg and tell him to be here at noon tomorrow. I want both petitioners, Fink and Foltrigg, right here at twelve o'clock sharp tomorrow. And if you're not here, I'll hold you in contempt, and tomorrow it'll be you and your boss being hauled off to jail."
Fink's mouth was open but nothing came out. Ord spoke for the first time. "Your Honor, I believe Mr. Foltrigg has a hearing in federal court in the morning. Mr. Muldanno has a new lawyer who's asking for a continuance, and the judge down there has set the hearing for tomorrow morning."
"Is that true, Mr. Fink?"
"Yes sir."
"Then tell Mr. Foltrigg to fax me a copy of the judge's order setting the hearing for tomorrow. I'll excuse him. But as long as Mark is in jail for contempt, I intend to bring him back here every other day to see if he wants to talk. I'll expect both petitioners to be here."
"That's quite a hardship on us, Your Honor."
"Not as hard as it's gonna be if you don't show up. You picked this forum, Mr. Fink. Now you gotta live with it."
Fink had flown to Memphis six hours earlier without a toothbrush or change of underwear. Now it appeared as though he might be forced to lease an apartment with bedrooms for himself and Foltrigg. me Damn nau eabeu ms> way IAJ uic Reggie and Mark, and was watching his honor and waiting for a signal.
"Mark, I'm going to excuse you now," Harry said, scribbling on a form, "and I'll see you again tomorrow. If you have any problems in the detention center, you inform me tomorrow and I'll take care of it. Okay?"
Mark nodded. Reggie squeezed his arm, and said, "I'll talk to your mother, and I'll come see you in the morning."
"Tell Mom I'm fine," he whispered in her ear. "I'll try and call her tonight." He stood and left with the bailiff.
"Send in those FBI people," Harry said to the bailiff as he was closing the door.
"Are we excused, Your Honor?" Fink asked. There was sweat on his forehead. He was eager to leave this room and call Foltrigg with the horrible news.
"What's the hurry, Mr. Fink?"
"Uh, no hurry, Your Honor."
"Then relax. I want to talk, off the record, with you boys and the FBI people. Just take a minute." Harry excused the court reporter and the old woman. McThune and Lewis entered and took their seats behind the lawyers.
Harry unzipped his robe, but did not remove it. He wiped his face with a tissue and sipped the last of the tea. They watched and waited.
"I do not intend to keep this child in jail," he said, looking at Reggie. "Maybe for a few days, but not long. It's apparent to me that he has some critical information, and he's duty bound to divulge it."
Fink started nodding. '
"He's scared, and we can all certainly understand that. Perhaps we can convince him to talk if we can guarantee his safety, and that of his mother and brother. I'd like Mr. Lewis to help us on this. I'm open to suggestions."
K. O. Lewis was ready. "Your Honor, we have taken preliminary sfeps to place him in our witness protection program."
"I've heard of it, Mr. Lewis, but I'm not familiar with the details."
"It's quite simple. We move the family to another city. We provide new identities. We find a good job for the mother, and get them a nice place to live. Not a trailer or an apartment, but a house. We make sure the boys are in
a good school. There's some cash up front. And we stay close by."
"Sounds tempting, Ms. Love," Harry said.
It certainly did. At the moment, the Sways had no home. Dianne worked in a sweatshop. There were no relatives in Memphis.
"They're not mobile right now," she said. "Ricky is confined to the hospital."
"We've already located a children's psychiatric hospital in Portland that can take him right away," Lewis explained. "It's a private one, not a charity outfit like St. Peter's, and it's one of the best in the country. They'll take him whenever we ask, and, of course, we'll pay for it. After he's released, we'll move the family to another city."
"How long will it take to place the entire family into the program?" Harry asked.
"Less than a week," Lewis answered. "Director Voyles has given it top priority. The paperwork takes a few days, new driver's license, social security numbers, ILK.C urn. _i lie iam-ily has to make the decision to do it, and the mother must tell us where she wants to go. We'll take over from there."
"What do you think, Ms. Love?" Harry asked. "Will Ms. Sway go for it?"
"I'll talk to her. She's under enormous stress right now. One kid in a coma, the other in jail, and she lost everything in the fire last night. The idea of running away in the middle of the night could be a hard sell, at least for now."
"But you'll try?"
"I'll see."
"Do you think she could be in court tomorrow? I'd like to talk to her."
"I'll ask the doctor."
"Good. This meeting is adjourned. I'll see you folks at noon tomorrow."
The Bailiff handed mark to two Memphis policemen in plain clothes, and they took him through a side door into the parking lot. When they were gone, the bailiff climbed the stairs to the second floor and darted into an empty rest room. Empty, except for Slick Moeller.
They stood before the urinals, side by side, and stared at the graffiti.
"Are we alone?" asked the bailiff.
"Yep. What happened?" Slick had unzipped his pants and had both hands on his waist. "Be quick."
"Kid wouldn't talk, so he's going back to jail. Contempt."
"What does he know?"
"I'd say he knows everything. It's rather obvious.
He said he was in the car with Clifford, they talked about this and that, and when Harry pressed him on the New Orleans stuff the kid took the Fifth Amendment. Tough little bastard."
"But he knows?"
"Oh sure. But he's not telling. Judge wants him back tomorrow at noon to see if a night in the slammer changes his mind."
Slick zipped his pants and stepped away from the urinal. He took a folded one-hundred-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to the bailiff.
"You didn't hear it from me," the bailiff said.
"You trust me, don't you?"
"Of course." And he did. Mole Moeller never revealed a source.
Moeller had three photographers poised at various places around the Juvenile Court building. He knew the routines better than the cops themselves, and he figured they'd use the side door near the loading dock for a quick getaway with the kid. That's exactly what they did, and they almost made it to their unmarked car before a heavy woman in fatigues jumped from a parked van and nailed them straight on with her Nikon. The cops yelled at her, and tried to hide the kid behind them, but it was too late. They rushed him to their car, and pushed him into the backseat.
Just great, thought Mark. It was not yet 2 P.M., and so far this day had brought the burning of their trailer, his arrest at the hospital, his new home at the jail, a hearing with Judge Roosevelt, and now, another damned photographer shooting at him for what would undoubtedly be another front-page story.
As the car squealed tires and raced away, he sunk low in the backseat. His stomach ached, not from hunger, but from fear. He was alone again.
26
Foltrigg watched the traffic on poydras street and waited for the call from Memphis. He was tired of pacing and checking his watch. He had tried to return phone calls and dictate letters, but it was hopeless. His mind could not leave the wonderful image of Mark Sway sitting in a witness chair somewhere in Memphis telling all his splendid secrets. Two hours had passed since the hearing was scheduled to start, and surely they'd take a recess along the way so Fink could dash to a phone and call him.
Larry Trumann was on standby, waiting for the call so they could swing into action with a posse of corpse hunters. They had become quite proficient in digging for bodies during the past eight months. They just hadn't found any.
But today would be different. Roy would take the call, walk to Trumann's office, and off they'd go to find the late Boyd Boyette. Foltrigg talked to himself, not a whisper or a mumble, but a full-blown speech in which he addressed the media with the thrilling announcement that, yes, they had indeed found the senator, and, yes, he died of six bullet wounds to the head. The gun was a .22, and the bullet fragments were definitely, without the slightest doubt, fired from the same handgun that had been so meticulously traced to the defendant, Mr. Barry Muldanno.
It would be a wonderful moment, this press conference.
Someone knocked slightly and the door opened before Roy could turn around. It was Wally Boxx, the only person allowed such casual entries.
"Heard anything?" Wally asked, walking to the window and standing next to his boss.
"No. Not a word. I wish Fink would get to a phone. He has specific orders."
They stood in silence and watched the street.
"What's the grand jury doing?" Roy asked.
"The usual. Routine indictments."
"Who's in there?"
"Hoover. He's finishing up with the drug bust in Gretna. Should be through this afternoon."
"Are they scheduled to work tomorrow?"
"No. They've had a hard week. We promised them yesterday they could take off tomorrow. What're you thinking?"
Foltrigg shifted weight slightly and scratched his chin. His eyes had a faraway look, and he watched the cars below but didn't see them. Heavy thinking was sometimes painful for him. "Think about this. If, for some reason, the kid doesn't talk, and if Fink drills a dry hole with the hearing, what do we do then? I say we go to the grand jury, get subpoenas for both the kid and his lawyer, and drag them down here. The kid's gotta be scared right now, and he's still in Memphis. He'll be terrified when he has to come here."
"Why would you subpoena his lawyer?"
"To scare her. Pure harassment. Shake 'em both up. We get the subpoenas today, keep them sealed,' sit on them until late tomorrow afternoon when everything's closing for the weekend, then we serve the kid and his lawyer. The subpoenas will require their presence before our grand jury at 10 A.M. Monday morning. They won't have a chance to run to court and quash the subpoenas because it's the weekend and everything's shut down and all the judges are out of town. They'll be too scared not to show up here Monday morning, on our turf, Wally. Right down the hall here, in our building."
"What if the kid doesn't know anything?"
Roy shook his head in frustration. They'd had this conversation a dozen times in the last forty-eight hours. "I thought that was established."
"Maybe. And maybe the kid's talking right now."
"He probably is."
A secretary squeaked through on the intercom and announced that Mr. Fink was holding on line one. Foltrigg walked to his desk and grabbed the phone. "Yes!"
"The hearing's over, Roy," Fink reported. He sounded relieved and tired.
Foltrigg hit the switch for the speakerphone, and fell into his chair. Wally perched his tiny butt on the corner of the desk. "Watty's here with me, Tom. Tell us what happened." "
"Nothing much. The kid's back in jail. He wouldn't talk, so the judge found him in contempt."
"What do you mean, he wouldn't talk?"
"He wouldn't talk. The judge handled both the direct and cross-examinations, and the kid admitted being in the car and talking with Clifford. But when the judge
asked questions about Boyette and Muldanno, the kid took the Fifth Amendment."
"The Fifth Amendment!" .
"That's right. He wouldn't budge. Said jail wasn't so bad after all, and that he had no other place to go."
"But he knows, doesn't he, Tom? The little punk knows."
"Oh, there's no question about it. Clifford told him everything."
Foltrigg slapped his hands together. "I knew it! I knew it! I knew it! I've been telling you boys this for three days now." He jumped to his feet and squeezed his hands together. "I knew it!"
Fink continued. "The judge has scheduled another hearing for noon tomorrow. He wants the kid brought back in to see if he's changed his mind. I'm not too optimistic."
"I want you at that hearing, Tom."
"Yes, and the judge wants you too, Roy. I explained you had a hearing on the continuance motion in the morning, and he insisted that you fax him a copy of the hearing order. He said he'd excuse you under those circumstances."
"Is he some kind of nut?"
"No. He's not a nut. He said he plans to hold these little hearings quite often next week, and he expects both of us, as petitioners, to be there."
"Then he is a nut."
Wally rolled his eyes and shook his head. These local judges could be such fools.
"After the hearing, the judge talked to us about placing the kid and his family in witness protection. He thinks he can convince the kid to talk if we can guarantee his safety."
"That could take weeks."
"I think so too, but K.O. told the judge it could be done in a matter of days. Frankly, Roy, I don't think the kid will talk until we can make some guarantees. He's a tough little guy."
"What about his lawyer?"
"She played it cool, didn't say much, but she and the judge are pretty tight. I got the impression the kid's getting a lot of advice. She's no dummy."
Wally just had to say something. "Tom, it's me, Wally. What do you think will happen over the weekend?"
"Who knows? As I said, I don't think this kid'll change his mind overnight, and I don't think the judge plans to release him. The judge knows about Gronke and the Muldanno boys, and I get the impression he wants the kid locked up for his own protection. Tomorrow's Friday, so it looks like the kid will stay where he is over the weekend. And I'm sure the judge will call us back in on Monday for another chat."
Grisham, John - The Client Page 29
