“Private Castillo?” the judge said. “Is the man in that photograph, or isn’t he?”
The translator put the question to him again, and he didn’t react. Jack didn’t show it, but he was beginning to sweat.
“Private Castillo?” the judge repeated.
“Do you see him?” said Jack.
The witness looked up from the photograph. “This is him.”
Jack stepped forward, saw where he was pointing. “Let the record reflect that the witness selected the man in the third row, fifth from the left. Lieutenant Damont Johnson.”
For an instant, the name seemed to take on a life of its own as members of the media scribbled it down simultaneously. Jack quietly breathed a sigh of relief. The witness had placed someone else at the scene of the crime near the time of the murder. Lindsey had reasonable doubt.
If the jury believed it.
The judge said, “Any further questions for this witness, Mr. Swyteck?”
Jack was tempted to end on the high note, but it would have been worse for the illicit sex to come out on cross-examination. Besides, he had a new angle on the so-called extramarital affair-the one that Lindsey had confided to Sofia, the one she’d been too embarrassed to share directly with Jack.
“One final line of questioning,” said Jack. “Private Castillo, did you happen to see Lieutenant Johnson at Captain Pintado’s house on any occasions other than the morning of June seventeenth?”
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“Many times.”
The next question stuck in Jack’s throat. Even though the prosecutor had already convinced the jury that Lindsey was a cheating spouse, graphic testimony from an eyewitness was bound to change the whole tenor of the trial. But Jack had to get through it.
If Sofia was right, this was their only way to explain what really went on in that bedroom.
“Sir, can you tell me who Lieutenant Johnson was with on those other occasions?”
“I saw him with Captain Pintado’s wife.”
A rumble worked its way through the crowd, and it seemed to crawl right up Jack’s spine like a big, fat, collective, What did he say?
“Where were they?”
“In the bedroom.”
The rumble turned to outright chatter. The judge banged his gavel. “Order!”
Jack couldn’t bring himself to look at the jury, but he could almost feel their scowls. “What…were they doing?”
God, please, he thought. Let him say anything but “Going at it like a couple of porn stars.”
“They were having sexual relations.”
Suddenly it was as if the courtroom were a cocktail party, and the host had walked in naked. It seemed that everyone was talking, some mortified and indignant, others giddy and excited by this new wrinkle in the case.
Again the judge gaveled them down to silence. “This courtroom will come to order!”
Jack waited for the noise to subside, then continued. He was having second thoughts about this new strategy they’d developed, but there was no turning back now. Sex was in the case, and Jack had to put the defense’s spin on it.
“Private Castillo, can you tell me if Lieutenant Johnson and Lindsey Hart were alone in the bedroom on those occasions you saw them together?”
“Objection,” said the prosecutor.
“On what grounds?” said the judge.
Torres struggled, and it was clear that he couldn’t quite put his finger on any strict legal theory. He just didn’t like the feel of things. Then he found something. “Judge, I believe the witness’s testimony should be limited to what he saw.”
“Can you rephrase your question, Mr. Swyteck?”
“Certainly. Private Castillo, did you see anyone in the bedroom other than Lieutenant Johnson and Lindsey Hart?”
“You mean while…”
“Yes,” said Jack, the clarification somewhat painful, “while they were engaged in sexual activity.”
The witness considered the question, then said, “No. I can’t say that I saw anyone else in the room.”
Jack glanced back toward Sofia. She had enough of a poker face not to show her disappointment, but her theory wasn’t playing out as they’d hoped. Jack took a few steps back, simply buying time, regrouping his thoughts. Then he took another shot. “Private Castillo, do you know what kind of vehicle Captain Pintado drove?”
“Yes. A red Chevy pickup, older model.”
“I want you to think hard now, all right? Did you happen to notice Captain Pintado’s pickup parked in the driveway on any of the occasions when you observed Lieutenant Johnson and the defendant in the bedroom together?”
“You mean while…”
“Yes,” said Jack, again dreading the clarification, “while they were having sex.”
The witness was silent for a moment, then the answer seemed to come to him. “Yes, it was there.”
Pay dirt! “One time? Two times?”
“No. Every time. Every time I can remember.”
Jack tried not to smile, but he was glowing on the inside. “Let me make sure I understand. Every time you observed the defendant having sex with Lieutenant Johnson in the Pintado bedroom, Captain Pintado’s vehicle was parked in the driveway. Is that your testimony?”
“Objection,” said the prosecutor. He finally seemed to realize that Jack was giving this love triangle some interesting new angles.
“Overruled,” said the judge. “The witness may answer.”
“Yes, that’s correct. I didn’t really think of it before. But now that you ask the question, I’m sure of it. I saw it. There were always two vehicles. Captain Pintado’s pickup and Lieutenant Johnson’s car.”
“Thank you. No further questions.” Jack returned to his seat.
“Mr. Torres, cross-examination?” said the judge.
“Oh, absolutely,” he said as he approached the witness. He stopped a few feet away from him, saying nothing, simply allowing the witness to feel the presence of the United States government. Then he turned his back on him, shaking his head, mocking the soldier’s response to Jack’s final question. “You didn’t really think of it before, but now that Mr. Swyteck has asked the question, you’re sure of it. You saw two cars.” He began to pace, allowing time for his skepticism to spread throughout the courtroom. “How convenient.”
“Objection,” said Jack. “Is there a question?”
“Sustained.”
“What else didn’t you think of until Mr. Swyteck asked the question? Lieutenant Johnson’s convenient arrival at the murder scene on the morning of Captain Pintado’s death, perhaps?”
The witness waited for the translation, then said, “I don’t understand.”
“Not important. I’m sure the jury does.”
“Objection.”
“Sustained. Let’s have some questions, Mr. Torres.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Private Castillo, I noticed that Mr. Swyteck didn’t spend much time covering your job description. So let me ask you a few questions about that. You’re part of a unit that conducts surveillance over the naval base at Guantánamo, is that correct?”
“Yes, generally.”
“It’s your job to keep track of what’s going on inside the base?”
“Yes.”
“And it’s also your job to keep track of anyone trying to enter the base, right?”
“Trying to enter the base?” he said, confused.
“Let me clarify that. There is some distance between the perimeter of the U.S. naval base and the area occupied by Cuban forces, is there not?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And the Cuban government has placed many obstacles in that area, isn’t that right?”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“There are razor-wire fences in that area, aren’t there?”
“Yes.”
“There’s even a mine field in there, right?”
“Yes.”
“Those obstacles were p
ut there to prevent ordinary Cubans from reaching the base and seeking freedom on U.S. soil.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“I think you do. Isn’t it true that an important part of your job is to keep ordinary Cubans from reaching freedom?”
“Objection,” said Jack.
“Sustained,” said the judge, but the damage was done. He’d driven home the point that the witness was the enemy-one of Castro’s goons who was instrumental in keeping families in exile from being united with the families they left behind in Cuba.
Torres said, “Now, let me ask you about these sexual relations you observed at the Pintado household. Earlier, you said that you saw the defendant cheating on her husband.”
“Objection,” said Jack. “I think we’ve raised a serious question as to whether it was ‘cheating’ or not, Your Honor.”
“Rephrase the question, please,” said the judge.
“You observed the defendant having sex with Lieutenant Johnson.”
“Yes.”
“And as Mr. Swyteck’s objection just suggested, you are trying to imply that there was some kind of weird threesome going on here.”
“I’m not trying to do anything but tell you what I saw.”
“Oh, please, sir. You’re here today to bring shame on the Pintado family and to embarrass Fidel Castro’s archenemy in exile, Alejandro Pintado.”
“Objection.”
“Sustained. Questions, please, Mr. Torres.”
The prosecutor stepped closer to the witness, his tone growing more aggressive. “You know that the victim’s father is Alejandro Pintado, do you not?”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“You know who Alejandro Pintado is, don’t you?”
“I’ve heard his name.”
“He’s one of the most vocal members of the anti-Castro exile community, isn’t he, sir?”
“If you say so.”
“No, it’s not what I say. It’s what you know. You know exactly who Alejandro Pintado is, don’t you, sir?”
“I know he’s been very vocal against our government.”
“Yes, you know that. And you wouldn’t be here today if the victim’s father weren’t so vocal in his opposition to Fidel Castro, would you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Private Castillo, is it not true that Cuban regulations prohibit members of the military from obtaining exit visas until their compulsory service is completed?”
The witness did a double take upon the translation, as if he were surprised by the prosecutor’s awareness of that restriction. “Yes, that’s true.”
“So, you’re in this courtroom only because someone made a very important exception under the laws and regulations of Cuba.”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s be honest, sir. You’re here today only because Fidel Castro wants you here.”
Jack considered an objection, but Torres already had the jurors in his hand, and no objection at this point was going to wrest them free from his control.
The witness shrugged and said, “I suppose.”
“Thank you,” the prosecutor said smugly. “That’ll do it.”
39
Jack met with Theo over the lunch break. He would have preferred to stay at the courthouse with Lindsey and Sofia, but Theo claimed to have something of ball-busting importance to talk about. A handful of protestors marched up and down the sidewalk outside the courthouse. Jack donned his darkest shades-six-dollar specials, the kind so cheap that you were guaranteed never to lose them-hoping not to be recognized as he made a quick dash for Theo’s car at the corner.
“Whassup?” said Theo as Jack piled into the passenger seat.
Jack didn’t actually hear him, just saw his lips move. The stereo was loud enough to shatter fine crystal, a mind-numbing blast of so-called music, one of the many kinds that Theo liked, one of the few that made Jack wonder how the two of them were actually friends. Jack switched it off.
“How do you listen to that crap?” said Jack.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing, if you like songs where the most commonly rhymed words end with U-C-K.”
“Like the world needs another fucking song about taking a little chance, doing a little dance, and finding a little romance.”
Jack considered it. Maybe the guy had a point. Maybe.
“Got you some lunch,” said Theo as he handed it to him.
“Thanks,” said Jack, unwrapping it. “What it is?”
“The Felipe Castillo special.”
Jack chewed off the corner of his Cuban sandwich-slices of ham, pork, cheese, and pickles on Cuban bread, pressed together with a sandwich iron. “Very funny, Theo.”
“How’d it go this morning?” asked Theo.
“I don’t know. I think it might have been a mistake to put him on the stand at all.”
“You’re probably right.”
“You think?”
“Oh, yeah. Bad mistake, Jacko. Right up up there with Napoleon charging into Waterloo, Hitler turning his tanks against Russia, Dustin Hoffman going to see Elaine’s portrait.”
“Dustin Hoffman what?”
“The Graduate, dumbshit. You know, when Mrs. Robinson asks Benji if he would like to go upstairs and see her daughter’s-”
“I saw the flick. You equate a movie with a military decision that was probably the turning point of World War Two?”
“No. But I don’t think a Cuban soldier in Miami is in the category of earth-shattering, either. So get some perspective.”
“Do you live to see me scratch my head? Is that what makes you tick?”
The car stopped at the traffic light. It was a ride to nowhere, just cruising around the block long enough to hold a completely private conversation before Jack returned to court. Theo looked at Jack and said, “I’m making some headway on your Mustang.”
Jack opened his bag of chips. “You kidding me?”
His expression was deadpan. “I kid about sex. I kid about death. I kid about everything. Except cars.”
“What’d you find out?”
“I found the guy who did it. Some little weasel. Not even Cuban. Couldn’t give a shit about Castro.”
“Then why did he burn my car and write ‘Castro lover’ on the pavement?”
“Because somebody told him to. Hired him to, I should say.”
“Who?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“He wouldn’t tell you?”
“He would have, if he knew. It was a very thorough interrogation. The guy still couldn’t give me a name.”
Jack winced at the thought of a “thorough” investigation. Better not to know. The traffic light changed, and Theo turned the corner back toward the courthouse.
“So what’s your take?” said Jack. “Some anti-Castro group hired him through a go-between? Tried to scare me into not bringing the Cuban soldier into the courtroom?”
“Not sure it was an anti-Castro group.”
Jack swallowed one last bite of sandwich. “What, then? You think the anti-Castro message was just window dressing? Something to make it look like the work of an exile group?”
Theo steered his car toward the curb. They were a half block from the courthouse, as close as any vehicle could get with the added security. “Maybe so.”
“Who else would even care if a Cuban soldier came into the courtroom or not?”
“Maybe that’s not the right question. Maybe the right question is: Who else would try to make the defense too scared to call its best witness?”
“Or even more to the point, who else would be perfectly happy to see Lindsey Hart take the fall for the murder of Oscar Pintado?” Jack thought about it, then crumpled his sandwich wrapper into a ball. “You got any leads?”
“One good one. The people who hired the little pyromaniac didn’t pay him in cash.”
“Don’t tell me they wrote a check.”
“No. They paid in cocaine.”
> Jack was reaching for the door handle, then stopped cold. “A drug connection?”
“Maybe.”
“That could change everything.”
“Yup.”
“Stay on it, Theo.”
“What are you gonna do?”
Jack glanced out the windshield, then looked at Theo and said, “I’m thinking maybe it’s time for another face-to-face with Alejandro Pintado.”
Theo nodded once, no disagreement, and then gave Jack one of those closed-fist handshakes. Jack got out the car, closed the door, and started down the sidewalk to the courthouse, ready to face yet again that ever-present group of Pintado-family supporters.
40
The return of Alejandro Pintado to the witness stand brought the courtroom to a complete hush. Technically, the prosecutor could have objected to Jack’s attempted rematch with the government’s star witness, but Torres held his tongue, apparently pleased to have an encore performance from the victim’s father. The jurors watched with the same sympathy and respect they had shown earlier, their admiration perhaps even greater than before. The woman in the first row probably would have kissed his ring, had Pintado offered. Jack, too, approached with some level of respect.
Sometimes, even disembowelment had to be done politely.
“Mr. Pintado, isn’t it true that Brothers for Freedom has given serious consideration to shutting down its operations?”
The witness gave him a quizzical look. “What time period are you talking about?”
“Over the last two years.”
“We had some discussions,” said Pintado. “Nothing definite. And as of late, there has been no talk of that at all. As long as Cubans come across the Florida Straits in search of freedom, our planes will be out there looking for them.”
Jack let him have his moment, then checked his notes for the details. “Sir, would it surprise you to know that from January to December of last year the U.S. Coast Guard interdicted over one thousand undocumented Cuban migrants at sea?”
“That would not surprise me at all.”
“How many Cubans did Brothers for Freedom rescue in that same year?”
He looked away awkwardly and said, “Two.”
Hear No Evil Page 22
