Jane paused, expecting Kent to answer. He didn’t, so Jane continued to fill the silence as the elevator rose higher.
“It was a stretch asking you … probably even unethical. Maybe it would’ve backfired, too, but I figured you’d know why I was asking. It’s a big case for me.”
She was nervous and she was rambling.
The elevator reached the sixth floor. A bell dinged, and then the doors slid open.
They walked out into the hall, Kent leading and Jane chasing behind.
“So are you not speaking to me now or what?” she asked.
They took a few more steps down the hallway, and Kent stopped in front of the conference room door. He put his hand on the knob, but he didn’t open it. Kent turned to her.
“This got complicated,” he said.
Jane looked at him, searching, but Kent’s expression was blank.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it got complicated.” Kent nodded his head, gesturing to what was waiting on the other side of the door. “There are other people involved now.”
Kent turned the knob and opened the door.
Inside, it was a full house. More than a half-dozen people in dark suits crowded around the table with their clerks and assistants in the seats behind them. There were also two big guys, each with an earpiece, a badge, and a gun attached to their belts. They were federal marshals.
A man in a wheelchair rolled out from the far end of the conference room table, and then rolled toward her. He looked like a snake.
“Jane Nance, I am Agent Frank Vatch.” He smiled; attempting to comfort her, but the smile was forced and made a chill run up Jane’s back.
Vatch held out his hand. Out of habit, Jane took it, weakly.
“I’ve been hearing about your great work,” Vatch said, gesturing toward an empty seat. “I think we have a lot to talk about. Please sit.”
His tongue flicked out of his narrow slit of a mouth.
“Yes, we have a lot to talk about.” He patted the back of the empty seat. “Please sit.”
###
Jane looked at her watch. They had been going for an hour. She glanced down at her phone, laying on the conference room table. The screen had the date and time and, underneath, a summary: 2 new text messages, one missed call.
Vatch noticed Jane looking at her phone.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Do you need to go, Ms. Nance?”
“Michael is probably wondering what’s going on.”
Jane scanned the faces of the people in the room, all still pretending to be her friend.
“I should be going.”
“And I hope you understand the need for this conversation to be private.” Vatch spoke slowly for emphasis. “You could be charged with interfering with a federal investigation, if you tip him off.”
“I think she understands,” Kent said. “Jane knows what she has to do.”
“Do you?” Vatch asked her. “Do you understand?”
Jane looked at Kent. Her eyes pierced him. Kent was a traitor. If ever there was a chance that they could get back together or even be friends, that chance was gone. He’d set her up.
“I understand the choice,” Jane said. “But I don’t know what I’m going to do. Like I told you, he’s never said anything to me about where he gets his money or much about his past. We talk about work. We talk about our case.”
“But surely you’ve wondered,” Vatch said. “His behavior and his mysterious background is certainly suspicious.”
Vatch leaned in, as if he and Jane were the only people in the room.
“Just find out the truth for us and we’ll help you win your case. It’s pretty simple.”
The phone on the table began to vibrate. Jane picked it up and looked at the screen. The incoming call was from Michael again.
“I have to go.”
She shut the phone off, and then put it in her purse.
“I’ve got some work to do.”
Jane stood, steadied herself, and walked out the door.
###
Outside, the night air was crisp. Jane tried to get control of the growing pit in her stomach. During the meeting, she had tried to be calm. She had tried to play it cool, but now waves of nausea rushed over her body. She vacillated between fear and excitement, courage and guilt, love and anger.
Jane took a few more steps, stopping at the curb. She turned and looked up at the tall office building. The Department of In-justice, she thought. Jane closed her eyes, trying to center herself.
It was a deal with the devil.
Vatch wasn’t lying when he said that they could help her win their case. She had given Justin Kent all the information that they needed, all the feds had to do was act on it.
The opportunity was there. If it worked, she would win. She could finally have the respect she wanted. She’d also get the financial reward that she deserved. It would be national news. She’d be a hero in the legal services community.
All she had to do was sell out Michael Collins.
A deal with the devil, she thought.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Michael was asleep when Jane finally got back to her apartment. She walked over to the bed without turning on any of the lights. Her eyes adjusted as she stood in the dark, watching him.
Jane thought about what she would be doing if Michael had never come into her life, where would she be? He helped her take risks. He believed in her. But at the same time, he never let her know what was really going on inside his head.
Jane ran through the possibilities. She rationalized how she could live with herself if she turned Michael over to Agent Vatch. Then she pushed away the possibilities and focused on loyalty and trust. Those counted for something, she thought, didn’t they?
Jane took a step toward her nightstand. The floor creaked, and Michael stirred.
“It’s just me,” Jane said. “Go back to sleep.”
“Long meeting?” Michael asked. “I called a few times. I was getting worried.” Michael pulled himself up, still clouded by sleep. “Anything good happen?” He reached out his hand and Jane took it, then he pulled her into bed with him.
“Maybe,” Jane said. “Things are happening. I told Justin what was going on with the trial and what we needed.”
“But he didn’t commit.” Michael rubbed Jane’s back.
Jane shook her head.
“He needs more time to get approval.” Jane lied. “We have to slow things down.”
“We don’t have too many more witnesses,” Michael said. “Elana should go last. Once she’s called, we should rest our case.”
Jane was quiet. She laid next to Michael, still in her work clothes, but ready to close her eyes and fall back asleep.
Then Michael added, “There’s Miggy.”
Jane couldn’t stop herself from laughing. With everything going on, the thought of Miggy had cut through the stress.
“Miggy,” she smiled. “Did Kermit come up with a way to talk to the spirits?”
“Maybe,” Michael said. “It’s complicated, but it might work.” Michael waited a beat. “But probably not.”
“Will it delay the trial?” Jane asked.
“Most definitely,” Michael said. “I’d need to call him now, wake him up, and get him started.” Michael propped himself up higher on the bed. “I could kill the morning with motions while Kermit works on it, but I don’t know what’ll happen.”
Jane rubbed her eyes. She tried to think about it rationally, but everything was a jumble.
“Worst case, I delay the trial a morning and piss off Judge Delaney,” Michael said. “Best case, we cause enough disruption that Judge Delaney quits for the day.”
“Or Judge Delaney throws you in jail for contempt of court,” Jane added.
“Certainly possible,” Michael smiled. There were approximately 500 million reasons why he should be in jail, but contempt of court had not been one of them until now.
“I think we’re lo
sing out minds,” Jane said. “We’re delirious.”
Michael nodded. “So what do want me to do?”
Jane closed her eyes. She had to make a decision.
“Do it,” she eventually said. “We need the time.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Kermit had seen the dogs on Animal Planet. That’s where he had gotten the idea. He’d been talking with the dog owners for about a week, but he needed Michael on board. All it took was some money, and, as soon as he got the “big dough ball” from Michael, Kermit got the dogs.
He watched them with a big smile on his face. The dogs were going nuts. Two handlers tried to keep them under control. Another three men trailed behind. They all walked a patch of ground underneath a large cypress tree on the edge of a soy bean field. It was about 10 miles west of Jesser, near where Tommy Estrada’s body had been found.
Whenever the dogs barked, circled, and started to dig, a handler would shout. Then, another man would run up behind them and put a small flag into the ground.
Kermit stood off to the side with a very young reporter for Miami’s Seven News. Kermit had called every newspaper and television station in town that morning. They had all laughed at him except Seven News. The reporter had just started. A few years back she had been third place in the Miss Florida beauty pageant. After graduating from Florida State, her rich daddy had gotten her this job. When Kermit called, the news producer had been ecstatic to get her out of the office and out of his hair.
“Can you believe this?” The reporter’s blue eyes danced every time a flag went into the ground. “This is network,” she said. “This is my break.”
She grabbed Kermit’s arm and gave it a squeeze.
“Easy honey, I bruise easy.” Kermit’s eyes were dancing too. He loved the chaos. “So I got you the story, now what’s the plan?”
“We call the police, but get some footage before they get here.” She started to count the flags, and then turned back to Kermit. “We have to get the footage first, and then we’ll go down to the courthouse. That’s where you have your witness, right?”
“Right-o, slim.” Kermit watched the dogs go nuts again,
The reporter squealed as the handler called for another flag. It wasn’t a professional, detached reaction, but it was honest. She started to count the flags.
“What is that? Are there like, 10 dead bodies out there?”
Kermit shook his head.
“Don’t know,” he said. “Maybe it’s just one body that’s been cut up into a bunch of pieces.”
“Cut up!” The reporter gave Kermit’s arm another squeeze. “That’s even better.”
###
Michael took the whole morning. Every attorney liked to hear themselves talk, but this delay was deliberate. This was Kermit and Michael’s plan. They needed time to get the cadaver dogs out to the site where Miggy saw Maus and the spirits. Neither Michael or Jane were comfortable with just putting Miggy on the stand without some corroboration.
As Judge Delaney told them the day before, he was striking Antonio Sanz’s testimony. The jury would be instructed to disregard his testimony related to Deputy Maus and were prohibited from considering any testimony he gave.
That was now the law of the case. And Michael took the first part of the morning putting his objections to the ruling on the record as well as laying a detailed “offer of proof” for any appeal.
An “offer of proof” was done outside the presence of a jury. During an “offer,” an attorney described the testimony that would have been given absent the judge’s decision to exclude it.
Michael stood at the podium with 15 pages of notes. As he continued on, Harrison Grant kept coughing and shifting in his seat. He tried to express to the court that he was both bored and annoyed with Michael’s speech. Judge Delaney didn’t look much happier, but the judge knew enough not to prevent Michael from finishing. If he interrupted an offer of proof and didn’t allow Michael to finish, Judge Delaney knew that he would be flipped on appeal. Then he’d have to do the whole trial over, and he definitely did not want that.
Michael turned the page, ignoring a room full of people shooting daggers at him with their eyes. Then he glanced up at the clock. It was five minutes to 10:30. Time to wrap up.
“In conclusion, Your Honor, the testimony of Mr. Sanz is just the first piece in the plaintiff’s case. These are facts. These are real events that a reasonable jury could use to conclude that Jolly Boy and its executives knew what was going on or created an environment in which they were deliberately ignorant of Deputy Maus’ conduct. By knowing or ignoring these facts they are negligent in the wrongful death of Tommy Estrada.”
Michael collected his papers and walked back to his seat. He looked at Jane, hoping for some reassurance, but Jane didn’t look at him. She had been quiet all morning.
“Okay.” Judge Delaney stared at Michael. “That was incredibly thorough.” He spoke with sarcastic tone. “Off the record, let’s try and be a little less thorough in the future.”
Judge Delaney looked at his watch, and then looked back at the attorneys.
“We’ll take our morning break, round up the jurors, and then continue with testimony for the rest of the morning.”
Judge Delaney got up, and the bailiff instructed everyone remaining in the courtroom to rise. The court was in recess.
###
Jane sat back down in her chair. Michael looked over at her.
“Not coming?”
Jane slowly folded her arms across her chest and shook her head.
“I’ll just stay here; you can take care of it.”
Michael cocked his head to the side.
“You feeling okay?”
“Not really,” Jane said. She looked over at Michael. “This just isn’t how I thought it would be. That’s all.”
“Hang in there,” Michael said. “Maybe DOJ will come around even if Judge Delaney doesn’t let Miggy testify.”
He put his hand on Jane’s shoulder. “You needed to give the DOJ time, and that’s what we’re doing. That’s all we’re trying to accomplish.”
Jane nodded, although she was the one who needed the delay. She needed the time to make up her own mind.
###
Outside the courthouse, Michael walked across the street to a bench while he read the text messages from Kermit. He stopped, re-read the last one, and then looked up. He smiled at Miggy, who had been waiting for him. Miggy was clean. His hair was trimmed and combed. He wore khakis and a polo shirt, and he almost looked normal.
“Is it time?” Miggy asked.
“Showtime,” Michael said. “You look great.”
“Kermit made me look like a fashion model.”
Miggy giggled, and then squirmed a little in his new outfit. It was clear that he wasn’t used to wearing clothes that actually fit.
“You know we’ve got a lot riding on this.” Michael sat down next to him. “We need you to pretend you don’t hear the voices. Can you do that?”
“Kermit told me to be a regular dude like him.”
Miggy looked at Michael, not realizing the absurdity of his last statement.
“I’ll keep it like we practiced.” Miggy twirled a few strands of his hair.
“Great.” Michael typed the number for Kermit on his cell phone. A few seconds, and then Kermit answered. “Everything still a go?” Michael listened, nodding. “When are they coming down to interview Miggy?” He listened, and then hung up. “Are you going to talk about the spirits?” Michael asked Miggy.
Miggy shook his head.
“Kermit told me not to, so I ain’t talking about no spirits today.”
“Good.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
“The plaintiffs call Miguel Vatale to the stand.”
Miggy didn’t get up. He wasn’t used to being called Miguel. He hadn’t been called Miguel Vatale since elementary school.
Michael turned to the seats in the back of the courtroom. He made eye contact with M
iggy, and gestured for him to come forward.
Miggy stood, and then made his way to the witness stand. Before he sat down, Judge Delaney made him swear to tell the truth and gave Miggy general instructions about how the questioning would proceed.
“So you understand?” asked Judge Delaney.
Miggy nodded.
“Yes.”
“Good.” Judge Delaney smiled. “You may sit down.”
Judge Delaney turned to Michael.
“You may proceed with this witness.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Michael looked at Jane, who was still lost inside herself, and then turned to Harrison Grant. Finally, he scanned the faces of the jury. It was the first time they had been in the courtroom that day, and they looked ready for the case to move forward.
Looking at Miggy, Michael felt his pulse quicken. There was a sinking feeling in his gut. He knew what Miggy was going to say, but he wasn’t sure how Judge Delaney would react. The judge had been clear: no surprises. Now there was about to be a big surprise. It might cause a mistrial. It might result in sanctions. It might destroy their credibility with the jury. It might do nothing at all. Michael had no idea.
Miggy had talked about spirits and ghosts so often over the past year that it had become a joke among Michael and Jane. But Kermit wore them down, telling Michael and Jane to give Miggy a chance; they had to listen to him; it could help the case.
Michael and Jane had thought about it, and then laughed. Kermit had been brainwashed, they thought, but Kermit wouldn’t let it go. “Hear him out,” Kermit had asked them. “Just listen to what he has to say.”
And finally they did, because they didn’t have any other options. That decision had been the moment when the case turned.
“Mr. Vatale, could you tell the court where you live?”
“Jesser.” Miggy smiled at the jury, and some of the jurors actually smiled back. The friendly response was probably out of sympathy. Michael was okay with that.
“Are you employed?”
Miggy shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Was at one time, but not now.”
J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 02 - No Time to Die Page 15
