“You’re unemployed?”
Miggy nodded.
“I have some substance abuse issues.”
Although most people would consider this admission to be terrible for Miggy’s credibility, Michael had planned it. He wanted the jury to find out about Miggy’s mental health and various addictions upfront, rather than waiting for Harrison Grant to expose Miggy’s instability on cross-examination.
“You’ve been in treatment?”
Miggy smiled.
“Many times.”
“But you’re sober now, today?”
“Thirty days sober.” Miggy looked up at Judge Delaney. “Not too shabby.”
Some of the older, female jurors laughed. Miggy was charming.
“Let’s turn our attention to the past,” Michael said. “It was last summer, a little over a year ago. Do you remember where you were?”
“Outskirts of Jesser.” Miggy started to go into a long, random monologue, but Michael cut him off. He raised his hand, and Miggy stopped talking. “Specifically, you saw something that was very significant. Is that true?”
Harrison Grant stood.
“Objection, Your Honor, he’s leading this witness.”
Judge Delaney rolled his eyes. He gestured for Grant to sit down, and then overruled the objection.
“Mr. Collins may continue, but now that we’re getting into the substance of testimony, you need to be more careful.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Michael looked down at his notes. “What were you doing?”
“I was getting high,” Miggy said. “I knew these guys in a farmhouse outside of Jesser. They grow some weed in the national park nearby, and they cook some stuff in their pole barn. I hitched out there, got some smack, and then hunkered in a field.”
“What do you mean by ‘hunkered’?”
“I had my smack. I found a quiet spot in a field. It was a break area for the workers.”
“Kind of like a picnic area?”
Miggy nodded.
“That’s right. It had a table. I put down my stuff, and I sat down to shoot up.”
Miggy shifted in his seat, uneasy. It was as if he just realized he had admitted to committing a crime, under oath, and in a court of law.
Michael continued, praying that Miggy would remember not to talk about the spirits.
“And then what did you see?” he asked.
“I saw a guy pull up in a pickup truck. I thought it was weird. I mean, I’m in a field. Ain’t nothing around, and this guy stops. I’m thinking that maybe he saw me or something, but I don’t know.”
“Was it a man or woman?”
“It was a man,” Miggy said, glad that Michael had stopped asking him about his drug use.
“And did you later figure out who this man was?”
Miggy nodded.
“It was Deputy Maus. He works for the Sheriff, but he also works for the farms, works for Jolly Boy, like an enforcer.”
Harrison Grant stood.
“Objection, Your Honor. May we approach?”
Michael and Harrison Grant approached the bench.
Judge Delaney leaned toward them.
“Mr. Collins, what’s going on?”
Michael tried to look innocent.
“I’m just trying to put in my case.”
Judge Delaney stared at him for a moment, then looked at Harrison Grant, and then back to Michael. “Chambers.”
###
They returned to their seats. Michael and Jane sat down on the left side of Judge Delaney’s large oak desk. Harrison Grant and Brian McNaughten sat down on the right side of the desk.
Judge Delaney leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He was tired.
“Tell me again what this witness is going to testify about?”
“Mr. Vatale saw, on multiple occasions, Deputy Maus dig a grave, remove a body from the back of his truck or cruiser, and bury the body. We think that one of those times it was Tommy Estrada, since Mr. Estrada’s body was found in a nearby field. We’re building our case that Deputy Maus –”
“Your Honor,” Harrison Grant interrupted. “You’ve previously ruled on this issue. Although I find it hard to believe that this testimony from a heroin addict is true. Deputy Maus is a police officer. He is not some sort of serial killer –”
“Nobody said he was a serial killer,”Michael interrupted, “but he takes care of problems for Jolly Boy, including problem people.”
Grant shook his head.
“Ridiculous, and even if it is true, it proves nothing. Obviously Jolly Boy did not instruct this person to do this and there is no evidence that Deputy Maus murdered these people. Certainly, if that was the case, Mr. Collins and Ms. Nance would have reported that to the police.”
There was a knock at the door.
Judge Delaney raised his hand, stopping Grant from talking.
“Hold that thought.” To the person on the other side of the door. “Come in.”
The door opened and it was Judge Delaney’s law clerk.
“Your Honor, I wanted to let you know that a camera crew is here.”
Judge Delaney shot Michael Collins a look. Then he waved the clerk to come further into his chambers and shut the door.
“What do they want?”
“They would like to set up a camera to record Mr. Vatale’s testimony. They’re doing a story about the Jolly Boy graveyard.”
“The Jolly Boy graveyard?”
The clerk nodded. His face concerned. The clerk knew that his boss wouldn’t be happy. Judges hated cameras in the courtroom almost as much as they hated surprises during trials. Every judge preferred to toil away in anonymity. Less publicity meant more job security.
“Your Honor, I strongly object.” Harrison Grant, for the first time, exhibited true concern. “This false testimony shouldn’t be broadcast to the world. It would damage the reputation of one of Florida’s best corporate citizens, and –”
Judge Delaney held out his hand, again. He’d heard enough from Harrison Grant.
“What’s the story about?”
The clerk waited a second, hoping that Judge Delaney didn’t really want him to say it in the presence of the attorneys.
“Come on,” Judge Delaney. “Out with it. What’s the story?”
“The reporter said they were out at this field with cadaver dogs, following up on a tip from Mr. Vatale. They found a lot of bodies or body parts. Nobody knows for sure, but the police have the area sealed off. She says that they’re going to interview Mr. Vatale when he’s done, but they want some footage of him actually testifying.”
Michael’s heart skipped a beat.
Out of desperation and largely to get Kermit to shut up, he had given Kermit money to hire a guy that trains cadaver dogs for rescue teams. When the cadaver dogs confirmed that Miggy was telling the truth that morning, Michael violated a half-dozen court rules and another half-dozen canons of professional ethics. He withheld the information from Harrison Grant. He didn’t call the police right away.
Judge Delaney looked at Jane Nance.
“Did you know anything about these dogs?”
Jane didn’t say anything. She just shook her head.“But I bet you did,” Delaney said to Michael. “Certainly Mr. Vatale did not hire cadaver dogs and orchestrate a news crew coming into my courtroom.”
Judge Delaney took a deep breath.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ve got a number of concerns.”
Judge Delaney’s speech was steady, but his face was flush. A vein was popping out of his head.
“Mr. Collins, did you know about this television crew? And more importantly, did you disclose any of this to Mr. Grant?”
“The dogs were part of our ongoing investigation, and all we did was tell the news crew what we were doing. I had no idea what the dogs were going to find. It was just part of our due diligence. We couldn’t ethically call Mr. Vatale without honestly believing his testimony was true. And we didn’t actually think we were going to call
him as a witness until yesterday, although he had been disclosed. It all unfolded very quickly this morning.”
Harrison Grant edged up in his seat, prepared to be the voice of reason. When Michael took a breath, Grant stepped in.
“As you ruled yesterday,” Grant said, “there is no connection to these alleged acts and the defendant.”
“But the alleged acts seem to be piling up,” said Judge Delaney. He had calmed down, and now he was thinking about the camera crew and how his decisions would be interpreted by the media. He had a reputation to protect. Although he wasn’t supposed to take public opinion into consideration, he was up for re-election in the fall.
“Here’s what I’m going to do.” Judge Delaney put his hand down on his desk, collecting his thoughts. “I am not going to rule on the objection at this time. Mr. Collins, you will call the remainder of your witnesses. I will tell the jury that Mr. Vatale may be called later in the trial. In the meantime, I will listen for direct evidence that Jolly Boy and its executives actually authorized Deputy Maus to do what you allege. If I hear direct evidence, then I’ll allow Mr. Vatale to testify and I’ll even allow you to recall any other witnesses that want to talk about Deputy Maus. If I don’t hear direct evidence about knowledge and causation that connects Jolly Boy, then I will not allow the testimony.”
Judge Delaney nodded his head. The decision was made.
“Do you understand? I want to hear a witness or see a document that connects the dots. I want evidence that Jolly Boy killed your client, not evidence that they employ a bad cop. You need to connect the dots. Understand?”
Michael looked over at Jane. Her head was down. Her hands were still clasped. Michael looked back to Judge Delaney. He nodded.
“I understand, Your Honor. Thank you, but we don’t have any more witnesses ready for the day. Can we start fresh tomorrow?”
Judge Delaney leaned back in his chair. He considered it. Figuring that the television crew wouldn’t come back for a second day, he nodded his head in agreement.
“We’ll do that. I think that’s reasonable. Tomorrow at 9:00 am. I’ll see you then, and we can also put some of these objections and arguments on the record at that time.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Brian McNaughten sat across the conference room table from Harrison Grant. Lawyers didn’t usually scream at their clients, but Harrison Grant administered verbal abuse that was usually reserved for first-year associates.
“What the hell else is going to happen?” Grant folded his arms across his chest. “I don’t lose. I get paid because I don’t lose, and the reason I don’t lose is because I know everything before the trial starts. I figure out a plan, and then I execute the plan.”
Brian didn’t say anything.
“You convinced me not to depose these witnesses.” Grant held up a copy of the plaintiff’s witness list. He waved it in front of Brian McNaughten’s face. “I always depose every witness on a list, but you convinced me to violate my own rule.” He slammed the paper down on the table. “You said Jolly Boy wouldn’t pay for the depositions. You told me they were unnecessary, that these other lawyers were broke and didn’t have anything.”
Grant shook his head in disgust.
“Now I’ve got television stories and newspaper stories about a Jolly Boy graveyard. You think a jury isn’t going to hear about that?”
“They’re instructed not to watch television or read the newspapers,” Brian said. “I heard the judge say it.”
“That’s crap and you know it.” Grant shook his head. “I just got two emails from my wife saying they found seven bodies out there. The jurors are sitting at home right now. They’re free to do whatever they want. They can’t avoid this story. It’s everywhere.”
“It’ll be fine,” Brian said. “You heard Judge Delaney. They need a connection, and they don’t have one.”
Grant started to scream again, but stopped himself. He needed to calm down. He had never let a client see him like this. He needed to bring his focus back. He was supposed to be unflappable.
They sat in silence for a few minutes while Grant thought about how to handle the rest of the trial.
“I’ll move for a directed verdict in this case,” Grant finally said. “Maybe we can prevent it from ever getting to a jury. If they have nothing, then there is nothing for the jury to decide. Delaney will dismiss.”
“That’s right.” Brian nodded his head. He was happy Grant was starting to look at this rationally again. He and his brother had been careful. Brian knew there was no connection. The only issue would be if Maus testified against them. Maus was the problem. Dylan needed to take care of Maus.
###
Deputy Maus stood on his momma’s front porch. The farm had been in the family for more than 60 years. They had never been rich. The land was too sandy and dry to make any farmer rich, but they had managed to scratch out a living.
Now they just rented out the land to Jolly Boy and a few other companies. His daddy was in a nursing home, and his momma spent her days watching television.
Even on the porch, Maus heard the muffled noise coming from the television. It was always on. His momma never turned it off. In fact, it wasn’t unusual for her to sleep in the big recliner in the living room, watching television until her eyes fell shut.
Maus tried to block out the noise. He had bigger issues down below.
The house rested on a small hill. The locals called Jesser “poverty flats” for a reason. Its inhabitants were certainly poor, and Jesser didn’t have mountain vistas. So from the top of that small hill, there was a pretty good view.
Down south from the house, about three-quarters of a mile, Maus watched the action just on the other side of their property line. It was marked by a cypress grove.
In the morning, it had just been a news truck. Now there were three cop cars, a couple of ambulances, and two more news trucks.
Maus wanted to get closer. He knew that they had found it, but he wanted to hear what they were saying and what they were thinking. It was his day off, and they’d ask him why he was there on his day off. He’d have to explain that he saw the activity from his momma’s house, and that wouldn’t be good. He didn’t want them to find out that he’d grown up here. He didn’t want them to find out that he had played in that cypress grove as a kid. That this was his real home.
Then Maus thought about the bodies and DNA. He went to a class once about DNA. A professor from the University of Miami came and talked to the Sheriff’s department and some of the local police. Maus didn’t understand it all. He thought the professor was a big nerd, showing off how smart he was, but the message at the end of the lecture was pretty clear: DNA was everywhere.
He didn’t think that they’d find any DNA that would trace back to him. It’s not like he’d raped ‘em or anything, Maus thought. Plus, they’d have to get a DNA sample from him to compare it to. So if they found DNA, they’d just run it through a database of convicted felons and there wouldn’t be a match.
Maus closed his eyes. He rolled his broad shoulders, trying to roll back his paranoia.
He continued to watch the activity down in the cypress grove awhile longer, wondering how they’d found it. It had to be his own bad luck. He thought about Tommy Estrada. That was just bad luck, too. He hadn’t buried the body deep enough. An animal got at it and pulled it into the nearby fields. It was just bad luck.
I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.
Maus looked in his hand. It was a subpoena to testify in the Tommy Estrada trial. The woman attorney said they’d call him and let him know if he was needed. Maus hadn’t gotten a call yet. That’s good, he thought. I’m still safe.
###
Dylan McNaughten cut a line of coke on a small pocket mirror. He held it in his hand, looking down at his fractured reflection. His hand trembled in anticipation of the shot of white powder. He’d been off cocaine for a week, and he couldn’t hold off any longer. He needed the power.
Dylan took a cut
straw out of his pocket and snorted a line.
He let the rush take him.
He leaned back against the cold wall tiles, enjoying the relative privacy of his brother’s downstairs toilet. He may have sat for a minute or maybe three. Dylan didn’t care. He just needed a little boost.
He wiped the mirror down, and then put the mirror and straw back in his pocket.
Before exiting, Dylan checked himself, and then returned to the bar in his brother’s man cave.
“You don’t need to start over.” Dylan pulled out a chair and sat down next to his brother, Brian. “Just give me the bottom line.”
“Bottom line is that Maus is a problem. If there’s any evidence that Jolly Boy knew about what was going on with workers or ordered Maus to do this stuff, then all bets are off. Judge Delaney said he’d allow all the excluded evidence about Maus to come in and probably a lot more. The liability would be big.”
Dylan sat up in his chair. Money always got his attention. He had a lifestyle to maintain.
“Like how bad?”
Brian shrugged.
“Grant wouldn’t give a number. He’s a chicken-shit lawyer. But I think it could break us.” Brian waited. “Plus Grant told me there might be criminal liability, like anybody who helped Maus or helped him cover it up could go to prison.”
Brian let that hang in the room, and they both thought about what that would mean to them. Brian knew what had to be done, but he didn’t want to say it out loud. He was still imagining the tiny recording devices.
“So do you think you can handle this?”
Dylan nodded his head.
“I need some cash, though,” he said. “Lots of it.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Michael folded a couple of dress shirts and put them in his suitcase. He picked up the framed picture of his namesake, wrapped it in a towel and laid it on top of the other clothes.
Jane came out of the bathroom and saw the suitcase.
“You’re leaving?” She walked across the room to Michael.
Michael closed the top of his suitcase and latched it shut.
“You seemed like you wanted some privacy, so I got a room at the Stay-Rite with Kermit.”
J.D. Trafford - Michael Collins 02 - No Time to Die Page 16
