“Counting Clay Brown…one.”
“One!” My jaw dropped along with the orange I was holding. I hoped Zeblon wasn't serious.
“You’re telling me you’ve never defended anyone that’s been accused of murder?”
“Exciting, isn’t it?” Zeblon said. “My first murder case, and you’ll have the honor of being by my side when I win it.”
There was that devilish grin again.
“If you win it,” I said.
“Listen, Zeblon. This is serious. Clay could go to prison for the rest of his life—”
“Or be put to death.” Zeblon inserted a little too gleefully for my taste.
“Yes. So, you understand how serious this is.”
“I am serious, my friend. I’ve practically won the case already. The preliminary hearing is Monday morning, and I’m going to get Clay exonerated. He’ll be able to attend his afternoon classes on Monday—if he has any.”
I said, “If Clay’s hearing is Monday morning, shouldn’t you be busy working on his case?”
“I’m ready to go,” Zeblon said. “In fact, I wish the hearing was right now.”
“How can you be ready? You haven’t done anything except visit with Clay.”
“I went out to the crime scene. Remember?”
I half mumbled, “Yes, I remember very well. We could have gotten arrested.”
“I don’t concern myself with what might have been. We didn’t get arrested, and I got everything I needed.”
“We weren’t there long, and you didn’t even look at everything. How could you have gotten all you need?”
Zeblon grabbed some chocolate milk from the cooler, “Didn’t you see what I saw in the professor’s office?”
“I remember you saying some things about that book he was reading. You also made a brief comment about his being a professor of Hebrew. I also noticed you were looking at his planner. That’s about it.”
“Didn’t anything about that book arouse your suspicion?”
“No, not particularly,” I said. “Was there blood on the book?”
“Beats me. I didn’t see any,” Zeblon said. “It would be irrelevant if there was. Especially based on what Conner Stephenson told me.”
I was surprised. “Conner Stephenson? When did you talk to him?”
“I went out and made myself useful this morning while you were studying the back of your eyelids. I caught Conner on campus just after his morning run. He told me he had an appointment with the professor on the evening of the professor’s murder. He was a little late for the appointment. So, he walked around to the window of the professor’s study to see if he was in there after he arrived at the professor’s house. He looked in the window and saw the professor reading a book at his desk. The professor’s back was to him.”
“We know that,” I said.
“Let me finish,” Zeblon said.
“Okay, go on.”
“Anyway, Conner stood there and watched the professor read a couple of pages of the book. Just as he was about to go ring the doorbell, he noticed Clay enter the office.” Zeblon mimicked someone reading a book and turning pages as he said this. I later learned this was an annoying habit of his—to act things out as he described them.
“Did the professor look surprised?” I said.
“Yes, he said the professor jumped to his feet. That’s when the book he was reading fell to the floor. The professor said to Clay, ‘What are you doing here?’”
“How did Conner know what he said?” I asked.
“He said he could hear him through the window.”
“And you believe that?”
“It would be possible. I doubt he could’ve heard him if the professor said it in a normal conversational tone. But if the professor was surprised and spoke in a louder tone, Conner could have heard him from outside the window.”
“Yes, of course,” I said. “Go on. What did Clay say to the professor?”
“According to Conner,” Zeblon said, “Clay didn’t say anything. He just pulled out the gun and fired. It only took one shot.”
“The gun,” I said. “I haven’t even thought about that. Has it been found?”
“Yes, the police found it in the football locker room in Clay’s locker.”
To say I was disturbed by everything Zeblon told me would be an understatement.
I said, “None of this sounds good at all. Everything seems to be pointing directly at Clay.”
“It seems to be. Yes. But from everything I’ve just told you, you should know that Clay will in fact be exonerated. If anyone should know, it should be you.”
I went on to ask Zeblon for an explanation, but he didn’t offer any. He didn’t refuse outright. He simply went silent and didn’t speak of it anymore.
I ran the details through my mind over and over again. Everything still added up to Clay going to prison for the murder of Professor Joelson. With all the evidence, and now with there being a witness, I didn’t see any way Clay could be exonerated. In fact, I was beginning to wonder myself if Clay was truly guilty of murdering the professor.
I had developed a good bit of confidence in Zeblon, though, despite his apparent arrogance and his unconventional methods. I hoped it wasn’t misguided because he was confident he would get Clay exonerated.
I truly hoped he could work the same magic he’d worked with me when he gave me the exact details of the events of my morning on the previous day.
Thirteen
I DROVE ZEBLON TO the courthouse early on Monday morning. Clay’s preliminary hearing began at nine a.m. sharp. We arrived at the courthouse at eight o’clock. Zeblon didn’t want to get there that early, but I insisted we not take any chances. One never knew if there would be a traffic jam.
I wasn’t allowed to sit at the defense table with Zeblon, but I was able to sit right behind him.
I got up to go to the bathroom a few minutes before nine. Zeblon was sitting sideways in his chair looking in the direction of the Prosecutor’s table when I returned. I had a clear view of the bottom of his pants and his shoes. He was dressed impeccably in a heather-gray designer suit. It was professional without being overly fancy. Its simple design was perfect for such an occasion. However, the skin of his ankles stuck out like a lantern in a coal mine. He wasn’t wearing any socks.
I took my seat and tapped him on the shoulder, “Zeblon, what’s the matter with you? You’re not wearing any socks.”
Zeblon looked down at his legs. He came back up chuckling, “Your right.”
I was irritated at his seeming lack of concern, “How could you not wear socks?”
He shrugged, “I forgot to put them on.”
“How could you forget to put on socks? That’s something one does every day almost without thinking about it.”
“Not me,” Zeblon said. “I never wear socks. I hate them. Though, I admit, I meant to wear some today. I just simply forgot to put them on.”
“Okay,” I said trying to think as fast as I could. Let’s run to the bathroom. You can put on my socks.”
“There’s no time for that. The hearing will begin any second.”
I glanced at the clock. “Okay, then at least try to keep your feet under the table when you’re sitting down. Your pants legs will probably hang down far enough to hide the bottoms of your legs when you’re standing. Just be careful not to let anyone notice. If Clay spends the rest of his life behind bars because you forgot to put socks on, I’m going to need a lawyer too.”
Zeblon said, “Don’t worr—”
“All rise.” The authoritative voice drowned Zeblon out. It was time to begin.
I’d managed to calm the butterflies in my stomach by doing some breathing exercises in the bathroom. But seeing Zeblon’s bare ankles got my nerves up again. Hearing the court officer’s voice made my heart skip a few beats.
The judge got the show on the road right away after the proper preliminary proceedings and such. He began by addressing Cheskel Pruitt, the district at
torney. Pruitt tried the case personally rather than letting one of his assistants take the lead.
“District Attorney Pruitt, you may call your first witness.”
Zeblon jumped to his feet and spat out, “I object, Your Honor.”
Everyone in the courtroom froze. Both the district attorney and the judge looked at Zeblon. They were dumbfounded.
The judge addressed Zeblon with a tone one would use to gently correct a six-year-old student in a classroom, “Mr. Jack, the preliminary hearing is primarily the prosecutor’s show. He gets to go first. Or didn’t you now that?”
“Yes, sir. Of course, I knew that.” Zeblon said.
The district attorney snickered behind the open hand he’d placed in front of his mouth.
“You will address this court as Your Honor, young man,” the judge said a bit more firmly.
“Yes, sir—Your Honor,” Zeblon said.
The judge sighed, “Just what is it you’re objecting to?”
“I’m objecting to the fact there is no planner on the evidence table.”
“No planner?”
“Yes, Your Honor. Professor Joelson’s planner. It’s not there.”
Cheskel Pruitt spoke up, “If it pleases the court, Your Honor, may I inquire as to how counsel knew there was a planner present at the crime scene?”
I buried my face in my hands at that point. I couldn’t believe it. The hearing hadn’t even gotten underway yet, and already, Zeblon was making good progress toward getting both of us arrested for breaking and entering.
I had to give it to Zeblon though. He was quick on his feet.
Zeblon said, “Your Honor, are we to believe a successful and professional man like Dr. Jessie Joelson didn’t have a daily planner in his office?”
The judge shrugged and looked at the DA, “Did he have a planner in his office?”
“Yes, Your Honor, but we didn’t deem it necessary to bring it here today.”
Zeblon said, “But didn’t your witness say he had an appointment with the professor on the night of his murder? Wouldn’t it be pertinent to your case to prove tha—”
“Mr. Jack, please address the court with your questions instead of the prosecutor.” The judge barked.
I was perfectly prepared to slither under the pews and out of the courtroom. It seemed clear to me that Zeblon chose to completely ignore whatever lessons he might have studied in law school that dealt with courtroom etiquette and procedure.
Zeblon had mentioned earlier his two biggest clues were the professor’s planner and the book he was reading – THE DEATH BOOK. I noticed the book lying on the evidence table. Zeblon wanted to be sure and get Professor Joelson’s planner into the action as well.
The judge addressed the DA, “District Attorney Pruitt, is it pertinent to your case for Professor Joelson's planner to be absent during this hearing?”
“No, Your Honor. In fact, it’s not necessary for the planner to be introduced at all to prove my case against the defendant.”
“Mr. Jack, Is it crucial for you to have the planner present today?”
“It might be, Your Honor.”
The judge leaned forward, “It might be?”
“I think so, Your Honor. I believe I could get these charges dropped without it, but I would certainly feel better if I had it.”
Zeblon stated this with no small amount of cockiness in his demeanor. I’m not sure if he was concerned about what kind of impression it made, but it came across as a seven-year-old boy bragging to his buddies about how many gummy worms he could eat without getting sick.
Low laughter filled the courtroom. The judge employed his gavel to get everyone settled down. He sat back and sighed, “Very well, Mr. Jack. Mr. Pruitt, do you know where the planner is right now?”
“Yes, Your Honor. We did another sweep of the crime scene yesterday. We brought the planner back to the station along with some other items.”
“Let’s humor Mr. Jack and have the planner brought here. Meanwhile, we’ll proceed with the hearing—if there are no objections?”
The judge glared at Zeblon.
Zeblon tossed out, “No, Your Honor.”
“Very well. District Attorney Pruitt, you may proceed.”
To save time, I won’t go into the details of all the proceedings. I’ll just give a quick synopsis and then get to the heart of the matter.
All of the necessary officials were called to prove someone had died along with the time and cause of death. Professor Joelson died at 8:17 the previous Friday evening as the result of a gunshot wound to the heart. No one objected.
The District Attorney called his witnesses and laid out his case. He was efficient, and his case seemed airtight.
Zeblon asked a couple of the witnesses some trivial questions, but his questions did nothing to undermine the condemning testimony the witnesses had offered. He reserved the right to call any of the witnesses back to the stand at a later time.
I think it’s important for me to tell you about one of the witnesses in particular. Professor Jim Schwarzman was another Hebrew professor who was on the brink of retirement. His testimony brought out that he was with Professor Joelson in the hallway one day when they noticed Clay get into a minor altercation with another student. He didn’t know the details of the altercation, but he told how Professor Joelson was a stickler for rules and proper decorum. That characteristic compelled Professor Joelson to report Clay and the other student to the dean of the school.
It turned out Clay was very upset about the matter. He tried to explain to the professor that this could get him benched during Friday night’s football game.
The professor had told Clay, “There’ll be other games, young man. You need this lesson.”
Clay had said, “But a scout is going to be there this Friday to check me out. It could be my big break to make it to the pros.”
The professor had responded, “You should have thought about that before you got into this scuffle, young man.”
Professor Schwarzman’s testimony gave the DA the motive he needed to convict Clay for the murder of Professor Joelson. Zeblon had no questions, and I was getting very impatient with him.
Zeblon had given no indication yet as to how he was going to use his clues to get Clay exonerated. I wasn't comfortable with the situation at all.
Clay had beads of sweat on his forehead, his face was ashen, and I fully expected him to throw up at any given moment.
I worried Zeblon might have recognized a flaw in his thinking at the last minute and was just going through the motions hoping something would come up that he could use to his advantage.
Those thoughts ran through my mind when the district attorney announced he was finished presenting evidence.
The judge asked Zeblon if he had anything to add to the proceedings.
I was about to hang my head and pray the trial would go better than this hearing had gone when Zeblon turned around and stuck his face out in my direction. He didn’t say a word, but his lighter-colored eye was gleaming, and his face was alive with his trademark devilish grin. His lips didn’t move, but his expression was eloquent—“watch this.”
Fourteen
“YES, YOUR HONOR. I’D like to call Conner Stephenson back to the stand.”
Conner rose from his seat reluctantly and took his place in the witness box. He shifted back and forth but still managed to maintain a cool look. There was a hint of fear in his eyes though.
Zeblon began, “Mr. Stephenson, what made you go to Professor Joelson’s house on the evening he was murdered?”
“I had an appointment with him.”
“That late in the evening? It was eight o’clock, well after dark.”
Conner shrugged, “That was the time the professor told me he could meet.”
“What was the meeting to be about?”
“Objection, Your Honor. The subject matter of Mr. Stephenson’s scheduled meeting with the victim is irrelevant to these proceedings.”
“Sus
tained.” The judge said happily. “Let’s stay focused Mr. Jack,” he added in a patient tone.
“Scheduled meeting. Let’s talk about that,” Zeblon continued with the professor’s planner open in his hand. “Mr. Stephenson, you say you had a meeting with the professor, and yet the professor made no record of the meeting in his planner. How do you explain that?”
The DA sprang to his feet again. “Objection, Your Honor. How could the witness possibly be able to explain why the professor didn’t make a note in his planner about the meeting he had scheduled with him?”
“Sustained.” The judge said without further comment.
I didn’t know what Zeblon had up his sleeve. But I hoped he would play his cards soon.
Zeblon continued, “Mr. Stephenson, did anyone other than you and Professor Joelson know about the meeting you had scheduled?”
“I don’t think so. At least, I know I didn’t tell anybody else about it.”
“No one?”
“No one.”
“You’re certain you told no one?”
“No one. I’m certain of it.”
“Very well,” Zeblon said.
Zeblon walked over to the defense table and picked up a hardback copy of what looked like a fiction novel. He took the book to Conner and handed it to him.
“Mr. Stephenson, this is a recent fictional novel written by a popular author. You’ll find a bookmark inside the book. Would you please open the book to where the marker is and hold it in front of you.”
There went the DA again, “Objection, Your Honor. In addition to this being, well, utterly silly, it is completely irrelevant to these proceedings an—”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Zeblon exclaimed suddenly.
The judge jumped a bit in his seat. I looked down at my feet and shook my head.
The judge said irritably, “Mr. Jack, you’re questioning the witness. You don’t get to object.”
Zeblon shrugged sheepishly, “I’m objecting to the DA’s objection, Your Honor.”
A roll of laughter broke out from the audience.
“Silence,” the judge said as he pounded his gavel on its block.
I could sense the judge was beginning to lose his patience.
The Case Of The Death Book: A Zeblon Jack Mystery Book 1 Page 5
