The Liar

by Steve Cavanagh

  “I refer you to clause five, sub-paragraph one,” said Barker.

  One of King’s assistants grabbed a spare copy of the document and held it out to her boss. King snatched it, turned over one page and found the clause.

  “I shall read it to you, if you like,” said Barker. “The above-mentioned immunities, and all of them, are conditional upon the following. Sub-paragraph one states: The detainee shall testify as a prosecution witness in the trial of Leonard Howell, and shall provide truthful testimony detailing the involvement of Leonard Howell in the kidnapping and murder of Caroline Howell.”

  The wording of the agreement was unusual. Not standard fare by any means. Nothing about this case was standard, and the prosecution wanted Howell so bad they jumped into Max Copeland’s agreement without thinking twice about it. Even so, the meaning of the clause was clear – tell us Howell did it, and you get off.

  “Correct, Mr Barker,” said King. “As per the agreement, you are here to testify against the defendant, Leonard …”

  “You still don’t get it, do you? I’m here to, and I quote, ‘provide truthful testimony detailing the involvement of Leonard Howell in the kidnapping and murder of Caroline Howell.’”

  Losing the case, or getting fired and watching your career slide into a dumpster – all of these fears faded into the background for King. She’d had enough. Barker had pushed too many buttons. She practically spat the next question at him.

  “Then let’s have it, Mr Barker. Detail for us Leonard Howell’s involvement in the kidnapping and murder of his daughter.”

  It could only have been four or maybe five seconds of silence in between the question and Barker’s answer. Not a long time, really. But in a courtroom full of people, with a question like that, it was an age. It reminded me of the slow-mo replays on the mega screen at Yankee Stadium. The pitcher throws out and the camera slows down time itself. We see the ball spinning as it breaks through the air and, simultaneously, the batter starts to unwind from the hips, twisting his torso, turning his shoulders and heaving that bat toward the ball. In the distance between them, we can see all possibilities – strike three and you’re out, or home run and the visitors take the game at the bottom of the ninth.

  King’s question may as well have been an underarm practice throw, and Barker was Babe Ruth.

  “None,” said Barker. “Leonard Howell had no involvement in the kidnapping of his daughter. To my knowledge, he never harmed a single hair on her head.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  “Your Honor, I have a motion at this time,” I said, getting to my feet.

  Schultz said, “Not so fast.”

  I was going to ask her to stop the trial and direct the jury to return a verdict of not guilty. It maybe was a little premature – but I bet a half dozen judges in the same district would’ve granted my motion and made Howell a free man.

  Not Judge Schultz. At that moment she was more interested in what the DA was saying. Because while I was getting to my feet, King had already made a second request to treat her own witness as hostile. Schultz said, “Absolutely,” and we were on.

  “Mr Barker, your agreement …” King trailed off. Re-reading the clause, her forehead creased and her left hand came toward her mouth. The index finger of that hand settled on her lips and she read the clause again. Her arms dropped by her sides. The agreement was at once clear and yet open to a number of interpretations. On one reading, it hinted at Howell’s involvement – on another, it stated Barker would speak to Howell’s involvement but the agreement itself was silent on the extent of that involvement.

  “Mr Barker, are you stating that you murdered Caroline Howell along with the defendant?”

  It was a Hail Mary of the worst kind. Either King got results, or the whole case collapsed. And I was waiting.

  “No. I did not kill Caroline Howell. Neither did her father.”

  “Then who did?” said King.

  A huge risk. The question was wide open and Barker could say anything. I guessed King was hoping to get some wild theory – about aliens or extremists – and she could then expose Barker as a loon, so that nobody would believe him. That was her only play now, she had to destroy her own witness’s credibility.

  “No one did. You’ve been lying to this jury, Ms King. So has your expert witness, Birch. Caroline Howell is not dead.”

  A smirk appeared at the side of King’s mouth, but she quickly forced it away. This was what she was after – the more ridiculous Barker sounded the better.

  “Mr Barker, Caroline Howell’s arterial blood was found in a crime scene that the defendant attempted to destroy. DNA doesn’t lie. You’re the one who’s lying, isn’t that right?”

  “I am many things, Ms King. I’ve lied to many people, for many years. But I have my honor. I take my duty very seriously. When I stepped into this witness stand I took an oath on the Bible. I will keep that oath and speak the truth. Caroline Howell is alive.”

  “And how do you know this? How do you know she’s alive?”

  “Because I have her. Leonard Howell should think of me as his priest. And unless he confesses his sins, she’ll be dead in twelve hours.”

  PART

  III

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  I’d never seen a statement from a witness punch an entire courtroom like that. It was a shockwave. The jury recoiled, like they’d been blasted by an explosion. I heard gasps, and one woman in the gallery even had to stifle a scream. King had unleashed a Goddamned tornado that ripped through the room.

  She just stood there. Stunned.

  In that moment, while every living being in the room tried to process this statement, Barker reached under the small shelf in the witness stand that held the microphone and served as a half desk for any exhibits that the witness may need.

  A sound like tape being torn: something adhesive being pulled away. His hands came up with a strip of tape, and something small and black. He pulled the item away from the adhesive tape, reached up and slotted it into the TV that sat beside the witness stand. Only then did I see it was a flash drive. He’d arrived in court with this drive, and taped it under the shelf of the witness stand before he showed the court officer the photo of Caroline Howell and got himself arrested.

  The TV came to life automatically as its hard drive loaded up the flash drive. An image appeared on the screen – identical to the photo Barker had earlier. Caroline Howell curled up at the bottom of a concrete grave.

  “What are you …?” King’s words died as she looked at the screen.

  Whatever had happened, I’d missed it, as my attention had shifted to King when she began to speak. I looked back at the screen.

  That’s when I saw it.

  This wasn’t a photo.

  Caroline’s feet moved.

  This was a video. A hand came into shot, up close, it held a copy of the Washington Street Journal. The date was yesterday. The headline devoted to the Middle East peace summit that was set to begin yesterday morning. The hand flipped over the paper, displaying the text below the fold. There was the lead article on the Caroline Howell case beginning today in White Plains, NY, and a picture of Leonard Howell.

  The hand dropped the paper into the grave, and its pages fluttered open and landed on Caroline like a paper blanket.

  A man stepped in front of the camera. It was Barker.

  I managed to tear my eyes from the screen and I looked at him and saw he was the only person in the court not looking at the TV. He wasn’t watching me. His eyes were not on King, or the judge, or the jury. He was staring into the crowd. I turned and saw Harry Ford. He was standing up in the middle of a row, some guy behind him was asking him to sit down but Harry ignored the guy – his eyes were locked on Barker.

  I looked up at the screen just as it went blank and the video ended with a close-up on Barker’s face. Then Baker’s voice echoed around the room. But not from the video – he was standing up and addressing the court.

  “I give this war
ning to everyone in the room – do not test me. I will not tell you what Howell has done. I need to hear his confession from his own lips. Then, and only then, will I let his daughter go. If he doesn’t confess in twelve hours – she dies.”

  Judge Schultz hammered the gavel, and stood, shouting, “Court adjourned.” She made toward her chambers, her hands over her mouth, and her shoulders heaving.

  The jury were led out of the court by the bailiff, suddenly snapping to life, and he had to yell at one of the male jurors who was pointing and swearing at Barker. Half of the jury were in tears, the others didn’t know what the hell was going on.

  Agent Lynch, followed by two cops, marched past me, headed for the witness stand. Barker was lifted from behind by a big, bald cop, and thrown over the witness stand, knocking the mic to the ground. He was handcuffed, and led out of the court, Agent Lynch removing the flash drive and placing it into an evidence bag.

  Michelle King had to be restrained by her assistant as Barker was led past her.

  For the first time in my career I had no clue what the hell I was supposed to do. My neck craned back and I looked at the ceiling and felt like I wanted a drink more than oxygen. I needed Howell. I needed answers. With Howell in a coma, I had nothing.

  Harry shook me, and I came out of it, I couldn’t hear him calling me. My mind was spinning like a carousel.

  “Eddie, I need to talk to you. I think I know what this is about,” said Harry.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Harry would have to wait.

  The judge called me and King into her chambers. Both of us knew exactly what the judge was going to do. The probable outcome suited King just fine. She’d been played by Barker. Just like he’d played everyone.

  Grinding a large eraser in between her fingers, Judge Schultz spoke with barely contained rage.

  “Ms King, I realize this is probably not your fault. I’m not apportioning blame here – but there’s no doubt in my mind. This witness has twice brought evidence that was not in the prosecution’s possession into a live trial. No one has the slightest hope of knowing how authentic or otherwise this evidence is – and I’m certainly not going to let the jury consider it. It’s not fair on your client, Mr Flynn, but this trial has become a total circus. I’m declaring a mistrial. The jury will be released and we’ll empanel a new jury in two weeks. Hopefully your client will have recovered by then, Mr Flynn. And Miss King, hopefully you’ll have had time to consider the evidence that Barker has provided. Maybe he should be on the indictment along with Leonard Howell? Or maybe the prosecution have made a terrible mistake here. Think carefully about this, Miss King.”

  I thought I saw King’s eyes tear up. She shook her head and said, “No, Your Honor. Mr Barker will not be a defendant. He has an immunity agreement. And the prosecution are convinced that this was a stunt by Mr Barker, to have the defendant acquitted.”

  “You can’t be serious?” I said.

  She swallowed and said, “Our position remains. We have her life’s blood on a wall, confirmed by DNA analysis. She’s dead. And her father kidnapped and murdered her.”

  Prosecutors operate through blind faith in the system. Not the justice system, of course. No, the prosecutorial system. If you spend all day, every day, putting people away for years and years, you’ve got to believe that what you’re doing is right. The cops bring you the case, you look at the evidence, maybe ask for a little more, and then you run that bull through the court straight toward a conviction – every time. If a smart defense lawyer manages to get the defendant an acquittal, it eats at your very soul. That was wrong. You’re right. You see the prosecutor’s mind laid bare in the court of appeals. Maybe the Innocence Project have new DNA evidence that makes it clear, beyond any reasonable doubt, that the convicted prisoner is in fact innocent. How many prosecutors look at that evidence and say, “Okay, we got this one wrong. Open the doors and let this guy out.” Very few would even contemplate it. They fight. The defense is wrong. They’re right.

  King had already been sucked into that vortex of opposition. She was smart, but if you put blinkers on every day, soon you won’t be able to see anything.

  Judge Schultz couldn’t even bring herself to look at King. The judge knew this was prosecutor blindness. Nobody who’d seen that video could doubt it.

  “Get out, both of you,” said the judge.

  “No,” I said.

  The judge froze. She didn’t speak, just held out a finger pointing toward the door.

  “If you declare a mistrial then Barker is no longer under oath. He can walk away and come back for the new trial. And if he’s telling the truth, Caroline Howell will be dead by then. He’s given us a window to save her. It might be bull, but it might be true. If it is true and you declare a mistrial – you’re killing that girl.”

  “But the trial has been broken, irreparably,” said Judge Schultz.

  “I know that. You know that. Miss King knows that. But Barker and the jury don’t. My client is in a coma and whatever Barker wants from him, well, he’s not going to get it from Howell. Give me some time. Let me cross-examine. A seventeen-year-old girl’s life could be at stake.”

  King nodded and said, “As long as we agree, right now, that this is no longer a real trial. So the public and the press are barred, and Barker’s testimony is sealed.”

  Judge Schultz tapped her pen on her desk. I could hear the soft crunch of her teeth grinding together.

  “Can’t you arrest this man?” she said.

  King shook her head. “The immunity agreement. I don’t want to be the first prosecutor to get her victim killed during the trial of their murderer. We can play along for twelve hours. Then one way or another, we’ll know the truth. If it’s all lies – we’ve lost nothing. But if it’s true and we let this man walk out of here …”

  “I get it,” said the judge. “We’ll lock down the building. The jury and court staff stay, defense, prosecution – and no one else.”

  “What about Barker?” said King.

  “The holding cells will do for now. How much time do you need, Mr Flynn?”

  King and I didn’t speak as we made our way out of the back offices. The clerk led us out, back into the courtroom which was now completely empty. The jury was in their holding room and would remain there for the next four hours. I couldn’t face Barker without knowing exactly what was going on, what Howell had supposedly done, and without knowing exactly how I was going to play it.

  Four hours. That’s the time Judge Schultz had given to me. If I couldn’t unravel this in that time I would have to start asking Barker questions anyway. The feds and King would help get as much information as possible. King didn’t want this – but she couldn’t ignore Barker.

  Our feet echoed loudly on the hard floor of the deserted courtroom. The silence felt strange after so much noise, so much incident.

  It felt like a bar, or a house, straight after the meat wagon took a corpse away in a body bag. There was a presence in the room. Like a stain brought about by sudden bloody violence. You could taste it, feel it.

  I gathered my files and made my way out.

  Harry was waiting for me in the corridor. He had a bundle of pages under his arm, and a worried expression on his face.

  “I know who George’s dragon is,” he said.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  The cops, the FBI and the prosecution team disappeared upstairs into the DA’s office for a crisis meeting. From the hallway window I saw Copeland, wearing a pair of handcuffs and being folded into the back of a patrol car. I’d hoped that Powers would arrest him. That was a good call. He was in on it with Barker and Powers was gonna lean on him hard. Both of them would be in custody now, but Barker had a golden ticket out of there.

  My cell rang. Harper.

  “What’s happening?” I said.

  “World war three. Everyone’s blaming each other. Lynch is getting a lot of fingers pointed at him. PD have taken Copeland back to the precinct, but they won’t b
e able to hold him very long. Barker is in the cells and is refusing to speak to anyone – says he’ll only talk in court, under oath. We heard back from legal – that Goddamn immunity agreement is watertight. Even if he’s really got Caroline, he could blow her head all over the pavement in the middle of Times Square and legally the only thing he could be arrested for would be littering. This is so messed up. We’re going to map out a possible search area for Caroline and get boots on the street – FBI, PD, even firemen and traffic wardens. We think that if he’s got her, she’s probably not being held too far away. We could really use Howell right now. What are the chances of him waking up anytime soon?”

  “I talked to his doctor a few minutes ago. They don’t know. There’s a chance he could wake up, but we need to work on the basis that he won’t. Barker wants a confession from Howell, we need to figure out what he thinks Howell has done.”

  “Is this something to do with the Rosen case that Copeland mentioned in the deal? We’re pulling the file.”

  “I don’t know for sure yet. I’m going to talk to Harry. See if we can figure things out. I’ll call you in an hour and if we come up with anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

  I disconnected, and joined Harry in the consultation booth.

  “Maybe we should get out of here for a little while. I can’t sit in this courthouse any longer – it’s not helping. Plus, looks like it’s going to be a long night. I say we go get a drink and talk this over,” said Harry.

  I checked my watch. Coming up on seven o’clock.

  “Sure, I could use a drink,” I said.

  Harry drove us for all of three minutes before we found a suitable spot. The bar’s proximity to the courthouse was about the only thing it had going for it. The sign above the door was a three-foot-by-ten-foot board, but the paint had long since faded away making the bar anonymous. Didn’t matter. The spotlights above the sign had blown out and because nobody could read the sign anyway it at least saved the owner the hassle of changing the bulbs.