Savannah Law

by William Eleazer

  It was difficult to tell who was the happiest as they embraced. Her mother had come into the waiting room with a worried look but was now smiling. She explained to Jennifer that so far doctors had not determined if it was her father’s heart, but that was likely to be the diagnosis. However, the EKG had not revealed any heart-muscle damage. He had severe pain in his chest for several hours after arriving at the emergency room, but the pain had ebbed somewhat. The ER physician had arranged for the hospital’s cardiologist to see him first thing in the morning. He would be moved to a hospital room shortly, and then she and Jennifer would go home for some rest.

  Jennifer did not mention the terrifying events of her trip. Her mother had enough worries for now. Maybe she would tell her tomorrow, maybe later, maybe never. She must try to put this evening behind her. Her only plans now were to get a good night’s rest—and find a garden hose to wash the blood from her car.

  CHAPTER 17

  Saturday, August 26

  Scott was up early Saturday morning. He wanted to call Jennifer right away, but decided to wait. If she stayed late at the hospital, she would be still sleeping.

  His mind raced back to the previous evening at the party and what Jeffrey Swenson had said: “Vandera wants a speedy trial.” Maybe the trial of Charles Vandera would be sooner than he expected. He would like that. He had a couple of new cases to prepare, which meant a full day’s work ahead of him every day for the foreseeable future.

  Scott felt lucky to be assigned to the Chatham County Superior Court where he could prosecute felonies. Most students were assigned to the State Court and were trusted only with simple misdemeanor cases and traffic violations. Some students spent their entire internship in traffic court. Even worse was to get municipal ordinance or fish and game violations.

  During his first week in the clinic, Scott was given his first trial assignment: examine one of the primary witnesses in a felony case that Grady was prosecuting. Later in the same trial, Grady had Scott cross-examine one of the defense witnesses. Grady was pleased with his performance and that same week gave him his first case, one of auto theft. It was not a complicated case, but it did have a lineup identification issue. Scott was disappointed when the defendant entered a guilty plea. The following day, he was given another case— the Charles Vandera case.

  As soon as he made a pot of coffee and had his usual breakfast of cold cereal, he began work on the two new cases. He called Jennifer’s cell phone several times but there was no answer. Shortly after 11 a.m., the phone rang. He hoped it was Jennifer, but it wasn’t. It was Grady.

  “Scott, I need to brief you on some important matters. Do you have some time today that we can get together?”

  “Sure, where are you now?”

  “Downtown at the office.”

  “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

  Saturday’s traffic was light, and parking was no problem. He showed his DA intern pass to the courthouse security officer and took the elevator up to Grady’s office on the sixth floor. Grady was at his desk, a stack of case files in front of him.

  “Hi, Scott, thanks for coming. I wanted to tell you that I’ve accepted a position with the U.S. Attorney’s Office in Atlanta. I’ll be leaving in two weeks.”

  “Grady, I’m sure sorry to hear that news, but I know it’s where you wanted to go from here. But two weeks—that’s pretty short notice, isn’t it?”

  “Not really. I told the boss two months ago that I had been offered the job, pending a background check. He was supportive and has been making some in-house adjustments anticipating the move. He just asked that I give him two weeks’ notice when it was final. I did that yesterday. I’m to be at work in Atlanta on September 10. Now that’s where you come in.”

  “Where I come in? How?”

  “You see these case files?” Grady pointed to a stack well over a foot high. “I’ve got at least a dozen more, and I have to arrange for someone to take the ones I can’t close within two weeks. A bunch of them will plead. Nick says he will reassign the two murder cases, but he wants me to see if anyone wants to volunteer for the other cases. No, I’m not asking you to volunteer for any—you have enough on your plate right now. However, I do want to bring you in on the Harrison case.”

  “That convenience store robbery?” asked Scott.

  “Yes, that’s the case.”

  Scott was somewhat familiar with the Harrison case. Grady brought him along in July when John Harrison was arraigned for armed robbery at a Fast Eddie’s convenience store on Waters Avenue. The defendant made an impression on Scott, mainly because of the perpetual smirk on his face throughout the arraignment. He was a handsome guy with a roguish sort of demeanor. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid came to mind when Scott saw him that first day in court. His body language was saying, “No problem; I’ll be gone soon.”

  Harrison had good reason to feel that way. He had been on a twelve-month crime spree throughout north Florida and south Georgia. Authorities believed he committed at least seventeen armed robberies, all at night and all involving convenience stores. He had already been arrested and tried in three different counties on robbery charges and had been acquitted each time. This would be his fourth trial and the last one that was pending—it would be the final opportunity authorities would have to put away this one-man crime machine. Harrison always worked alone, late at night, and had a simple MO. He cased the stores thoroughly, making sure that only one or two employees were on duty and that there were no customers. Then he struck quickly by putting a shiny snub-nose .38 caliber revolver right in the face of the clerk. He presented himself as anxious to use the gun. In all his robberies, not a single clerk had fought or physically opposed him, and he left no physical evidence. He always hid his car away from the store, so there was never a make, year, color, or license number to give to responding officers.

  In many of the robberies, no identification was made by any witness. In the three cases that had gone to trial, an identification had been made in a pretrial lineup. However, the lineup was always months after the robbery, and the witnesses did not exhibit much confidence at trial. Harrison never left a physical clue, and the juries apparently were reluctant to rely on identification from a single eyewitness, especially one with a snub-nose revolver thrust in his or her face. Harrison always took the stand in his defense and always had a good story of where he was at the time of the robbery. He never used an alibi witness; his alibi defense usually consisted of watching a movie or TV in some distant town—alone. He frustrated prosecutors by never calling alibi witnesses. Prosecutors find it easy to ferret out the truth from a lying alibi witness, but it is difficult to cross-examine a defendant who claims to have been alone, especially one as well-spoken, well-dressed and physically appealing as John Harrison always appeared on the witness stand.

  “He’s put in a demand for speedy trial,” said Grady. “We have only two witnesses who saw Harrison there, and we have no other evidence—no gun, no fingerprints, no forensics of any kind. And the robbery is over two years old. One witness, the guy working the cash register, picked him out of a photo lineup. But the results of the lineup were suppressed at a hearing last week because the officer conducting the lineup lost some of the photos that were used. We can’t even mention the photo lineup at trial. I haven’t spoken to the second witness, a guy named Josh Johnson. He was a soldier stationed at Ft. Stewart at the time, but he’s been discharged. Richard Evans has been trying to track him down since the arraignment in July. We thought for a while he was dead or had disappeared from the face of the earth, but a couple days ago, Richard located him in Breckenridge, Colorado, working at a fishing lodge on the Blue River.”

  “Will you be able to get him here in time for trial?” asked Scott.

  “Don’t know. Richard wants to personally serve a subpoena on him.”

  “Richard is going to Colorado?”

  “Not a chance! Richard wants to get to the Blue River for some fly fishing. He’s a good guy, an
d I would like to send him. He deserves a boondoggle as much as anybody, but that’s just a big waste of money. We can get this witness served by one of the Colorado sheriff’s deputies. The subpoena would be just as effective—which is not at all.”

  “Not at all?” said Scott. “You mean not good, even if he’s personally served?”

  “Well, here’s how it works. We prepare the subpoena and start the paperwork so that we can get him a plane ticket, and he can get reimbursed for his expenses if he’s willing to come. But, no, we can’t force him to come just by serving him with a Georgia subpoena. We have to get a Colorado court order. If a witness wants to fight it, he can delay for weeks, and we just don’t have time for that. So, since we don’t have a stick to use, we have to use a carrot—make it easy on him, get the tickets to him, transportation to and from the airport, hotel reservations, and so forth. We appeal to his sense of justice and service and wave the flag. After all, he did serve in the Army and was honorably discharged, so we’re not working with a scumbag. That’s where you come in.”

  “Me? How?”

  “Meg Flanders, who just came up from misdemeanors, was going to second chair this case with me, but she had some emergency surgery earlier this week. She’s OK but won’t be back in time. I want you to second chair the case if you can afford the time from your classes.”

  “Sure, I can do it. Besides clinic, I only have two classes, both night seminars.”

  “Good, you’re on. I expect this to be a three-day trial, maybe four. We’ll be selecting the jury Tuesday, the day after Labor Day, and there are some defense motions to be heard Tuesday, too. Here’s a duplicate file for you—copies of everything I have on the case.”

  Grady handed Scott a thick manila folder and continued. “Johnson will be flying in on Wednesday—if he’s willing. We sent the subpoena and the tickets to Colorado to be served by a deputy there. Richard tells me the tickets are from Denver via Atlanta, arriving in Savannah at 1:15 p.m. I want you to meet him at the airport, prep him for trial, and bring him to the courthouse. You’ll do the direct exam of Johnson. While you get him ready, I’ll be busy presenting the case with the other witnesses.”

  “Other witnesses? You said you had only those two witnesses.”

  “Well, those are the only bona fide witnesses, but we’ll have more. I don’t ever go to trial with just one or two. Juries won’t convict with one or two witnesses. We’ll call at least five or six more—first responders, photographers, investigators, fingerprint dusters, auditor, store owner. They won’t add a thing to the evidence except faces and numbers. Jury trials require it, Scott. Politicians stuff ballots; prosecutors stuff witnesses. These extra witnesses add a dimension to the trial that juries expect. The jury wants to know how well the case was investigated. Were there any other leads, any other suspects? And they want photos and diagrams. But the only evidence that will place Harrison at the scene is coming from the eyewitnesses. And I don’t know if I’ll have one or two. I’ll be depending on your help for that second one. Think you can handle it?”

  “Of course,” said Scott.

  “Good. Now let’s go have lunch. I’m buying.”

  Scott and Grady left the courthouse, taking Grady’s car to a small restaurant by the river. They discussed the Harrison case and the witnesses Grady would be calling. They also discussed the Vandera case, which had gone to the grand jury for a second time on Thursday. This time, Scott was confident it was a good indictment because he drafted it himself. He told Grady about Jeff’s statement at the beach party that Vandera would be demanding a speedy trial.

  “How soon can you get the Vandera case ready?” asked Grady.

  “Give me a day to notify my witnesses, and I’ll be ready.”

  “Then we’ll give him a speedy trial if that’s really what he wants. I’m clear for Thursday and Friday. The case I had scheduled for those two days in front of Judge Vesely is going to plead. You check Monday, and if the defense really wants to go that soon, we’ll do it. If I don’t clear it before I leave, that’s another I’ll have to hand off.”

  They drove back to the courthouse where Scott had parked his car. They made plans to visit Fast Eddie’s to observe the conditions of the crime scene as it would appear at night. They agreed to meet there at 10 p.m.

  It was 2 p.m. when he opened the door to his apartment and saw that his answering machine was blinking. It was a message from Jennifer.

  “Sorry to have missed you. I’m at home but I’ll be leaving for the hospital shortly and will probably be there for the rest of the day. They have some tests to run, and we still don’t know much about what’s causing his pain. I don’t have my cell phone so you can’t call me. I just wish I had your cell phone number, but this is the only number I have. I’ll call later.”

  • • •

  At 10 p.m., Scott drove into the parking lot at Fast Eddie’s, and Grady pulled in just behind him. They told the clerk on duty why they were there and walked through the store, observing its layout and lighting. They went outside, sat in Grady’s vehicle, which was parked in the same space where Johnson had parked, and observed the cash register through the large glass windows. They observed with the car headlights on and with them off. They could see that Johnson would have had a clear view of the robbery from his car. He would be a good witness. They walked behind the store and along the streets, looking for the places Harrison could have parked his getaway car.

  When Scott returned to his apartment almost an hour later, there was another message from Jennifer. He hit the play button.

  “Hi, Scott. Sorry to miss you again. Just want to give an update. The doctors now say it’s not Dad’s heart but his gallbladder. They plan to operate Monday. So I’ll be staying through Monday, returning Tuesday if all goes well. I’ll miss two days of classes, but at least I have the books you put in the car. Thanks. I’ve had lots of study time in the hospital waiting room. If you can, call me between one and four tomorrow afternoon. 843-811-9690. I’ll be home.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Sunday, August 27

  Scott called Jennifer Sunday afternoon. She answered on the first ring.

  “Hi, Jen, how’s your dad?”

  “No change. They still plan to operate tomorrow. The doctor says he doesn’t expect any problems.”

  “Good. And you?”

  “I’m fine. But my Camry isn’t. It’s got a problem. My mom’s going to take it to the dealer this week. I’m going to be driving my dad’s car back to Savannah. You won’t laugh, will you?”

  “Why should I laugh?”

  “It’s a 2004 Pontiac Aztek.”

  “So?”

  “One of the design classes at SCAD voted it ‘the ugliest car of 2004.’ You must have seen one.”

  “In fact, I have. And I agree. But I would rather have a mechanically sound Aztek than a sick Camry. You didn’t tell your dad about the design class vote, did you?”

  “Of course, I did. But he had already bought it. It was sitting in our driveway. He got a big kick out of the honor.”

  They talked for half an hour. Scott told her he had been assigned second chair in another felony case. She wanted to know all about this new case and about the Vandera case. Did Jeff still want a speedy trial? Was the trial on for this week? Had he been on the campus? Anything going on there? Finally, the call ended, with Scott promising to call again Monday evening. Scott sat back in his chair and smiled. No special reason; he just felt like smiling.

  And once again, Jennifer did not mention the events of her drive home Friday night. Not even a hint.

  CHAPTER 19

  Jaak left church before the service was over, as he always did on the third Sunday of each month. He had a busy afternoon ahead of him. It was a two-hour drive on Interstate 16 to the Carl Vinson VA Hospital in Dublin. He had to pick up his van and his “crew” and get on the way no later than noon. The hospitalized veterans would be gathering for the show in the auditorium at three o’clock, and he did not want to
disappoint—something he had never done in the ten-plus years of planning these Sunday afternoon outings. Arranging for two hours of entertainment each month was challenging, but Jaak enjoyed the challenge and the satisfaction that went along with it.

  Today his entertainers were a five-piece, country-western band and a ventriloquist-comedian. He was familiar with the band; they were good. He had invited the comedian on the recommendation of Juri. This was an unpaid gig, and there were not many individuals anxious to give up a Sunday afternoon to put on a free show. But there were enough, and somehow Jaak had always been able to put together a decent entertainment package. Some performers would ask to be invited again after receiving the always warm reception from the veterans.

  When Jaak first began his monthly visitations, the veterans were older. Now, there was a younger group, mostly veterans of the Iraq War. And while the popularity of country music had not diminished, the younger veterans enjoyed a more diverse range of music. But, regardless, when the afternoon entertainment ended, there was always a standing ovation and celebration that would remind Jaak of the USO shows he saw in Vietnam. He had vivid memories of the Bob Hope Christmas Tour in 1968, with Rosie Grier, Miss World, and Les Brown and His Band of Renown, as well as the many other lesser-known entertainers who visited the troops in that far-away place long ago. The cheering that followed any rendition of Ferlin Husky’s “Detroit City” was fresh in his mind, like it was yesterday. Every touring USO show played their own version, but the refrain remained the same: I wanna go home, I wanna go home, oh Lord, I wanna go home.

  Jaak gave an advance warning to the bands that they would likely get a request for that song, as well as “We Gotta Get Out of This Place,” by the Animals. The vets would go wild, and Jaak would find himself with moist eyes.

  The band and the comedian were both well received. And, yes, there was a request for “Detroit City,” with many of the vets and Jaak joining in with the lyrics that ended with the usual stomping, clapping, and cheering.