Found money

by James Grippando

  “All rise,” said the bailiff.

  Judge Novak entered from a side door and stepped up to the bench. Norm had said he was old, but he looked even older than Ryan had expected. Huge age spots dotted his balding crown, like the markings on a globe. Hearing aids protruded from both ears. As he passed, Ryan noticed that he’d forgotten to zip up the back of his robe. Ryan looked away. It was hard to take a judge seriously knowing that his bony butt was clad in plaid Bermuda shorts. So much for the judicial mystique.

  “Good morning,” said the judge. “We’re here on the petitioner’s emergency motion for a temporary restraining order. As I’m sure the lawyers have explained to their clients, there is no jury in this proceeding. I am the trier of both law and fact. A word of caution to the lawyers. Spare me the usual histrionics you might use in a jury case. I’m eighty-one years old. I’ve seen it all.

  “Mr. Jackson, please call your first witness.”

  Jackson rose slowly, as if a little stiff in the joints. His face was slightly puffy. Other than the bandage over his eye, however, he showed few outward signs of the beating. Only on close examination was the faint purple discoloration on his cheekbone evident. It was hidden beneath the makeup. How vain did a guy have to be to wear makeup to an empty courthouse on a Saturday morning?

  “Your Honor, our first witness is the petitioner, Elizabeth Duffy.”

  Ryan did a double take. No wonder she hadn’t looked at him.

  The judge scooted forward in his chair. “Another word of caution,” he said in a lecturing tone. “You may call your client to the stand, Mr. Jackson. But bear in mind that I have allocated only forty-five minutes for this hearing. I don’t intend to sit here and listen to everything that was wrong with the Duffys’ marriage. That is for another day. Keep the testimony limited to the issue in this hearing — that is, was Dr. Duffy involved in the attack on the petitioner’s lawyer, and should a restraining order be imposed against Dr. Duffy to prevent any further attacks.”

  “Your Honor, I have one limited area of testimony I would like to cover with Mrs. Duffy. I promise it will take only a minute.”

  “Proceed.”

  Ryan watched carefully as Liz took the oath. She was dressed sharply in a Chanel suit. Either she’d sold her car or somebody had been fronting her some wardrobe money. She seemed nervous as she slid into the witness box. She still wouldn’t look at him.

  “Ms. Duffy, please state your name.”

  “Elizabeth Frances Duffy.”

  “And you are married to the respondent, Dr. Ryan Duffy, correct?”

  The judge interjected. “Let’s move it along. We can all stipulate they’re married, she wants a divorce, blah, blah, blah. Get to the heart of the matter.”

  “Ms. Duffy, did you know Frank Duffy?”

  “Yes, very well. Frank was Ryan’s father. He died of cancer just two weeks ago.”

  “Did you have any conversations with him before he died? Specifically, any conversations about money?”

  Norm sprang to his feet. “Objection. What does that have to do with the issues just framed by the court?”

  “Your Honor, I would ask for a little latitude. If I fail to tie it all together with my next witness, you can deny my motion, hold me in contempt of court, and throw me in jail.”

  “ This I can’t wait to see,” said the judge. “Proceed.”

  “Ms. Duffy,” said Jackson. “Did you have any conversations with Frank Duffy about money?”

  “Yes. We spoke on the telephone about two weeks before he died.”

  “Give us the gist of that conversation, please.”

  “Objection, hearsay.”

  The judge grimaced. “Isn’t it enough that Mr. Jackson said I could throw him in jail if he didn’t tie this together? Overruled.”

  Liz lowered her eyes, speaking softly. “Frank knew that over the years, Ryan and I had many disagreements over money. He always wanted me and Ryan to stay together. So, in this last conversation, he told me to hang in there. He said money would come soon.”

  “Did he tell you how much money?”

  “No.”

  “Did he do anything to identify any specific funds?”

  Liz looked up, glancing briefly at Ryan. Then she looked at her lawyer. “Yes.”

  Ryan felt a chill — more like a stabbing sensation. He recalled his conversation with Liz out on the front porch the night of the funeral. She hadn’t mentioned this.

  Jackson continued, “How did he identify the funds?”

  “He gave me a combination.”

  “You mean for a lock?”

  “Yes. He didn’t say what it was for exactly. It was a very short conversation. He just, you know, intimated it had something to do with the money. He told me to check with Ryan. He would know.”

  “What was the combination?”

  “Thirty-six-eighteen-eleven.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Duffy. That’s all for now.”

  Liz rose slowly. Ryan watched, stunned. The numbers were right on. It was the exact combination to the briefcase in the attic. Dad had given her the combination. Not him. Her.

  The judge looked across the courtroom. “Mr. Klusmire? Any cross-examination?”

  Ryan caught his lawyer’s eye. They could read each other’s minds. This was dangerous territory. The FBI did not yet know about the two million dollars in cash in the attic. Any further examination could bust that secret wide open.

  “No, Your Honor,” announced Norm. “No cross.”

  “Mr. Jackson. Your next witness, please. And remember,” he said, smiling thinly. “If you don’t tie this together, there’s a nice cold cell waiting for you.”

  “I’m confident I’ll be sleeping in my own bed tonight, your honor. The petitioner calls Brent Langford.”

  Norm rose, speaking in his most apologetic tone. “Your Honor, I took your admonition on the telephone yesterday very seriously. We tried to bring Mr. Langford here. We called him repeatedly, never getting a response. Despite our most diligent efforts-”

  He stopped in midsentence. All heads turned as the doors swung open in the rear of the courtroom. Brent was coming down the aisle. Norm and Ryan exchanged glances. The looks on their faces made it clear: This could not be good.

  Brent’s footsteps echoed in the near-empty courtroom. He stepped through the swinging gate that separated the lawyers from the gallery, keeping his eyes straight ahead, looking at no one. His face was strained with concentration, even before he’d uttered a word. He looked like a school kid before an exam, trying to remember all the right answers.

  As the bailiff administered the oath, Ryan could barely stomach the sight. There was Brent, promising to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Ryan had been there the last time Brent had staked his sacred honor before God and witnesses — a deadbeat pledging to love, honor, and cherish a woman he had beaten before and would beat again. Vows meant nothing to Brent. Nor did oaths.

  “Mr. Langford, please state your name.”

  “Brent Langford.”

  “You are Dr. Duffy’s brother-in-law, correct?”

  The judge interjected again, louder. “Stipulations, Mr. Jackson, stipulations. I don’t need the family history.”

  “Yes, Judge. Mr. Langford, you were served with a subpoena to appear at a deposition in this case, were you not?”

  “Yes, I was. At my house in Piedmont Springs, last Tuesday afternoon.”

  “And it was your understanding that the person responsible for issuing that subpoena was me, correct?”

  “That was my understanding.”

  “What did you do after the subpoena was served?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll be honest. I wasn’t happy about it.”

  “Did you talk to anyone about it?”

  “My wife.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Yes. Dr. Duffy.”

  Ryan’s eyes widened. He knew Brent was a liar. He had no idea how big a liar. He quickly scribbled a not
e to Norm: This is bull!

  “How did that conversation come about?”

  “Ryan called me that night on the telephone.”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “He said, ‘Brent, this deposition can’t happen. There’s too much at stake.’”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Objection,” said Norm, rising. “Calls for speculation.”

  “Let me rephrase,” said Jackson. “What did you understand him to say?”

  “Same objection,” said Norm.

  The judge leaned forward. “There’s no jury in this proceeding, Mr. Klusmire. Let’s hear the evidence. The witness shall answer.”

  “It was my impression that he had some serious money he didn’t want Liz to find out about.”

  “How did you get that impression?”

  “Because Sarah told me about it.”

  “Objection,” Norm shouted. “Judge, now we’re moving from speculation to hearsay.”

  “Sustained. Mr. Langford, you can tell us what you know firsthand, and you can tell us anything Dr. Duffy may have told you. But don’t go telling us things other people may have said.”

  Brent replied in his most respectful tone. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Jackson continued, “Mr. Langford, are you sure it was your wife who told you about the money? Or was it Dr. Duffy, himself?”

  “Objection. This is ridiculous. He’s coaching the witness right on the stand.”

  “Overruled.”

  “Come to think of it,” said Brent, “it might very well have been Ryan who told me about the money. Yeah. It was Ryan. Definitely.”

  “Good,” said Jackson. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, I’d like to get a little more specific about this money Dr. Duffy wanted to keep from his wife. Do you know if that money was ever kept in any kind of suitcase or storage container that had a combination lock?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Could it have been?” Jackson pressed.

  “Objection.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Your Honor,” said Jackson, “I’m just trying to show that Dr. Duffy had motive to stop the deposition. He was concerned that if it went forward, Brent might tell me about the money that Dr. Duffy is trying to hide from my client.”

  “The objection is sustained,” said the judge.

  “No need to stretch, Mr. Jackson. You’ve made your point and tied things together. You won’t be going to jail tonight.”

  “Thank you, Judge.” He checked his notes, then returned to the witness. “Mr. Langford, let’s turn back to this late-night telephone conversation with Dr. Duffy. After he told you the deposition had to be stopped, what did you say?”

  “I told him I’m not a lawyer, I can’t stop the deposition from happening.”

  “What did Dr. Duffy say to that?”

  “He said this wasn’t about legal stuff. The only way to stop this deposition was for me to teach Liz’s lawyer a lesson.”

  “Could you be more specific as to what he said?”

  “Yes. I remember exactly what he said.”

  “Please, tell us Dr. Duffy’s exact words.”

  He blushed, as if embarrassed. “I don’t like to use profanity.”

  Ryan nearly burst inside. Brent was walking profanity.

  The judge added, “It is very important for us to hear Dr. Duffy’s exact words.”

  “Okay. His exact words. He said, ‘Brent, I want you to beat the living shit out of that asshole Phil Jackson and teach him a lesson.’”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said forget it. No way.”

  “How did you leave it with Dr. Duffy?”

  “He got mad. He called me — a pussy. Some other things that don’t bear repeating. And then he said, ‘All right, I don’t need you. I’ll get someone else to do it.’”

  “Did he say who he would get?”

  “No.”

  “What did you do next?”

  “I didn’t know what to do. I was up the rest of the night worrying about it.”

  “Why didn’t you warn Mr. Jackson?”

  “That’s what I finally decided to do. I got up in the middle of the night and drove to Denver. Mind you, I was breaking ranks with my wife’s brother. It wasn’t something I could just do lightly. He’s family. I didn’t want to just call the police on him. I was going to talk to Liz and tell her about it.”

  “But you didn’t get there in time.”

  “No. I didn’t think Ryan would hire somebody that fast. Next thing I knew, you were in the hospital. After I heard what had happened, I got scared. I hung out in Denver that morning, not sure what to do. And then I just came home.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Langford. I know it’s not easy to testify against someone in your own family. We appreciate your coming here today.”

  “Cross-examination, Mr. Klusmire?”

  Norm rose. “Your Honor, as I’m sure you’ve surmised, we’re surprised Mr. Langford is actually here this morning. And frankly, we’re flat-out stunned by his testimony. May I have a fifteen-minute recess to confer with my client?”

  “Tell you what,” said the judge. “Take all the time you need. I was going to call a bladder break myself, but it appears the problem may run deeper than that, if you know what I mean. At all events, I’ve heard enough testimony for a Saturday. This is a preliminary hearing, and the rules don’t require me to hear everything live in the courtroom before making a ruling. In the interest of fairness, however, I will defer my ruling until five P.M. Monday. The respondent shall have until that time to submit any written affidavits he may wish the court to consider.”

  “But Judge-”

  “Court’s in recess,” he said with a bang of the gavel.

  “All rise!” shouted the bailiff.

  Ryan stood at his lawyer’s side, confused. “I don’t believe this.”

  The judge disappeared into his chambers through the side door. Brent stepped down from the witness stand and hurried past the lawyers. Ryan started toward him, as if to head him off. Norm stopped him.

  “Let him go,” he said quietly. “Don’t look at him, don’t look at Jackson, and don’t look at your wife. You’re bound to say something you’ll regret. And believe me, they’re taking notes.”

  Ryan swallowed his anger and let him pass.

  Jackson gathered his papers into his briefcase. Liz was at his side, almost hiding behind her lawyer. He paused on their way out. “Welcome to Family Court, gentlemen.”

  It took all his strength, but Ryan said nothing. He just watched as Jackson led the way with Liz in tow. She took his arm as they passed through the swinging double doors in the back of the courtroom. Inertia kept the doors swinging back and forth several times before coming to a halt. On the third swing, he saw Brent and Jackson shaking hands in the hallway. Liz was there too, smiling. All three were smiling.

  It was the Three Musketeers.

  “I really don’t believe this,” he said softly.

  47

  The drive back to Norm’s house seemed to take forever. Ryan rode in the passenger seat, venting. Norm was behind the wheel, just listening. Ryan wasn’t criticizing his friend. He was more critical of the process.

  “It’s totally bizarre,” said Ryan. “One minute Judge Novak is threatening to throw Jackson in jail, the next minute he’s throwing us out of court.”

  “I see that kind of posturing in criminal court. Judges are always threatening to hold the prosecutors in contempt and throw the case out. It creates the illusion of fairness before they stick it to the defendant. Whenever I hear that nonsense, I know my client is in for a nice long all-expenses-paid trip to Club Fed. I guess the same holds true in Family Court — though at least you’re not in jail.”

  “That’s the irony of it. Brent is the one who should be locked up. Instead, he and Jackson are buddies.”

  “There’s no doubt in my mind that Brent put Jackson in the hospital. But somehow — probably through his FBI c
ontacts — Jackson must have found out about the three-million-dollar bank account. Big money has a way of healing old wounds. They’ve clearly cut a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  “Jackson probably gave him two choices. One, Brent could help Liz get her share of the money. Or two, Jackson could bring the FBI down on Brent’s head and make sure he spends the next three to six years in jail.”

  “You think Brent told them about the two million in the attic?”

  “It’s possible. Jackson was very careful with his questions. He didn’t get too specific about the amount of the money, where it was kept, whether it was cash or in some other form. When it comes to money, he knows he’s not helping his client by raising a red flag for the FBI or the IRS. He doesn’t want to kill the proverbial goose that lays the golden egg.”

  “I can’t believe Liz would be part of this. She never even liked Brent.”

  “He’s all she’s got. Look at it from her standpoint, Ryan. You never told her about the money. She had to hear it from her lawyer that your father had three million dollars in a foreign bank account. And she may not like Brent, but she may very well believe his story that you hired someone to beat up Jackson. To top it all off, your father gave her the combination to the lock. Don’t you think it’s natural she’d feel a little entitled?”

  Ryan shook his head. “That combination just frosts me. I don’t understand what my father was trying to do.”

  “What’s to understand? Your old man loved Liz. Honestly, I think he felt sorry for her going way back to when you went away to college and left her behind in Piedmont Springs.”

  “Dad was the one who talked me into leaving her. I told you that story, didn’t I? My dad’s very sophisticated hot-wire analogy. Once you’re grounded, never grab another.”

  “Maybe he felt guilty for giving you bad advice.”

  “Or bad metaphors.”

  “Whatever. The bottom line is he wanted you and Liz to stick together. So he told you where the money was, and he gave her the combination. He was forcing you two to work together.”