First Degree

by David Rosenfelt

  “Special Agent Hobbs, were you in Army Special Forces in Vietnam?”

  Hobbs doesn’t answer. I can see his brain reacting to figure out what to do as surely as if I were watching it through a CAT scan.

  “Did you not hear my question?”

  This brings him back to face his current dilemma. He is positive that Reid must have brought absolute evidence of his military connection to Cahill and Dorsey. To deny it is to commit perjury even more blatant than previously.

  “Were you in Army Special Forces in Vietnam?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was your rank first lieutenant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you command a small secret unit which operated behind enemy lines?”

  “That is classified.”

  “I think that war is over, Agent Hobbs. Were Roger Cahill and Alex Dorsey under your command?”

  His answer is soft, as if he’s hoping no one will hear it. “Yes.” The resulting buzz from the gallery and jury says they heard it loud and clear.

  “So you knew them? Had contact with them?”

  “Yes.”

  “So Agent Spodek was right? You were lying before when you denied contact with them?”

  “I didn’t realize you were talking about in the army. I thought you meant more recently, during the investigation.”

  “That’s another lie, isn’t it, Agent Hobbs?”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “So let me see if I understand,” I say. “You knew them in the army but haven’t had any contact since?”

  He nods. “Yes. That’s correct.”

  “You say this fully aware of the perjury laws in the state?”

  “Yes.”

  I introduce as evidence a tape recording supplied by Cindy. It is Bureau practice that all calls from agents’ offices are taped, in order to protect the agents and help in investigations. Thinking she might need it to protect herself, Cindy had confiscated a tape of one of Hobbs’s conversations with Dorsey, and I play it for the court.

  It is a devastating record of a conspiracy between Dorsey and Hobbs, and though Hobbs doesn’t directly implicate himself in any criminal acts on the tape, there is no doubt in anyone’s mind he has committed multiple perjuries in his testimony today.

  I ask Hobbs if Murdoch was in his squad and if he knows that Murdoch was recently murdered. He acknowledges the army connection but denies knowing about the murder. Not a person in the room believes him.

  I’m finished, and Dylan doesn’t even cross-examine the shell that was Special Agent Hobbs. His defeat is total; the man is ruined.

  Heh, heh, heh.

  WE ARE A SUBDUED GROUP DURING OUR NIGHTLY meeting. We’re nearing the end; the only issue to resolve before closing arguments is whether or not Laurie will take the stand.

  Laurie still wants to, but in light of today’s positive developments, is willing to listen to arguments. Kevin and I tell her the basics: that there really is nothing for her to add and that the dangers are potentially enormous.

  I feel compelled to point out that, while we did really well today, we are still in very precarious shape. The jury could easily find that our entire defense, centering on Hobbs, Dorsey, and Cahill, is interesting but off point. The only tangible evidence in the Dorsey murder still points to Laurie, and the jury may follow that evidence—in fact is more likely to than not.

  It’s a lively discussion which finally ends with Laurie trusting our judgment and agreeing not to take the stand. This allows us to focus on the closing arguments, which in this case are going to be even more important than usual. It will be up to us to make the jury understand that what we have been saying matters, and creates at least a reasonable doubt as to Laurie’s guilt.

  The media are filled with the trial news, and there is open speculation that Hobbs will be indicted and tried for perjury. The FBI director himself has issued a statement saying that Hobbs is being put on temporary leave, and both federal and state investigations are under way. It’s gratifying, but it’s small consolation if it doesn’t result in Laurie’s vindication.

  Our first action in court is to announce that the defense is resting, and Dylan tells Hatchet that he is ready to give his closing argument.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he begins, “I stood here at the opening of this trial and told you that the evidence would show that Laurie Collins murdered Alex Dorsey. I told you the defense would utilize tricks and mirrors to make you think otherwise, but that what you needed to do was focus on the facts.

  “My message today has not changed. The evidence has been presented, the facts are clear. The defense has been even more illusory than I expected, presenting a wild tale of Green Berets, frame-ups, and conspiracies.

  “In the process, an FBI agent has been shown to have lied. I won’t dispute that; we all saw it before our eyes. But what does that mean to this case? No evidence was presented implicating him in the murder you are here to judge. In fact, as a federal officer, he had nothing to do with this case whatsoever; it was handled by the Paterson police. Nor did anyone come up here and say he had a grudge against this defendant. Why would he have framed her? It doesn’t make any sense.

  “Yes, Agent Hobbs lied, perhaps to hide his embarrassment at his relationship with criminals and a cop gone bad. It’s interesting, it’s troublesome, and it will be investigated, but it has nothing—I repeat nothing whatsoever—to do with the murder of Alex Dorsey.

  “The state has proved its case, proved it well beyond a reasonable doubt, and I ask you to return a verdict of guilty against Laurie Collins for the murder of Lieutenant Alex Dorsey.”

  I get up to give our closing argument aware that we have a big hill to climb. In a perfect world, a lawyer wants to be able to recap and summarize the compelling evidence he has presented during the course of the trial. This case being tried in a less-than-perfect world, I have the task of explaining what the hell our evidence has to do with it.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, there is absolutely nothing in Laurie Collins’s background, not a shred, which would indicate she could possibly be capable of a brutal act such as the murder of Alex Dorsey. On the contrary, her entire life has been devoted to furthering the public good and the cause of justice.

  “The prosecutor says she did it, and points to certain items of evidence. I say she was framed, and that the same evidence was planted to further that end.

  “But Mr. Campbell completely rejects the idea of a frame-up moments after he tells you that the reason he first charged Oscar Garcia with the crime is because he was framed! Mr. Garcia could be framed, but Ms. Collins could not? Why doesn’t he explain that?

  “And let’s look at what he does say about it. He says that Ms. Collins framed Garcia to avenge one of these grudges that he thinks she carries around. Yet an FBI agent, Cindy Spodek, testified that she made the call accusing Garcia. Ms. Collins had nothing to do with it. Mr. Campbell was wrong about that, as he has been wrong about so much in this case.

  “Which brings me to Special Agent Hobbs. Even Mr. Campbell admits Hobbs perjured himself. Now, I don’t know exactly what Mr. Hobbs did, or why he did it, but I’m going to give you a theory. It may be right, or it may be wrong, or the truth may be somewhere in the middle.

  “I think the evidence shows that Hobbs led a squad, much of the same squad he led in the military. I think they got into positions where they could abuse the system and commit crimes, and Hobbs was in a position to protect them and to take a healthy cut of their profits.

  “And he did protect Dorsey, but it got to a point where he couldn’t protect him anymore. Dorsey didn’t want to go to prison, and he threatened Hobbs with exposure. Dorsey may well have intended to fake his own death, but that wasn’t good enough for Hobbs, and he either killed him or had Cahill kill him. And when Murdoch was going to talk to me, Hobbs had him killed as well.

  “Before killing Dorsey, he either tricked him or forced him to tape a message to Ms. Collins, which he played i
n a phone call to her, making us think Dorsey was alive. Because as the actual murderer trying to deflect attention from himself, Hobbs had a very strong interest in Ms. Collins getting convicted.

  “Now, as I’ve said, this is just a theory, though I believe it is plausible given the facts before you. Don’t you have to admit it’s possible? I believe that you do. Can you say beyond a reasonable doubt that I’m wrong? I don’t think so.

  “One of the many unusual aspects of this case is the fact that the lawyer for the defendant was a key witness in the defense. I sat up there and told you that Roger Cahill confessed the murder to me and told me about the bloody clothing behind the stadium, clothing he said was his own. I also told you that I sent Ms. Collins out there to retrieve the clothing.

  “If I was telling the truth, Ms. Collins is innocent. It’s as simple as that. You may or may not believe me, but can you say beyond a reasonable doubt I was lying? I don’t think so. And if you can’t, then you must vote to acquit.

  “I know Laurie Collins very well, probably better than I know anyone in the world. She could no more commit a murder like this than she could get up and fly out the window.

  “A murder of anyone, no matter what their actions in life, is a tragedy. Please don’t compound that tragedy by turning Ms. Collins into another victim. She is innocent, and she has been put through hell. I ask you to do what is right and give Laurie Collins her life back.”

  As I turn and walk back toward Laurie at the defense table, I experience a totally selfish moment. I realize that the life I have been fighting for as much as Laurie’s is my own.

  I simply cannot envision living my life while Laurie wastes away in prison. It would be an incomprehensibly horrible existence, and the knowledge that twelve strangers can turn it into a reality bores a panic-filled hole in my stomach.

  Kevin and Laurie shake my hand and whisper that I was wonderful, but the jury sits impassive, not looking at me, or Laurie, or anyone else. I want to go over and shake them until they understand who the good guys are. And I want to memorize their faces so that if they convict the woman I love for murder, I can hunt each one of them down, cut off their ugly heads, and set their stinking bodies on fire.

  Hatchet reads them his version of the law, which when boiled down from its one-hour length, basically says, “If you think she’s guilty beyond a reasonable doubt, vote guilty.” He sends them off to deliberate, though they inform him that since it’s late, they’re going to get started in the morning.

  Kevin comes over again tonight, basically out of force of habit, since there’s nothing else we can do. I’m going to be hard-pressed to stick to my usual style of waiting for a verdict, which is to be totally alone (except for Tara), totally obnoxious to anyone who interrupts that solitude, and totally superstitious.

  I can’t be alone, at least not in my house, since Laurie is confined there for the duration. I don’t want to be obnoxious, since she is no doubt going through a greater agony than I am. The only thing I can be is superstitious, so I’m sure I will do that with a vengeance.

  I know we shouldn’t, but we are physically unable to avoid watching news coverage of the verdict watch. Some commentators give us a decent chance, but most feel that if the jurors follow a strict interpretation of the law, we’ll probably lose. All agree that if not for the Hobbs revelations, we’d be dead in the water.

  The area of most agreement is that the longer it takes to reach a verdict, the better off we are. If the jury rejects our theories about Hobbs as irrelevant, they’ll vote quickly to convict. If they’re willing to accept them, or at least examine them, it will take considerably longer. Of course, this “longer the better” theory does not take into account the likelihood that we will soon all have strokes and die from stress waiting for the jury to come back.

  We’re eating breakfast at nine A.M. when Laurie and I make eye contact and realize that at that very moment, the jury is meeting to begin the process of deciding her fate. It’s enough to make me choke on my pancakes.

  The doorbell rings and we get a FedEx delivery. It’s from the opposing law firm in the Willie Miller suit, and inside is a cashier’s check for more than eleven million dollars. Since two hundred thousand dollars of it is Edna’s, she is more than happy to take it to the bank and deposit it.

  I call Willie and Kevin and tell them the news. Willie tells me that he’s decided what he’s going to do with some of the money. I assume he’s going to buy a yacht on which he can tool around the inner city, but he tells me otherwise.

  “It’s an investment,” he says. “But it ain’t gonna make any money.”

  “Most investments are like that,” I say. “But you don’t usually know it going in.”

  “I want you to come in for half,” he says.

  I’m really not in the mood to deal with this insanity now, so I say, “After the trial, we’ll talk to cousin Fred.”

  Kevin comes over at noon, and along with Laurie and Edna, we sit around waiting for the call that we hope doesn’t come for quite a while. At one point I get up and open a window; it’s not hot, it’s more to let the pressure out.

  At three-thirty, Edna answers the phone and nervously tells me that it’s Rita Golden, the court clerk. It takes what seems like an hour and a half for me to walk the eight feet to the phone. There are a lot of things that this could be other than a verdict. The jury could want testimony read back, one of them could be ill, they’re ending deliberations for the day, etc., etc. Any of the above would be fine with me.

  “Hello?” is my clever opening line.

  “Andy,” Rita says, “there’s a verdict. Hatchet wants everyone here at five o’clock.”

  “Okay,” I say, and she gives me a few more instructions. I hang up, turn, and break the news to Laurie, Kevin, and Edna. They’ve all been a part of our discussions hoping for a long deliberation, but no one voices the pessimism we all now feel.

  “What time are we leaving?” Laurie asks.

  “In about an hour,” I say before dropping a bomb that Rita dropped on me. “Laurie, you’re supposed to pack some things. Just in case …” I don’t finish the sentence, since it would have sounded something like “Just in case last night was the last one you will ever spend out of prison.”

  Laurie nods and goes to the bedroom to pack a suitcase. Kevin hasn’t said a word; he’s feeling exactly what I’m feeling. It’s a sense of powerlessness and fear. The powerlessness comes from the awareness that our ability to influence events is over, and the fear is from knowing that those events have already been decided.

  The truly chilling part is that we both feel we have lost.

  The scene outside the courthouse is chaotic, but they get us through and into the courtroom just before the appointed time. Ever since we got the phone call, I’ve felt as if I’m watching things in slow motion, yet at the same time realizing that they’re moving at high speed.

  Laurie hasn’t said a word since we left the house; I don’t know how she’s bearing up under this pressure. Kevin has been spouting optimistic one-liners, none of which he truly believes. The bottom line is that how any of us are acting and feeling does not matter; the result has been determined, and within moments we are going to have to deal with it, one way or the other.

  Hatchet comes in, issues a stern, cautionary warning against outbursts after the verdict is read, and calls in the jury. Their faces are somber, expressionless; their eyes are averted from both the defense and the prosecution.

  Laurie leans over and whispers in my ear. “Andy, thank you. No matter what happens, you’ve done an amazing job. And I love you more than you can imagine.” I don’t know how to respond to a comment as caring and generous as that, so I don’t.

  Hatchet instructs the foreman to give the verdict slip to the bailiff, who carries it over to the clerk.

  Hatchet says, “Will the defendant please rise?”

  Laurie stands quickly, almost defiantly. Kevin and I are on our feet a split second later, and I take
Laurie’s hand. I’m not sure which one the shaking is coming from.

  “The clerk will read the verdict.”

  The clerk looks at the form for the first time and seems to read it silently for a few moments, as if she wants to be the only person besides the jury who knows how this ends. There is not another sound in the room, and her words come through so clearly that it is as if I am hearing them through a stethoscope. I know I’m standing on my legs, but I can’t feel them.

  “We, the jury, in the case of the State of New Jersey versus Laurie Collins, find the defendant, Laurie Collins … not guilty of the crime of murder in the first degree.”

  I’m sure the gallery must be in an uproar, I’m sure Dylan must be upset, I’m sure Hatchet must be banging his gavel, but I’m not aware of any of it. All I’m conscious of is a three-way hug between Laurie, Kevin, and myself, a hug so tight that I think they’ll have to carry us from the room in this position and pry us apart at the hospital.

  Laurie tells us both that she loves us, and Kevin, his eyes filled with tears, keeps saying, “It doesn’t get any better than this.” He’s wrong; it would be better than this if Barry Leiter were alive to see it.

  But this is pretty damn good.

  Hatchet thanks the jury, releases Laurie from custody, and adjourns the proceedings. Dylan comes over to offer his surprisingly gracious congratulations, and they take Laurie away for some quick processing and paperwork.

  When she comes back, she has a smile on her face and no bracelet on her ankle.

  She looks great.

  LAURIE DECLINES MY OFFER OF A GET-AWAY-from-it-all vacation to some island paradise. At this point, her idea of paradise is to live her life unshackled, to run errands with impunity, and to sleep in her own house every Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday.

  I’ve given Edna a couple of weeks off, and in fact haven’t even moved the files and things back to my office. If it took me six months to get back in emotional work-mode after the Willie Miller case, I’m figuring six decades this time.