New Tricks

by David Rosenfelt

  “Did you talk about anything else?”

  “I’m not sure; it was pretty busy that night.”

  On cross-examination, Richard asks her, “Did the defendant pay by credit card or cash?”

  “Gee, I wouldn’t know,” she says.

  Richard introduces the restaurant’s record that night, which show no credit card payment by Steven. “If he didn’t pay by credit card, then it must have been cash, correct? There’s no other choice, is there?”

  “No, that’s it.”

  “So there’s no way to identify his check?” he asks.

  She shakes her head. “Not really.”

  “And no way to know what time he left?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you.”

  I bring in a waitress and a patron at the restaurant that night, both of whom basically say the same thing: They’re pretty sure they remember Steven, but they can’t say for sure when he left.

  We’re not exactly generating headlines here.

  At lunch, a court messenger brings Kevin an envelope, and he opens it and takes out some papers. “The security gate logs from that week,” he announces, as he tries to locate the night in question.

  “Robinson? Tell me he was at the house that night,” I say, hoping it will show Robinson can be shown to have arrived at the house and left with Walter Timmerman.

  “No,” Kevin says, looking up at me. “But Thomas Sykes was. He arrived at a quarter to seven.”

  The name surprises me. “Could he have been shacking up with Diana at that house?”

  “Either that or he came to see Walter,” he says. “There’s no way to tell from this whether Walter was home.”

  “Does it say if Sykes left alone?”

  Kevin shakes his head. “No.” Then, “So what have we learned?”

  “We’ve learned something; we just don’t know what it means, or if it has any value. We’ll figure it out tonight.”

  I go outside and use my cell phone to call Laurie. “How are you feeling?” I ask.

  “I feel fine,” she says.

  “Ready to go to work?”

  I can see her smile through the phone. “You’d better believe it,” she says.

  “LET’S MAKE SOME ASSUMPTIONS about Thomas Sykes,” I say. “Let’s assume that he was not at the house that night for a quickie with Diana Timmerman. And let’s further assume that he was involved in the murder of her husband.”

  “We have nothing to base that on,” says Kevin.

  “I would say almost nothing. We do at least know he was at the house that night, and we know he was having an affair with Timmerman’s wife. But I’ll concede the point; we aren’t close to implicating him. I’m just suggesting we assume the worst, and try to figure out the pieces. If it doesn’t fit, then we’ll move on.”

  “Okay,” Kevin says. “Sykes went to the house, grabbed Walter Timmerman, and drove him to Paterson, where Jimmy Childs was waiting to shoot him.”

  Laurie says, “The head of security, Durant, says that if Walter Timmerman had been in Sykes’s car when he left there should be a notation to that effect.” I had asked Laurie to interview Durant while we were in court today, and she did so.

  “He was in the trunk, or tied up in the back if Sykes had an SUV.” They both stare at me as if I’m an idiot, so I say, “Assumptions. Assumptions.”

  “Fine,” Laurie says, going along. “He tied him up, and then when they got away from the house, he forced Walter to call Steven.”

  Another piece, something I had completely missed until now, clicks into place, and I can feel my excitement starting to grow. “What happened to his phone?” I ask.

  I pick up my own phone without waiting for an answer to my question, but before I dial I ask Kevin to dig out all the cell phone records. “The ones in discovery and Sam’s as well.”

  I dial Billy Cameron, the public defender who was representing the young man originally accused of the Timmerman murder. He’s not home, but when I tell his wife who I am and that I am calling on an urgent matter, she gives me his cell number.

  “Billy? Andy Carpenter.”

  “Let me guess: They nailed you on the dognapping and you need me to arrange bail.”

  “No, if that happened I would call someone competent. But I do have a question I need you to answer.”

  “Shoot,” he says.

  “Your client was picked up with Timmerman’s wallet. Did he have anything else of Timmerman’s on him?”

  “I don’t think so. Like what?”

  “Like his cell phone.”

  Billy thinks for a moment. “No. I would remember that. I can check the files when I’m in the office, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t have it.”

  “Thanks, Billy. That’s what I needed.”

  “I just got back to town yesterday. How’s the case going?”

  “Getting better all the time.”

  When I get off the call, Kevin is ready with the cell phone information. “Sam’s documents never showed the call on Timmerman’s cell phone, but that was explained in court. The phone company rep said that the call was made from Timmerman’s business phone, under the Timco account. I was never much interested in checking on whether the call took place, because Steven had confirmed to us that he received it.”

  “What if it was Sykes’s phone?” I ask, and by now I’m almost yelling. “Everybody assumed it was Timmerman’s phone because it came up as Timco, but Sykes’s phone would show the same thing. He’s the goddamn CEO. We need to call Sam and get records from that cell phone. And I need Steven’s home phone records for the last year.”

  “Okay, let’s take a step back and look at the big picture,” Laurie says. “Why would Sykes want Walter Timmerman dead?”

  “To take over the business entirely?” Kevin asks. “Or maybe so that Diana Timmerman could inherit her husband’s money, and then Sykes could marry her?”

  “That didn’t work out too well,” I say.

  Kevin is getting into this. “It could also have to do with Timmerman’s work. Sykes is a scientist; maybe he found out about it and wanted to take it over for himself. For all he knew, Timmerman was working alone and in secret. If Timmerman were to die, Sykes might be able to walk in and take over without anyone knowing. Especially because Timmerman’s lab was in his house, and Sykes would have access through Diana.”

  “So why blow up the house?” Laurie asks.

  That’s a tough one, but I take a shot at it. “Maybe Sykes had already gotten what he needed, and he didn’t want anyone else to get it as well. And maybe this way he was able to get rid of Diana, who was the only witness to what he was doing.”

  “Holy shit,” Laurie says, thereby exposing her delicate side. “I just had a thought; try this out. Maybe Sykes killed Timmerman for personal reasons, and then someone else blew up the house. Maybe with Timmerman dead, someone wanted to make sure no one had access to his work.”

  “What are you basing that on?” I ask.

  “Childs never told Marcus he killed Walter Timmerman, remember? All he told him was that he blew up the house and tried to kill Waggy. We just assumed he didn’t admit to killing Walter because Marcus didn’t ask the question, but maybe it was because it never happened.”

  The three of us just look at one another for at least sixty seconds, as we all come to grips with the fact that, at the very least, we’ve come up with a very viable theory.

  “Now, how are you possibly going to prove all this?” Laurie asks.

  “We don’t have to prove it,” I say. “We all think this is possible, right? We just have to get the jury to think like us.”

  We talk for another hour, and then Kevin heads for home. As Laurie and I are about to get into bed, I say, “You ready for a stakeout, and maybe a phone call?”

  “Sure,” she says.

  “Good. Go to Sykes’s office, and when he leaves, give him a call on the cell phone number we got from Sam’s records.”

  “What do you want me to
say?”

  “Sorry, wrong number. I just need to make sure it’s his cell phone, and that he carries it with him.”

  I explain what I’m talking about without taking too long, since it’s delaying my getting into bed with Laurie. But I do make the mistake of putting forth one more conversational gambit. “I know I’m not supposed to talk about this, but it’s great having you here and involved. It felt like old times tonight.”

  She smiles. “I’m enjoying it. I feel like I’m back in the action.”

  “You know, if multiple murder and depravity is your thing, there’s really nothing like New Jersey.”

  I DON’T HAVE TO adjust our witness list to include Thomas Sykes. That’s important, and far more than a convenience. This way Sykes already understands the possibility that he will be called, and will not be surprised when he is. He will also not be unduly alerted, and will not feel he is a target. For us to have a chance, I’m going to have to take Sykes apart on the stand, and I want him unprepared for the onslaught.

  I’m not a big fan of fair fights.

  I call Sykes in his office before the start of court in the morning, and I am surprised and pleased that he is already there. “Mr. Sykes, I just want to alert you that you will be handed a subpoena today requiring your appearance in court tomorrow.”

  “For what purpose?” he asks.

  “You’ll be a witness for the defense. I had hoped to avoid calling you, but it doesn’t seem like I have a choice.”

  “What do you hope to get from me?” he asks.

  “I’m going to talk to you about the lifestyles of both victims, unfortunately including your relationship with Mrs. Timmerman.”

  “You’re going to slime the victims?” he asks. “Is that your style? I had been told you were better than that.”

  “I choose to call it defending my client,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”

  I think the call went pretty well, and that Sykes will have no reason to think I have any agenda other than the one I just mentioned.

  When Steven is brought into court, I consider whether to alert him to what is going on. I decide against it; it might raise false hopes, and we’re dealing with a very long shot. Besides, there are only a few minutes before Hatchet comes in, and Steven would have an hour’s worth of questions.

  Kevin is not in court this morning; he is making sure that the subpoena is served, and getting some other information that we need. It’s nice for him; this way he doesn’t have to be embarrassed by the pathetic string of witnesses we have planned for today.

  The first of those witnesses is Dr. John Holland, a professor of criminology at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice in Manhattan. Holland is a leading expert in blood spatter, and his work as an expert witness probably allows him to quadruple his annual salary as a college professor.

  My goal with Holland is to affirmatively establish the points I made when I cross-examined the prosecution’s forensic witness. “How likely is it that the person who shot Walter Timmerman from point-blank range was splattered with blood, brain matter, and skull fragments?” I ask.

  “At that range it is a certainty,” he says.

  “And if he then got into his car, and transferred trace amounts of the splatter to the interior of the car, how likely is it that the transferred material would be only blood?”

  “Virtually no chance,” he says, and I let him go on to explain. He likens it to making a pasta sauce, starting with marinara and adding ground meat, olive oil, Worcestershire sauce, cream, and assorted other ingredients. If you eat some, there’s no way you’re going to have only pure marinara running down your chin. With this explanation, he manages to effectively make his point while equally effectively making the jury nauseous.

  Richard’s cross-examination is short, as if he doesn’t think the witness is worth spending a lot of time with. He talks about the bleeding that would take place after the initial splatter, and how blood that was virtually pure could have pooled on the ground.

  On balance, the witness certainly favors us, but I’m sure that Richard has experts in reserve whom he can call in rebuttal. I’m also sure he doesn’t think he will need to, and at this point he’s right.

  Just before lunch Laurie comes in and passes me a note telling me that the phone call went perfectly, and a few minutes later Kevin arrives as well, with the documents we need. The stage is basically set for tomorrow, except for preparation tonight.

  I just wish it were tomorrow already.

  My afternoon witnesses are perfunctory at best. I call two associates of Walter Timmerman, who testify as to how secretive about his work he was in the months before he died. They describe the behavior as uncharacteristic, and both refer to Timmerman as a normally collaborative man when it came to his science.

  Finally, I bring in an officer at Timmerman’s bank, who testifies to the twenty-million-dollar wire transfer he received weeks before his death. The money came from a numbered Swiss account, and therefore the source is impossible to trace. He admits that it was the first time Timmerman had ever received a transfer of this type. While he is too circumspect to admit that it is suspicious, I believe that the jury will find it so. Of course, it’s a bit of a stretch for them to believe that someone would send him twenty million dollars and then kill him.

  Like he does every night, Kevin comes by for dinner and so that we can prepare together. Usually, we are on the same page when it comes to getting ready for a trial day, but when we are facing a crucial witness we are complete opposites.

  Kevin thinks we should have a mock session, where he plays the witness role, in this case Sykes, and I fire questions at him. That way he believes I can hone my approach and only follow the lines of questioning that have been proven to work in this fashion. He wants us to analyze what Sykes might say from every angle, and prepare questions designed to overcome his defenses.

  While I see the logical merit of Kevin’s argument, it just isn’t my style. I need it to be free-flowing; I can’t be restricted by meticulously pre-planned tactics.

  The only thing bothering me right now is my inability to see how I can get the murder of Charles Robinson connected to Sykes and therefore before this jury. My theories aren’t well developed enough to have included a motive for Sykes to have killed Robinson. Perhaps it was a fight over the fruits of Walter Timmerman’s labor, but it feels like I’m stretching.

  After Kevin leaves, Laurie and I talk some more about the case, until I’ve reached my saturation point. When we’re ready to go to bed, Laurie says to me, “Big day tomorrow.”

  I nod. “Yeah. Especially for Steven.”

  “Do lawyers have to abstain from sex the night before a big game, like athletes?” she asks.

  “On the contrary, it’s encouraged. It clears the mind and makes questions crisper and clearer.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Absolutely. The more sex, the better the lawyer. That’s why so many hookers have become Supreme Court justices.”

  “Then by tomorrow morning they’ll be calling you Chief Justice Carpenter.”

  WE NEED A PERRY MASON MOMENT.

  Actually, what we really need is Perry Mason, but since he must be pushing 130 years old, we probably have a better chance at getting one of his moments.

  A Perry Mason moment is when the witness cracks under the relentless pressure of a brilliant defense attorney and confesses to the crime right on the stand. A perfect example of it was when Tom Cruise asked, “Did you order the code red?” and Jack Nicholson screamed back at him, “You’re goddamn right I did!”

  The first thing I do when the court session is convened is ask for a meeting with Hatchet and Richard in chambers. I tell them, “My first witness is going to be Thomas Sykes, and I would like him designated as a hostile witness.”

  Hatchet seems surprised. “He is hostile to the defense?”

  “He’s going to be,” I say. “We believe that Thomas Sykes murdered Walter Timmerman, and we are going to use his testi
mony to show the credibility of that theory.”

  “Whoa,” Richard says. “I thought you were blaming some international bad guys after Timmerman’s work. Where is this coming from?”

  I smile. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait for the show to open. But it’s legit, Richard.”

  “Does the prosecution wish to lodge an objection to my declaring this witness hostile?” Hatchet asks.

  “No objection. But I would remind Your Honor that defense counsel cannot make reckless charges without foundation.”

  “It’s lucky you’re here to remind me of things like that,” Hatchet says, drily. “If I didn’t have you, I’d have to invent you.”

  We get back to court, and when Steven is brought in I greet him in what I think is the same way I do everyday. But no sooner have I said hello than he asks, “What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Something’s up,” he says. “There’s something about you that’s different today.”

  “Just keep your fingers crossed,” I say, before Hatchet comes in and we’re all rising to our feet.

  Sykes takes the stand, and Hatchet reminds him that he is still under oath from his last trip there.

  “Mr. Sykes, Walter Timmerman was the founder of Timco, the company you currently preside over as CEO. Is that correct?”

  “It is.”

  “And how many years did you know Mr. Timmerman?” I ask.

  He thinks for a moment before answering. “Twenty-two.”

  “He was instrumental in your career advancement?”

  “Yes. Very.”

  “Mr. Sykes,” I say, “do you remember when I came to visit you in your office?”

  “I do.”

  “And do you recall that I told you I had evidence that you had been having an affair with Walter Timmerman’s wife, Diana?”

  “Yes. I recall that.”

  Sykes seems pretty much at ease. This is what he expected was coming, and he is prepared for it.

  “And did you admit that you were having an affair with Diana Timmerman?”

  “I said that we were in love,” he says, lying through his teeth. “I told you that it wasn’t anything we had planned; it just happened.”