by Jim Dutton
The Saints Go Marching In was pounding in Nick’s ear. He dreamingly thought, Was he in New Orleans? Nick woke up enough to realize it was his ringtone on the cellphone in his lap. Groggily, Nick answered in a hoarse, low voice, “Hello.”
“This is Jasco. Sorry to bother you, but I know you’ll want to hear this. Your witness has been found alive in a cement-lined storm cellar under the floorboards of the pantry. She’s in extreme shock, but seems to be in pretty good shape physically. A sprained ankle, some small cuts and bruises. She’ll be taken to the same hospital as Agent Schwartz for observation.”
“Yes! Thank God! Any update on Agent Schwartz’ condition?”
“Yes, she has regained consciousness. She has a concussion. They’re keeping her up.”
“Fantastic news!” yelled Nick into the phone. “Thank you. Thank you.”
“Easy on the ear drums. I’m glad that things are looking a lot better than they first seemed. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Nick immediately called Josh and filled him in. “If Felicia can make it, I’ll try to fly her out to testify on Thursday.” Nick then called Pepe to tell him the good news.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Josh was in Orsini’s courtroom with the defense attorneys before the jury was scheduled to come in. He had just spoken to Pepe about the jail investigation into Luis smuggling notes to the outside. He had a copy of the note found under the bathroom sink and a hastily handwritten report by the jail watch commander who had headed the investigation. Josh had already turned copies of the material over to the defense attorneys.
Judge Orsini took the bench. “Gentlemen, what is this all about? My clerk told me something about a bombing of a safe house for a key protected witness of the prosecution.”
Josh immediately began speaking, “Defendant Luis Hernandez-Lopez’ former girlfriend’s safe house in Topeka, Kansas was destroyed early last night by three rockets and 50 caliber, armor piercing bullets shot from a machine gun mounted on an army surplus Humvee. The Humvee was left, burned-out, in a vacant lot a couple of blocks away. The ex-girlfriend, a protected witness, managed to get into a cement storm cellar at the beginning of the attack. She’s injured and is in shock. As the court is well aware, she is a key prosecution witness and was scheduled to testify tomorrow. Special Agent Ana Schwartz, who helped investigate this case, was also injured in the attack. Fifty caliber bullets slammed into her car as she approached the residence. Agent Schwartz is also scheduled to testify in this case. The protected witness’ handler, Deputy U.S. Marshall Lily Perkins, was blown out of the house by one of the rockets and is in critical condition. Her doctor doesn’t know if she’ll survive. Since last night, there has been an intensive investigation into the link between defendant Lopez and the Topeka attack. I’ve a copy of a note which was placed under a sink in the restroom off the jail’s reception area by a trustee. This note was apparently written by defendant Lopez and was seized yesterday afternoon. It reads, I can’t wait for this evening’s Kansas weather report. L. Visitor records show that Defendant Lopez’ cousin, Jaime Hernandez-Salgado, visited Lopez every Sunday afternoon. DOJ Special Agent Cantana interviewed Jaime last night. He admitted visiting the defendant but refused to say anything else. He was quaking with fear and sweat was pouring down his face. He kept saying, ‘There’s nothing you can do to me that’ll be worse than being dead.’ Combining this with the evidence that supports defendant Lopez ordering the earlier motorcycle hit against the protected witness, one can only conclude that Lopez and the cartel ordered a second hit on the eve of our key witness’ testimony.”
“We’re requesting that the trial be trailed for two days until Wednesday. Mr. Drummond is in the air right now on his way to assess the situation in Topeka. We anticipate introducing the evidence of the Topeka attack in this trial.”
Defense attorney Lipman interjected, “Can I be heard Your Honor?”
Judge Orsini looked toward Josh, “Anything else at this time Mr. Sterling?” Seeing Josh shake his head side to side, Judge Orsini said, “Go ahead Mr. Lipman.”
“The defense deeply sympathizes with the tragic events in Topeka, but…”
“Your Honor, what total bullshit! The defendants caused these unspeakable, heinous acts.”
“Mr. Sterling, sit back down. I won’t tolerate any outbursts in my courtroom. I’m prepared to excuse you this one time considering the trying circumstances, but not again.”
“I apologize, Your Honor.”
“Continue Mr. Lipman.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. There’s nothing to tie the defendants to this horrific act. We have a right to a speedy trial. The jury has been picked. Any continuance will inconvenience them which they may hold against the defendants. If Your Honor is unwilling to proceed with the trial today, the court should order a mistrial. The prosecution can start over, if it chooses, once all this is sorted out.”
“Mr. Sterling, any additional comments?’
“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Lipman is suggesting that the defendants be rewarded with a mistrial for an action that appears they were responsible for. The People have been investigating and preparing this case for over a year. Dozens of witnesses are lined up. This atrocious act came out of the blue. Two law enforcement agents connected to this case are down and a key witness is in shock and injured. We hope that the protected witness can testify shortly. We’ll know by Tuesday afternoon. There’s ample cause to briefly trail this matter until Wednesday. The People want to proceed.”
Judge Orsini looked at the attorneys in turn. He was silent for what seemed like minutes, but was probably only 30 seconds. “All the possible ramifications of these horrific acts are difficult to assimilate. I’m going to trail this matter until tomorrow afternoon at 4:00. I’ll entertain argument at that time as to the appropriateness of the Topeka attack coming into evidence. The prosecution will call their first witness on Wednesday morning. Mr. Bailiff, bring in the jury and keep the press out.”
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, thank you for your patience. I know you’ve been in the hall for 15 minutes beyond our scheduled start time. I’ve some news. The attorneys and I were speaking about an unforeseen event which causes me to send you home for the next couple of days while the situation is worked out. You aren’t to speculate about what the event is, or how it was caused. I want to reiterate my previous admonitions to you. This is very important and you all must strictly adhere to this. You’re not to talk about this case with anyone, that includes your spouses, significant others, and friends. You’re absolutely not to watch or read any news, no matter what the source is. You’re not to discuss any topics in the news with anyone. If I find this is a problem, I’ll have to seriously consider sequestering the entire jury in a hotel throughout the entire trial to ensure compliance. Does everyone understand how important this is? Seeing affirmative nods from you, I’ll excuse you until 9:00 a.m. Wednesday.”
Nick’s jet touched down at noon, Topeka time. Before he unfastened his seat belt he was on the phone with Josh. “Orsini trailed the matter until tomorrow at four for a hearing on the admissibility of the evidence of the Topeka attack.”
“I’ll try to be back for that. Do a page or two pocket brief to file at the hearing in support of admissibility. I’d start with the attack showing consciousness of guilt and to explain Felicia’s demeanor as a witness if we can still get her to testify. We’re deplaning right now. I’m going straight to the hospital to check on Ana. I’ll call you later.” Nick hung up, without saying good-bye or waiting for a response from Josh.
Municipal Hospital was an old three-story building, painted army barracks grey. Nick hoped that the quality of the medical services far exceeded the looks of the building. From the outside of the building, Nick expected the doctors were still using leeches for bloodletting. Nick showed his Attorney General flasher at the reception desk and was sent to the fifth floor, rehabilitation. Nick thought i
t was a great sign Ana was not in intensive care. He brushed by a nurse leaving Ana’s room and saw Ana in an agitated sleep, eyelids fluttering.
Ana was dreaming about the New Jersey shore when she was eight. It was the first family vacation she could remember. She asked her father, “What are the numbers on your forearm?” Her father always wore long-sleeved shirts.
He responded, “A group of people, the Nazis, put it on me to dehumanize me. They put me, my family, and millions of other Jews in concentration camps. We worked for them as slaves. They killed a great number of our people, my entire family.”
“Don’t you hate them?” murmured eight-year-old Ana.
Her father, with sad eyes, replied, “Not anymore. The hate and bitterness were eating me up inside—I learned to let it go and concentrate on positive thoughts. We must persevere.”
Little Ana looked up at her tall, gaunt father, and said, “I love you Abba, but I don’t like them. I wouldn’t have let them do that to you if I’d been there.”
Nick pressed Ana’s hand. She slowly opened her eyes and focused on the room. Then, they just looked into each other’s eyes for an unknown time. Ana eventually smiled, “Well, big guy, you didn’t waste any time getting here. I like that.”
Nick gently hugged her, pressing the side of his face to her cheek that wasn’t swollen and bruised. “Remind me to never assign you to work outside of the office without a SWAT team along. You attract trouble like a garbage can attracts bears.”
“I love being compared to a garbage can—so romantic.”
“When I heard it was just a concussion and a few character-enhancing stitches above the eye, I promised to go back to church every Sunday. I don’t think God will recognize me—I haven’t been to his house in a few decades.”
“If this is what it takes to have you see the spiritual side of things, it’s worth it. Who knows, maybe you’ll convert someday to the chosen people. You’d look cute in a yarmulke.”
“Yeah,” said Nick, “I’d look great in a Jewish beanie. I don’t even look good in a ball cap.”
“Thank you for being here. I was up all night because of the concussion, thinking of you.”
“Every thought I had from when I first heard you were unconscious, wrapped around a pole, was of you and how I was going to get the bastards responsible.”
“They told me Felicia miraculously survived, but nothing about Lily. Did she survive?”
Nick’s voice softened, “Last I heard she’s in a coma and is in real bad shape. I’m going to check on her condition now, then check on Felicia, and I’ll be back to see you later this evening. I love you.”
“I think that’s only the second time I have heard you say that—both times in a hospital bed. We’ll have to work on you mustering up those beautiful words in a different environment.”
“Those words are kind of tough for a good old boy WASP to get out. To make amends, I will sneak some rugalach in for you tonight if I can find a Jewish deli in Topeka.”
Nick had to wait 20 minutes before Dr. Light, the neurosurgeon treating Deputy Perkins, could see him. “Mr. Drummond. Ms. Perkins is very lucky to be alive. She was on the operating table for six hours last night. I had to drill a hole in her skull to relieve the pressure of her swollen brain. She has a broken pelvis, shoulder, and ribs. She also had multiple fractures of her right tibia and femur. Not to mention various broken bones in her hands. Finally, she has third degree burns to her right arm. We believe she used it to shield her face. The outer layer of her skin and the entire under layer, the dermis, of her arm were destroyed, leaving blackened and charred residue. She’ll need extensive skin grafts from her legs and other arm if she survives. Her face received second degree burns, injuring the outer and lower layer of her skin. Thankfully, she won’t need skin grafts on her face. Ms. Perkins is still in a coma, which is probably a good thing. It’ll give her the best chance to heal. Give me your card and I’ll have my staff contact you about any significant updates.”
Next stop for Nick was the psychiatric ward where Felicia was speaking to a black-haired woman in a finely tailored suit. Felicia turned her head towards Nick as he came into the room and burst into tears. The well-dressed woman turned to Nick, with a frown. “I’m Dr. Lepinsky, the patient’s psychiatrist. What in the hell are you doing in this room?”
“Can we speak outside? I’m the prosecutor in a federal trial in San Diego that your patient is scheduled to testify at.”
They walked outside Felicia’s room. Nick gave the doctor the background about the case. He asked her about Felicia’s mental state. “I can’t give you any confidential details. She’s doing as well as can be expected after undergoing such a traumatic event. She was in severe shock last night. She’s been under medication. She’s no longer in shock and had calmed down until she saw you.”
“It’s vitally important that I talk to her. Can you please go inside and tell her that.”
“I’ll let her know. But I won’t let you talk to her unless she agrees and calms down.” Ten minutes later, Dr. Lepinsky came out and told Nick that Felicia was willing to talk to him. “But, you can only have a few minutes with her and I’ll be by her side.”
Nick slowly walked through the door. He smiled, “I apologize for rushing in on you without any warning. I’m so glad you’re doing better. I just want you to think about this. We’ve continued the trial for a couple of days for you to testify on Thursday, if you can. You have every reason to be scared out of your wits. I just saw Agent Ana, they shot at her car as she was coming up to your house and she crashed into a pole. She was unconscious and suffered a concussion. She’s much better. She’s two floors below you and asked about you. She told me her prayers are for both of you to be strong. You’ve gone through so much together. Lily is in very serious condition and still in a coma. The doctors are doing everything they can for her. A task force is working full time on the attack. The best way to ensure that you’ll be safe is to convict Luis and the other two bosses of the cartel. All the other, more low-level defendants have plead guilty and are serving prison sentences. They are no threat to you. Please, please just think about it. I’ll come back tomorrow morning and we can talk some more.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. She smiled slightly. “I’ll think about it. Tell Ana that my prayers are with her as well. I’ll never forget what she did for me.”
Nick got on the phone with Rona. “I need the direct line to the U.S. Marshal’s Special-Agent-In-Charge, Topeka, ASAP. I also need the address of any downtown Topeka Jewish bakery or deli. Don’t ask why.”
“Just a minute. I’m on my computer. I’m going through the passwords to access the federal law enforcement consolidated database. Here, it is. SAC Roger Poon. I’ll text you the number so you’ll have it. As for the deli—I can send you a link. Oh, I forgot, you don’t have internet access on your phone. You still haven’t gotten a smart phone. Do you realize the Department would get you one for free?”
“Yeah, I know, but I’d probably lose it. I lost my only iPhone within two months. Anyway, I don’t have the patience to look up this stuff. Also, what would you do with your free time?”
“Careful there. I could have a normal life if I wasn’t working overtime babysitting you.”
“For that I’m eternally grateful.”
“You should be. You’re in luck. There’s a deli three blocks from the hospital. From the hospital, go two blocks and take a left. It’s in the middle of the block on the right, Zeb’s.”
“Thank you. Remind me to double your holiday bonus.”
“Thank you so much my esteemed, gracious boss. I won’t know what to do with $10. Ciao.”
Nick called SAC Poon as he walked to the car. He explained the situation and Poon was happy to meet him at the crime scene in a hour. Nick drove straight to Zeb’s. Who’d ever think it? A New York style deli in the heart of Topeka. A middle-aged b
earded man, with deep creases along his forehead, was behind the counter. He greeted Nick with a taciturn smile, “What can I get for you?”
“Some of those,” pointing to the raspberry and chocolate, mini-size rolls of dough under the counter. Nick was afraid to try to pronounce the name of the treats. He had enough trouble with English.
“You mean the rugalach,” stressing the “a” in the last syllable and letting it roll off his tongue.
“Yes. Four of the raspberry and three of the chocolate.” He might as well eat one of the raspberry ones immediately.
Nick went to the home on Elm Street. He hoped that Lieutenant Jasco would still be there, overseeing the processing of the three scenes. A four block area was cordoned off. Police cars and fire trucks competed for space. Some were parked on lawns. Nick showed his ID and asked for Lieutenant Jasco. A uniformed police officer said, in a respectful voice, “I believe he’s at the command post, Sir. See that large trailer across from the burned-out home?”
Nick must be getting grey. Young officers he didn’t know never used to treat him with such deference. Then again, maybe it was a Midwest cultural thing. After showing his ID a couple more times, he entered the command trailer. Three men and a woman were huddled over a large composite drawing of a four block area. Nick introduced himself. Besides Lieutenant Jasco, there was the Assistant Special Agent in Charge(ASAC) from the local FBI office, the ASAC from DEA, and a woman who was the SAC for the Narcotic Division of the State AG’s Office. They went over the diagram together.
Jasco told the others, “This is to scale. My forensics team spent all night collecting evidence and measuring distances. This morning the computer geeks used their software magic to enter all the information and spit out the diagram.” The left of the diagram showed where eight bullet casings had been found from Agent Schwartz’ Glock, ejecting from the back left of her gun as she was firing outside the driver’s window. An accident reconstructionist made a preliminary finding that Ana was traveling at about 40 miles an hour when she hit the pole. The speed estimation was based on there being no skid marks, the car lost some speed when it jumped the curb, and the extent of the damage to the car when it hit the immovable object, the pole.
