Читать книгу For The Defense - M.J. Rodgers - Страница 9

DIANA ACCEPTED Jack’s suggestion to talk about the case over lunch. Normally, she ate at her desk, unwilling to accept the long lines that were inevitable at good restaurants. But talking with him while grabbing a bite would actually be a more efficient use of their time.

Still, she felt uneasy.

She’d worked closely with both Richard and David Knight on cases, even shared an occasional meal with Richard without a moment’s unease. Jack’s brothers were also very good-looking, but she felt different around Jack, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.

It probably had something to do with watching him work his magic on Connie. That had been damn scary. Jack knew how to get a woman to talk to him and to trust him with effortless charm. She had no doubt that he could probably make a woman believe anything he said.

How could a woman ever know when he was being sincere?

Diana led the way to a favorite restaurant not far from her office. They got a great table on the second-story terrace that overlooked the street below. The day was dull, as most days in Western Washington were. In the distance the snow-capped peaks of the Olympic Mountains wore dark lumpy hats of cumulus clouds.

But the early summer temperature was mild and the air tasted sweet, reminding Diana that people whose jobs chained them to desks all day needed to get out for a little natural light and fresh air once in a while.

The restaurant catered to business clientele, its patrons appropriately attired. But Jack had taken off his suit coat and tie, opened the collar of his shirt and rolled its sleeves to the elbows. Despite the lack of sunshine, he wore large reflective sunglasses and—what was strangest of all—a false beard.

After the waiter had taken their orders and scurried away, the reason for Jack’s altered appearance finally occurred to Diana.

“Do you still get recognized when you go out in public?” she asked.

“Enough that I do my best to avoid it.”

“How do fans react to seeing a screen villain in the flesh?”

“Depends on the fan. The nice ones smile and ask for my autograph.”

“And the others?”

“They demand to know why I stole my uncle’s business while he was in the hospital with a brain tumor, refused to give my nephew part of my liver when he required a transplant, drove my horse-racing competitor to suicide, seduced my sister’s best friend when she was in mourning, denied her baby was mine and then tried to murder her husband when he returned from the Amazon—having not been killed in the plane crash after all—only to find he was my long-lost brother who had been raised in the orphanage when we were separated as infants.”

She shook her head in amusement. “My, my, you were busy. I must have missed taping a few of the shows.”

“I’m surprised you taped any. You don’t strike me as a soap fan.”

“Mel was writing a paper that involved your TV character, and my assignment was to preserve your performances via the VCR,” she admitted. “You might find her conclusions interesting reading.”

“If Mel wrote the paper, I might find her conclusions above my reading comprehension.”

He was smiling, and Diana suddenly found herself smiling back. She knew few adults—and no men—who would have felt comfortable enough with themselves to admit that, even in jest.

This man had a couple of nice points about him.

The waiter delivered Diana’s seafood salad and Jack’s sliced roast beef along with their iced teas. Diana realized she was quite hungry and dug in. Her first bite tasted heavenly. This sure beat yogurt and an apple at her desk.

“I understand why you don’t want Connie convicted of murder,” he said between bites. “That would be unjust.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” she said, and she was. But she was cautious, too. “Now tell me why you feel that way.”

She studied his face for any sign of the confidence with which he’d greeted her that morning. Or the captivating attention he’d lavished on Connie. But his sunglasses and beard hid so much of his face that reading any expression was next to impossible.

“Connie isn’t capable of intentionally squashing a bug, much less a man,” he said. “I can’t imagine that anyone talking with her for five minutes could think otherwise.”

Actually, Diana knew a lot of people too cynical to see her client for who she was. She was relieved to learn Jack wasn’t one of those people. That told her something important about him that nothing else could have. He did have some genuine emotional substance beneath the polished surface.

“Have you told the prosecutor what happened?” he asked.

Diana’s mouth was full of chunks of tender shrimp and fresh avocado. She shook her head in response.

“I think you should. Any prosecutor who heard Connie’s story would understand that she wasn’t responsible for her actions at the time she ran over Bruce Weaton.”

Diana swallowed before responding. “Any prosecutor in the wonderful world of TV maybe. In real life our Chief Prosecutor has too much time and effort invested in proving Connie’s guilt to entertain any thoughts of her possible innocence.”

“You don’t think he’d care about getting to the truth?”

“All George Staker cares about is arranging the facts in front of a jury so he wins the case. If I told him Connie’s story, he not only wouldn’t believe me, he’d do everything within his power to use the information against her.”

“You’ve been up against Staker before,” Jack guessed.

Diana nodded.

“Tell me about it.”

She sipped her tea as she gave his request some careful thought. It would be fair to tell him, she supposed. If he stayed on this case, he would need to know exactly what he’d be up against. Relating the basic facts should be enough.

“My client was a retired military man in his sixties, taking care of his wife who had terminal cancer,” she began. “He got up to attend to her in the middle of the night and inadvertently gave her too much medication. In the morning, he found her dead. Staker claimed the man had deliberately given his wife an overdose to collect on her term life insurance that was due to expire. He charged him with murder.”

“Are you sure your client was innocent?”

“Positive. I spoke to the hospice nurse. She’d visited the night my client’s wife died and administered pain medication without mentioning that fact to my client. He was asleep on the couch, exhausted from caring for his wife. When he was awakened a few hours later by his wife’s moaning, he gave her another dose of medication, assuming she hadn’t had any. When I learned all this, I went to Staker and asked him to drop the charges.”

“He didn’t,” Jack guessed.

“And he used what I told him to strengthen the state’s case. In his opening statement to the jury, he said the hospice nurse had spent many nights at my client’s home, implying they were having an affair. When the hospice nurse got on the stand, Staker cross-examined her about her recent divorce and asked if she was lying because she wanted my client’s wife dead so she could be with him.”

“And her denial didn’t carry any weight,” Jack said, “because the force of the accusation was enough to get the jury to believe the affair was true.”

Diana nodded. “I’m always amazed how ready people are to think the worst about someone without a lick of proof.”

“Your client was convicted?”

Diana put down her fork, her appetite suddenly abandoning her. “He took his own life.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jack had spoken the words softly. Without his impressive array of facial expressions and tonal range, he still sounded very sincere. Diana wondered how he’d managed to do that. Was that ability part of his training, or could it be she was seeing the real him?

“When did this happen?” he asked after a moment.

She hadn’t thought she’d share this next part. Now she realized she wanted to.

“Two years ago. I’m still not able to discuss the case dispassionately. Maybe I never will be. My client was a good man who loved his wife dearly. He was depressed over her death and filled with guilt for having had a part in ending her life prematurely, however unintentional.”

“Is that why he killed himself?”

“I think he would have come out of his depression if he hadn’t been unfairly accused and tried. He left a letter, thanking me for believing him and asking me to make sure that the hospice nurse was not victimized.”

“What did Staker say when you showed him the letter?”

Diana spoke the words through a clenched jaw. “He said he wished the guy hadn’t killed himself before the jury had reached their guilty verdict because he was robbed of another win. Staker was competing with the prosecutor in a neighboring county for most convictions within a calendar year.”

Jack called Staker a filthy name, so filthy in fact that Diana decided right then that she liked Jack very much.

“Is Staker in another competition?” he asked, his tone cool with contempt. “Or does he have a vendetta against Connie?”

“I don’t know about another competition,” Diana said, “but he never has anything personal against a defendant. They’re simply not real to him. Nothing and no one is real to Staker but Staker. The law is something he uses for his own ends. He intends to use Connie’s trial to launch his campaign for judge. Her high-profile trial and conviction will give him the media spotlight he craves as the ‘hard on crime’ candidate.”

Jack chewed for a few minutes before he asked his next question. “What about the judge who will hear the case? Can you talk to him or her?”

“Him. William Gimbrere. He’s a friend of Barbara Weaton’s. And he would not be willing to listen.”

“As a friend of the mother of the victim, shouldn’t Gimbrere excuse himself from the case?”

“Every judge in the county is a friend of Barbara Weaton’s. Earl Payman should have petitioned the court for a change of venue at the time he entered Connie’s plea. He didn’t. When I did, Gimbrere told me the request had come too late and turned me down.”

“I can’t imagine that when the jury hears Connie’s story, they won’t at least opt for the lesser charge of involuntary manslaughter.”

“The only option the prosecution is going to give them is guilty or not guilty of first-degree murder. There will be no lesser charge from which they can choose.”

“The prosecutor can do that?” Jack asked.

“He’s done it.”

“But there’s no way he can prove premeditation.”

“A death doesn’t have to be premeditated to qualify as first-degree murder. Paraphrasing Washington State law, a defendant can be found guilty of first-degree murder if he or she manifests an extreme indifference to human life by engaging in conduct that creates a grave risk of death to any person and thereby causes the death of a person.”

“Like deliberately running over a guy with your car,” Jack said, nodding.

“And you can be sure that Staker will do everything he can to try to prove Connie did that deliberately.”

“How can he?”

“By characterizing Connie as a jealous lover. Bruce’s nephew said he was showing Connie his new bike and the next thing he knew she was running from the garage. Staker claims that Connie saw another woman’s panties lying on the dashboard of Bruce’s Mercedes and suddenly realized that Bruce was two-timing her.”

“The panties were there?”

“Red lace bikini,” Diana confirmed. “Part of the physical evidence in the prosecution’s case.”

“And the owner?”

“Tina Uttley, an employee at the real estate firm Bruce owned with his father and brother, identified them as hers. She’s also admitted to having an affair with Bruce at the time he was romancing Connie.”

“Did Bruce’s family know he’d proposed to Connie?” Jack asked.

“They said nothing about knowing in their statements to the sheriff’s office.”

Jack put down his knife and fork, pushed his empty plate aside. “Connie would have said something about Bruce seeing another woman if she’d known.”

“I’m certain you’re right,” Diana said. “But Staker’s going to claim that she realized the significance of the panties and that jealousy was her motive for killing Bruce.”

“Even though the nephew never mentioned that Connie even looked into the car?”

“All Staker has to do is put Connie in the vicinity and make the idea she saw the panties sound plausible. Without any other explanation for her running out of the garage, he’ll count on his suggestion to be taken as fact by the jury.”

Jack shook his head. “Connecting the dots so the picture of a lamb turns out to look like that of a lion.”

“Pretty scary how well Staker is able to connect those dots, too.”

When the waiter arrived to remove their empty dishes, Diana ordered iced tea refills as an excuse to keep squatter’s rights on their table. “A trial is basically the telling of two conflicting stories,” she said after the waiter had gone. “The story that seems to be the clearest and most believable to the jury given the supporting evidence will be the one they accept. I have to make Connie’s story the one the jury will believe.”

“How can I help?”

She liked the way he’d phrased that. Not, what is my job? Not, what do you want me to do? But, how can I help?

With every passing minute, Diana became more convinced that Jack really wanted to help.

“First,” she said, “you’re going to have to put Bruce Weaton in that car at the scene of Amy’s hit-and-run five years ago, establish an unbreakable link between him and the locket Connie found hidden in his garage, have every piece of physical evidence analyzed and authenticated by an outside forensic lab and do it without Staker knowing.”

“Oh, is that all,” Jack said, with good-natured sarcasm.

“No, that’s only step one of three.”

The waiter refilled their glasses, and Jack squeezed a slice of lemon over his iced tea. “Why an outside forensic lab?”

“One of our strongest weapons will be surprise. Staker and Sheriff Riker have been buddies since high school. What Sheriff Riker knows, Staker knows. We have to maintain complete secrecy about Connie’s story until she takes the stand.”

“So Staker can’t try to twist the facts the way he did in your other case.”

“And nearly every other case he’s prosecuted. I’ve watched him at several major trials. His strength lies in knowing exactly what to expect from the defense and putting his own spin on the facts. He can’t deal with surprises, which is why he mustn’t know that Connie is going to testify, much less what she’s going to say.”

“If you don’t present the evidence of Bruce’s involvement in the hit-and-run until after Connie has testified,” Jack said, “what will you say in the opening statement?”

“I’m not giving an opening statement. Judge Gimbrere’s a firm believer that a jury should base their decision on the evidence, not on a lawyer’s interpretation of that evidence, which is what he considers both opening and closing statements by trial attorneys to be. He’d restricted us to one statement to the jury. Staker chose an opening statement. I opted for a closing.”

“Staker will run the show at the onset of the trial,” Jack said. “Won’t overcoming the jury’s early conclusions be difficult?”

“Very,” Diana agreed. “The judge will caution the jury not to form an opinion until all the evidence is in, but many will do so anyway. The people who have investigated the psychology of juries say that members place the most weight on what they hear first and last. By the time I’m through, I’m going to shift that weight to Connie’s side.”

Despite the confidence Diana put into her words, she knew that her chances were slim. She had an incredibly complex case and was up against the most ruthless and feared prosecutor in the county. And she hadn’t even told Jack the most difficult part yet.

“Has Connie given you a description of the car that hit Amy?”

“Not a very good one,” Diana admitted. “She doesn’t know much about cars and everything happened so quickly. All she could remember was that the headlights were round and close together. There was a vertical grill on the front and the fenders were high above the tires.”

“Color?”

“Just an impression of gray as it sped toward the porch.”

“Age?”

“I showed her a book of old cars. She didn’t recognize any.”

“Maybe we’re talking about a classic or sports car as opposed to an old one.”

“Quite possibly,” Diana agreed. “The fact that Connie found Amy’s locket in Bruce’s garage tells me he parked the car there after killing her child. At some point the locket must have fallen off the car and ended up unnoticed in the corner. What we have to do is get a crime scene unit to scour the place for more forensic evidence without Staker knowing.”

“Who owns the property now?”

“According to the county assessor’s office, Donald and Joyce Epstein, formerly of Plainfield, New Jersey. The sale included all personal items—furniture, appliances, dishes, flatware, even towels.”

“Which implies that the Weaton family didn’t remove much, if anything, before putting the property on the market.”

“That’s the way I read it,” Diana agreed.

“When did escrow close?”

“Last week. I drove by the place yesterday. No one has moved in yet. If the Weatons or Epsteins haven’t cleaned out the garage, there might be some evidence left.”

Jack repositioned the Rolex on his wrist. “Being able to tie Bruce to Amy’s hit-and-run will blow Staker’s supposed jealousy motive right out of the water.”

“Yes, and that’s important. The jury needs to understand that Connie is not the kind of woman who would fly into a jealous rage. If she had discovered Bruce cheated on her, quietly fading away would have been far more in character for her.”

“Speaking of character, the villain I played in Seattle was brought to trial on a first-degree murder charge. As I remember, there was a scene where my attorney had to disclose to the prosecutor who he was going to call as witnesses.”

“The writers on your series did their homework,” Diana said. “I do have to give Staker a list of potential defense witnesses.”

“Then how are you going to keep him from knowing who you’re going to call to the stand?”

“My initial witness list will have close to sixty names—few of whom I actually plan to call on to testify. Each week I’ll add more names.”

“How does that help?”

“All those extra names will camouflage who I’m really going to have testify. Staker won’t have a chance to check out all the witnesses. Knowing him, he probably won’t bother to check out any since he thinks he’s got an airtight case.”

“If he sees the names of private forensic lab personnel, he’s bound to know that something is up,” Jack pointed out.

Diana liked the questions Jack was asking. They told her he had a good mind and was thinking carefully about the case. Despite his lack of experience, he was hitting on some key points.

“I’ll be requesting that a lot of the physical evidence evaluated by the sheriff’s department be reevaluated at an outside lab,” she said. “When I put the names of the lab personnel on my list, Staker will assume they’re a smoke screen. Chances are he won’t bother deposing them.”

“Give him a forest so he won’t see the trees,” Jack said with a smile. “I’ve always liked clever women.”

Diana shortened the smile she gave him, reminding herself that liking Jack too much wasn’t a good idea.

“Once Connie takes the stand and tells the jury what happened, we’ll go right to the proof that Bruce killed her child,” she said.

“And effectively turn the tables on Staker by putting Bruce Weaton on trial instead of Connie.”

“Which is going to bring some immediate questions to the minds of the jurors.”

“Such as why Bruce pursued Connie after he’d gotten away with the hit-and-run murder of her child?”

No doubt about it, Jack was very quick.

“Yes,” Diana confirmed. “Step two of getting Connie acquitted will be answering that important question as well as others. Even when the law doesn’t require motives to be established, juries always look for them. Wanting things to make sense is part of what makes us human.”

Jack nodded. “Why we do something is often as important as what we do.”

She placed her forearms on the table, aware she couldn’t have put it better. “And, for the life of me, I can’t imagine what possessed Bruce to do what he did. He was responsible for the death of Connie’s child and had successfully hidden his crime. Why would he pursue her? I would think she’d be the last woman he’d want to be around, if he had any conscience.”

“Maybe that was the problem,” Jack said. “He didn’t have a conscience. Or he got some sick thrill out of getting the mother of the child he’d murdered to fall in love with him.”

That thought gave Diana the chills.

Jack counted off on his fingers. “First, you want me to prove Bruce killed Amy. Second, you want me to find out about Bruce so the jury understands what drove him to pursue Connie.”

“Yes,” Diana answered. She could feel his next question coming. She’d been waiting for it.

“That’s two things. You said there were three. What’s the third?”

“The third thing could be the toughest,” she admitted. “I have to be sure to seat a jury who will listen to Connie, understand the shock she was in and believe her when she says that she was only trying to get away from Bruce that day. Because even if we prove to the jury that Bruce killed her child, and help them to understand his motive in pursuing Connie, and they sympathize with the awful shock she must have felt when she learned what he did, they can still convict her of murder if they believe she deliberately tried to kill him.”

Jack was quiet a moment. Diana had no clue as to where he might be looking or what he might be thinking. She was beginning to resent those sunglasses that reflected back her own image and nothing of the man wearing them.

“How are you going to seat a jury made up of people with open minds and the ability to recognize the truth when they hear it?” he finally asked.

“By your investigating the hundred and fifty people whose names have been selected as prospective jurors so we can weed out the ones who won’t while identifying the ones who will.”

“A hundred and fifty prospective jurors?” he repeated, his voice rising a full octave from its deep bases.

“The original jury pool was close to seven hundred,” she added. “The others were dropped after a preliminary questionnaire established they had either heard or read about the case, had hardship circumstances that prevented them from serving, or were relatives or friends of law enforcement or others connected with the case.”

“How long did that take?”

“Two months. Judge Gimbrere told Staker and me in a pretrial conference last week that we had to select our jury from this panel. He was adamant that he would not call up any others.”

“How long do I have to investigate these people?”

“Formal jury selection starts in six weeks. We have to gather every piece of information we can about these people by then in order to know which twelve we want sitting in the jury box.”

“You want me to investigate a hundred and fifty people in addition to gathering the evidence to prove Bruce killed Amy and discovering his motive for pursuing Connie, and do it all in six weeks?”

“Yes,” Diana said as if she was making an everyday request. “Everything has to be done before we go to trial.”

Now he knew. The next move was his.

Jack rested casually against the back of his chair, the index finger of his right hand gliding along the rim of his iced tea glass. Whatever he was thinking was well hidden behind his disguise.

As the silence lengthened, the waiting became more difficult for Diana to bear. She looked away from him to stare at the blur of people passing by on the sidewalk below.

Jack had to know that she’d asked him to accomplish the impossible. A team of professional trial consultants would probably be able to give her a thumbnail sketch on a hundred and fifty prospective jurors in the time available. But not even they could provide the kind of in-depth analysis she required in order to know whom she could trust with Connie’s life.

If such an analysis was even possible. Diana had no idea. But she couldn’t ask anything less of Jack. Connie’s life was at stake.

The Court had approved the expense for only one private investigator. Her motion requesting a trial date extension had both led to an immediate grunt of “no” from Judge Gimbrere and an undisguised snicker from Staker.

She was doing what she had to do. And Jack was going to have to do what he had to do. Chances were good he’d be getting up and walking out any minute now.

A part of her wouldn’t blame him. And, yet, she acknowledged that another part of her would be very disappointed.

A few hours ago she’d been hoping he would walk out on this case so she could get someone better qualified. But that was before she’d seen him with Connie. He hadn’t simply gotten her client to talk. He had listened to her story with compassion.

Diana realized now she’d been overlooking a key ingredient to Connie’s successful defense. Jack had the most important qualification a private investigator could have on this case—a firm belief in the client’s innocence.

What was she going to do if he walked out?

Diana started when Jack suddenly downed the contents of his glass, grabbed the check and stood.

Her heart sank. He was getting ready to run.

Jack whipped off his sunglasses and smiled at her in pure, unbridled enthusiasm. “Come on, Diana. We’re wasting time sitting around here. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”