Steve Martini - Undue Influence

‘How did I benefit?’ he asks.

‘Your wife has a lover. You were jealous. She got pregnant. So you killed her, framed your former spouse, and used the tragedy to ease your own sentence on criminal charges. Masterful,’ I tell him. ‘Brilliant. It almost worked.’

‘That’s bullshit,’ he says.

‘What one could expect from a man who has survived by his wits in the Legislature for two decades.’ I speak like this is some den of thieves, a rabbit warren for breeding organized crime, which Jack has now confirmed by his own conduct. What the public suspect, what we both know, that there is a litany of further indictments in the offing. With any luck these will be breaking during our case-in-chief.

He repeats the denial, Jack’s stock-in-trade: ‘Bullshit. This is bullshit.’

Woodruff seems to give him license here, realizing that the witness is at a loss for words, that in defense he should be allowed his best form of expression. It has its effect on the jury, and Jack slowly realizes this.

‘I lost my wife.’ He sits up straight in the chair, finds the last scrap of dignity, and stares me in the eye.

‘And you found the silver lining in that adversity, didn’t you?’ I wave the sentencing brief in my hand for him to see.

It is a question that requires no response. The answer lies in Vega’s weary eyes as he surveys the media, knowing what is in store. It is a classic case, Jack digging himself a hole by his convenient memory. It started with the gun, a throwaway issue in this case, that he could easily have disclosed to the cops. But to Jack there was more intrigue in concealment. The adventure of deception has made up the better part of his life. This first slipup tainted him as to the second, the rug and its true ownership. If Jack had been a standup guy on the pistol and told the cops about it, his word might have carried more weight as against the black-and-white terms of the settlement agreement.

As it is, this all now devolves in a common theme about Jack’s neck, that nothing he says can be believed, that here sits a man who is a stranger to the truth. It is a portrait now stretched and displayed in the chipped and frayed frame of political corruption, an image that could be properly hung only in a rogues’ gallery.

This morning I’m in the office going over some last-minute details before heading for court when the com-line on my phone buzzes.

‘Yes’.

‘Your nephew is here to see you.’

‘Who?’

‘Danny Vega,’ she says.

‘Here?’

‘Yes. Shall I send him in?’

The shock of my life. ‘Go ahead,’ I say.

A minute later shadows on the translucent glass of the door, and Danny ambles into my office. He’s lost some weight and looks like he hasn’t shaved the light peach fuzz from his chin in a few days. His clothes have the look of travel, a wrinkled shirt and jeans with tailored fraying around the knees that could use a washing, dark athletic shoes like combat boots, and no socks.

‘Uncle Paul,’ he says. It’s always the same with Danny. He will be calling me Uncle Paul when he is thirty-five and I am walking with a crutch. A shy grin. He holds out his hand for me to shake.

‘What are you doing here?’ I’m standing over my desk, gripping his hand. I don’t mean to be inhospitable, but Danny’s timing has always left something to be desired. He was safely ensconced a half continent away for the duration, and neither I nor his mother need this distraction at the moment.

‘I was worried about Mom,’ he says. ‘Thought maybe she could use some support.’

‘Where’s Julie?’ I ask.

‘She’s fine. She’s back there,’ he tells me. We are still playing cryptic games as to where precisely this is. ‘I came out on the bus,’ he says. ‘Maggie knows. I just couldn’t stay there anymore. I had to see how Mom was doing.

‘She’s fine,’ I tell him. ‘I have a feeling she’s going to be pretty upset when she finds out you’re back here.’

‘Yeah. Well …’ He shrugs a little, like maybe she asked for too much.

‘I saw the morning paper,’ he says. ‘The news about Dad.’

He could not miss this. Every paper in the state is carrying it on the front page: LONGTIME LEGISLATOR CONVICTED OF CORRUPTION.

As much as Danny does not get on with his father, he takes no pleasure in Jack’s misfortune. He asks me if it’s really true. I tell him that it is, and Danny floors me with his perception.

‘I guess I always knew that someday he’d get in trouble,’ he says. ‘What will happen to him?’ he asks.

I shake my head, like I haven’t a clue.

‘Will he go to jail too?’

‘I don’t know,’ I tell him. ‘That’s up to the judge.’

‘But it helped Mom’s case?’ he says. ‘I mean the information about him.’ In the tradeoffs of life Danny can live with this, his father’s conviction, if it helps Laurel.

‘It helped,’ I say. How can I tell the boy that I’m trying to put the ring of murder around his father’s neck?

‘Things are going well for your mother at the moment.’ I leave it at that and change the subject before he can pursue further. ‘You can’t stay here,’ I tell him.

‘Why not?’

‘The court in the custody case has an outstanding order,’ I say.

‘Have I done something wrong?’

‘No, but your dad has custody.’

Danny was thinking that maybe the news in the paper changed all that. I assure him that it did not. If his father is sentenced to time in prison, and Laurel is still in jail, Danny and Julie will become wards of the court. If that happens I will wade in and try for custody.

‘I’ll stay at Mom’s apartment,’ he says. ‘Nobody will look there.’ It’s like he’s already figured this out.

What can I say? ‘Why don’t you go now. And clean up. I’ll have some food sent over. Groceries,’ I tell him. Harry knows a woman who can take care of this. ‘Do you have clean clothes over there?’

He nods. ‘But I wanna know everything that’s happening,’ he says, ‘in Mom’s case.’

‘I don’t have time right now. I’ll call you. We can talk later,’ I tell him. ‘Dinner at my place tonight. You can get the Vespa then.’ This has been in my garage since Danny left Capital City.

‘I’ve already got it,’ he says. ‘Stopped by on the way over here. Hope you don’t mind?’ he says.

‘Why should I mind? Clean up and get some rest,’ I tell him. ‘You look tired.’ The boy has rings of unrequited sleep under his eyes.

‘Sure,’ he says. He turns to leave.

‘And Danny — don’t go near the jail.’ Like a seer I know what’s running through his mind — a visit to his mom. ‘They’ll nail you as soon as you sign in,’ I tell him. ‘You’ll be living with your dad again.’

I see this register in his eyes, the admission that this is probably where he was headed. He nods, and like that he is gone.

Cassidy cannot rest her case on the sour note that was Jack’s testimony and the hair-raising revelation of his criminal convictions.

Today Dana is just outside the courtroom, waiting to see what happens. As a name I had placed on my witness list, chaff for Cassidy to mull over, she cannot enter. I think her proximity here is a bad idea and have told her so. On the way in Cassidy was giving her looks to kill. Morgan knows where the information to destroy Jack came from, and Dana by her mere presence here is now rubbing salt into the open wound. This is payback, I think, for Morgan’s earlier attempts to interfere in Dana’s judicial aspirations, Cassidy’s efforts to turn the Queen’s Bench against Dana, and Lama’s shot at shifting blame for the news leaks on the bombing to Dana and her people. All of these efforts have failed, but Dana is not one to forget.