James Sheehan - The Law of Second Chances

“Very well, Mr. Tobin. This court is dismissed until nine a.m. tomorrow.”

Jack followed his usual procedure and went to Mike McDermott’s office for a couple of hours to prepare for the next day’s testimony. He didn’t know who was going to show up or what they were going to say. He prepared open-ended questions, hoping for the best. At seven-thirty, he hopped in a cab and headed uptown. His original plan was to go straight to Aunt Dorothy’s apartment and get to bed, but he decided to stop at P. J. Clarke’s for a beer or two. He needed to unwind.

The first beer didn’t do the trick, nor did the second. He had succeeded in getting the felony murder count dismissed, but Benny was on the verge of going away at least for the rest of his life. That reality weighed heavily on Jack’s shoulders.

The Tuesday-morning newspapers universally praised Jack for his tough, thorough cross-examination of the state’s witnesses the previous day. However, the consensus of every reporter was that Benny was going down. It was cold, rainy, and windy when Jack stepped into the back seat of the old Mercedes to have George drive him to the courthouse downtown. His head was buried in his files during the entire trip. Luckily, he didn’t have time to read the newspapers.

The courtroom was packed and buzzing. Luis was keeping a stiff upper lip. He patted Jack on the back when he arrived at counsel table and sat down. The guards brought Benny out a few minutes later. Benny’s face was drawn, as if he hadn’t slept. The reality of what had occurred in the courtroom the day before was written all over his face. He looked like a condemned man.

A few minutes before nine, Jack looked to the rear of the courtroom and saw Dick Radek and Joaquin Sanchez standing against the back wall. The guards wouldn’t have let anybody else do that: they were showing deference to the badge. Jack nodded at both men. He was visibly relieved to see his old friends, people he could trust-and had trusted-with his life. Just then, Henry walked in. Jack motioned for him to come to the bar.

“You can sit at counsel table with me if you want,” he told him.

Henry was dressed in blue jeans, a flannel shirt, and a leather jacket. He didn’t feel like sitting on the other side of the bar with the lawyers and the court personnel. Hell, even Benny had a suit on. “I’ll stand in the back with your cop buddies, if you don’t mind,” he told Jack.

“That’s fine. How many witnesses do you have for me?”

“Two,” he said, handing Jack a folder. “Charlie is ready to testify as well.”

“Great! Great job, Henry,” he said, opening the folder.

The judge walked into the courtroom just as they were finishing their conversation. Jack returned to his place and quickly started flipping through the few pages of notes and other documents in the folder; Henry moved to the back of the room and stood with Dick and Joaquin. Nobody told him to sit down.

When all the spectators and reporters had risen and were seated again, the judge addressed Jack.

“Call your first witness, Mr. Tobin.”

“The defense calls Mr. Valentine Busby.”

The bailiff left the room and returned seconds later with Valentine Busby. The old man looked fairly presentable in a pair of black slacks and a short-sleeved white shirt that he and Henry had bought in Wisconsin. Valentine raised his right hand, took the oath, sat in the witness stand, and stated his name for the record.

“Where do you live, Mr. Busby?” Jack began, still sneaking a glance at the notes.

“I live at 26 Robin Lane, Micanopy, Florida.”

“Do you live alone?”

“Yes, I live by myself.”

“And what do you do in Micanopy?”

“I’m a farmer.”

“Did you always live at that address alone?”

“No. I used to live with a man named Leonard Woods. I actually worked for Mr. Woods. I lived in an apartment attached to the main house. Mr. Woods left me the house when he died.”

“Was Mr. Woods a farmer too?”

“No. He was a professor of microbiology at the University of Florida in Gainesville, which is about twenty miles up the road from Micanopy.”

“Do you know if Mr. Woods knew a man named Carl Robertson?”

“Yes. Leonard had known Carl for about five years. They were working on something together.”

“Did you know Carl Robertson?”

“I met him once. He came to the house to see Leonard about a year and a half ago.”

“Do you know what they were working on?”

“I haven’t a clue. There’s a man in Wisconsin who knows. He was also a microbiology professor and a friend of Leonard’s. His name is Milton Jeffries.”

“Now, you were approached about this case by my investigator, a man named Henry Wilson, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Was he the first person who contacted you about this case?”

“No. A man named Sal Paglia called about six months ago. I told him that Leonard knew Carl and that they were working together on something, pretty much exactly what I told Henry-Henry Wilson, your investigator. And, of course, I told him that Leonard was dead.”

“How did Leonard die?”

That was enough for Spencer Taylor. “Objection, your honor. This entire line of questioning is totally irrelevant.”

The judge looked at Jack, who responded, “Judge, the next two witnesses will establish the relevancy, I assure you.”

Jack could tell he had piqued Langford Middleton’s curiosity. “I’ll allow it,” the judge announced. “Make it quick, Mr. Tobin.”

“I will, your honor.” Jack turned his attention back to Valentine. “How did Leonard die?”

“He was struck by a hit-and-run driver.”

“Was the driver ever caught?”

“No.”

“Tell the jury the circumstances of the hit-and-run.”

Spencer Taylor was on his feet again. “Your honor, this is totally irrelevant.”

“I assume that is an objection, Mr. Taylor? Overruled. Mr. Tobin, my patience is running thin.”

“Yes, your honor, I’m almost done.”

He didn’t have to ask the question again. “He was hit on Robin Lane at seven in the morning,” Valentine answered. “Robin Lane is a little dirt road that is very bumpy. Most cars can only go ten miles an hour on it.”

“And when did this take place?”

“As I said, seven o’clock in the morning. It was on September 2, 1998.”

Someone in the gallery let out a loud gasp, and there was a general murmuring. Obviously those who were following the case closely had picked up on the fact that Leonard Woods was killed the morning after Carl Robertson was murdered.

Judge Middleton banged his gavel for the first time in the entire trial. “Silence!” he bellowed. “If you want to talk, leave the courtroom. If you talk here again, you will be removed.” The murmuring stopped.

“No further questions, your honor.”

“Cross-examination, Mr. Taylor?”

Spencer Taylor looked like he wanted to beat Valentine Busby over the head, but Busby was a dangerous witness, and there was nothing to gain by cross-examination. So far, he had just raised a coincidence. The defense still had a long way to go to connect the dots. “No questions, your honor.”

“Call your next witness, Mr. Tobin.”

“The defense calls Ms. Charlene Pope.”

Charlie was looking her professional best in a blue business suit, and she gave Jack a warm and encouraging smile as she sat in the witness chair. Jack first took her through her qualifications, then started in on the significant portion of his direct examination.

“Ms. Pope, were you hired by me to do anything in this case?”

“Yes, I was.”

“And what were you asked to do?”

“You asked me to review the last five years of financial records of Mr. Carl Robertson to see if there was anything in those records that might shed some light on why he was killed. You also asked me to review the telephone records of Mr. Robertson for the same reason.”