James Grippando - Blood Money

The prosecutor groaned. “So we’ve got double hearsay,” she said. “The defense proposes to have Agent Henning tell the court what Mr. Swyteck told her that Sydney Bennett said to him. I think maybe I’ll object,” she said, adding a dose of sarcasm.

“Ms. Crawford has a point,” said the judge. “And you’ve got an attorney-client privilege problem on top of it. A lawyer can’t just come into court and reveal the things his client said to him unless his client has agreed to waive the privilege.”

“With all due respect, that seems a bit hypertechnical,” said Jack. “I’m confident that Sydney Bennett would waive the privilege under the circumstances and allow me to tell you what she said.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” the judge said. “The privilege belongs to the client. Only the client can waive it.”

If the judge himself was mounting that kind of opposition, Jack could feel all momentum slipping away. The prosecutor seized on it.

“Plus,” said Crawford, “we’re left with the fact that this highly unreliable evidence proves nothing. The issue here is whether Sydney Bennett was involved in bribing a juror. This hearing isn’t about who killed Dr. Fenning.”

Jack responded, “Judge, it all comes down to one thing: This Merselus, whoever he may be, is obsessed with Sydney Bennett. It fits with our theory that he bribed the juror on his own in order to get Sydney acquitted. When things didn’t go well between him and Sydney at the airport and Sydney ran away from him, he attacked me to find her. When that didn’t work, he killed Dr. Fenning to show me that he fully intends to act on his threats. When that didn’t work, he called the FBI to make sure they arrested Hewitt red-handed when he collected his bribe.”

“I don’t get that last part,” said the judge.

“He knew that Hewitt’s arrest would force Sydney to come out of hiding and return to this courtroom. The bottom line, Your Honor, is that if you force Sydney Bennett to come out of hiding to defend this motion, you are playing into this killer’s hands.”

“Oh, come on,” said the prosecutor. “That’s a sky-is-falling argument if I ever heard one. If anything, Merselus is an old boyfriend-some rich sugar daddy, I daresay-who bribed a juror to get her acquitted, and then once she got out of jail, she dumped him. She used him, just like she uses everybody else in her life. He got mad and made an anonymous call to the FBI to get Brian Hewitt caught collecting his bribe. That would put Sydney back in jail, where she belongs.”

The judge considered it. “Ms. Crawford actually does have a way of making things fit.”

The judge’s leaning was no surprise to Jack. It had been clear throughout the trial that he was of the mind that Sydney Bennett had murdered her daughter. The prosecutor continued to hammer away.

“Judge, we are talking about a manipulative, conniving woman who murdered her two-year-old daughter and was caught embracing the man who bought off a juror.”

“Okay, I have your argument,” said the judge. “Let me tell you where I come out. Mr. Swyteck, as the record stands now, I believe the prosecution has demonstrated that Sydney Bennett is sufficiently connected to the jury tampering in this case to justify overturning the verdict of not guilty.”

“Judge, but-”

“Don’t interrupt,” the judge said. “Since we do have the FBI here, I’m feeling charitable today. I’ll give you seventy-two hours to bring in Sydney Bennett. I’m not forcing her to testify, but I am telling you that, even if I allowed you to go forward with the evidence you’ve proffered, it isn’t enough to save your client’s not-guilty verdict. If she isn’t here in this courtroom within seventy-two hours, I will enter an order granting the prosecution’s motion to set aside the verdict on the grounds of jury tampering. And I will issue a warrant for the arrest of Sydney Bennett. That’s my ruling. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Very well,” said the judge. “Mr. Swyteck, notify my assistant if and when you are ready to proceed.”

We should send her to New Jersey,” said Theo.

Jack was back at his house on Key Biscayne with Theo and his grandmother. Immediately after finding the threat from Merselus on the back of the JUSTICE FOR SALE sign, Jack had put Theo on an airplane to bring Abuela back to Miami.

“New Jersey?” said Jack. He was standing in the kitchen, and Theo was seated on one of the barstools at the granite counter. Abuela was in the bathroom. “Why New Jersey?”

“It’s where they film that show that’s all over the Internet- Shit Abuelas Say . She’d be awesome.”

“Theo, I can’t begin to count the number of reasons why that would be a bad idea.”

“Half serious, remember?”

“Got it.”

The toilet flushed in the bathroom down the hall. It was Abuela’ s fourth visit since the plane had landed. That happened when she was nervous.

“Where your mop?” she asked as she entered Jack’s office.

“My map of what?”

“No mapa. Mop. El bano. Ay! Dios mio. ”

“Abuela , we have a cleaning service.”

“What they clean? Your wallet?”

“New Jersey,” said Theo, his voice rising.

Jack ignored him. “Sit, please.”

Theo helped her up onto the barstool beside him. Jack came closer to the counter, leaning toward her. “I know all this back and forth from Tampa to Miami must seem really crazy to you, but I don’t want you to worry. You’ll be safe here.”

“I stay here with you?”

“Yeah. I talked it over with Andie, and that’s the best thing.”

She smiled. “Bueno.”

There was a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” said Theo, but when he got up, his foot caught on the stool. It sounded like a multicar pileup on I-95 as he and the stool hit the tile floor, but Theo was okay. He crossed the living room and opened the door. It was the neighbor’s son, RJ.

“Hi, Max!” RJ shouted.

Max lifted his head. He’d slept through the multicar pileup in the kitchen, but he was suddenly wide awake and barking as if he had smelled RJ approaching a block away from the house.

“That’s some watchdog you’ve got there,” said Theo.

Max was all over RJ, and they went down for a wrestling match on the floor. RJ quickly had the upper hand. He was big for thirteen, a force on the middle school basketball court in his size-twelve shoes, and Jack regarded him as poster child for twenty-first-century Miami: Cuban on his mother’s side, Lebanese on his father’s, and his favorite food was sushi, which he’d learned to roll himself from his uncle, whose fiancee was Japanese. When Max was pinned, RJ looked at Jack and said, “We’re leaving for Charleston tomorrow. I just wanted to see what time you wanted me to pick up my travel buddy.”

Jack hesitated. The original thought had been to send Abuela to Tampa to stay with her brother and to send Max away for the rest of the summer with the Kayals, who rented a beach house in South Carolina every year. Jack knew RJ was going to be disappointed.

“Actually, there’s been a change of plan,” said Jack.

“Max can’t go?” said RJ.

The sadness in the boy’s voice was bad enough. The pathetic expression on Max’s face made it even worse. It was as if Mighty Casey had just struck out and they were in the heart of Mudville. Jack glanced at Abuela , who shot him a reproving look that seemed to say, Have you no heart? Send the dog!

“You know what?” said Jack. “Let’s just stick to the plan. I’ll have him and all his stuff ready for you tonight.”