Harlan Coben: Caught

"Yes, fine, entered, broke in, whatever pleases Mr. Man over there," Flair said, fists on his hips. "Just stop interrupting. What happened, Ms. Tynes, after you entered "-again stressing the word beyond all measure-"my client's home?"

"Nothing."

"My client wasn't trying to harm himself?"

"No."

"What was he doing?"

"He wasn't there."

"Was anybody, in fact, inside?"

"No."

"And that 'movement' you maybe saw?"

"I don't know."

Flair nodded, strolled away. "You've testified that you drove to my client's house almost immediately after he ran out with your producer chasing him. Did you really think he'd have time to go back home and set up a suicide?"

"He would know the fastest route and he had a head start. Yes, I thought there was time."

"I see. But you were wrong, weren't you?"

"About what?"

"My client didn't go straight home, did he?"

"He did not, that's correct."

"But you did go into Mr. Mercer's home-before he or the police arrived, correct?"

"Just for a brief moment."

"How long is a brief moment?"

"I'm not sure."

"Well, you had to check every room, right? To make sure he wasn't swinging from a beam by his belt or something, correct?"

"I only checked the room with the light on. The kitchen."

"Which meant you had to, at the very least, cross through the living room. Tell me, Ms. Tynes, what did you do after you discovered that my client wasn't at home?"

"I went back outside and waited."

"Waited for what?"

"The police to show."

"Did they?"

"Yes."

"And they had a warrant to search my client's home, correct?"

"Yes."

"And while I realize that your intentions were noble in breaking into my client's home, wasn't there a small part of you that worried about how your entrapment case would hold up?"

"No."

"Since that January seventeenth show, you've done an extensive investigation into my client's past. Other than what was found at his home that night by the police, have you found any other solid evidence of illegal activity?"

"Not yet."

"I will take that as a no," Flair said. "In short, without the evidence found during the search by the police, you'd have nothing tying my client to anything illegal, isn't that correct?"

"He showed up at the house that night."

"The sting house where no underage girl resided. So really, Ms. Tynes, the case-and your, uh, reputation-is all about the materials found in my client's home. Without it, you have nothing. In short, you had the means and a compelling reason for planting that evidence, did you not?"

Lee Portnoi was up on that one. "Your Honor, this is ridiculous. This argument is for a jury to decide."

"Ms. Tynes admitted entering the house illegally without a warrant," Flair said.

"Fine," Portnoi said, "then charge her with the crime of breaking and entering, if you think you can prove it. And if Mr. Hickory wants to present absurd theories about albino nuns or planted evidence, that is his right too-during the trial. To a jury in a court of law. And then I can present evidence to show how absurd his theories are. That's why we have courtrooms and trials. Ms. Tynes is a private citizen-and a private citizen is not held to the same standard as an officer of the court. You can't throw the computer and pictures out, Your Honor. They were found during a legal search with a signed warrant. Some of the sickening photographs were hidden in the garage and behind a bookshelf-and there was no way Ms. Tynes would have planted those in the brief moments or even minutes she may have entered the dwelling."

Flair shook his head. "Wendy Tynes broke into the home for, at best, specious reasons. A light on? Movement? Please. She also had a compelling motive for planting evidence and the means-and she had knowledge that Dan Mercer's house would be searched soon. It is worse than the fruits from a poisonous tree. Any evidence found in the house has to be thrown out."

"Wendy Tynes is a private citizen."

"That doesn't give her carte blanche here. She could have easily planted that laptop and those photographs."

"Which is an argument you can make to the jury."

"Your Honor, the material found is absurdly prejudicial. By her own testimony Ms. Tynes is clearly more than a private citizen here. I asked her several times about her relationship with the prosecutor's office. By her own admission, she was their agent."

Lee Portnoi turned red on that one. "That's ridiculous, Your Honor. Is every reporter working on a crime story now considered an agent of the law?"

"By her own admission, Wendy Tynes worked with and in close proximity to your office, Mr. Portnoi. I can have the stenographer read it back, the part about having an officer on the scene and being in touch with the prosecutor's office."

"That doesn't make her an officer."

"That's just semantics, and Mr. Portnoi knows it. His office would have had no case against my client without Wendy Tynes. Their entire case-all the crimes my client is now accused of-stems from Ms. Tynes's attempt at entrapment. Without her involvement, no warrant would have been issued at all."

Portnoi crossed the room. "Your Honor, Ms. Tynes may have originally presented the case to our office, but by those standards, every witness or complaining party who comes forward would be considered an agent-"

"I've heard enough," Judge Howard said. She slammed her gavel and rose. "You'll have my ruling by the morning."

"WELL," Wendy said to Portnoi in the corridor, "that sucked."

"The judge won't throw it out."

Wendy was not convinced.

"It's a good thing in a way," he went on.

"How do you figure?"

"The case is too high-profile for the evidence to get tossed out," Portnoi said, gesturing toward opposing counsel. "All Flair did in there was show us his trial strategy."

Up ahead of them, Jenna Wheeler, Dan Mercer's ex-wife, was taking questions from a rival TV reporter. Even as the evidence mounted against Dan, Jenna had remained a staunch supporter of her ex, claiming that the charges against him had to be bogus. This position, both admirable and naive in Wendy's view, had made Jenna something of a pariah in town.

Still farther ahead, Flair Hickory held court with several reporters. They loved him, of course-so had Wendy when she'd been covering his trials. He took flamboyant and brought it to a whole new level. But now, on the other side of those questions, she could truly see how flamboyance could be close bedfellows with ruthlessness.

Wendy frowned. "Flair Hickory doesn't hit me as being anyone's fool."

Flair got a laugh from the fawning press, slapped a few backs, and started to walk away. When Flair was finally alone, Wendy was surprised to see Ed Grayson approach him.

"Uh-oh," she said.

"What?"

Wendy gestured with her chin. Portnoi followed with his eyes. Grayson, a big man with close-cropped gray hair, stood close to Flair Hickory. The two men stared each other down. Grayson kept inching closer, moving into Flair's space. But Flair held his ground.

Portnoi took a few steps toward them. "Mr. Grayson?"

Their faces were inches apart. Grayson swiveled his head in the direction of the voice. He stared at Portnoi.

"Is everything okay?" Portnoi asked.

"Fine," Grayson said.

"Mr. Hickory?"

"We're peachy, Counselor. Just having a friendly chat."

Grayson's eyes locked on Wendy's, and again she didn't like what she saw. Hickory said, "Well, if we're done here, Mr. Grayson…"

Grayson said nothing. Hickory turned and left. Grayson came toward Portnoi and Wendy.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Portnoi asked.

"No."

"May I ask what you were talking to Mr. Hickory about?"