James Grippando - Hear No Evil

“Forget me. Where does it leave her son?”

“Living with a murderer, that’s where.”

Jack stared down into his bourbon and said, “Not something any self-respecting criminal defense lawyer should do to his own flesh and blood.”

“On the other hand, if you don’t take the case…Let’s say she’s innocent, but some boob of a lawyer blows it-like my trial lawyer did-and she gets convicted. The boy ends up losing both his mom and his dad, or at least the only mom and dad he ever knew. Can you live with that?”

“I’d say you’ve covered both horns of the dilemma.”

“Fuck your dilemma. That’s a thousand tiny metal teeth zipping right into your-”

“I got the picture, Theo. What do you think I should do?”

“Simple. Take her case. If you get into it and find out she’s guilty, resign.”

“That’s dicey. Once a murder case gets going, you can’t just withdraw. The judge won’t let you out if the only grounds you have for withdrawing are that you suddenly think your client is guilty. If that were the standard, you’d have lawyers dropping out in the middle of trial every day.”

“Then you gotta find a way to convince yourself that your client is innocent before you take the case. How about asking her to take a lie detector test?”

“I don’t believe in them, especially with someone as emotionally distraught as she is. Might as well flip a coin.”

“So, what are you telling me?”

“Bottom line, she could be indicted tomorrow, for all I know. I need a quick answer, and, as usual, there is none.”

Theo took the drink from his friend’s hand, placed it on the bar, and pushed it aside. “Then get off the fucking bar stool, go home, and read that investigative report. Read it the way you’d read it if that boy was just another boy.”

His tone was stern, and Theo wasn’t grinning, but Jack knew the words were coming from a friend. Jack rose, then laid a five on the bar to cover the two drinks.

“Hey,” said Theo. “I wasn’t kidding.”

“I know.”

“I mean the tab, genius. Till you find that sense of humor, I’m charging you double, remember?”

Jack reached for his wallet and threw another bill on the bar. “Thanks for teaching me a lesson,” he said with a chuckle. But as he zigzagged through the noisy crowd and headed for the exit, passing one pointless conversation after another, he couldn’t help but wonder what all the forced laughter was about, and his smile faded.

He wished Theo were right. He wished to God everything were funny.

The following afternoon, Jack was on the fifth floor of the U.S. attorney’s office in downtown Miami. He’d been up most of the night combing over a copy of the NCIS report Lindsey Hart had left with him. Jack had never seen an investigative report from the Naval Criminal Investigative Services before, but it was similar to scores of civilian homicide reports he’d examined over the years, with one major exception: the blacked-out information. It seemed that something-sometimes an entire paragraph, even an entire witness statement-was excised from each page, deemed by Naval Command to be too sensitive for civilian eyes.

Jack’s first thought had been that the NCIS was withholding information from Lindsey because she was a murder suspect. He phoned a friend in the JAG Reserves, however, and discovered that it wasn’t all that unusual for the family of slain military personnel to receive highly redacted investigative reports. Even when death was unrelated to combat-be it homicide, suicide, or accident-survivors didn’t always have the privilege of knowing exactly what their loved one was doing when he died, whom he’d last spoken to, or even what he might have written in his diary just hours before a 9 mm slug shattered the back of his skull. To be sure, the military often had legitimate needs for secrecy, especially at a place like Guantánamo, the only remaining U.S. base on communist soil. But it was Jack’s job to be skeptical.

“You know I wasn’t being cute on the phone, right, Jack? I really do have absolutely nothing to do with the Hart case.”

Gerry Chafetz was seated behind his desk, hands clasped behind his head, a posture Jack had seen him assume countless times when Gerry was his supervisor. Back then, they’d toil late into the evening, arguing over just about everything from whether the Miami Dolphins had won more football games wearing their aqua jerseys or their white jerseys to whether their star witness was a dead man with or without the federal witness protection program. Jack sometimes missed the old days, but he knew that even if he’d stayed, things could never have been the same. Gerry had worked his way up to chief assistant to the U.S. attorney, which would have made him a lot less fun to argue with, since now he knew everything.

“The case is here in Miami. Am I right?” asked Jack.

Gerry was stone silent. Jack said, “Look, it’s no secret that Lindsey Hart is a civilian who can’t stand trial in a military court. She’s originally from Miami, so it doesn’t take a breach of national security to figure out that if she’s indicted for the murder of her husband, it will be right here in the Southern District of Florida.”

Still no reply from Gerry.

A smile tugged at the corner of Jack’s mouth. “Come on, Gerry. You won’t even give me that much?”

“Let me put it this way: Theoretically, you’d be correct.”

“Good. Theoretically, then, I’d like you to convey a message from me to the prosecutor assigned to this case. I’ve read the NCIS report. What there is of it anyway. Half of it was blacked out.”

“Actually, Ms. Hart is pretty lucky to have a report at all.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It can take as long as six months, at least, for the agency to issue a final report. This one moved very quickly. Your client should be happy about that.”

Jack smiled to himself. Just as he’d thought: The chief assistant did know everything. Jack said, “Technically, she’s not my client. Not yet, anyway. Like I said on the phone, I’m still debating whether to take the case.”

“How do you know there’s going to be a case?”

“The NCIS ruled her husband’s death a homicide.”

“I meant a case against her.”

Jack gave him an assessing look. “Are you telling me-”

“I’m not telling you anything. I thought I’d made that clear from the beginning.”

“Okay. Right or wrong, Ms. Hart seems to think she’s the prime suspect.”

Gerry was deadpan, silent.

Jack said, “That’s a pretty nerve-racking position to be in, for a woman who maintains her complete innocence.”

“They all maintain their innocence. That’s why I’m still sitting on this side of the desk. I respect you, Jack, but I sleep easier knowing that I don’t defend the guilty.”

Jack moved to the edge of his chair, locking eyes with his old boss. “That’s why I’m here. I’m in a tough spot with this case. Lindsey Hart is-” He stopped himself, not wanting to say too much. Gerry was an old buddy, but he was still on the other side. “Let’s just say she’s a friend of a friend. Of a very close friend. I want to help her if I can. But I don’t want to get involved in this if…”

“If what?” Gerry said, scoffing. “If she’s guilty?”

Jack didn’t return the smile. His expression was dead serious.

“Come on, Jack. You didn’t expect me to look you in the eye and say, ‘Yup, you’re right buddy. Take the case. These investigators are breathing down the neck of the wrong suspect.’ Or did you?”

“At this point, I just want to know how honest my own client is being with me. I need to verify something. It has to do with the time of death.”