David Rosenfelt - New Tricks

“What do you want me to say?”

“Sorry, wrong number. I just need to make sure it’s his cell phone, and that he carries it with him.”

I explain what I’m talking about without taking too long, since it’s delaying my getting into bed with Laurie. But I do make the mistake of putting forth one more conversational gambit. “I know I’m not supposed to talk about this, but it’s great having you here and involved. It felt like old times tonight.”

She smiles. “I’m enjoying it. I feel like I’m back in the action.”

“You know, if multiple murder and depravity is your thing, there’s really nothing like New Jersey.”

I DON’T HAVE TO adjust our witness list to include Thomas Sykes. That’s important, and far more than a convenience. This way Sykes already understands the possibility that he will be called, and will not be surprised when he is. He will also not be unduly alerted, and will not feel he is a target. For us to have a chance, I’m going to have to take Sykes apart on the stand, and I want him unprepared for the onslaught.

I’m not a big fan of fair fights.

I call Sykes in his office before the start of court in the morning, and I am surprised and pleased that he is already there. “Mr. Sykes, I just want to alert you that you will be handed a subpoena today requiring your appearance in court tomorrow.”

“For what purpose?” he asks.

“You’ll be a witness for the defense. I had hoped to avoid calling you, but it doesn’t seem like I have a choice.”

“What do you hope to get from me?” he asks.

“I’m going to talk to you about the lifestyles of both victims, unfortunately including your relationship with Mrs. Timmerman.”

“You’re going to slime the victims?” he asks. “Is that your style? I had been told you were better than that.”

“I choose to call it defending my client,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”

I think the call went pretty well, and that Sykes will have no reason to think I have any agenda other than the one I just mentioned.

When Steven is brought into court, I consider whether to alert him to what is going on. I decide against it; it might raise false hopes, and we’re dealing with a very long shot. Besides, there are only a few minutes before Hatchet comes in, and Steven would have an hour’s worth of questions.

Kevin is not in court this morning; he is making sure that the subpoena is served, and getting some other information that we need. It’s nice for him; this way he doesn’t have to be embarrassed by the pathetic string of witnesses we have planned for today.

The first of those witnesses is Dr. John Holland, a professor of criminology at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice in Manhattan. Holland is a leading expert in blood spatter, and his work as an expert witness probably allows him to quadruple his annual salary as a college professor.

My goal with Holland is to affirmatively establish the points I made when I cross-examined the prosecution’s forensic witness. “How likely is it that the person who shot Walter Timmerman from point-blank range was splattered with blood, brain matter, and skull fragments?” I ask.

“At that range it is a certainty,” he says.

“And if he then got into his car, and transferred trace amounts of the splatter to the interior of the car, how likely is it that the transferred material would be only blood?”

“Virtually no chance,” he says, and I let him go on to explain. He likens it to making a pasta sauce, starting with marinara and adding ground meat, olive oil, Worcestershire sauce, cream, and assorted other ingredients. If you eat some, there’s no way you’re going to have only pure marinara running down your chin. With this explanation, he manages to effectively make his point while equally effectively making the jury nauseous.

Richard’s cross-examination is short, as if he doesn’t think the witness is worth spending a lot of time with. He talks about the bleeding that would take place after the initial splatter, and how blood that was virtually pure could have pooled on the ground.

On balance, the witness certainly favors us, but I’m sure that Richard has experts in reserve whom he can call in rebuttal. I’m also sure he doesn’t think he will need to, and at this point he’s right.

Just before lunch Laurie comes in and passes me a note telling me that the phone call went perfectly, and a few minutes later Kevin arrives as well, with the documents we need. The stage is basically set for tomorrow, except for preparation tonight.

I just wish it were tomorrow already.

My afternoon witnesses are perfunctory at best. I call two associates of Walter Timmerman, who testify as to how secretive about his work he was in the months before he died. They describe the behavior as uncharacteristic, and both refer to Timmerman as a normally collaborative man when it came to his science.

Finally, I bring in an officer at Timmerman’s bank, who testifies to the twenty-million-dollar wire transfer he received weeks before his death. The money came from a numbered Swiss account, and therefore the source is impossible to trace. He admits that it was the first time Timmerman had ever received a transfer of this type. While he is too circumspect to admit that it is suspicious, I believe that the jury will find it so. Of course, it’s a bit of a stretch for them to believe that someone would send him twenty million dollars and then kill him.

Like he does every night, Kevin comes by for dinner and so that we can prepare together. Usually, we are on the same page when it comes to getting ready for a trial day, but when we are facing a crucial witness we are complete opposites.

Kevin thinks we should have a mock session, where he plays the witness role, in this case Sykes, and I fire questions at him. That way he believes I can hone my approach and only follow the lines of questioning that have been proven to work in this fashion. He wants us to analyze what Sykes might say from every angle, and prepare questions designed to overcome his defenses.

While I see the logical merit of Kevin’s argument, it just isn’t my style. I need it to be free-flowing; I can’t be restricted by meticulously pre-planned tactics.

The only thing bothering me right now is my inability to see how I can get the murder of Charles Robinson connected to Sykes and therefore before this jury. My theories aren’t well developed enough to have included a motive for Sykes to have killed Robinson. Perhaps it was a fight over the fruits of Walter Timmerman’s labor, but it feels like I’m stretching.

After Kevin leaves, Laurie and I talk some more about the case, until I’ve reached my saturation point. When we’re ready to go to bed, Laurie says to me, “Big day tomorrow.”

I nod. “Yeah. Especially for Steven.”

“Do lawyers have to abstain from sex the night before a big game, like athletes?” she asks.

“On the contrary, it’s encouraged. It clears the mind and makes questions crisper and clearer.”

“Is that right?”

“Absolutely. The more sex, the better the lawyer. That’s why so many hookers have become Supreme Court justices.”

“Then by tomorrow morning they’ll be calling you Chief Justice Carpenter.”

WE NEED A PERRY MASON MOMENT.

Actually, what we really need is Perry Mason, but since he must be pushing 130 years old, we probably have a better chance at getting one of his moments.

A Perry Mason moment is when the witness cracks under the relentless pressure of a brilliant defense attorney and confesses to the crime right on the stand. A perfect example of it was when Tom Cruise asked, “Did you order the code red?” and Jack Nicholson screamed back at him, “You’re goddamn right I did!”