Steve Martini - Compelling Evidence

It is not often that one gets a glimpse of ultimate truth following a trial of the proportions of Talia’s ordeal. But with what I know now I have been able to piece together many of the events surrounding Ben’s murder, though I still do not know with certainty where the deed was carried out. If I had my guess I would say here, in Coop’s house. I have not checked the phone records, but I suspect that on the day he died, Ben received a telephone call from George Cooper, a confrontational call in which Coop threatened to go to authorities with what he knew unless Ben came here. He came-and was killed.

I have a new admiration for Mrs. Foster, for now it is clear that the vehicle she saw in the driveway of the Potter residence on the night of the murder was in fact Ben Potter’s. It was driven by Coop, who needed physical evidence linking Talia with more certainty to the crime. Hair from a brush or comb was needed. After calling the home and sensing that no one was there, he used Ben’s keys to enter the house, then left unseen. Given the neighborhood sentry duty performed by Mrs. Foster, this was an act of God.

The shotgun was fortuitous. It was left for repairs by Sharon-an errand no doubt run for Ben-and the receipt fell into Coop’s hands after Sharon’s death. The rest is history. He reclaimed it and used it to mask the shot of his own small-caliber handgun, the murder weapon which no doubt is now long gone.

“What do you think will happen to Skarpellos?” says Harry.

“Who knows? He won’t be prosecuted for murder. Embezzlement-maybe.”

I have shared the letter from Coop with Nelson. With regard to Ben’s death, Skarpellos is now off the hook and so am I, though the Greek has other problems. Nelson has an open and active investigation combing the firm’s client trust account, and word is that the state bar is closing in on Tony’s license. Potter, Skarpellos, it seems, will soon have a new managing partner.

I had lunch with Robert Rath last week, my alpha factor. He called me, so we met to talk about Talia’s trial. It seems that Rath had more intelligence than even I had credited to him, an innate sense for dealing with people. The jury foreman was a pushy, egocentric woman, a person Rath sensed would cause trouble if she lost in a contest to lead the jury. He sensed prospects of a hung jury, grounded on personal pique, if he crossed her. So he bowed out in the first round of balloting. Even with this, it took the woman three ballots to secure a majority of the votes. “Otherwise,” he told me as we left the restaurant, “you would have had your verdict an hour earlier.”

Jimmy Lama has his own problems. Off on a suspension without pay, Lama has all the attention he can handle from internal affairs. Nelson has dropped him from the DA’s unit, and Acosta is demanding a stiff sanction for Lama’s meddling in the trial. It seems the tip to Eli Walker will cost him. And Eli is back, his head firmly wedged in a new bottle, doing exposes on legislative corruption, a topic no one much cares to read about.

Nikki and I are talking about her moving back in with me, at the house. Sarah is throwing little parties over this thought. A four-year-old’s picture of heaven is life with Mommie and Daddy. Nikki and I have a lot to work out. We are trying to put the pieces of our lives back together. When I look at Coop and his misery, I know that as long as there is life there is hope.

Ben once told me that experience had taught him that juries neither convict nor acquit. They merely lend their certitude to a particular version of the facts before them. It is the skill of the lawyer that is the difference, he told me. In this case he was right. The jury did not acquit Talia so much as convict Tony, and they did it for all the wrong reasons. In the end, Ben’s words seem to possess the ring of prophecy. As he said, the law is no instrument for divining the truth.