William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

The man tapped his cigarette ashes onto the floor. “Leave.”

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” The guard stumbled backward through the cell door. “You two will have complete privacy. Absolutely.” He locked the door and faded down the dark corridor.

The man’s lip curled around his cigarette. “Schmuck.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Moroconi said. “You ain’t been livin’ with him.”

“You have my sympathies.”

“You can keep your sympathies. Just gimme what I want. Have you got it on you?”

“No. But I can get it. Have you got the money?”

Moroconi smiled thinly. “No. But I can get it.”

“I see. We have a stalemate then. Who’s going to make the first move?”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere soon.”

“Good point. How are you going to get the money?”

“I’m not. I’m gonna tell you where it is. When our deal is done.”

The other man leaned back in his chair. “I’m afraid I detect a distinct lack of trust.”

“Detect away, Sherlock. When you spring me and get me what I want, you’ll get paid.”

“You’re demanding an inordinate amount of goodwill on my part.”

“Wouldn’t you? If you sell me short, I’m headed up the river. You’re my last chance.”

“Have you no faith in the judicial system? Or your attorney?”

“He’s an ex-cop. No favors from him. Once an asshole, always an asshole. I tried to set him straight this mornin’. He acted like he couldn’t stand to be in the same room with a lowlife like me. Self-righteous pig. What do you know about him?”

“At the moment, not much. But that will change soon.”

“When you learn somethin’, let me know. I wouldn’t mind having the chance to stick that pig where it hurts.”

“If the opportunity presents itself, I’ll be happy to oblige.” The man blew cigarette smoke through his teeth. “I guess you’ve heard what happened to his predecessor.”

Moroconi’s face became noticeably less animated. “No. What?”

“Fish food. Washed up on the shore of Lake Palestine. They’re not sure how long he’s been there.”

“What happened to him?”

“The word isn’t out yet officially, but …” He paused dramatically. “It involves fire.”

“No shit! Then—”

The man nodded.

“Look, I can’t screw around anymore. As long as I’m stuck in here, I’m a sitting duck.”

“That fact has occurred to me.”

“You son of a bitch.” Moroconi’s face and neck muscles tensed. “All right, goddamn you. I’ll go first. I’ll tell you where you can get the money. Half of it, anyway. After I’m out, and you’ve delivered the goods, I’ll see that you get the other half.”

“That’s acceptable. Under the circumstances.” He inhaled deeply. “Six to the right, two to the north, three to the left. Commit that to memory.”

Moroconi made sure he had it, then asked, “How are you gonna get me what I want?”

“Not to worry.”

“I don’t think you should come here like this again. It’s too risky.”

“Agreed. Next time I’ll visit during the day.”

“Are you crazy? I’ll be in the courtroom all day long. They’ve got five sergeants breathing down my neck from start to finish.”

“I’ll arrange something. Tonight I wanted us to have the opportunity to talk face-to-face. Privately. That shouldn’t be necessary again. I’ll get you what you want.”

“I don’t see how.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll take care of it.”

“Listen to me, chump. I’m tellin’ you, they won’t let you near me!”

“Of course they will.” He ground his cigarette out on the table. “I can do anything I want, Al. I’m with the FBI.”

WEDNESDAY

April 17

13

8:50 A.M.

“C’MON, CHARLIE, YOU GOTTA help me out here.”

“Sorry, Travis. Courtrooms give me the shivers.”

“It’ll only be for a little while.”

“Ten seconds would be ten seconds too long. Get someone else.”

Travis was inside the courthouse coffee shop pleading with Charlie Slovic, the proprietor. “There’s no one else here who fits, Charlie. You’re a perfect match.”

“Besides, who would watch the shop while I’m gone?”

“I’ll take care of that,” Travis assured him. “I promise. You won’t get into any trouble. Think of it as your civic obligation. Kind of like jury duty.”

“I’ve never done jury duty.”

“Well then. You owe us.”

“Sheesh.” Charlie turned down the coffee burners. “I really don’t want to do this, Travis.”

“But you will. That’s what makes you a great American. Am I right?”

Charlie sighed. “Yeah. Right.”

Opening statements passed without any major surprises. On behalf of the prosecution, Cavanaugh gave new meaning to the word melodramatic. Travis thought she overdid it—this situation was already so supercharged with emotion that it reeked of overkill. But the jury didn’t appear to mind. Their attention was riveted to her, except for occasional diversions, when Cavanaugh would describe a particularly horrific act and the jury would glance at Moroconi with disgust.

Travis’s opening statement was much shorter and hinged upon a single point. He didn’t contest the fact that Mary Ann McKenzie had been raped—the medical evidence established that beyond any question. He didn’t try to dissuade the jury from sympathizing with her; as he assured them, he felt for her, too. The only question was whether Al Moroconi was a member of the gang that assaulted her. In order to convict, Travis told them, they would have to find that Mary Ann’s identification of Moroconi was trustworthy. Beyond a reasonable doubt.

Hagedorn instructed the prosecution to call its first witness. To Travis’s surprise, Cavanaugh led with Mary Ann McKenzie. He had expected her to testify, but not right off the bat. The usual prosecution strategy was to build up to the victim—establish the crime through medical and forensic testimony, then bring on the victim for a devastating wrap-up. But for some reason, Cavanaugh had decided to lead with her ace.

Mary Ann McKenzie took the stand. She was sworn in, her voice choking on the phrase I do. Not a good sign, Travis thought. If she can’t get through the oath without a choke, cross-examination might prove impossible.

She looked terrible. Her face was partially wrapped in bandages and still covered with large blue-black bruises. Travis knew she was undergoing reconstructive plastic surgery to restore some semblance of her former face. He also knew it wouldn’t work; this was permanent damage, far beyond the curative powers of the surgeon’s scalpel. Her neck and right arm were in a body cast—probably due to injuries sustained as she was dragged behind the car. She appeared weak, pale, and emaciated.

Cavanaugh began the direct examination. Travis noted that she was using her nice-nice voice; some questions were barely louder than a whisper. After passing through the preliminaries, Cavanaugh brought Mary Ann to the night of the incident.

“Would you please tell the jury what you were doing that night?”

Mary Ann’s lips parted, and her voice emerged in a hoarse whisper. “I went to O’Reilly’s. It’s on Mockingbird. Near campus.”

“Is this a place you frequented?” Cavanaugh asked.

“I’d never been there before in my life.”

“Why were you there that evening?”

“I was looking for Dierdre, my roommate. A sorority sister told me she might be there. She was supposed to loan me her psych notes so I could study for an exam we had the next day.”

“Did you find Dierdre?”

“No.”