William Bernhardt - Double Jeopardy

“No doubt about it—a cruel crime has been committed. An injustice. But let us not in our rush for vengeance compound the injustice. That will not help anyone. Indeed, that would only serve to make us as bad as the men who committed this foul deed.”

Travis paused, clasped his hands together, and gazed out at the jurors. “There is an old story about a young student and his elderly Oriental master. The master was very old and wise, and it was said that he could answer any question. But the student was young and brash, and he decided that he would trick the master. He captured a small bird and enclosed it in his two hands.”

Travis cupped his hands together in demonstration. “The student’s plan was this—he would ask the master if the bird was alive or dead. If the master said the bird was dead, he would open his hands and let the creature fly away.” Travis opened his hands and spread them across the expanse of the jury box. “But if the master said the bird was alive, then the student would crush his hands together”—Travis clapped his hands together suddenly, startling the jury—“and snuff out the poor creature’s life.

“And so the student went to his master, the tiny creature cupped between his palms, and he said, ‘Master, I hold a small bird. Is the bird alive or dead?’

“And the master looked directly into his student’s eyes and said, ‘My son, the bird is in your hands.’ ”

Travis made eye contact with each of the jurors. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Alberto Moroconi is in your hands.”

He held their gaze for an extended moment, then returned to counsel table.

After Judge Hagedorn dismissed the jury, Travis left Moroconi with a bailiff and strolled to the back of the courtroom. Cavanaugh was waiting for him.

“Now that the trial’s over, am I permitted to smooch with opposing counsel?”

“I think that’s in the Rules of Professional Conduct somewhere.”

His lips met hers for a long, sweet moment. “How did I do?” he asked.

“Great, as always. You won the case.”

“Don’t jinx it. Let’s wait until the jury returns before we declare a winner.”

“Unnecessary. I know how it will come out. We had a flimsy case and you tore it apart. Moroconi may be vile, but he didn’t commit this crime.”

Travis nodded. “What has your boss decided to do about Dan?”

“The grand jury handed down the indictments this afternoon. Sixteen counts. Against him and Kramer and Mario.”

Even now, weeks after Travis confronted Dan, he still couldn’t shake his lingering sorrow. The man he had known so long and so well, the man he considered his mentor and hero, had met a pitiful end. “Should come as quite a blow to him.”

“Well, he’s had several severe blows lately. Including one involving red paint.”

“I heard it took him a week to get it all off.”

“You heard right. I can’t believe he passed out when you fired that multistrike gun.”

“Well, he was already quivering in his shoes, and the gun packs a pretty good punch at close range. Who’s handling Dan’s case?”

“I don’t know. Not me. They’re planning to use me as their star witness.”

“What about me? I’m available.”

“They’re not ruling you out. But you’ve gotten a ton of bad press lately, and even if it’s all retracted, they’re afraid you’ll be a suspect witness. Plus, your close relationship with Dan, and the money you’ve accepted from him over the years, would just give opposing counsel grist for cross-examination. If they can make it stick without you, they will.”

Travis felt a hand slap down on his shoulder. The blow sent a spike of pain through his patched rib. Even now, it provided a powerful reminder of all he had been through.

It was Curran. He looked very different in his seersucker suit and tie. No infrared goggles. No Puukko knife strapped to his chest. “You actually went through with it, Byrne. I can’t believe it.”

“I had no choice.”

“After all I did for you. You actually got Moroconi off the hook.”

“There’s no proof he committed this crime, Curran. I thought you hired a PI to track down the men who really attacked your sister.”

“I did. But that’s no reason to let this scumbag off the hook.”

“Hey, I resent that.” Moroconi was standing behind him, grinning from ear to ear. “I was innocent.”

They both ignored him. “I was appointed to represent him,” Travis explained, “and I had a moral obligation to do so to the best of my ability.”

“Lawyer talk. Fancy words to hide behind.”

“Well …” Over his shoulder, Travis saw Special Agent Henderson entering the courtroom. Brad Blaisdell, the U.S. Attorney, was standing beside him. They were having an animated conversation.

“Congratulations, Travis,” Henderson said. “Brad tells me it looks like an acquittal will be forthcoming.”

“That’s right,” Moroconi said. “So call off your FBI goons. I’m free to go.”

“Well, not exactly. Brad?”

Blaisdell slapped a piece of paper into Moroconi’s hands. “Mr. Moroconi, you’re under arrest.”

“Arrest? Again ? For what?”

“First degree murder. Frank Howard. The guard you killed during your escape.”

“There were no witnesses. That was self-defense!”

Blaisdell ignored him. “Plus the hit-and-run murder of one Eugene Hardcastle during your spree through the West End. Plus the attempted murder of Jack Gable.”

“Says who?” He glared at Travis. “You’re my attorney. You can’t testify against me!”

“He’s not going to testify against you,” Blaisdell said. He pointed his finger at Cavanaugh. “She is.”

Cavanaugh smiled pleasantly. “Told you that you shouldn’t have hurt Jack.”

“But—but—” Moroconi sputtered. “What about at the West End? She wasn’t even fuckin’ there !”

“We’re going to get Kramer to testify against you there. We’ve offered to reduce his sentence if he talks. Say, from roughly twenty thousand years to only ten thousand years. I think he’ll go for it. He doesn’t seem to care for you much. And by the way, the second guard, the one who survived, will testify about your jailbreak. Sergeants.”

Two uniformed officers grabbed Moroconi by both arms. “Byrne, you son of a bitch! You’re my mouthpiece! Do something!”

Travis shook his head. “Sorry, Al. I only signed on for one case. My duties are officially terminated. Have a good day.”

The sergeants dragged Moroconi out of the courtroom, kicking and screaming the whole way.

Travis looked pointedly at Curran. “Good enough?”

Curran slowly nodded his head. “Good enough.”

Travis turned his attention to Blaisdell. “I understand you and your staff are going to be busy.”

“True. We’re putting together airtight cases against Holyfield and Kramer and Catuara. Even if we don’t get the death penalty, we’ll get life against Kramer. He’ll die in prison. Parole boards never let anyone connected with the mob out.”

“And what about the rest of the mob? The ones you don’t have behind bars?”

Henderson and Blaisdell exchanged a concerned look. “That presents a problem,” Henderson said. “Apparently as soon as you left his place, Mario contacted some of his mob buddies in Chicago. Some of the other Elcon officers have disappeared; we don’t know what they’re planning. We hope to track them down someday, but …”

“What he’s trying to say,” Blaisdell explained, “is that we have to assume the mob will attempt to exact some kind of retribution. That’s the way the Outfit works. Since Cavanaugh is going to testify against two of their own, and her testimony is likely to blow apart this whole Elcon operation …”