Judge and Jury Page 13

  “Do you have any evidence of any relevant documents being buried?” Judge Fernandez asked.

  “Well...no.”

  “Have they done anything to prevent you from conducting investigations of your own?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “In fact, you have conducted your own independent investigations, haven’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Have you shared those reports with your opponents?”

  “Well...no. But that really is attorney work product.”

  The judge gave her a wide-eyed look.

  “Because it was conducted by an actual attorney,” she continued. “One representing this client. Garrett Armstrong, a member of my firm.”

  “I’m not seeing a distinction.”

  “At his deposition, Sweeney made veiled references to his discoveries, suggesting they are relevant and threatening us with them. Saying they were going to make us look like fools at trial.”

  “I can see where you would want to see the reports, given those facts,” the judge said. “But I don’t see that you have a right to obtain them.”

  “Your honor,” Caldwell said, “I can assure you that this is legitimate work product. I personally hired the investigators and I personally communicated with them. And to the extent that we found anything threatening, the plaintiff will know about it as soon as we exchange witness and exhibit lists.”

  Judge Fernandez tilted his head. “That is the way it usually goes.”

  Maria did not relent. “Your honor, that’s not satisfactory in this case. When we exchange lists, it will be shortly before trial. We need to know everything these people have up their sleeves—”

  Fernandez cut her off. “Ms. Morales, am I correct in my belief that you more frequently appear in criminal courts?”

  “Well...yes.”

  “Usually on the side of the defendant?”

  “Always, your honor.”

  “I thought as much. Ms. Morales, the civil courts are a completely different kettle of fish.”

  “I am aware that—”

  “Seriously. Completely different. A defense attorney can demand that the prosecution turn over all exculpatory evidence. But a plaintiff does not have the same rights. In civil cases, where no one’s liberty is at stake, we have a much more level playing field. No one has an advantage. A plaintiff is expected to prove his own case. In fact, a plaintiff is expected to already have that proof before filing. Otherwise, the lawsuit is brought in bad faith and could be seen as a tool for harassment rather than genuinely seeking reparation for damages.”

  Dan didn’t like the sound of that at all. Was the judge trying to send them a message?

  “You have the burden of proof. A considerably less stringent burden than the one you’re accustomed to, but still a burden. Which you must meet. Without a lot of whining.”

  Maria’s lips parted, but she did not speak.

  “So your motion is denied.”

  “But your honor—”

  “Yes, Ms. Morales, I know you disagree, but I’m the one wearing the black nightgown, so I’m the one who makes the rulings. Now be quiet and listen. I’m not ordering any additional discovery, but I’m not having a trial by ambush, either. When can the parties be ready to exchange witness lists and exhibits?”

  Caldwell spoke loud and clear. “We’re ready now, your honor.”

  He nodded. “Ms. Morales?”

  “We can be ready...very soon.”

  “Good. And I don’t want endless laundry lists of every document in your possession. Do your work in advance of trial and produce a list of the items you think might actually be introduced. After you’ve exchanged those lists, you both look them over carefully. If you see any names you don’t know or exhibits you didn’t expect, notice some depositions. But please stop with the discovery disputes. They are irritating, unproductive, and frankly, make you look rather desperate.”

  Maria looked like an ice sculpture.

  The judge scooted back in his chair. “Is there anything else? Good. I don’t expect to see any of you before the pretrial. Submit your trial briefs, which by the way are limited to twenty pages. I do not want any Homeric epics. Just tell me what the case is about. The issues to be addressed. I expect everyone to be ready to go to trial on time.” He paused. “Without a lot of whining.”

  The judge left the courtroom.

  Maria fell into her chair in a heap.

  Jimmy leaned closer to both of his partners. “What...just happened?”

  “I’m not sure,” Dan said.

  “Was the judge being sexist? The stuff about whining?”

  “I think he just doesn’t like discovery disputes.”

  “Or me,” Maria added.

  “I didn’t perceive any animus toward you,” Dan said, hoping it was true. “But he is a Bush appointee. Probably leans toward the conservative. And let’s face it—Sweeney is a prominent citizen with a lot of connections. No one wants to be on his bad side. I know Sweeney thinks he controls judicial appointments around here. Maybe Fernandez would like to be on the Fifth Circuit one day.”

  “You think Sweeney got to the judge?”

  “I don’t think he has to say a word. Everyone knows the kind of power Sweeney wields. No one ambitious wants to be on the wrong side of that.”

  Maria flipped her head around. “Bottom line this for me, Dan.”

  “You won’t win over the judge with the bleeding heart stuff.”

  “Then what?”

  “I dunno. Proving Sweeney is a liar. And a criminal. If you do that, then sucking up to him becomes a liability, not a career move.”

  Her head dropped lower. “I don’t have that kind of proof.”

  Dan pushed himself out of his chair. “Then I guess we know what work remains to be done. And the sooner the better. We don’t have much time left. And I feel relatively certain that Judge Fernandez is not going to be amenable to a motion for a continuance.” He paused. “Or anything else.”

  Chapter 18

  Dan strolled down the boardwalk that served as the main drag for St. Pete Pier. He was embarrassed to admit that this was his first time out here, though to be fair, he had been busy of late. The Pier was the grandest step yet in St. Pete’s ongoing effort to attract more tourism and safe create recreational opportunities for residents. Unfortunately, its planned grand rollout had been delayed by the coronavirus lockdown. St. Pete was disproportionately impacted by the disease, so they had to take all possible precautions.

  Fortunately, that national nightmare eventually passed, a vaccine criculated, and once again people could remind themselves what it meant to have fun. He had read the that the Pier comprised more than twenty-six acres. There were many places for children to play, plus a discovery center and what they called a “wet classroom” for learning about marine life. Local artist Janet Echelman created a spectacular billowing net sculpture, and there was room to bike, swim, eat, drink, shop, and have a fantastic day with family and friends. In many ways, it reminded him of the famous Santa Monica Pier, except without the cheesy carnival rides. Or Chicago’s Navy Pier, without the wind.

  The Pier was packed on this Saturday morning. He was pleased to see so many people, tourists and locals alike, enjoying the sunshine and the sea and the wonderful weather. It was almost too crowded to have anything resembling a serious meeting—but perhaps that was what the man he was about to meet had in mind. Lots of witnesses, but little chance of attracting any notice, given the hustle and bustle.

  “Pike?”

  He heard the voice and swiveled around. He thought the call came from someone standing just outside a gelato store.

  The beard altered the man’s appearance, but he almost certain that was Gerald Jaquith. Torn, loose-fitting jeans. Small scar beneath his left eye. Gnarled fingers. Looked like the intervening years had not been all that kind to Jaquith. Dark circles around both eyes. Drooping eyelids. Blue windbreaker he did not need.

  He
walked closer. “I’m Pike. Jaquith?”

  A small smile played on the grizzled man’s lips. “You’re Ethan’s boy?”

  “I am.”

  “Wow.” The man shook his head slowly. “You look just like him. I guess people tell you that all the time?”

  “Not really. The same eyes?”

  “The same fire in your eyes. Ethan was one of those guys who didn’t just drift through life, you know what I mean? He was always alive, always in active mode. Never let anything slip by.”

  “Thank you for speaking with me. You didn’t have to.”

  “And I didn’t want to. I’ve spent the last few decades trying to forget all about that mess. And wishing everyone else would as well.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  “About talking to you? You’re Ethan’s boy. I respect that. I have a son too but...that didn’t turn out so well. I read about your lawsuit against Sweeney online.”

  “And you wanted to help?”

  “I understood what it was really about. You don’t care about Sweeney. You’re trying to learn the truth about your dad.”

  “True enough. You worked with him, I guess?”

  “For years.”

  “Because you were Jack Fisher’s partner.”

  “I was. Just got the assignment a few days before...well, you know. The day everything changed.”

  “The day my father was wrongfully accused of murder.”

  “The day my partner died. The worst thing that can possibly happen to a cop. Worse than if I’d died myself. Much worse, in fact.”

  Dan drew in his breath. Note to self: Stop being so self-centered. You’re not the only person in the world with feelings. “I’m sure that was horrible.”

  “I doubt it was much of a picnic for you, either. Wanna walk? I prefer to keep moving.”

  Because he was paranoid about eavesdropping? Afraid someone was watching? Whatever. He was happy to oblige. Since he was almost certain someone had been watching him, too.

  They walked side-by-side down the long boardwalk away from the entrance. Most of the traffic was headed the other direction, but the passersby tended to curve around them.

  “How well did you know my father?” Dan asked.

  “Well enough to really like him. As cops went, your dad was the best. The crème de la crème. Which is what made what happened later...so hard to believe.”

  He decided to postpone asking the ultimate question. “How did he get along with your partner?”

  Jaquith let out something between a laugh and a choke. “Now that’s a whole different thing. Complex. Multi-faceted. Even a great cop has some weak spots.”

  “I’m a simple guy. Bottom line it for me.”

  “Ethan and Jack hated each other.”

  Not what he wanted to hear. “I know my dad married Jack’s ex-wife.”

  “And the rumor around the station was that the relationship started...before her first marriage ended. If you know what I mean.”

  That corresponded with what he’d heard from Erica. “They were all living in the same house.”

  “Right. Weird from the start. The only thing that could possibly make it weirder would be if they started swapping partners.”

  “They didn‘t exactly swap—”

  “True. Your dad got Jack’s wife. Jack got nothing.”

  He supposed that was correct. Erica moved out after the breakup and Jack was left alone.

  “Was there more to it than just the divorce and remarriage?”

  “Oh, much more. So much more.”

  “Did you ever hear about...Jack having a daughter? I mean, with my mom. When they were married?”

  “You don’t know whether you have a sister?” Jaquith snapped his fingers. “You know, I do kinda remember hearing something.” His eyes went up and to the left, and if he were trying to pull a memory out of deep storage. “Like some gossip I heard, maybe when I was out drinking with the other officers. It’s like...there was something bad about it.”

  “Something bad...like what? Birth defects? Some kind of disease?”

  “I don’t know. I just can’t pull it up. I may not have ever known the details. But there was something people were whispering about. Something Jack wouldn’t talk about. Like...maybe he was doing something he shouldn’t.” He took a breath. “I’m sorry. I just don’t remember. But if you had a sister, wouldn’t your father have told you? Or your mother?”

  “You’d think. If they didn’t—there must’ve been a reason.”

  “Agreed. Of course, sometimes the new husband prefers not to be reminded about kids by another spouse—but your dad wasn’t like that. He’d be more likely to adopt the kid. But I guess that didn’t happen?”

  “Definitely not. I grew up as an only child. At least I thought I did. Any idea where that daughter is today?”

  “Sorry. No clue.”

  It seemed no one did. Every time he tried to learn more about this sister, he hit a dead end. “Any other grudges Jack might’ve had against my dad?”

  He exhaled slowly. “Jack...was not the world’s greatest cop. Your dad was. Your dad became a cop by choice. He had a passion for justice.”

  Somehow, that sounded familiar...

  “Jack was just imitating others and trying to survive. He’d gotten through college—barely. Didn’t exactly set the curve. Lucky to get on as with the SPPD. If he failed as a cop, he’d be driving a truck or working fast food.”

  “So he felt...insecure? Inferior?”

  “And rightly so. About a month before the shooting, your father started having some problems at work. Reports went missing. Evidence didn’t stay in the locker. Made no sense. Your father was not the type to make careless mistakes.”

  “You think Jack was sabotaging him?”

  “I wasn’t the only one who suspected that. These mistakes seemed completely out of character for your dad—but exactly like the kind of petty weaseling stunts Jack would pull. Your dad thought so too. He finally confronted Jack about it. In public.”

  “That can’t have been pleasant.”

  “It wasn’t. They had a huge knockdown drag-out. Right in the middle of the station. Probably twenty witnesses. Nasty. Name-calling. Accusations. Jack used the f-word more than once and called his ex—your dad’s wife—a slut. Your dad threw the first punch. Landed a good one on Jack’s solar plexus. Jack made a half-hearted effort to reply in kind, but others broke it up.”

  “Sounds intense.”

  “And remember, this was me, punk rookie, with my new partner, watching him mix it up with another police officer. I just stood and stared. Couldn’t believe it. And then, a few days later, Jack is dead.”

  “And my father is the lead suspect.”

  “After that fight, that conclusion was inevitable.” They reached the end of the boardwalk, gazed out at the sea, then turned and headed back the way they came. “With an eyewitness confirming what everyone already suspected, there was no way your father could escape. The police never even considered another suspect.”

  “When you mention an eyewitness, you’re referring to Bradley Ellison, right?”

  “Yeah. Mister Clean, that’s what they called him.”

  “But you didn’t think so?”

  “I’m suspicious of anyone who’s that perfect. I’m suspicious of anyone who rats out a fellow officer, even one he thinks committed murder. Cops usually protect one another. He didn’t.”

  “Did you have any reason to doubt his testimony?”

  Jaquith slowed. He looked at Dan out the side of his eyes, brows knitted together. “Have you talked to Ellison?”

  “I have.”

  “Did his testimony seem...right?”

  He tried to peer into Jaquith’s eyes, to read his mind. What was he saying? “Ellison testified that he was crouched outside his patrol car. He saw my dad fire in his driver’s side car mirror.” Although that detail mysteriously vanished from the deposition transcript.

  “So let’s t
hink about that for just a moment. They’re caught in a horrendous crossfire. A hail of bullets. Gang leaders firing at them relentlessly, some with automatic weapons. But is Ellison looking ahead, at the people trying to kill them? No, he’s looking behind at other police officers.” Jaquith tucked in his chin. “Is that what you would be doing?”

  “Probably not. But maybe he heard something...”

  “Who could hear anything in that chaos?”

  “Maybe he had some reason to suspect...”

  “That your dad would take this moment to off a fellow officer? Come on. Even given the fact that they hated each other, that’s a stretch. A secret assassination in the midst of a shootout? That doesn’t sound like something any your father would do. And it certainly doesn’t sound like something Ellison could anticipate.” He paused and let his voice go quiet. “There was no reason for Ellison to be looking backward. Unless, of course, he knew something was about to happen. Or he made the whole story up afterwards to disguise what truly occurred.”

  Dan let the words sink in. It did make sense. Jaquith illuminated a lot of what had been nagging at him, even if he hadn’t yet been able to put it into words. “What about you? Did you see anything?”

  “No.”

  “You were Jack’s partner, weren’t you?”

  “So?”

  “Weren’t you there?”

  “No. Why would you think that?”

  “I assumed—you said you were his partner—”

  “But I wasn’t with him that night, thank God.”

  “But—someone must’ve been with him. Someone must’ve been riding shotgun.”

  Jaquith took a tiny step closer. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “You don’t know.”

  “Stop talking in riddles.”

  “You don’t know who was—did Ellison cover that up, too?”

  Dan grabbed him by the shoulders. “What are you talking about?”

  “The other person in Jack’s car—”

  Dan heard the shot at the same instant he felt Jaquith suddenly stiffen in his hands. Jaquith’s eyes seemed to roll back into his head.