Judge and Jury Page 14

  “Talk to me. Finish your sentence!”

  He heard another crack and this time he realized it was gunfire. Someone was shooting at them.

  Blood spilled out from a wound in the back of Jaquith’s head. His body went completely limp. He started to fall. Dan tightened his grip and lowered him slowly to the boardwalk.

  Another shot rang out, and this time Dan heard the shrill wasp-buzz of a bullet whizzing past him, so close it stung.

  Wait—there was more to it than that.

  He clasped his hand against the side of his face.

  Blood.

  The bullet had creased his head. Another inch or two to the side and he’d be dead.

  “Talk to me!” he screamed, but he knew he was only making a bad situation worse. Jaquith was in no condition to be interrogated, and every second he remained out in the middle of the boardwalk his life was in danger.

  Who was the target here? Jaquith? Him? Both? Someone else?

  It was impossible to know and he didn’t have time to ponder mysteries. Another crackle of gunfire boomed, even louder than before.

  The crowd panicked. There seemed to be a stunned silence at first, as everyone looked around and tried to understand what had happened, but after this explosive crackle, there was no doubt.

  There was a sniper. They were under fire. It was Las Vegas and Orlando and Columbine all over again.

  “Run!” someone screamed, and all at once, everyone did. The boardwalk descended into chaos. Parents scooped up their children and darted out of the stampede. People darted into stores and restaurants, trying to get out of the open area.

  Another shot rang out, and this time the crowd became dangerous. People pushed and shoved, desperate to get out of the line of fire, but not knowing where that line of fire might be. Another shot rang out, and Dan saw a man near him topple and fall.

  Dan dragged Jaquith to the side while also scanning the skyline, trying to determine where the shot originated. There were too many possibilities. The Learning Center. The restaurants. The gift shops. Any of those could give a sniper the height he needed, and a nest to hide in as well.

  Jaquith looked bad. His eyes were still open, but barely.

  “Jaquith. Who was in the car with Jack?”

  Jaquith grabbed his shirt. His voice was barely a whisper. “She...needs you....Save her.”

  He looked as if he was trying to purse his lips, trying to form more words. But he didn’t have the strength left. A few moments later, the light went out of his eyes.

  “Don’t leave me!” Dan screamed, but he knew it was too late. Once again, he’d come close to learning something useful, and once again, the knowledge had been snatched from him at the last possible moment. The trial would start on Monday morning, and he had no idea how he could possibly win it.

  Or whether he should. Because it was becoming increasingly clear that someone wanted the secrets of the past to remain secret. And was willing to kill to keep them that way.

  Not Even Past

  Chapter 19

  Dan stared into the mirror. The wind rocked his boat like a piece of straw in a hurricane. What was bringing this turbulent weather today? St. Pete got high winds from time to time, but this was like something in a Gothic novel—where the turmoil in the environment reflects the turmoil within.

  He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. He could not appear in court for the first day of trial without shaving. But he could not shave with a shaky hand, at least not unless he wanted to appear with drama slashed across his face. And he didn’t. He was already bruised and battered from the shooting at the Pier, but the jurors wouldn’t know about that. He couldn’t afford to go in looking like a rough character.

  But he also couldn’t get his hand to stop shaking.

  He liked to feel he was in control of his environment, that he knew what he was doing and he was prepared for what would happen next. Because you’re a control freak, Maria would say, but he felt that was somewhat overstating the case. He was cautious, and he had learned the value of being prepared. Of leaving no stone unturned. Of belt-and-suspendering every aspect of a case.

  This case had started as his masterplan to uncover the truth, but it had soon descended into near chaos. He did not control any aspect of this case. He didn’t have all the answers and he was putting his friends in danger. He was putting everyone in danger. Three innocents were shot at the Pier. Not fatally, but still. He had no idea who did that, or why, or even who the target was. He kept waking in the middle of the night, sweating, imagining himself back in the tourist attraction that in a split second had turned into a war zone.

  Jaquith was in a coma, barely alive. Doctors said it was a coin toss whether he would survive. He hadn’t said a word since he was shot.

  Maria had suggested asking for a continuance. Given the publicity the shooting had received, they might be able to convince Judge Fernandez that the plaintiff was suffering from some version of PTSD. It was tempting.

  But he couldn’t do it. He’d started this mess, and he was going to end it, on schedule, one way or the other.

  He steadied himself with both hands on the sink in the tiny bathroom and peered into the mirror. People kept remarking on his eyes.

  Whose eyes were they? And how far did they see?

  All he wanted was the truth. Was that so much to ask?

  He pressed a hand against his forehead. Maybe it was. Maybe he was being selfish. Maybe he should let the past be the past. Move forward. Focus on the future.

  But even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn’t let it be. He couldn’t let it be.

  He’d started this mess. And one way or another, he was going to finish it.

  Maybe he would never know the truth. Maybe he would never learn everything there was to learn about his past, his sister, his family, his father.

  But it wouldn’t be because he didn’t try. And it sure as hell wouldn’t be because he quit.

  * * *

  Dan stopped by the hospital on his way to the courthouse. No change, and he didn’t detect much optimism about the future. He tried to keep a poker face while the doctors spoke, but it wasn’t easy.

  By the time he arrived at the courthouse, he was barely able to think about the trial. And he knew where that led. An attorney who didn’t have his head in the game was destined to go down in flames.

  “Dan!” Near the courtroom doors, he spotted Jake Kakazu, and with him, Jazlyn. He hadn’t seen Jake since the fateful bust that had set this whole drama in motion. “I was hoping to bump into you. Any news?”

  He shrugged. “Jaquith is still in a coma. The others who were shot have been released. Relatively minor wounds, physically. What being shot does to a person mentally, I can only imagine.”

  “I don’t have to imagine,” Kakazu said. “They’re going to need serious counseling. Dan, I want you to know we’re doing everything possible to find out who the shooter was. Following every lead. The Chief has every available man on this.”

  Dan nodded. “You won’t find him.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “This didn’t start yesterday. This is part of something larger than has been going on for a long time. And no one has stopped it yet.”

  “Still, we can try.”

  “Sure. You can try. Give me a heads up if you find something.”

  “Of course. How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  Jazlyn gave him a stern look. “Yeah, yeah, but seriously. Someone took a shot at you, Dan. How are you holding up?”

  “I’m fine. Back on the job.”

  “You don’t look fine.”

  “What, you don’t like my suit?”

  “The suit is fabulous. But you look like a guy who didn’t sleep a wink and is having flashbacks after being caught in a crossfire.”

  “I’ve seen worse.”

  “When? You’ve seen bad, sure. But worse? What is there that would be worse?”

  “Jazlyn, I appreciate your
concern, Truly. But I think it’s best if I just plow ahead with the case. Keep my mind occupied.”

  “What I hear you saying is, I think the best way to get over trauma is to ignore it.”

  “No—”

  “Pretend it didn’t happen.”

  “I’m not—”

  Jazlyn reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “Dan, I’ve worked with many grief counselors in my time at the DA’s office. And I’m here to tell you—that is not the best way to get over anything. That’s how it gets worse. That’s how it festers until it creates permanent scars.”

  His voice soared. “Do you people understand—” He froze. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then slowly released it. “Whether I like it or not, I have a trial starting today. So I need to focus on that.”

  Jazlyn did not release his arm. “Dan...when you’re ready to talk, I’m here.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “I mean it. These aren’t just words. You’ve done so much for so many. You’ve made my life immeasurably better than it was before. Let me help you.”

  He gently removed her hand. “I will keep that in mind. Thank you for the update, Jake.”

  He turned abruptly—and had barely taken a step before he bumped into someone else. Someone impossible to miss.

  Conrad Sweeney. Live and in person. No steam, no video monitor.

  The huge man stood right before him. Glowering.

  Sweeney’s attorneys both hovered in the background. They looked enormously displeased, as if they had advised against this but he insisted on it. And not far behind them, he spotted Prudence Hancock. Also glowering.

  “Mr. Pike, I’m so sorry for what happened,” Sweeney said. His arms were outstretched, his eyes wide and earnest. Dan could hardly focus. Seeing the man clearly and in person for the first time sent his brain into overdrive. He tried to observe what he could/ Sweeney missed a button on his shirt. Missed a spot that proved he shaved his head. Armani suit. Gucci shoes. Red socks. “I heard about the shooting. Sounds nightmarish.”

  Dan tried to respond, but found his tongue frozen in place, as if he were in the presence of his favorite celebrity, or the middle-school vice-principal, or God. He couldn’t form a word.

  “I want you to know I had nothing to do with this. Nothing whatsoever, and I don’t know who did.”

  Dan looked at him, eyes severe. If he couldn’t speak, he could at least use his eyes to express how little he believed this.

  “I’ve known Officer Jaquith for decades. Haven’t kept up with him like I should have. Horrible to hear what happened to him. If we’re not here all day, I plan to visit him at the hospital.”

  Concentrate, Dan told himself. Don’t stammer like schoolboy. “I...was there this morning.”

  “Of course you were.” Sweeney’s eyes knitted together. “I also want you to know that we will not object if you’d like a continuance. We can put this off for a later date.” He smiled, then glanced at his legal team. “Viewed in perspective, it all seems rather trivial now, doesn’t it?”

  “Not...to me.”

  “Maybe we could come to some kind of settlement. We could issue mutual retractions. Let bygones be bygones. Work together on some kind of community charitable endeavor.”

  He wasn’t sure if his head was shaking or trembling. “I can’t do that.”

  Sweeney sighed heavily. “So the show must go on? A pity.” He glanced at his lawyers. “I really see very little benefit in perpetuating the hostility.”

  All at once, he realized Maria stood beside him. “So does that mean you’ll release those investigator reports?” she asked.

  Sweeney’s eyebrows knitted. “I fear that would...aggravate the hostility rather than abating it.”

  “All we want is the truth. The whole truth. Tell us everything you know. Then we might be in a position to consider settling the case. And not until.”

  Sweeney looked at his counsel wearily. “I’m sorry to hear that. If you have a change of heart...as this case unfolds...please let me know. We’re always willing to talk. No matter how nasty it gets.”

  Sweeney turned and took his seat at the defendant’s table.

  As soon as the man was out of his immediate vicinity, Dan found it much easier to speak. And think. Why did Sweeney have such a powerful effect on him? He felt embarrassed at how easily he’d been intimidated.

  He turned to Maria. “Where did you come from?”

  “You didn’t think I was going to let you talk to that monster alone, did you? I noticed he had his lawyers close at hand.”

  “I could’ve handled it.”

  “Yeah, I noticed you were winning the debate. Or would’ve, as soon as you said something.”

  “You learn more by listening.”

  “Is that what was going on? I wondered.”

  “Did you notice what Sweeney said? Or didn’t say?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean...”

  “He told me he’d known Jaquith for decades. I told him I’d just been to the hospital.”

  “Yeah. And?”

  “Wouldn’t most people ask how Jaquith was doing?” He paused. “But Sweeney didn’t.”

  Maria pondered a moment. “So that means he didn’t care? Or that he already knew?”

  “For that matter, he didn’t surprised when I said I’d already been to the hospital this morning, early though it is.”

  “Meaning he already knew that too?”

  Dan turned and cast a steady gaze toward the other table. “Meaning we need to be careful. And not buy into his show of concern. This man is playing hardball. An oily, unctuous, behind-the-scenes hardball, but no less hard for it. We need to play our A-Game. Or he will bury us alive.”

  Chapter 20

  Judge Fernandez entered the courtroom and briskly plowed through the preliminary matters, making sure the parties were ready to proceed and eliminating that might slow the trial once it started. He clearly knew about the shooting at the Pier but made no direct reference to it, simply asking if the parties wanted to proceed at this time.

  They did.

  Dan was amazed at how briskly jury selection went in this civil suit. Since the stakes were theoretically less extreme, there were fewer peremptory challenges, less leeway in the questioning, and more judicial intrusion. He was astonished to find they had selected a jury in about an hour and a half. The judge gave the panel some preliminary instructions, the called for opening statements.

  Another first—since they were the plaintiff in this action, they got to speak before the opposition. Dan was glad Maria was doing it. He was accustomed to drinking what the opponent said and basically offering an extemporaneous rebuttal.

  “First of all,” Maria began, “I want to thank you all for your service.” She proceeded with a few more platitudes and niceties. They all seemed like time-waste to him, but he knew studies that had shown jurors liked a little warmup. It helped give them a feeling that the lawyers understood they were real people giving up precious time to hear this case.

  It didn’t take Maria long to get to the heart of the matter. “This case is all about words, the power of words, the enormous potential words have to do damage to others. In America, of course, we have the First Amendment. Everyone has the freedom to speak their mind—but that doesn’t mean you can’t be held accountable for what you said after you say it. That’s what this case is all about. The defendant, Conrad Sweeney, made statements in public before a group of more than a hundred people, statements later broadcast on television and on the internet, that damaged my client, Daniel Pike, both emotionally and economically. As a lawyer, Mr. Pike’s career and livelihood are dependent upon his reputation, and Mr. Sweeney was doing his best to destroy that reputation. Let me play you a recording of precisely what was said.”

  At the pretrial, both parties and the judge had agreed that a video recording could be used by both parties in their openings. It would later be formally introduced as evidence by a sponsoring witness.
<
br />   The jurors stared at a video monitor placed behind the witness stand and watched an edited tape of the relevant parts of the conversation at the press conference.

  “The arrogant young man speaking is Daniel Pike, a criminal lawyer—and I mean that in every sense of the phrase—who has put dozens of drug dealers and murderers back on the street...The Pike family has been a blight on this city for generations. His father was a dirty cop and a convicted murderer.”

  “My father was a hero.”

  “Only to the underworld. He was a crook with significant ties to organized crime. And what a surprise that whenever a new story breaks involving this smuggling cartel—Pike is always involved.”

  Maria shut off the tape. “We will play longer portions of the conversation during the trial, but I hope you’ve already heard enough to be shocked. Just to be clear, Mr. Sweeney’s statements accuse my client of being a criminal because he represents criminals. In other words, every defense lawyer in the country is a criminal because he does his job. Worse, the defendant has suggested that my client and his family are connected to organized crime. The mob. South American cartels. Because he helped the police stop the cartel. That is simply vile.”

  She pivoted slowly and scanned the jury box. “To be sure, my client’s father was convicted of murder—though that sadly does not prove he was guilty. The other accusations, however, are completely without merit. They are lies. They are unsubstantiated lies, and they were lies told in public for the specific purpose of hurting my client. Ask yourself—would you hire a lawyer who was suspected of being connected to the mob? Of course not. So you can readily see how serious these claims are, and how potentially damaging they are.

  “We will submit evidence at trial to help you assess the damage. We have been hampered by the fact that the defendant refused to produce certain reports in his possession relating to the case. You will hear more about that later, but ask yourself, Why would someone withhold information? There’s only one possible answer, and it isn’t because the reports support your slanderous lies. That would make someone eager to produce the reports.