by Owen Parr
Ruth went on with her questions, “Do you receive direct compensation from the Foundation?”
“Our law firm, that is, Adams and Pearson, receives two-hundred-fifty-thousand dollars per year.”
“But wait, Mr. Adams testified that he is only involved as an attorney with Mr. Longworth’s real estate business. Yet, you’re saying the Foundation pays the law firm? So, is the Foundation a client of the law firm?”
“Ms. Hartman,” Pearson began, “I think what Mr. Adams, said, or meant to say, is that he is not involved with the Foundation. Technically, I am the only attorney serving as counsel for the Foundation.”
“Let me ask you about the legal fees you charge the Foundation. You said, they pay you two-hundred-fifty thousand per year? Is, that right?”
“Yes. We then donate the same amount to the Foundation.”
“So, in effect, both the Foundation, and your law firm, get a tax benefit from the scheme.”
“I would not label it a scheme. It is all very legal, and quite acceptable. We are under no obligation to donate our fees back to the Foundation. We just choose to do it, as a result, of the friendship with the Longworths, and the Foundation’s worthy endeavors.”
“Has your law firm, Adams, and Pearson, ever benefitted from your association with the Foundation?”
Pearson thought for a second, “Could you be more specific?” he asked, as he leaned back with his arms still crossed in front of his chest.
“Yes, of course. Have any donors, as a result, of your relationship with the Foundation, become clients of your law firm?”
“I don’t know, exactly. I would have to say yes, I’m sure some may have, yes, some have.”
“Is Tele-Haiti a client of your firm?”
“Yes, they are, yes, they are.”
“And they are donors of the Foundation as well.”
“I believe they are, yes, yes.”
The prosecutor, Morris, chimed in, “Your Honor, I don’t see how this line of questioning is getting us anywhere.”
Judge Wesley asked, “Mrs. Goldstein, where is this going?”
Ruth replied, “Your Honor, allow me a little leeway, I will make a connection shortly.”
Wesley leaned back in his chair, “Continue, but, let’s get to it.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Ruth responded. “Mr. Pearson, your law firm has also represented the government of Haiti in securing loans, grants, and donations from various sources around the United States, is that correct?”
“That is correct,” Pearson replied.
“As a matter of fact, your law firm is registered as a lobbyist with the U.S. House of Representatives, is it not?”
“We are, yes, we are.”
“Did you secure a contract between Tele-Haiti, and the government of Haiti?”
“We did yes.”
“Is it a coincidence that many of your clients, who have used your lobbying arm, and have received contracts from the government of Haiti, are also donors to the Foundation?”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at, but we believe in the good work of the Foundation, and as such, encourage some of our clients to donate to the Foundation, as well as others.”
“Is it true that the Foundation, and some of its donors, are under IRS scrutiny? And, that there is a Department of Justice probe, into the workings of the Foundation?”
Pearson, rubbing his nose and leaning forward, replied, “In some years, the IRS has audited the Foundation. It is also par-for-the-course, if I may use a golf analogy, for the DoJ, to review the workings of any charitable foundation. There is no ‘there’ there, Mrs. Goldstein,” said Pearson, beginning to get irritated.
“Just answer the questions, sir,” Ruth responded. “It seems that in the last two years, the Longworth Foundation went from being a family foundation, with donations reaching two million dollars, to now, having contributions almost exceeding one-hundred million dollars. All coinciding with your law firm becoming a lobbyist, and counsel, for many of these donors.”
“The Foundation hired an excellent, and active executive director, a couple of years back, who has been excellent in representing the workings of the Foundation,” said Pearson, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
“Yes, Ms. Geraldine Francis. We’ll get to her later,” Goldstein replied, sternly.
“Was Mrs. Longworth happy to see the growth of the Foundation?”
“I think Mrs. Longworth was delighted to see how many more charitable causes we were now able to help, with the added funds.”
“Mr. Pearson, who is Mrs. Kathy Higgins?”
Pearson opened his eyes wide, “Mrs. Higgins is an Associate at our law firm.”
“Mrs. Higgins is an attorney assigned to you, is that correct?”
“She is, yes, she is.”
“If I were to put Mrs. Higgins on the stand to testify, would she not tell this court, that two months ago Mrs. Longworth called you very concerned, that she was anxious about what was going on in the Foundation? As a matter of fact, Mrs. Longworth told Mrs. Higgins, after you did not return the call, and these are the words she used; ‘I think there is some tax scheme going on.’ Did you ever discuss that with Mrs. Longworth, the President of the Foundation?”
“Objection, Your Honor. This is hearsay,” Morris chimed in. “We haven’t had a chance to depose Mrs. Higgins. She is not on the witness list.”
“Wesley asked, “Mrs. Goldstein?”
“Your Honor, we can add Mrs. Higgins to the witness list, and she can be deposed by the prosecution. We only have one question pertaining to her, and for the sake of time we ask for your indulgence.”
“Very well. Overruled. Please proceed,” said Wesley.
“Mr. Pearson, would you like for me to repeat the question?” Asked Ruth.
“No, I can answer that. I did speak to Sheila about that, at a later time. She did not understand the workings of the donations, et cetera. Everything was fine after we talked.”
“Did you know that Mrs. Longworth spoke to Mrs. Higgins, your personal Associate, the day before she was murdered, demanding to meet with you, because she was very troubled about the IRS audit?”
“I don’t recall that, no. I don’t recall that.”
“Mr. Pearson, you’re an attorney, I don’t have to remind you about perjuring yourself. Are you going to tell us that Mrs. Higgins did not relay that concern to you?”
“She may have. I just don’t remember at this point,” Pearson replied, ever-changing his position.
“Your Honor, at this time I would like to classify Mr. Pearson as a hostile witness.”
Brian Morris, the prosecutor, didn’t say a word. But he flung his arms up the air, in a gesture of exasperation.
Everyone in the courtroom, including the jurors, turned to Morris expecting an objection. None was forthcoming. Morris was satisfied with his gesture.
Judge Wesley gave Morris a dirty look, and said, “Very well, Mrs. Goldstein, proceed.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Is it possible, Mr. Pearson, that you went to see Mrs. Longworth at her home the night she was murdered. Say at about eight in the evening, and after unsuccessfully trying to calm her fears, she threatened to expose the whole tax fraud scheme that you and your partner had perpetrated, using the Foundation as cover, and you shot her to keep her quiet?”
“That’s insane, and an unfounded accusation,” Pearson shouted.
“Is it really?” Goldstein retorted.
“Objection, Your Honor,” chimed Morris, loudly. “This is pure theatrics.”
Before Judge Wesley could rule on the objection, Goldstein said, “I withdraw the question. I have no more questions for this witness.”
“Your witness, Mr. Morris,” said Wesley.
Brian Morris sauntered to the lectern, looking down and shaking his head. “Mr. Pearson, I only have one question for you. Did you kill Mrs. Longworth?”
The jury, that by now felt they were watching a tennis match, with their heads
swiveling from one person to the other, looked intently at Mr. Pearson, anxiously awaiting his answer. Mr. Pearson gathered himself and replied, “No, I did not. No, I did not.”
Judge Wesley said, “We are adjourned until ten in the morning, tomorrow.” He instructed the jurors not to discuss the case overnight, and to refrain from any reading, or watching any news coverage about the case. With that, Wesley got up and exited the courtroom.
26
My adrenaline was running high. The perception I had from today’s trial was that we had made significant progress and that both these ladies had made a case for reasonable doubt, on the minds of the jurors. I was seated to the right of Inez Hartman, at the end of the defense table. On the opposite end was Ruth, then Mr. Longworth, followed by Inez, who looked at me with those bright green eyes and asked, “I want to go over a few more things with you, can you join me for a drink?”
I thought for a second and replied, “Let me make a phone call, and I’ll let you know in a minute.”
Getting up from the table, I walked towards the back of the courtroom and dialed Marcy at the hospital. Mr. Rodriguez answered the call. “Mr. Rodriguez, this is Joey, how are you?”
“I’m fine, Joey.”
“How is Marcy? Can I speak to her?”
I heard a muffled conversation in Spanish, and Mr. Rodriguez came back on the line. “Joey, Marcy is tired from the physical therapy, and she wants to rest. Can you call later?”
“Is she next to you, sir?”
“Yes, yes,” he replied.
“Alberto, can you go out of the room for a moment?”
There was no answer for a few seconds, then he said, “I’m outside now.”
“What’s going on with Marcy? Why won’t she talk to me?”
“She’s been like that, is not just you. The doctor says she’s suffering from mild depression.”
“We have to get her out of the hospital, that’s what’s causing it.”
“Well yes, that and the fact her boss, Mrs. Stewart, was here and told her to take a leave of absence from work. She didn’t like that, you know.”
“I can see that, yes. But, I think she has a thing about me, I don’t understand.”
“No, no, don’t take it personally. She’s been rude to her mother too. We have to wait. She’ll be better.”
“Has she said anything about me?”
“She spoke to her mother, and,” he paused, “Marcy was telling her how everything is going well for you, something about a new place, and more cases to investigate, stuff like that.”
“I see. Please go back to her and tell her I want to speak to her. Can you do that?”
“I try, one moment.”
A few seconds later Marcy came on the line. “What do you want, Joey?”
“I wanted to come over, and visit with you for a while.”
“Not tonight. I’m fatigued and in pain.”
“Have they given you something for the pain?”
She ignored my question. “I do want to say something to you, but, not today. Call me tomorrow.”
“I’ll come over tomorrow.”
“Call me first,” she said, as she clicked off the phone.
Inez was standing a few feet from me; walking over, she asked, “So, can we have a drink?”
“Where?” I asked, feeling bummed out.
“There’s a place a few blocks from here. We can walk to it.”
“Let’s go.”
We walked two blocks to a quaint little place that was very busy, and we slid into two stools at the bar, as two young ladies were vacating them. Inez ordered a glass of Chardonnay, and for myself, I asked for a Tito’s martini, up, shaken, and dirty.
“Tell me, Joey, are you married?” Inez asked, taking a sip from her wine, with a devilish and seductive smile.
I was about to taste my martini that was full to the top, and cautiously putting it down, I replied, “Not married, but in a committed relationship.”
“Sound serious, marriage contemplated?”
“It has been discussed, but, no plans yet,” I responded, not enthused about the conversation. I could see a mischievous motive behind this dialogue, and in an immediate past life, like a year ago, I would have been more than delighted to fall for it. “Let’s talk about the case. What’s your plan for the last witnesses?”
“Yeah, we can do that over our second drink. But, I’m intrigued about your lady that has your full attention. What does she do?” Inez asked, not missing a beat.
“She’s a special agent with the FBI’s white collar crime division here in New York. Perhaps you heard her name in the news lately, Marcy Martinez.”
“Oh no, she’s the one that shot the terrorist in the plane, and averted a mass shooting? But, she was shot, is she alright?”
“She’s recovering nicely. However, she didn’t do it alone. A Federal Marshall killed the first guy, and unfortunately, he died in the cross-fire.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. No wonder you’re not in a festive mood, even with our case going so well.”
Here was my chance to change the dialogue. “About that, you guys did an incredible job. You think we made an impact on the jurors?”
“At the least, we have created a potential for doubt. Mr. Adams, Pearson, and Mrs. Adams, all had the opportunity, and perhaps motive, right? I mean, Mr. Adams was, or is, according to his testimony, in love with Mrs. Longworth. Mr. Pearson could be using the Foundation as a layering scheme for nefarious purposes. And Mrs. Adams, well, she may have been in a romantic relationship with the deceased.”
“Agreed. Hopefully, one, or more jurors see it the same way. What’s your plan for tomorrow?”
“We will be calling back to the stand the detective that was the lead investigator, a Mr. Angelo Levy. That was your idea, and then we’ll call Ms. Geraldine Francis, the Executive Director of the Longworth Foundation. After that, we’re done.”
“Is Ruth questioning both?”
“She’ll be doing the detective, and I, Ms. Francis. Then, Ruth will do the closing arguments. You said you know who did it, are you going to tell us?”
“No, I don’t want to prejudice your questioning. I still think we need to leave the jurors with doubt unless we can point out the killer, and I can’t do that yet.”
“Ready for another tini?” she asked.
“Sure,” I replied, motioning to the bartender to do another round.
“Did you box when you were younger?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You have that face, square jaw, rugged, and a broken nose that never got fixed. My dad has a poster of Rocky Marciano, when he fought, you look very much like him.”
“As a matter of fact, I did box when I was younger, just for a while.”
“What happened?”
“Two things happened; I couldn’t fight with so many rules, I’m more suited for cage fighting. And second, because of the rules, I picked up a nickname I didn’t like,” I said, taking a sip of my drink and hoping to avoid revealing the name.
“Let’s have it. Come on, share the nickname. I swear I’ll keep it a secret.”
“Attorney-client privilege?”
“It’s going to cost you. Let’s have it,” she said, laughing.
“Canvasback.”
“Why canvasback?”
Looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to us, I replied in a low whisper close to her ear, “Because I spent most of my time on my ass, or my back, on the canvas.”
“Oh, I’ll have to remember that,” she said, trying to swallow a sip of her wine between laughter.
“You better not. Only you and Marcy know about that, plus Father Dom, of course.”
“How come you’re not visiting Marcy?”
“I spoke to her before coming over, she’s in pain and tired from her physical therapy. I’ll be over tomorrow after the trial.”
Inez, holding her Chardonnay with her right hand, took her left hand, and as I was rais
ing my right arm to down the last sip of my first martini, she grabbed my wrist, “How about dinner? I know a little place around the corner.”
Merda, I thought to myself. This attractive young lady is persistent. I continued the motion of raising my right arm to take my drink, forcing her left hand to slide off, “Inez, I hope I have not manifested any wrong signals towards you, thus given you any indication of, —”
She interrupted, “Joey, you’ve been a perfect gentleman. But, I’ve sat next to you all day in court, and you must have felt it. I mean the heat transfer between the two of us. It was like having a space heater inches from my body, all day. You didn’t feel it?”
I had felt an intense warmth sitting next to her, especially on my left side. The side next to her. Something I had never experienced before. So, I decided to ignore the question. “I just wanted to make sure I had not in anyway, —”
The attorney interrupted again, “I’m the one being forward here. You’ve got to have dinner anyway, no?”
“Sometimes I skip dinner,” I replied, stupidly.
“Oh, that’s even better,” she said, smiling, as our second round of drinks arrived.
“That’s not what I meant,” I paused, “Look, I find you very attractive, and it’s very tempting to prolong this evening, but, —”
Interrupting my awkwardness, she asked, “Do you always drink martinis?”
I thought for a minute trying to use my deductive powers, but I was disarmed momentarily. “No, I’m a single-malt Scotch drinker,” I replied, knowing this young legal mind was going to jujitsu me into something.
“Yet, you ordered a martini tonight. So, you like a change of pace, at least occasionally,” she said, with those bright green eyes lasered in on mine. “Well, I find you very attractive also, and I’m offering a one night change of pace, strictly in a carnal sort of way. No guilt, no commitments. Just hot, sensuous, bodily contact.”
27
Wednesday, January 5th
“Please stand. The court is in session. The Honorable Judge Wesley presiding,” said the clerk, as the Judge entered the courtroom.