I can’t be certain of this, yet I am:
He knows that I know.
There is nothing I can say in the moment, no questions I can ask, to demonstrate what I am positive is the truth. And the horrible irony is that attacking Coble right now would be completely counterproductive. I desperately need his testimony to save Pete.
So I force myself to focus as I take him through the story. It is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my life, but I get through it.
And Coble is great, the perfect witness. He helps me tell the story economically and with clarity; together we tie up every loose end we can find.
Richard tries valiantly to attack Coble in his cross-examination, but he makes very little progress. Everything that Coble is testifying to is the truth. The events happened exactly as he is describing them. What he leaves out is that he helped orchestrate them.
But because they are true, Richard can’t make a dent in them, or in him.
When he finally gets off the stand, Coble passes me on his way out of the courtroom. He leans in and whispers, “Don’t be a hero, Counselor.”
I don’t answer him. I don’t know what I could say, but in any event, the judge has already asked Richard to begin his closing argument. I force myself to try and listen, but it’s very hard.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve been treated to quite a show in this courtroom,” Richard says. “You’ve been empaneled to decide who shot Daniel Diaz to death in his home, and you’ve heard a lot of clear and I believe compelling evidence that says it was Peter Stanton that committed the crime.”
He goes into the evidence that the prosecution presented, clearly and concisely summarizing it. Just listening to him, I think that even I would vote to convict Pete.
“But that’s not all you heard,” Richard continues. “You heard about a huge conspiracy, about dog drugs that murder people, about kidnapped wives, and dead executives, and missing researchers.
“And what does this have to do with the case you are here to judge? Not a hell of a lot, I’ll tell you that. All that connects that bizarre world to this case is a line on a phone bill. That’s it.
“Maybe it was a wrong number, and maybe the GPS satellite was off. I don’t know about you, but I’ve followed my GPS into more than a couple of dead ends. It’s an imperfect science, and it should not be misused to ignore all the facts you’ve had placed before you.
“Captain Pete Stanton murdered Danny Diaz. He had opportunity, and he had motive. Don’t be fooled into believing otherwise. Follow your heads, follow the logic, and please give justice to Danny Diaz and his son.
Thank you.”
I wish like hell I could delay my closing argument until tomorrow.
It’s not that what I would have to say would be any different, it’s more that I could calm down and focus on what is important in the moment. There will be time to consider what I have just realized, and figure out how to deal with it.
Pete’s entire life is on the line, so I need to get a grip and do what I have to do. Composure has never been a problem for me, and I can’t let it be one now.
And I won’t.
“You okay?” Pete asks. He can tell something is wrong, but obviously has no idea what it is.
“Fine,” I say. “It’s show time.”
I get up and say, “Closing arguments are supposed to be a summary of the case. We lawyers have been bombarding you with different facts and theories, and all you’ve been able to do is sit there and listen. You aren’t even allowed to ask questions, so there is no way for you to possibly remember and connect everything, especially in a case as complicated as this.
“So my job now is to summarize what I have tried to get across, in a clear way, supported by the facts.
“Mr. Wallace presented a great deal of evidence to you, and if it had gone unrefuted, you would be justified in deciding that Captain Stanton was a murderer. So let’s analyze those facts, and see if it is reasonable to doubt that they are accurate.
“Captain Stanton was on the scene the night of the murder. We do not dispute that, and we even showed you the text message that brought him there. It was from his friend Danny Diaz’s phone, and it sounded like Diaz needed help. So he rushed there, just as the real murderer knew he would.
“But Danny Diaz did not have his phone; you heard evidence that it still hasn’t been found, to this day. So what happened to it? Did he text Captain Stanton, then throw it away? Why would he do that? Did Captain Stanton take it? Why would he do that? The text would be on his own phone as well, and in the phone company’s records. No, Danny Diaz did not have his phone because it was taken from him by his killer.”
I go on to point out the weaknesses in the evidence regarding the fingerprints and the gloves, and then move on to the drugs. “And how did they get there? Did Captain Stanton store them there, not under lock and key? Why would he do that? And why would he have all those drugs, without there being the slightest shred of evidence that he ever used or sold them? And why would he have wiped the package clean of fingerprints, and then store them in his own house?
“None of that makes sense, certainly not from a smart cop like Pete Stanton. And even Chief Carnow told you that Pete is one of the smartest and best cops he has ever met.
“We know from the GPS records that people were in Captain Stanton’s house the day of the murder, possible even Diaz himself, but certainly someone who had Diaz’s phone. There was no doubt it was Alex Parker, and if he took Diaz’s phone, surely he could have had the key to the house that was in Diaz’s possession. Why was he there? Isn’t it reasonable to believe that he might have planted the drugs?
“So I believe that just based on the prosecution’s evidence, we did enough to make a not guilty vote the correct one. But then we did more: we pointed to a real-life massive conspiracy of murder, one that has left many bodies in its wake.
“Lieutenant Coble and the other witnesses told you all about it, in probably more detail than you needed. But the facts are the facts, and the facts show that Pete Stanton was framed so that he would not be able to continue investigating that conspiracy of murder.”
I go into some detail about Parker, Reynolds, Mathis, et al., but not too much. Coble had done much of that work in his testimony, and I also feel like I have the jury now, and I don’t want to lose them.
“But I would submit that after all that, you should consider the character of the man that is Captain Pete Stanton. He has spent his entire life upholding the law and protecting all of us. He is possibly the finest public servant I have ever known, and I am proud to call him my friend.
“He doesn’t deserve what has happened to him, not one bit of it. But you have a special power, and only you have it.
“You have the power to make it right.
“Thank you.”
As I head back to the defense table, I see Laurie, and Sam, and Willie, and Vince Sanders. They are staring at me, smiling and giving me gestures of support, from Laurie’s thumbs up to Vince’s clenched fist. Pete claps me on the shoulder and mouths a silent “thank you.”
They think I have done well, and that I should be pleased.
Maybe they’re right.
But they don’t know what I know.
I’m usually a total basket case when waiting for a verdict.
I don’t talk to anyone except Tara, I don’t do anything except walk Tara, and I become a mass of superstitions.
But this time is different; this time I call a meeting of the entire investigative team at our house. I want to tell them what I know, both because I am not positive what to do, and because I don’t want to be the only one who knows it.
I start by saying, “I believe that Lieutenant Simon Coble was a leading member of the murder-for-hire ring; he may have been the leader, but more likely his role was to provide cover for them.
“It hit me when I caught him in a relatively minor lie: he said he was looking into the Katherine Reynolds’s death because her ni
ece asked him to. But Katherine Reynolds lost her family in a car crash; she had no other family at all. And Carson Reynolds was an only child. Therefore, it is not possible that Katherine Reynolds had a niece at all.”
“You’ve got more than that, right?” Hike asks.
“I do. Alex Parker obviously faked his death; I don’t know who the actual poor guy was who had his head beaten in. But Coble said the deceased’s fingerprints matched Parker’s army record. But they could not have; so Coble must have changed them.
“I told Coble that we knew Reynolds and Diaz had been in phone contact with Parker, and that we knew where Parker lived in Hackensack. The next day Parker was out of there, and the phone was never used again.
“When I talked to Blackman the day he died, he said that the ‘cop was coming back,’ to question him. It didn’t mean anything to me at the time, but the cop had to have been Coble, and when he was there earlier, I’ll bet he slipped Blackman the heart attack pill. When he came back, he knew he would find Blackman dead.
“But maybe most important is that Coble is the reason they went after Pete. He knew from his meeting with Pete that Pete had a gut feeling that these were murders, and he wasn’t going to drop it until he found out the truth.
“He was afraid that if they killed Pete, his fellow cops would pick up the trail. But if they got rid of him by sending him to prison, no one would follow up on his cases. They’d be home free.”
“Why did he testify like he did?” Hike asks.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “But I think that he knew if Pete was convicted, I’d never let it drop. I’d keep trying to prove the conspiracy, and he was the only one left that the truth could bring down.”
“So what do we do now?” Sam asks.
“Let’s get the son of a bitch,” Willie says.
I shake my head. “My instinct, and tell me if anyone disagrees, is to let this sit until the verdict comes in. Pete gains nothing if we announce to the world that our star witness is himself a murderer. Once we have a verdict, either way, we try and prove the case against Coble.”
There is general agreement that this is the correct approach. Laurie and I discussed it last night, and she feels firmly that what is best for Pete must be the immediate priority. So that’s what we’ll do.
“There’s one other complication,” I say before everyone leaves. “I think Coble knows that I know. It’s the way he looked at me and smiled the moment I realized it.”
The rest of the day goes by without a verdict. I try and take my mind off everything, but it’s an impossible task. Laurie recommends that I take Ricky down to the Tara Foundation building so he can see the dogs we have for rescue, but I don’t really want to. I want to just sit by myself and worry.
“He loves dogs,” Laurie says.
“So?”
“So take him, Andy. Please.”
So I do, and when I see his face when we walk in, I’m instantly glad that I did. Within two minutes he’s rolling on the floor with four of the dogs, laughing the most carefree laugh I’ve heard out of him since all this started.
Willie’s wife Sondra is there, but she says that Willie is out. “I know I shouldn’t ask this,” she says. “But is Pete going to win?”
“I know I shouldn’t say this,” I say. “But I think he will.”
It’s on the way home that I remember something about the case that I had forgotten. Rozelle, the manager of the dump apartments where Juanita Diaz was imprisoned, had asked me if we “ever talk to the cops.” I glossed over it at the time, but it might mean that he had dealt with Coble before we got there.
If he had, then there are two credible possibilities. One, that he might have some information about Coble that could be helpful when we go after him. And two, that he might be in danger, since Coble seems to have a desire to eliminate loose ends.
For that matter, I am the loosest of the loose ends. If I don’t put Coble away, every time I eat a meal I’m going to wonder if there’s a little white pill tucked away in it.
Not the best way to live.
It’s been one day and I’m going insane.
I just can’t sit around and do nothing, even though I told the team we needed to wait for a verdict. So I take a ride up to Spring Valley to talk to Rozelle. Laurie wants to go with me, but Edna is not at the house, so she needs to stay home with Ricky.
I drive up there and when I reach the building, I go around to the back where his office is. The door is locked, and no one answers when I knock. I’d called ahead, and Rozelle had said that he’d be here. I’m annoyed by this, but that annoyance dissolves into fear when I feel metal jammed into my back, and I hear Coble’s voice.
“Couldn’t let it alone, could you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, feebly.
“You looking for Rozelle? Come on, I’ll take you to him.”
He half pushes me toward his car, which is not a police car. He makes me drive, and sits in the passenger seat with his gun pointed at my head.
I am scared out of my mind.
We drive ten minutes, and he tells me to take a small dirt road for about half a mile. We get out, and we walk into a densely wooded area, about two hundred yards from the road. All of this time I am making plans to make a break for it, and then not doing it. There just doesn’t seem to be a chance at any point for me to make it.
I am going to die here.
There is a clearing, empty except for Rozelle’s body lying there, a gunshot wound in the head. “He told me you were coming to see him,” Coble says. “He thought telling me that would save his life. Instead it ended yours.”
At this point I am past panic. I am going to run, into the woods, but they are twenty feet away, and I will be dead before I get there. I know this with certainty, but I simply cannot think of anything else to do.
“You gonna make a break for it, Counselor?” Coble asks, smiling as he reads my mind.
My legs are weak and shaking. “No.” It’s a lie, or at least I think it is. If I can get my damn legs to support me, I’m going to try.
In the interim, my only plan is to rely on what I usually rely on, which is my mouth. If I can keep him talking, then he won’t be shooting. It’s like being down ten points with thirty seconds to go in a basketball game and constantly fouling. The cause is hopeless, so all you try and do is extend the game.
“Was this whole thing your idea?” I ask.
“I wish,” he says, then laughs. “I’m not that smart. It was Reynolds. He brought in Parker, and Parker brought me in to cover for them. Parker and I go back a ways in the service.”
“Was it all about money?”
“What difference does it make to you? You know as well as I do that you’re not getting out of here.”
“I guess I just want to know why.”
He shrugs. “It was about money to me and Parker.” Another laugh. “Lots and lots of money.”
“So why did you get rid of your partners?” I ask.
“Same reason I’m getting rid of you. Self-preservation.” He raises his gun. “Counselor, if you’re going to make a break for it, now’s the time. Or, you can choose to die with some dignity.”
I’m staring at the gun, and then I hear an incredibly loud noise as he fires it. But I don’t get hit, and he starts to lower the gun. Then I realize that it wasn’t his gun that fired it at all, and as it is being lowered, it is being showered in blood.
Coble’s blood.
So I look up, and there are three men standing there, two with guns. The third man is Joseph Russo.
“You okay that we killed him?” Russo asks.
“Yeah,” I say, trying to control the tremor in my voice. “But don’t let it happen again.”
“Willie asked us to follow you,” Russo says. “Willie’s my man.”
I nod, feeling an urge to cry as the full impact of what happened hits me, but trying not to. “Mine too.” Then, “What do we do with them?”
�
��Not for you to worry about,” Russo says, so I won’t. I just thank him about four hundred times, after which one of his guys drives me back to my car, and I head home.
Laurie’s waiting for me on the porch when I pull up. The look on her face is one of concern and stress, and I figure that she must know what happened.
She doesn’t. “There’s a verdict,” she says. “They’re waiting on you.” The she looks at my disheveled clothing, and she says, “Andy, is that blood?”
Apparently a small amount of Coble’s blood sprayed on me, and I hadn’t noticed. “It’s a long story,” I say, and then I run into the house to get dressed in about two seconds flat.
I tell Laurie the story on the way to court.
She is horrified, and starts to cry for only the second time since I’ve known her. She’s apparently a lot tougher for herself than she is for me.
We arrive at the court, and everyone is in place except me and Judge Matthews. The gallery is packed and restless. “Glad you could make it,” says Pete, smiling. How he can smile at a moment like this is beyond me. Then he sees my face and asks, “You okay?”
“I’ll let you know in a few minutes,” I say.
Judge Matthews comes in moments later, staring at me in a silent reprimand. If she only knew.
She brings the jury in, and asks if they have reached a verdict. They say that they have, and I can feel Pete tense up next to me. Smiling time is over.
The foreman gives the verdict sheet to the clerk, who gives it to the judge to look over. The judge hands it back to the clerk to read aloud, and Pete, Hike, and I stand. All of this takes about twelve hours, or at least it seems like it takes that long. I put my hand on Pete’s shoulder, and we wait to hear if he is going to spend the rest of his life behind bars.
She reads in a low monotone, a jumble of barely intelligible words about the state of New Jersey, and various counts, blah, blah, blah. But two words come ringing through loud and clear.
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