For Better or Worse

by Al Lamanda

  “I’ll tell you on the way,” Carly said.

  “To where?” Kagan said.

  * * *

  Carly gave Kagan the details on the ride to my house. He scanned documents, asked a few questions and said, “How do you plan to beat the six hundred thousand in the safe deposit box?”

  “We don’t need to beat it,” Carly said. “We just need reasonable doubt from a few jury members to get a dismissal and buy us some time before the Feds take control.”

  “Our handwriting expert will be able to tell if Walt’s signature was forged at the bank in the Cayman Islands,” I said.

  “That’s their entire case,” Carly said.

  “And it’s a good one,” Kagan said. “Do you have the identity of the C.I. as yet?”

  “No, and that reminds me,” Carly said.

  She used her cell phone to call Napier.

  When she hung up, she said, “It will be delivered tomorrow morning.”

  “And forensics on the money?” Kagan said.

  “Waiting on results,” Carly said.

  “Straight out, do you believe Grimes is innocent?” Kagan said.

  “No doubt,” I said.

  “The fix is in on this one, Frank,” Carly said. “The only thing Walt is guilty of is being set up.”

  “Okay,” Kagan said. He shook his head. “It will be nice to coach an innocent man for a change.”

  * * *

  “My lawyer is married to the daughter of a mobster I tried to arrest, and now that same mobster’s attorney is my jury coach,” Walt said. “Who are you going to bring in next, Al Capone?”

  “If he could get you a hung jury, I’d dig him up in a heartbeat,” I said. “Now, are you going to give Kagan a hard time, or are you going to cooperate?”

  Walt sighed loudly.

  “Good,” I said.

  We were in my backyard at the patio table.

  “But I won’t like it,” Walt said.

  “You don’t have to like it, you just have to do it,” I said and stood up. I walked to the sliding door and tapped on the glass.

  Carly slid the door open and she, Harry and Kagan stepped outside to the patio.

  “Captain Grimes, nice to see you again,” Kagan said.

  “Councilor,” Walt said.

  Kagan, Carly and Harry took chairs at the table opposite Walt.

  I stood in the background beside the sliding doors.

  “You’ve been on the stand many times, but never as a defendant,” Kagan said. “It’s a different backyard when you’re on the opposing side.”

  Walt nodded.

  “So, let me explain something first,” Kagan said. “Never take for granted that jury members are smart. Most aren’t. The smart ones don’t serve on a jury. And despite what they’ve been told by a judge not to decide by emotion, most do. If you come off as a cold, calculating prick, they will react to that. If you present yourself as a guilty-as-sin scumbag, they will react to that as well.”

  “All I know how to present myself as is me,” Walt said.

  “Understood, and I’m not here to change who you are, just to coach you on how to make the best impression on a jury, being who you are,” Kagan said.

  I ducked into the kitchen for a moment to grab some coffee and then returned to the patio.

  “No big words,” Kagan said. “Jury members won’t be able to follow or remember big words. Short, concise, to-the-point answers. Look directly at the prosecutor when you answer and never at the jury. You don’t ever want to appear as if you’re looking for sympathy. Be polite but firm when you answer. Never sound like you’re whining or angry or desperate. Don’t say aspirate when you mean to say throw up. So, let’s try a few questions.”

  Kagan turned to Carly and nodded.

  “Captain Grimes, do you remember where you were last November 16th?” Carly said.

  “At work, in my office at the police station,” Walt said.

  “That’s more than six months ago, how can you be sure?” Carly said.

  “I only remember because my wife and I had a ceiling fan installed in our bedroom that day, and she called me at work several times about the color,” Walt said.

  “She called you on your cell phone?” Carly said.

  “Yes.”

  “So, you could have been anywhere when she called you.”

  “But I wasn’t. I was in the office at my desk.”

  “How can you be sure of that?”

  “I insist on having a log book at the front desk,” Walt said. “We call it a daybook. For me, my officers, and detectives. Check the book. I signed in and out that day as I do every day I work.”

  Carly looked at Kagan and nodded.

  “Captain Grimes, how do you explain the six hundred thousand dollars found in a safe deposit box in a bank in Grand Cayman?” Kagan said.

  “I can’t,” Walt said.

  “Can’t or won’t?” Kagan said.

  “I can’t explain it because I had no knowledge of it until I was arrested,” Walt said.

  “Even though witnesses place you at the bank and have a signature card that you signed,” Kagan said.

  “I’ve never been to the Cayman Islands, and my passport is expired,” Walt said.

  “Good. Very good,” Kagan said.

  I ducked back into the house where Elizabeth and Regan were preparing lunch and Oz was watching a movie on television.

  I sat beside Oz.

  “Got an offer on the trailers today,” Oz said. “Fifteen thousand each. Plus the twenty-five from the buyout, we make out okay.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We do.”

  “Know what I was thinking?” Oz said.

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me,” I said.

  “We should take that eighty grand and buy us a three bedroom condo on the beach,” Oz said.

  I looked at Oz. “That’s genius and that’s exactly what we’ll do,” I said.

  Regan poked her head into the living room. “Lunch,” she said.

  * * *

  As we drove Kagan back to his home after lunch, Carly told him about the info from forensics.

  “Not a useable print on the money found in the garage or the safe deposit box,” she said.

  “The prosecutor will argue gloves were worn,” Kagan said. “And we still have no explanation as to the origin of the money.”

  “But we have enough to sway a jury member or two?” Carly said.

  “Maybe. I’d like to work with Grimes a few more times,” he said.

  “Whenever you want,” Carly said.

  Kagan looked at Carly. “Any objections to me being third chair?”

  “None,” Carly said. “Harry?”

  “None from me,” Harry said.

  Kagan looked at me. “Hey, I’m not even a chair at all,” I said.

  * * *

  After dropping Kagan off at his home, the limo took us to the beach.

  Carly and Harry made some notes while I made more coffee.

  Around five o’clock, we packed up and called it a day.

  Carly and Harry took off in the limo.

  I sat with a mug of coffee and wrestled with my conscience for a while. If I had a pack of cigarettes, I would have lit one.

  I didn’t, so I changed and went for a jog on the beach with ankle weights instead. I timed the run for fifteen minutes and then turned around and headed back. I removed the ankle weights and sparred with the heavy bag for half an hour, and then switched out to the speed bag.

  When I was done, I was soaking wet and ready to make a call I had no right to make, and one that would probably cost me a close friend I couldn’t afford to lose.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Paul Lawrence answered his cell phone while driving home in his car
.

  “I know why you’re calling and the answer is no,” Paul said.

  I could hear traffic noise in the background. “I hope you’re using hands free,” I said.

  “I am, and the answer is still no,” Paul said.

  “Paul, Walt gave you your shot,” I said.

  “I don’t want to hear that, Jack,” Paul said. “Not from you.”

  Back in the day, Walt, Paul, and I all were detectives, first grade. I made it to sergeant on a special organized crime task force before I imploded into a scotch bottle.

  Walt stayed the course, made it to lieutenant, and finally captain.

  Paul wanted the FBI, and it was Walt’s recommendation that pushed him through and got him appointed.

  “You don’t want to hear it?” I said. “You’re going to hear it anyway. Walt pushed you through when he didn’t want to. Our department needed first class detectives and couldn’t afford to lose you, but he did it anyway because it’s what you wanted, not what he wanted. You’re going to sit on your hands while he goes down, you selfish little prick?”

  “Don’t call me that, Jack. Come on, we’ve been friends too long,” Paul said.

  “Walt could do thirty. Is that what you want, Paul? Thirty for the man who got you into the FBI?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then are you going to help or not?” I said.

  “You’re asking me to interfere with a local FBI investigation,” Paul said.

  “I’m not,” I said. “We’re getting info on the C.I. who fingered Walt. All I’m asking for is a full profile on him.”

  Paul sighed. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “Call me when you have a name.”

  “Thanks, Paul. I’ll call you as soon as I do,” I said.

  After Paul hung up, I called Regan and told her I’d be staying over at the trailer.

  “How come you get to have all the fun?” she asked.

  “We’ll make a night of it tomorrow,” I said.

  Sometimes, what I do best is sit with a mug of coffee and think.

  Even if we managed to get a hung jury, Walt was far from home free. The prosecutor would immediately file for a new grand jury, and the Feds could and probably would take over the case.

  As I sipped my coffee, I thought about the money.

  As a captain, Walt made around ninety thousand a year. Before that, as a lieutenant, around seventy a year. Detectives averaged low sixties.

  Deduct around a third for taxes, pension, and health benefits, and there isn’t much left at the end of each paycheck.

  Toss in a couple of college tuitions, a new car every five years, and you wind up with exactly what Walt has, which is a livable pension and fifty thousand in the bank.

  There is only one way for Walt to have accumulated six hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

  The sun was starting to set over the ocean. The sky glowed and orange streaks glistened on the waves.

  I took my car to town and grabbed a pizza and a large bottle of ginger ale, and ate in my chair facing the dark waves.

  My mood was as dark as the sky.

  To cops everywhere, I.A.D. were the vultures of the police department. They hung around like a dark cloud, waiting for a cop to pounce on like prey. The detectives assigned to I.A.D. were necessary to keep the police honest, but no cop is ever pleased to see them enter their house.

  I went inside and sat at the table and dug out the I.A.D. reports. The C.I. on parole from a federal prison went to work for the FBI as a street informant and picked up information on a dirty captain in bed with Jimmy DeMarko.

  How did the C.I. pick up the information?

  Dirt on police captains didn’t grow on trees or blow on the wind. And it was for certain that Jimmy DeMarko kept his business very close to the vest.

  I searched through totes and read the reports filed by Internal Affairs Lieutenant Stanly Phelps.

  Once the FBI brought the case to Phelps, I.A.D. dove into it like a swimming pool on a hot summer day. Phelps and the FBI flew to Grand Cayman to the bank.

  It was Phelps who served the warrant and made the arrest on Walt.

  I searched through page after page of reports filed at the FBI, I.A.D. and by the C.I., and “unnamed sources” were the words of the day.

  Sending a career police officer to prison for life based upon unnamed sources didn’t sit well with me.

  A man had the right to face his accuser in court or out.

  Around midnight, I stumbled into bed and went to sleep.

  * * *

  Carly, Harry and I were having breakfast at the diner in town before we went to work at the trailer.

  A package arrived by courier a bit before ten.

  It was the discovery information on the Confidential Informant.

  His name was Ethan Jaden Smith. He was thirty-nine years old and spent half his adult life in one prison or another. His most recent stint was a three-year hitch on check and credit card fraud at Coleman, a medium security prison in Florida.

  Since his release, Smith has acted as an informant for the local FBI and worked in a body shop in town.

  He wasn’t on parole, as he did every day of his three years.

  How does a small time check forger wind up on the FBI payroll?

  Carly and Harry got to work on a line of questioning for Smith at the grand jury hearing.

  I changed and went to work on the heavy bag for a while. Then the speed bag, followed by sets of elevated push-ups, sit-ups, and then back to the heavy bag again.

  Carly and Harry were still making notes when I put on the ankle weights and went for a run along the water.

  “Hey, Bekker, let’s do some lunch when you get back,” Carly said.

  I nodded and took off for the water. I jogged at a medium pace for about fifteen minutes and allowed my thoughts to freefall.

  The whole thing stunk of corruption. How did a weasel like Smith burrow his way into the FBI’s good graces?

  Once, while waiting at the dentist’s office, I read this magazine article by a famous writer. He was asked the difference between writing a novel and a screenplay. He said, when you write a novel you fill the page and when you write a screenplay there is a whole lot of white on the page.

  Meaning, he left a whole lot of words out of a screenplay.

  It flashed through my mind that the FBI and Phelps left a whole lot of white on the pages of their reports.

  When I reached the midpoint of my jog, I stopped and removed the cell phone from my waistband and called Paul Lawrence on his cell number.

  “Jack,” Paul said.

  “Ethan Jaden Smith,” I said. “A check forger and credit card thief. His last stretch was three years at Coleman in Florida.”

  “That’s a country club for non-violent offenders,” Paul said.

  “See what you can dig up on him for me,” I said.

  “Give me a day,” Paul said. “And Jack, for what it’s worth, I believe Walt is innocent.”

  “Thanks, Paul. Call me when you got something,” I said.

  I jogged back to the trailer and took a chair beside Carly.

  “Frank Kagan called,” she said. “He wants to coach Walt some more. I told him we’d pick him up for lunch.”

  “I’ll grab a shower and change,” I said.

  * * *

  Kagan read the file on Ethan Jaden Smith in the limo on the way to my house.

  “What we need to know is what they left out of their reports,” Kagan said.

  Carly looked at me.

  “Jack?” she said.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.

  “Thanks for lunch by the way,” Kagan said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Walt sipped coffee and looked at me.

  “I never
heard of Ethan Jaden Smith,” he said. “Who is he?”

  We were in the backyard at my house, seated at the patio table.

  “He’s the C.I. who fingered you to the FBI and I.A.,” I said.

  “I’ve never heard of the guy,” Walt said. “Was he arrested through my house?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I have Paul Lawrence looking into his background.”

  Walt took a sip of coffee. “I was wondering if you were going to give him a call,” he said.

  “Too much at stake not to,” I said.

  “Ask Venus to pull up the arrest record on this Smith and see if he came through my house,” Walt said.

  I nodded.

  The kitchen sliding doors opened and Carly, Harry and Kagan walked out to the table.

  “Are you ready for another session, Captain Grimes?” Kagan said.

  “I’ll see you later,” I told Walt. “Carly, a moment.”

  She followed me into the kitchen.

  “My car is back at the beach, mind if I borrow the limo for a bit?” I said.

  “Go ahead,” Carly said. “We’ll be here for several hours, at least. Where are you going?”

  “See Venus,” I said.

  Carly looked at me and then nodded. “No secrets on this one, Jack,” she said.

  “No secrets,” I said. “You’ll know when I know.”

  * * *

  “He passed a dozen bad checks and ran up thousands in fraud credit card purchases before a store security guard pinched him passing a bad check at that big toy store at the mall,” Venus said. “Two county sheriff deputies made the arrest. He pled out rather than face a trial and got three years at Coleman in Florida.”

  “Can I get a hard copy?” I said.

  “Sure. Who is he?”

  “Between us?” I said.

  “Between us.”

  “The C.I. snitch who fingered Walt.”

  “This little punk?” Venus said. “It doesn’t add up.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” I said. “I owe you lunch.”

  “And I’ll let you owe me lunch,” Venus said.

  * * *

  “Did you just arrive in a limo?” Jane said, as I entered her office.

  “Belongs to Campbell Crist,” I said. “It’s Carly’s wheels while she works Walt’s case.”