The Big Lie

by James Grippando

  Then the president stopped.

  Teague stopped.

  They were at a standoff, breathing heavily but otherwise frozen in their tracks, having traded sides of the massive desk. Teague faked right, but the president didn’t bite. The two men stared each other down. Teague clutched the smartphone as if it were the nuclear football. The president leaned forward, resting his fists on the desktop, his eyes narrowing as he spoke in a low, threatening voice.

  “Do I need to call for Secret Service, Oscar?”

  Teague slowly raised his arm, holding the smartphone high above his head. “I’ll smash it on the floor.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I will. I swear I will.”

  “I’m warning you, Oscar. All I have to do is shout out the safety word. You’ll be dead where you stand before that cell phone hits the floor.”

  Teague stared back, silent but determined.

  “Now, give me my phone,” said MacLeod.

  Teague didn’t make a move, but the president could see him cracking. Teague was one of those people who always “did the best he could.” A loser.

  Teague let go of the phone. The president watched in horror as it dropped like a stone, hitting the corner of the desk with a crack before falling another three feet to the floor. MacLeod lunged to save it, but he was a split second too late. He gathered it up from the floor quickly, lovingly, as if a baby bird had fallen from its nest.

  “You cracked the glass,” he said with anger.

  “I don’t care.”

  “You’d better care.”

  “I don’t. Because I quit.” Teague said it without emotion; it was simply an assertion of fact.

  “You can’t quit.”

  “Yes, I can.” He crossed the room with purpose, opened the door, and then stopped. “I quit,” he said, making it official. Then he left the Oval Office.

  The president hurried after him, but not to bring him back. Teague blew past several staffers as he continued down the hallway, and it was important for the president to set the record straight.

  “That’s right, go!” he shouted, loud enough for the entire West Wing to hear. “And in case you didn’t hear me the first time, here it is again: You’re fired!”

  MacLeod turned and went back into the Oval Office, slamming the door behind him.

  Chapter 43

  Jack couldn’t wait for Andie to retire from the FBI.

  When Heidi Bristol’s investigator said a thousand dollars, Jack thought he meant per day. It was actually a thousand dollars per hour, which was his standard expert witness fee for time spent testifying in court. By Jack’s calculation, retired special agent Eugene Carson earned more in twenty minutes than active special agent Andie Henning took home for an honest day’s work.

  Carson’s flight landed in Tallahassee around seven. Jack picked him up at the airport, and they did most of their prepping in the car ride to the courthouse. The hearing started promptly at 8:00 p.m. The courtroom was far less than full, the media apparently having gotten wind of the narrow and technical focus of the special evening session. In a rare display of humor, General Barrow made a wisecrack about the “lowest ratings of any show in the primetime slot.” Judge Martin laughed; Jack did, too. It was the unwritten rule of courtroom humor: nothing was funny until the judge thought it was funny.

  “Counsel, it’s already late, and we all want to get home,” said Judge Martin. “So let me expedite matters. I’ve read the witness’s c.v. in detail. With over two decades in the tech unit of the FBI’s Miami field office, Mr. Carson certainly qualifies as an expert in the area of electronic surveillance. You can skip the background questions, Mr. Swyteck, and get right to the heart of the matter.”

  Jack thanked him, choosing not to mention that, by shaving twenty minutes off Carson’s testimony, the judge had just saved Jack enough money to buy everyone a steak dinner.

  “Mr. Carson, when did Ms. Bristol hire you as her investigator?”

  “Sometime before her husband—Dr. Perez—left town for what was supposed to be a business trip to Tallahassee.”

  From there, Jack took the witness step-by-step through the technological side of electronic surveillance. Over the next forty minutes, Carson demonstrated his expertise and, Jack had to admit, earned his pay. Carson was no egghead. He used plain English to help the judge grasp that it was one thing to eavesdrop on a conversation between two people on their telephones; it was quite another thing entirely to activate the microphone on a cell phone that was just resting on a table, apparently unused, and listen remotely to everything said between two people who thought they were in a private, face-to-face conversation.

  Judge Martin was openly fascinated. “I saw this on TV and thought it was fake.”

  “No, sir,” said the witness. “As long as the targeted cell phone has battery life, I can use the microphone to pick up everything said by anyone within range. In the case of this meeting outside Clyde’s, we were able to pick up and record the conversation between Ms. Holmes and Dr. Perez, as well as the entire shouting match between Dr. Perez and the decedent, Mr. Meyer.”

  “I will listen to the recording with interest,” the judge said. “Ms. Barrow, does the state of Florida have any cross-examination?”

  “No,” said Barrow, as she rose from her seat. “But we do have a motion to exclude this evidence in its entirety.”

  “On what basis?” the judge asked.

  “This kind of electronic eavesdropping is illegal under Florida law.”

  “There’s a quick answer to that,” said Jack. “The law relied on by the attorney general doesn’t apply here.”

  “That’s wrong,” said Barrow. “Just because you’re married to a man doesn’t mean you can hijack the microphone on his cell phone to spy on him.”

  “There’s the rub,” said Jack. “Dr. Perez didn’t own this cell phone.”

  “Excuse me?” said Barrow.

  “As I’m sure the court is aware, a lot of doctors choose to practice medicine without medical malpractice insurance. Dr. Perez is one of them. Like many of his colleagues, he protects his assets by putting virtually everything in the name of his wife. House, cars, boat, vacation home—even his cell. The phone Dr. Perez took to his meeting with Ms. Holmes technically belongs to his wife. Ms. Bristol can do whatever she wants with it.”

  Carson looked up at the judge from the witness chair. “I nail a lot of doctors this way.”

  The attorney general suddenly seemed smaller, as if deflating on the spot.

  “I’ll have a decision in the morning,” said the judge. “See y’all at nine a.m.”

  Thursday night at Clyde’s meant NFL football on the big-screen, draft beer on special, and tons of college students who wouldn’t make it to their Friday-morning classes. Amanda was okay with beer and football, but classes at the university were a distant memory. She wasn’t the oldest person in the bar, but she was in the over-thirty minority. She found an open barstool, ordered a draft, and told the bartender to let Andrew know that “Amanda says hey.” Andrew was the manager, and Amanda was just a sophomore at FSU when he’d hired her to wait tables. She had little doubt that he was the oldest person in the bar.

  “I’ll tell him,” said the bartender.

  Amanda checked out the game on the big-screen while waiting. The team in black and silver was getting its butt kicked by the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. Amanda wondered if Scoville was at the Bucs’ stadium. She guessed not. Probably still too scared to leave his apartment. He’d deserved what he’d gotten, and more. Talk about justifiable homicide.

  The bartender set up her draft in a frosted glass. “This one’s on Andrew. He’ll be right out.”

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  Clyde’s hadn’t changed much since her college days. Same exposed brick, same high tables, and same neon lights. The table by the window was all too familiar. Amanda had worked it three nights a week for almost two years. So many nights. Thousands of customers. They all
seemed to run together—all but one. It had been a Monday night. Make-Out Monday. Employees weren’t allowed to take part, but sometimes customers got carried away.

  Hi, I’m Charlotte. See that guy over there?

  Sorry, girlfriend. I’m not going to kiss him.

  Uhm, no. He dared me to kiss you.

  “Manny!” said Andrew, all smiles as he reached over the bar to give her a hug. Amanda had been his third hire of the semester with the same name, so at Clyde’s she was always “Manny.”

  She hugged him back, and they told each other how little they’d changed. The usual banter among old friends followed, and before the small talk turned to minutiae, Amanda segued to the point of her visit.

  “I was so sorry to hear about the shooting.”

  “Nutty world, right?”

  “I knew that girl in college. Charlotte Holmes.”

  “Funny, I’ve seen her here for drinks every now and then with the business crowd. But I don’t remember her as a student.”

  “She came a few times. Then she stopped.” Amanda left it at that. But there was so much more.

  “Her lawyer actually came by to interview me this afternoon.”

  Amanda already knew. Jack’s sleuthing was the reason for her visit. “What did he want?”

  “He thinks there’s a missing gun.”

  Amanda drank her beer. “A missing gun?”

  “The cops say Charlotte Holmes shot an unarmed man. Her lawyer thinks they just never found the gun.”

  “What does he want from you?”

  “A name. Somebody who might have seen a weapon.”

  “If the guy had a gun, what does her lawyer think happened to it?”

  “He thinks somebody picked it up in all the chaos. Why someone would do that, I have no idea.”

  “Huh,” she said, keeping her thought to herself: maybe someone thought they were picking up Charlotte’s gun—and doing her a favor.

  “You never know,” said Amanda, watching the beer bubbles rise in her glass. “Maybe it’ll turn up.”

  Chapter 44

  First thing Friday morning, Judge Martin announced his decision in chambers. Only the lawyers were present.

  “I find the recording of the conversation and events in question to be both accurate and sufficiently reliable to be admissible as evidence. Mr. Swyteck, you may play it in the courtroom.”

  It was music to Jack’s ears. Without having to put his client on the witness stand, the entire incident would play out in open court, from the “wetback” slur that had provoked Dr. Perez to the threatening words, “I got fire in my pocket.” Jack thanked the judge and rose quickly, hoping to head off some other objection from the attorney general, but Barrow was not one to stop punching just because the proverbial bell had rung and the round was over.

  “The state of Florida objects, Your Honor.”

  “I know you do,” said the judge. “That’s why the court was gracious enough to hold an after-hours hearing late last night.”

  “And we thank you for that, Judge. But just because the recording is accurate and reliable doesn’t mean it’s relevant.”

  The judge smiled, but it was a smile of amusement, not enjoyment. “Seriously, General? In a hearing to determine whether Ms. Holmes was justified in shooting Mr. Meyer, it’s your position that the recording of events that immediately preceded the shooting is not relevant?”

  “Not exactly,” said Barrow. “The recording is several minutes in length. It’s our position that most of the recording is irrelevant.”

  Jack spoke up. “Your Honor, clearly the attorney general would like to reduce the evidence in this case to two facts: Mr. Meyer was unarmed, and my client shot him. As this recording proves, there’s much more to it.”

  “Not as much as Mr. Swyteck thinks,” said Barrow. “Not under Florida’s stand-your-ground statute.”

  “Exactly what are you getting at, Counselor?”

  “We are lucky to have available to us one of the leading experts on stand your ground, former Orange County state attorney Robert Speer. As a prosecutor, Mr. Speer’s office handled more stand-your-ground cases than any other jurisdiction. If the court will allow him to testify, it will be abundantly clear that anything more than sixty seconds before the shooting is completely irrelevant in a stand-your-ground case.”

  “Bobby Speer is here?” the judge said, and this time his smile was genuine. “How’s that rascal doin’?”

  Oh, shit, thought Jack.

  “Fit as a fiddle, thank goodness. Just as important, I believe his testimony will be of great assistance to the court in deciding exactly how much of this recording is relevant to Ms. Holmes’s rights under stand your ground.”

  “All of it is relevant,” said Jack.

  “Well, not so fast,” the judge said. “Let’s hear what Bobby has to say. I mean Mr. Speer.”

  No, you meant “Bobby,” Jack thought, but he didn’t say it.

  Jack tried not to show too much disappointment as they entered the courtroom and he took his seat beside Charlotte at the table. He quietly explained to his client what had happened as Mr. Speer—Bobby—swore his oath and took his seat on the witness stand. Barrow moved quickly through the background questions, then Bobby began his pontification on stand your ground.

  “I want to be clear on terminology,” said Barrow. “Mr. Speer, could you briefly tell us your understanding of the difference between ‘stand your ground’ and ‘self-defense’?”

  “Sure,” said Speer. “We’ve always had a right to protect ourselves when it reasonably appears that someone is threatening us with death or serious injury. What changed with stand your ground is the duty to retreat. It used to be that if you were somewhere other than your own home, and you could turn and run without a confrontation, you had that obligation. Now you don’t have to back down. If someone comes at you anywhere, and that person means you harm, you can stand your ground.”

  “Thank you, sir. Now, let’s take this step-by-step.”

  Barrow had a projector and slides with demonstrative drawings to aid in the presentation. This was one well-choreographed show.

  “Slide one shows two people seated at a table on a sidewalk outside a bar. A third man approaches and asks, ‘Excuse me, ma’am. Is that man bothering you?’ My question is this: Does the fact that these people are in a public space affect stand your ground?”

  “No. As long as you have a right to be at the place in question, you have the right to stand your ground. Everybody has the right to be on a public sidewalk.”

  “Does anyone have a right to shoot anyone at this point?”

  “No. There’s been no threat.”

  “Second slide,” said Barrow, changing the image on the projection screen. “The man who is standing says, ‘I have a gun in my pocket.’ Does anyone have the right to shoot anyone at this point?”

  “We’re getting into a gray area. It’s possible that the man or the woman at the table would feel threatened.”

  Jack liked that answer, but he knew that this presentation was far from over.

  “Slide three,” said Barrow. “The man who said he had a gun in his pocket turns away from the table and says, ‘Stupid wetback.’ With respect to the stand-your-ground rights of the man and woman at the table, are we still in the gray area, as you called it?”

  “Objection,” said Jack. “Doesn’t that depend on whether the man is reaching for the gun in his pocket as he turns away?”

  “Mr. Swyteck, that will make fine cross-examination,” the judge said. “As an objection, overruled. You can answer, Bobby—uh, Mr. Speer.”

  “The man and woman at the table no longer have any stand-your-ground rights. The man is retreating. The threat has evaporated.”

  “Slide four,” said Barrow. “The man at the table jumps up from his chair and goes after the other man who is in retreat. At this point, does anyone have the right to stand his or her ground?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who?”<
br />
  “The man who was retreating. He has the right to stand his ground against the man at the table who came after him.”

  “What about the woman at the table? Does she have the right to stand her ground?”

  “No. The only aggressor at this point is the man who was with her at the table. And his aggression is not directed toward her.”

  “So if the woman pulls a gun and shoots—”

  “Objection,” said Jack, needing to throw a wrench into this juggernaut fast. “It sounds like General Barrow would like this witness to decide the entire case. The only purpose of this testimony is to determine which portion of the audio recording is relevant.”

  “That objection is sustained. General Barrow, please rephrase your question.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Speer, as state attorney it was your job to evaluate evidence and decide whether to charge someone with homicide, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And in some cases you decided not to bring charges, because you determined that the shooter had a right to stand his or her ground.”

  “Many cases.”

  “In the situation I just laid out in these slides, how far back in time would you need to look in order to decide if the shooter—let’s call her Ms. Holmes—had a right to stand her ground.”

  “Objection.”

  “Overruled. The witness may answer.”

  Speer’s chest swelled, as if he suddenly had license to pontificate. “I’ve often said that the only relevant time frame in a stand-your-ground case is the final thirty to sixty seconds. Everything before that—the prelude, if you will—simply clouds the analysis.”

  “Move to strike as nonresponsive.”

  “Overruled. But do answer the question, Bobby.” The judge didn’t even bother with the corrective “Mr. Speer.”

  “In this situation, the critical point in time is when the man turns away. All the stuff before that is just flat-out immaterial.”