“She seemed desperate to get some critical documents to Attorney General Owen Shea. What can you tell me about them?”
Michael shrugged. “I have no idea what she was referring to. I heard someone attribute her claim to stress induced delusions. I have no knowledge to support or deny that claim.”
As much as Colleen continued to probe, he frustrated her attempts at describing his role in the capture or in providing any more information about himself than what she had already discovered. Fine. If that was the game he wanted to play, she could play it, too. After another thirty minutes of trying, she allowed him to break up the interview.
Michael courteously escorted the reporter and crew out of the conference room and into the corridor of the bustling headquarters. Before she allowed herself to be dismissed, she turned and looked up at him.
“One last question. Just what exactly do you have to do with the Unity Green Trust?”
The defense team was having a field day on the prosecution’s case. “Your Honor. With all due respect to our esteemed colleague, Mr. Shea, I hardly see it as necessary to continue presenting these threads of fantasy the prosecution calls evidence linking my client to the murder of Gus Adams. The prosecution has presented bank records showing fund transfers to the Unity Green accounts and photographs of a lighter at the scene of the murder. I hardly consider that enough of a linkage to create probable cause on the charges of conspiracy and accomplice to murder.”
Judge Rivers was getting equally restless. She fought to remain impartial. “May I remind you, Counselor, that it is up to the jury to decide whether or not probable cause exists. As far as the prosecution’s case is concerned, it does appear to the bench that they have presented all their evidence. Are you prepared to rest your case?”
Shea’s stomach was in knots. Without a live witness to connect all of his evidence, he could feel the murder related charges slipping away from indictment. He was pushed back into a corner and hated it. He knew what he had to do.
“Your Honor. With the court’s permission, I would like to enter into evidence the videotaped statement of Jessica Wyeth.”
Judge Rivers pounded the gavel several times to regain order in the courtroom. Her chin length blonde hair waved in response to the effort. “This is highly unorthodox and such actions carry with them heavy professional risk.” She looked down at Shea from her perch at the bench.
“I understand that, your Honor.”
“May I remind you that presenting the tape in court may be perceived as confirmation of the fact that you have indeed been in contact with a fugitive. May I also remind you that not having brought such contact immediately to the attention of the proper authorities could result in your being disbarred?”
“I am aware of the consequences.”
The judge looked over at the defense. “What is the defendant’s position?”
“The defense strenuously objects. The tape must be disqualified as inadmissible under the federal rules of evidence.”
Shea stepped forward. “Your Honor. Videotaped statements are admissible in a court of law when the subject presenting the testimony is unavailable at the time of the grand jury proceeding. Miss Wyeth is not available. Therefore, the tape is admissible.”
The judge nodded her agreement. It was good law. “Very well then. Proceed.” She beat down several more attempts at objections from the defense.
The VCR player was wheeled into the courtroom and the lights dimmed. The courtroom sat in rapt attention as the image sprung to life. The face of Jessica Wyeth filled the large screen. She had as commanding a presence on screen as she did in person. No one could take their eyes off of her as she told her story of the night Gus Adams was murdered.
As Shea sat and listened again to Jessica tell her side of the story, he could tell he was reaching the end of his case. Exhaustion clouded his thinking. He just wanted to get out of there and have a scotch. It would be a long time before he would be able to live this whole mess down. Presenting the videotape and all that it contained was the only way he could seal up this case. If the jury was going to buy Magnus as a conspirator and an accomplice, the taped testimony was the only way to get a description of the actual murder on record.
He stopped the tape just before Jessica described the brutal details of the murder. “Your Honor, I have a notarized statement from Gus Adams stating that he was in fear of his life. The statement explains his connection with the defendant and his desire to extricate himself from the organization he had long supported. It is dated one month prior to his death.”
The defense attorneys sprang to life with a cacophony of objections. Shea dealt each objection a lethal blow. Gus’ statement reached far into the realm of establishing motive and Judge Rivers concurred. Each defense objection was overruled.
Keeping eye contact with the jury, Shea pressed ‘Play’ and the details of the murder were exposed to them. Shea assessed each juror carefully and could see the impact the details were making. Using the drama of the tape as a backdrop, he presented the court with complaints against ‘John Doe’ as the murderer.
He glanced at Magnus. Although the defendant remained still, his color had paled considerably and tiny beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Seeing that, Shea momentarily allowed himself the wild fantasy that maybe Magnus would tell him who the murderer was in exchange for some kind of plea bargain. He doubted it.
The tape whirred on. Shea retrieved from files his own personal records of the investigation. Again, doing so was hammering another nail into his own coffin. “I present this diary to the court. It is my own personal journal containing the reflections of this attorney during the original murder investigation as a young police officer. It contains additional information from that investigation which is absent from the official police records.” There was another audible gasp from the courtroom. He was in a mess up to his ears.
“Your honor. I have one final witness. I call Sebastian Cabot to the stand.”
The portly and dignified jeweler took the stand. Shea stepped him through the process of stating his name and occupation for the record. It did not take him long to get to the point. The videotape laid the foundation to present additional evidence about the lighter. Shea showed him a picture of it taken at the scene of the murder.
“And you say you recognize this?”
The dapper man shifted his weight in the tiny wooden seat in the witness stand. “Yes. That is the lighter my firm had custom-made to this order.”
“Let the record reflect that the witness has identified the lighter found at the scene of the murder as one he sold in his jewelry store.” He quickly had Mr. Cabot verify that the ordering documents were for the same lighter by showing a clear match between the sketch and the engraving on the lighter.
“Was there anything else unusual about this order?” Shea probed his witness.
“It was only duplicated once. By that man, seated there.” He pointed to Magnus Connaught seated at the defense table.
Magnus glared at Mr. Cabot. Shea had been watching Magnus during the course of the day’s proceedings and the old man had remained, by all appearances, very calm and in control. He did have one little nervous habit that fascinated Shea. Magnus had been fidgeting with a shiny piece of metal until it was confiscated by the bailiff.
Shea tossed a lighter back to Magnus. “Here. The bailiff says no smoking in the courtroom or he’ll take it away again.” A smirk curled on his face as Magnus looked at the lighter and placed it back into his pocket.
“That is your lighter, isn’t it?”
Over defense objections, Magnus answered Shea. He wasn’t about to let some twerp of an attorney get at him. “Yes. Of course that’s mine.”
Shea tried to hide a smile as he nodded to the bailiff. The bailiff walked over and handed him a small metal object. Shea turned to face the jury holding the object up for all to see. “T
his is the lighter that the bailiff took from Magnus today. Let the record reflect that the defendant has identified the lighter found at the murder scene as his own.”
He paused as if in thought and smoothed his suit jacket with his hand. The hesitation lasted barely a split second, but it was enough time to embed the image of this moment into his memory forever. He had done battle and it showed. He raked his fingers through his hair.
“Your honor, I withdraw myself from any further action on this case due to potential or perceived lack of impartiality and conflict of interest. Thank you. Prosecution rests.”
“They’ve arrested Wyeth,” Abbey said as she forced her way through the throng of people surrounding Shea.
“When?”
“Early this morning. They claim the message to get her over here never got to the right people. It’s a zoo. The steps are filled with reporters.”
“Let’s go out the side door of the courthouse and split up. You go out front and give the official ‘no comment’ response. That should keep most of the reporters with you.”
“I... I’m not very good at journalistic feeding frenzies. They’ll want me to speculate on what I think the jury is going to decide.”
“Tell them we had hoped for a decision on all counts from the jury the same day we rested our case, but Judge Rivers adjourned the proceedings until tomorrow, then the jury will need some time to deliberate. Tell them we are totally confident in its positive resolution.”
“Are you?”
“Lie.”
The police headquarters was only a few blocks from the courthouse and Shea walked undiscovered only half way. After that, every step he made toward the police station risked being made upon the toes of a story-hungry journalist. The entire distance was a tangle of radio and television station vans. Their doors were flung open and the air above them was spiked with the transmitters and satellite linkups necessary for reporting the incredible story unfolding on Boston’s streets. He noticed crews from other cities, too. No doubt this story was snowballing into a national sensation.
It took nearly an hour, but he was finally led into a small room with a table and two chairs in it. It was a room frequently used for suspect interrogations. A long mirror covered one wall and he knew that a camera was poised behind it that could capture every word that was spoken. He was not happy with these arrangements at all since today he could not be sure that the camera would be off. He had demanded full and complete access to Jessica and was adamant about conducting his interview in total confidence. The captain of the station agreed in word only. Shea hated being watched like a criminal himself, but there would be time enough to set the record straight in the coming days. He just wanted to see her and finally relented to their terms.
The other door opened and Jessica walked in. She was pale, drawn and visibly disturbed. Her eyes grew wide as she recognized her visitor.
“Shea!”
He used facial expressions and subtle hand signals to let her know that they were being watched. “Sit down. How are you?”
Jessica was confused at what he was trying to tell her, but went along with him. “Those bastards who put me in here took the documents I wanted to give you. Did you get them?”
He laughed. “I must have been asked about those papers fifty times on my way here. The reporters are dying to know what’s in them. As soon as I hit the door of the station, I was led to the booking room and they handed me your effects. Is this everything?” He shoved a large brown envelope toward her.
She poured the contents onto the table. After reviewing the documents, she let out a long sigh. “Yes. It looks like everything is here.”
“Where are they keeping you?”
Jessica struggled to keep her emotions under control. “Solitary confinement.”
“Jesus H. Christ!” Shea got up and leaned over the table wanting to take her hands into his and thought better of it. Sitting back down he said, “I can’t believe it! What are they trying to prove?”
“That I am a hardened and dangerous criminal that is a threat to myself and to others. They even have me on a suicide watch.” She tried to keep a look of seriousness on her face, but the edges of her mouth twitched against the pull of a smile.
Shea understood. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, you know how to stay alive. Every newspaper, radio, and television station reported on you screaming about getting me some secret documents and you expressing fear for your life. No one in their right mind would risk harming you under the glare of scrutiny this case is receiving. Not even yourself.” Their eyes met and they cautiously shared the joke.
“How did it go today in court?”
“Okay,” he tried to sound noncommittal. Shea sifted through the documents on the table. “The letter from your father and the supporting documents are all we need.” He paused. “Jessica, I’m sorry about our last conversation. The cost to you has been pretty great.”
“It’ll all be over soon enough.”
“Will you be okay here?”
She huffed. “I have the finest accommodations, thanks.”
Shea was uncomfortable. There was so much more he had to say to her, but he felt the lens of the camera burn into the back of his neck.
“Jessica, about Sheriff Conant—”
She shook her head and cut off his words. “Don’t. Don’t talk about him. He held a gun to my face this morning, handcuffed me and fed me to the sharks. I really don’t want to talk about him at all.”
“No. Listen to me. Stay away from him. There’s a lot more about him than you realize.”
“I was trying to stay away from him, remember?” She spat out the words and made it clear that she would not let him carry out the conversation.
He shook his head and chaffed against the constraints of their surveillance. He did not dare tell her why her life may depend upon her staying away from him or why his life may depend on not knowing the truth. Throughout all of this mess, he felt he was living on borrowed time. No action seemed to be worth further risking his life.
Jessica lowered her eyes and brought her hands up to her head. Even rubbing her temples did not muffle the pounding. Being alone in the cell was a chilling experience. Finally caught, after years of running, she had nowhere and no one to turn to. The cinder block walls amplified the voices in her head. She no longer had to dream to see the faces of Erin or Gus. If the starkness of the cell were not so real, she would have questioned the reality of the entire situation.
“I’m sorry,” she spoke in a soft voice. “This whole thing has really gotten to me. I really don’t know how much longer I can take this.”
“I think the jury will render a decision tomorrow morning. If they determine that probable cause exists on the murder charges, you would be freed from suspicion and should be released from protective custody immediately. Keep your fingers crossed.”
His voice was low. Jessica again felt his calming manner. For a moment, she allowed herself to dream.
“What can I expect until we have news?”
“They should keep you here for a temporary confinement. I doubt they would move you to the Charlestown jail. That place is too open, security too lax. If they do transfer you, be very, very careful.”
“Why? What do you mean?”
Shea shifted in his seat. “There have been instances where prisoners have been shot during what was termed ‘escape attempts.’ The officers in charge of the transport line—the line formed by prisoners being led out of temporary holding for transfer to the jail—were considered to be justified in shooting to kill when someone broke that line. Joining it would mean leaving your little cocoon. It exposes you to more risk than either of us are comfortable with.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know. Just hang in there a little while longer.”
A sharp knock at the door signaled visiting time was up. They
both stood and looked at one another.
Their good-bye was spoken simultaneously.
“Be careful.”
The old man’s hooded eyes made a guarded observation of the police officer assigned to his security detail. It was not a face he recognized and the name on the gold shield was not familiar. He sighed and shifted in his deep leather club chair, causing the leather to give a groan. The sudden noise made the officer look over at his prisoner with a slight bit of interest. Noting nothing of importance, the officer stepped back into the hallway of the mansion. He left the door slightly ajar.
It had been a long day for Magnus and he felt the drain of fatigue pull down on him. His team of attorneys had argued forcefully for his release without bail pending the determination of the grand jury. After all, they said, he is a longstanding member of the community with considerable economic and social ties to the area, was aging and infirm and therefore was not a flight risk. Judge Rivers had set an amount that she thought would keep him home and released on a bail of three hundred thousand dollars. Jumping bail, or leaving town to avoid charges, would mean that he would forfeit that amount of money. Magnus nearly laughed at what an insignificant amount it was and knew it was proof that the court obviously had no idea how very wealthy he was—or where he kept his money.
Grudgingly he admitted to himself that the attorney general was a worthy opponent. Shea argued that the severity of the charges raised this to a level of a capital case and that Magnus’ ties to foreign groups would make it more likely that the old man would try to jump bail. A foolish thought, mused Magnus, but a sound legal argument. When the judge agreed to bail, Shea insisted upon a twenty-four hour watch on him.
But none of that made any difference to Magnus now. At this moment, he was nothing but an old and ailing man looking forward to the arrival of a visitor. He pushed himself to his feet and shuffled over to the wet bar in the far corner of the study. A rich, amber colored brandy swirled along the side of a fine crystal snifter. He leaned back against the finely carved bookcase and took in the room.
The Charity Page 44