Dying Declaration

by Randy Singer

  “Do you have any other witnesses?” After such a shocking revelation, the judge seemed to take some solace in the ordinary procedural rules that still governed in the courtroom.

  “Just one,” Charles said. “Rebecca Crawford.”

  76

  THE BARRACUDA’S MIND RACED wildly. It was sheer will and years of professional training that allowed her to keep her emotions in check while her world crumbled around her. A good lawyer was always part actor, never allowing her true emotions to come out, only what the role required. And right now the role required dignity . . . and indignation.

  “That’s outrageous.” She stood and hissed. “Armistead can say anything he wants in his dying declaration because he doesn’t have the guts to stick around and defend his fabrications under cross-examination on the witness stand. So now, to add insult to injury, the defendant wants to call me as a witness?” She sneered. “Fat chance.”

  “Are you refusing to take the stand?” Silverman asked. “I will not make you testify, but if you don’t—” he held his palms up—“I’ll have to take this evidence at face value.”

  The Barracuda marched to the well of the courtroom, directly in front of the judge’s bench, and raised her right arm. “Give me the oath,” she demanded, “so I can deal with Mr. Arnold’s pack of lies.”

  Within seconds, she had settled into the witness stand, staring out at her adversary.

  “Good morning,” Charles said, smiling.

  “Good morning,” the Barracuda spit out. You jerk.

  “Let’s get right down to it,” Charles said. “This four hundred thousand dollars paid by Dr. Armistead—under the guise of the Virginia Insurance Reciprocal—any chance that some of that money went to your account or an account you control?”

  She hated his smug look, the condescending nature of his question. But she forced herself not to focus on the anger. She needed to think clearly, quickly. The accounts could be subpoenaed. There was no use denying it.

  “Yes.”

  Charles waited, looking like there must surely be something more, some further explanation.

  “That’s it? Yes?” he asked incredulously.

  “Yes, the money went into an account that would ultimately be controlled by my election campaign.” She tried to sound indignant. “We were trying to keep it confidential because I had not yet announced my intention to run for commonwealth’s attorney. Still haven’t . . . before this.”

  Charles just smiled and crossed his arms. She wanted to strangle him, choke that arrogant attitude right out of him.

  “That’s it?” Charles asked. “That’s your full explanation? The man’s wife dies, and he just says, ‘Hey, now that my wife’s dead, I think I’ll donate a few hundred thousand as a campaign donation for a woman who has not yet announced her candidacy’?”

  “When Dr. Armistead’s wife committed suicide,” the Barracuda replied acidly, “he went through a time of soul-searching and reprioritizing. He decided to put some of the money that he and Erica had accumulated to good use.”

  Charles still had that quizzical look on his face, the knit brow of disbelief. The Barracuda decided to lay it on a little thicker.

  “When you see a young patient die on your watch,” she continued, “because his parents won’t even bring him to the hospital, you realize how important it is to have someone in the commonwealth’s attorney’s office who will enforce the laws.”

  “Indeed,” Charles said. “Indeed.” He took a few steps, never taking his eyes from her.

  “Did you have an affair with him?” Charles asked.

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Did he ever call you on your cell phone?”

  “Of course, he was a witness in this case.”

  “Did he call you often?”

  The Barracuda shrugged. What does he know? What documents does he have? “Often enough to be ready for his testimony.”

  “Do you have your cell phone with you now?” Charles asked.

  Crawford looked at Silverman. The judge simply returned her stare.

  “Well?” Charles prodded.

  “It’s in my briefcase, but it’s turned off. We are in court,” the Barracuda said snidely.

  “Do you have a phone mail message that plays when the phone’s off?”

  “Of course.”

  Charles shuffled through the documents left behind by Armistead. He grabbed three near the bottom, took his own cell phone out of his briefcase, and turned on the power. “Is this all right, Judge?”

  Silverman nodded.

  While Charles played his little game, the Barracuda noticed the back door of the courtroom open. Nikki entered somewhat clumsily, wheeling a stand containing a television and VCR player down the aisle.What now? Crawford wondered. Is this a bluff? She calculated the odds of Charles Arnold actually having videotaped evidence. Of what?

  “Can you identify these documents for the record?” Charles asked, holding them out with his left hand while holding his cell phone with his right.

  “They appear to be cell phone bills,” the Barracuda responded.

  “It appears that Dr. Armistead was on a plan that gave him a certain number of hours a month. Would you agree?”

  The Barracuda snatched the documents and glanced them over with as much contempt as she could muster. “If you say so.”

  “But in this particular month, February of this year, he exceeded those minutes. Do you see that?”

  “Yes.”

  “And can you read for us, from this list of phone calls, the one number that appears most often?” Charles held up his own cell phone, preparing to dial.

  “Let’s skip the dramatics,” the Barracuda snapped. “That’s my cell phone number, and you know it. You don’t need to complete your cute little demonstration.”

  “Would you care to explain to the court why Dr. Armistead was calling you so often in February of this year, months before young Joshua died?”

  Crawford paused for a second but knew she had to come up with something quick. Innocent witnesses, those telling the truth, didn’t pause to think things over. But things were coming at her too fast, one after the other. The good news was that Armistead wasn’t around to refute anything she would say. “I consulted him about medical issues in other cases.”

  “So he called you at eleven thirty at night on February 14? and twelve thirty at night on February 16? and nearly midnight on February 20?”

  The Barracuda felt her face getting warm. One lie leading to another. This pompous defense attorney having fun at her expense. She so desperately wanted to strike back. Instead, she used every ounce of self-control she could muster to keep her emotions in check.

  “Unlike lawyers in private practice, commonwealth’s attorneys are not on the clock. Armistead was busy during the day at the hospital, and he was helping me with complex medical issues in some cases. I told him he could call anytime.”

  Charles crossed his arms and smirked. He waited again, as if there must be more to her answer than that.

  “Mr. Arnold,” Judge Silverman inquired, “anything else?”

  “Sorry, Your Honor. I wanted to make sure she was finished.” Charles looked over at Nikki, who nodded back.

  “Did you ever meet Dr. Armistead at the Beach Grill?”

  “Once or twice on business, but nothing romantic, as Armistead claimed.”

  “Did you know,” Charles asked slowly and deliberately, “that the Beach Grill has a security camera that periodically records its patrons?”

  He’s bluffing; he has to be. The Barracuda thought hard about the surroundings at the Beach Grill. Was there a camera above the bar area? She didn’t remember one. She would take her chances. What did she have to lose?

  “I am not aware of that. In fact, I doubt it’s true.”

  Crawford watched as Nikki turned and whispered to a young man in the front row. The Barracuda thought she had seen him before. But where? A waiter? A bartender? It was so hard to remember. She had alwa
ys been too busy to notice those types of people.

  Charles wheeled the VCR into the middle of the courtroom. “Can you see, Judge?” he asked.

  Silverman nodded.

  Charles turned again to the witness. “Did you ever hold hands with Dr. Armistead at the Beach Grill?”

  Of course, she thought. It had been so much fun to flaunt their tryst, to tempt the fates. Now she was kicking herself. Arnold was probably bluffing. But if he wasn’t, she would be guilty of perjury, on the spot, something the videotape would prove beyond reasonable doubt.

  Charles crossed his arms and waited. The Barracuda looked deep into his eyes. She had made a career of being able to tell when people were lying. But there was no hint from him, nothing she could read. It was a huge risk, a possible perjury conviction. And for what? So that Thomas Hammond might spend a few years in jail.

  She looked up at Silverman. “I’m invoking my Fifth Amendment rights and refusing to answer that question.”

  “Did you have a few beers with him?” Charles asked.

  “I invoke the Fifth.”

  “Did you kiss him?” Charles asked.

  The Barracuda snorted. “I invoke the Fifth.”

  “Did you conspire with him to give false testimony in this case?”

  “The game’s over, Mr. Arnold. I will no longer answer your misleading, insulting questions. I . . . take . . . the . . . Fifth.” The Barracuda spat out the words, demonstrating her contempt.

  “And did you plan to murder Erica Armistead if she did not commit suicide?”

  She hated not answering this question, her blood beginning to boil. She knew how it would look. But the time for looking good was over. Now she was thinking self-preservation. How many times had she goaded witnesses into answering questions that resulted in indictments. “Is there something about this you don’t understand, Mr. Arnold? I’m taking the Fifth.”

  “No, Ms. Crawford,” Charles responded. “I think I understand perfectly.” Then, turning to the judge, “Nothing further.”

  Charles wheeled the VCR unit off to the side of the courtroom and returned to his seat. The Barracuda watched for a moment in seething silence, then stood and stepped down from the witness stand, heading back toward her seat at counsel table.

  “Ms. Crawford.” Judge Silverman’s voice had a steely edge to it. She wheeled around to face his wrath.

  She had practiced in front of him for years, but she had never seen him like this. He was pointing at her, his hand shaking. “I have served this court a long time,” he said, “and I thought I had seen it all. But I have n-never—ever—seen such a blatant disregard for the rule of law, such totally unethical and . . . abhorrent behavior.” Silverman sat up on his seat and leaned forward, as if he were ready to come over the bench and strangle Crawford with his bare hands.

  “You, ma’am, have been entrusted by this court with enforcing the law. But in light of your apparent conduct in this case, that role will now fall to me. I am hereby issuing, sua sponte, a bench warrant charging you with obstruction of justice.

  “Deputies,” he called out, “I remand Ms. Crawford to custody in a separate holding cell from the other prisoners. I will set the arraignment for 2:00 p.m. this afternoon, which ought to give Ms. Crawford sufficient time to retain a good lawyer.”

  Two deputies approached and attempted to grab the Barracuda by each arm. She brushed them off, thrust her chin in the air, and began walking from the well of the courtroom under her own volition with a deputy on each side. As she passed Charles, seated at the counsel table, she refused to even look at him.

  “No hard feelings?” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear. “Or doesn’t it really work that way?”

  77

  TIGER COULDN’T BELIEVE HIS EYES.

  “Are they taking her to jail?” he asked his mommy. He meant to whisper, but he was so excited that it actually came out pretty loud.

  “Shh,” Theresa said. “I think so.”

  “Yes!” Tiger said, once again a little louder than he intended. He felt the eyes of the spectators throughout the courtroom staring at him. “Sorry,” he whispered, though he really wasn’t.

  It had been such a strange and wonderful day. He had not understood everything that had happened, but he had sensed it was going good. Plus he had learned a brand-new strategy for staying out of trouble. It had dawned on him at the end of the Mean Lady’s testimony.

  “What’s that mean?” he asked his mom, when the Mean Lady took the Fifth.

  “In America,” Theresa explained, “you don’t have to answer questions that might incriminate you—get you in trouble. It’s called taking the Fifth.”

  Wow! Tiger thought to himself. Why hadn’t anybody told him about this before? “Take a fif.” He’d have to remember that! The budding young constitutional lawyer had a feeling he’d be making good use of that rule in the days to come.

  But first, there was still one matter of unfinished business.

  Even though everyone had been telling Tiger all weekend that he should just pray for a short prison sentence for his daddy, he had secretly disobeyed. Every night and every morning, silently, Tiger had prayed that his daddy would get out of jail altogether and just come home. It was exciting to see the Mean Lady heading off for jail, but it was not the same as having his dad come home. He was still praying for his dad to get out, even as the deputies escorted the Mean Lady from the courtroom.

  “Will the defendant please rise,” the judge said. His dad rose. Mr. Charles stood by his daddy’s side.

  “The declaration of Dr. Armistead makes it clear to this court that your conviction was based on false testimony,” the judge said. “The death of Dr. Armistead makes it equally obvious that the commonwealth could not prove its case in a new trial. Accordingly, Mr. Hammond, I am setting aside the jury verdict on the basis of prosecutorial misconduct. You are a free man, Mr. Hammond. Free to go.

  “Court adjourned,” Judge Silverman announced, banging that little hammer of his one more time.

  Tiger’s daddy turned and gave Mr. Charles a bear hug. His mommy jumped out of her seat and hugged his daddy.

  “What’s that mean? What’s that mean?” Tiger yelled, jumping up and down.

  Just then Miss Nikki came over and swooped him up in one arm, throwing her other arm around Stinky. She swung him around in a circle. “It means your daddy’s coming home!”

  Tiger squeezed Miss Nikki’s neck, hard as he could, then jumped down and ran into his daddy’s arms. His dad had tears running down his cheeks, and he hugged Tiger like he would never let him go.

  Then Tiger, smiling his toothy little grin while cradled in his daddy’s arms, looked over his daddy’s shoulder and saw a mean-looking deputy who had carted his daddy away to jail so many times before.

  “Let’s get outta here, Dad,” a suddenly worried Tiger said.

  “Good idea,” his dad said, smiling through the tears. “Let’s go home.”

  Nikki grabbed Charles by the arm, turned him around, and kissed him on the cheek. “Nice job, handsome,” she gushed.

  “Thanks, Nikki. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “I know.”

  Charles gave her a spontaneous hug, then felt a little self-conscious and let her go. They both stood there for a second and smiled.

  “By the way—” Charles dropped his voice—“what was on that videotape, anyway?”

  “You don’t want to know,” Nikki answered.

  “I was afraid of that,” Charles said. Then he gave her another hug.

  78

  TWENTY-FOUR HOURS LATER, Nikki was sitting in Charles’s office, searching for just the right words. She had waited outside his con law class, then followed him upstairs. This couldn’t wait any longer. It was now Tuesday morning, and Nikki had hardly slept since Sunday night. She hated to involve Charles, but she didn’t know where else to turn. Her conscience was killing her. And she needed a good lawyer.

  Armistead had died as a
result of Nikki’s breaking-and-entering scheme. She didn’t know the details, but she was pretty sure that Virginia law would treat her as if she had killed Armistead with her own hands. But who would know? Only she and Buster. And now Charles.

  Nikki stared at her hands and rubbed them together. Charles had been unusually subdued himself, and she noticed the dark circles under his eyes that matched the ones she had confronted in her own mirror that morning. Something was eating him too.

  He slouched down in his chair a little, spreading his long legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. He picked up the Nerf basketball from his desk and tossed it to her. “Here,” he said. “Makes it easier to think.”

  Nikki took a shot that missed by a foot. “Not a good sign,” she said.

  “Talk to me, girl.” Charles sat up a little straighter and leaned forward. “Whatever it is, I’m on your side.”

  This was so hard. Would he condemn her? forgive her like the woman caught in adultery? Nikki thought about that night on the boardwalk, the street sermon, the chalk, Charles asking for forgiveness.

  Now it was her turn to ask. “I know what happened to Armistead,” she said softly. She paused to take a deep breath before continuing.

  “Me too,” Charles injected before she could speak again.

  “Huh?”

  Charles sighed and reached into a desk drawer. He tossed a document in Nikki’s direction. “This came today. In the mail.”

  Nikki picked it up and started reading.

  “It’s a will,” Charles explained. “The last will and testament of Dr. Sean Armistead.”

  “He mailed it before he died?”

  “He mailed it,” Charles replied. “Chesapeake postmark. Monday’s date. Meaning it could have been dropped in the mail Sunday night or mailed by somebody else Monday or . . .”

  Charles stood and shook his head. He fetched his Nerf ball and took a shot. All net. “It’s all in the follow-through,” he said.

  “Or what?” Nikki asked, leaning forward.

  “Or Armistead might have mailed it himself on Monday.”