Merton had made his reputation as an aggressive prosecutor but as the state attorney, he’d been rather conservative. He had made the decision not to prosecute Thomas Felton for the attempted murder of Stacey Kincaid, a decision that ultimately resulted in the murder of Kathleen Jeffries. Consequently, there was no love lost between him and Sam. Still, Sam needed Merton’s help to prosecute Jack, and that was the most important thing right now. In his crazy mind, he needed the attorney who had made the decision to set Felton free, to prosecute the attorney who had started the process to set Felton free. It was nuts, and it made for strange bedfellows but Sam didn’t care. He just wanted his revenge.
The two men met in Merton’s corner office, the one he’d been occupying for just a short period of time. Sam quickly went over the evidence he had concocted against Jack. Merton had many of the same questions Danni did. Sam answered them all. His conversation with Danni had prepared him well.
“This is insanity, Sam,” Merton said finally. “You want me to prosecute one of the most famous lawyers in Florida, maybe the whole United States.”
“That’s right.”
“This guy probably doesn’t have a speeding ticket on his record.”
“So?”
“So I’m not going to commit political suicide here. If you recall, I’m the guy who wouldn’t prosecute Felton on that attempted murder charge.”
“Yeah. How did that work for you? You think you’ve got a shot at dogcatcher next election?”
“At least I can explain that decision and leave myself a chance. I prosecute Tobin and lose, I may as well leave the state.”
“Let me give you a different perspective,” Sam said. “Let’s say the people in this county want Tobin prosecuted. Let’s say they’re angry at him for getting Felton off and for giving Felton the opportunity to kill my daughter. And let’s say, as Kathleen’s father, I’m grateful to you for at least taking the shot. Don’t you think with my support, win or lose, you have a better chance at re-election by prosecuting this case? You took action. You didn’t sit on your ass and let Tobin walk away when I presented you with these facts. People are going to appreciate that, Bob. It will make up for your past inaction.”
Sam watched as Merton took in his words. He could see they’d had the desired effect by the look on Merton’s face. He looked surprised. He hadn’t thought of the situation in that light. But he still wasn’t ready to take the big bite from the apple.
“Tobin will move for a change of venue. It won’t even be tried here. People won’t give a shit.”
A change of venue was a request to move the trial somewhere else on the premise that the defendant would not get a fair trial in the jurisdiction where the criminal act had occurred. Evidence had to be presented for the court to grant a motion to change venue. Sam had anticipated this argument as well and he had an answer.
“What would be the basis for a motion for change of venue—that people here are angry at Tobin for getting Felton released, therefore he can’t get a fair trial? You’ve got a great counter-argument. Think about it: The people here all know or at least believe that Felton was a serial killer. The fact that, in the eyes of the law, Felton was an innocent man at the time of his death is not going to make a difference here. Everybody here is going to know that Tobin is being prosecuted for ridding this county of a serial killer. That should even out any sentiment against Tobin and give you a pretty compelling response to any motion Tobin or his lawyer can file.
“They need evidence as well and they’re not going to get it. I know Art Grumman, the editor of the Oakville Sun, real well. I’ve gotten his kids out of a few scrapes. He owes me. I’ll make sure there are no editorials about Tobin’s guilt, and I’ll get the rabble-rousers under control, too. There will be no demonstrations or any of that crap. Tobin will be tried here in Apache County, I promise you. And if you try the case and seek the death penalty, win or lose, you will be re-elected to office. Hell, with the publicity from this case, you may become attorney general or governor.”
It was a compelling argument by a man committed to his cause. All of Merton’s fears about what would happen if he tried to prosecute Jack were replaced by new fears about what would certainly happen if he didn’t.
“Okay,” he said to Sam. “I’ll take this case to the grand jury and let them decide. But I want your commitment that you will support me for re-election.”
“You’ve got it but only on the condition that you try this case yourself.”
“Done.”
Chapter Fifty
Jack returned to Ron’s condo in town after Felton’s death. Henry arrived the next evening. They didn’t get to talk much until the following morning over coffee on the patio.
“You did a real good thing there, Henry, taking care of Danni’s daughter.”
“Can it, Jack.”
“What?”
“I’ll listen to that kind of stuff from other people but not you. This is what we do. I didn’t tell you that you did a great job hanging out in the woods until you caught Felton, did I?”
“No, but you were about to.”
“Hell I was. It was what I expected you to do just as you expected me to do what I did. Now let’s get to the real stuff. What’s going on with you and Danni?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
“C’mon. Danni told me you guys were together the day Felton was shot.”
“We were because I went to her house to check on her, that’s all.”
“So nothing’s going on in the romance department?”
“Nope, and it looks like it won’t ever be going on.”
“Never say never.”
“We had a good long talk. She was very honest with me. She told me she just couldn’t sustain another relationship after her marriage. She said it’s like hitting a brick wall.”
“Well, you hadn’t seen her in two years anyway. Now you can at least put it behind you completely.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“So what’s going on with this investigation into Felton’s death? Danni tells me they were looking for Felton’s gun or something.”
“Yeah. When I saw him in the woods, I yelled at him to stop, and he turned and I’m almost certain he had a gun but I’m not positive. That’s why I shot him. Now they say they can’t find the gun.”
“Are they going to try and charge you with something?”
“I’m not sure. That’s why I’m staying in town.”
“What could they charge you with potentially?”
“I don’t know—manslaughter maybe. I think Sam Jeffries still has it in for me. Part of me even thinks he took the gun out of Felton’s hand.”
“Really? It seems like a big risk for the police chief to set you up for something like this. I mean, Felton was a serial killer. You told him to stop. He didn’t. You thought he had a gun. You shot him. What jury is going to convict you under those circumstances even if there wasn’t a gun?”
“I don’t know, Henry. But I wouldn’t discount Sam Jeffries. He’s lost his wife and now his daughter and I think he’s dangerous. I also think he’s got some things up his sleeve that we don’t know about.”
Jack’s hunch turned out to be right. One week after his conversation with Henry, on a Monday afternoon, he was served with a subpoena to appear before the grand jury.
“I wouldn’t go,” Henry told him when Jack showed him the subpoena.
“I’ve gotta go.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say a word. That’s a kangaroo court run by the prosecution. You need a lawyer, Jack.”
“I am a lawyer.”
“With a fool for a client. Who’s the best criminal lawyer in Miami?”
“I don’t know. Dez Calderon probably.”
“Do you know him?”
“I know him to say hello to. I don’t know any of those criminal guys that well. Remember, I did civil cases most of my career.”
“Give him a call. Tell him the situation. Put you
rself in his hands as you’ve had your clients do with you.”
“All right, but I’m inclined to go to the grand jury and tell my side of the story.”
“And they just might use it against you. You’re not thinking objectively, Jack. You’ve seen enough of this stuff. You think just because it’s you, you can do it differently. That’s exactly why you can’t represent yourself.”
Jack called Dez Calderon that very afternoon but did not get to talk to him until the next morning when Calderon called him back. Jack filled him in on all the details.
“When are you scheduled to appear?” Calderon asked.
“Next Wednesday.”
“I’ve got to reschedule some things, but I’ll fly up Tuesday afternoon and we’ll go over everything and make our decisions. Okay?”
“Sounds good,” Jack said, but it really didn’t sound good or bad. Calderon didn’t give him any assessment of the case at all. He didn’t even talk about a fee. Jack was totally in the dark about a potential strategy.
I’m beginning to understand how a client feels, Jack thought.
Dez Calderon arrived at Jack’s condo in a limo the following Tuesday afternoon. Henry was there with Jack. Calderon was a smallish man, about five foot eight, with fine features. His short gray hair was groomed to perfection and his dark blue pinstriped silk suit was tailor made. He was all business as he set his briefcase on the dining room table and shook Jack’s hand. Jack introduced him to Henry, and Dez immediately asked Henry to leave the premises.
“You understand. I need to talk to my client in private.”
“No explanations necessary,” Henry said. “I know the drill. Jack, I’ll see you later.”
Once Henry left, Calderon gave Jack his assessment of the case.
“I read my notes of our telephone conversation on the way up and I had my secretary prepare a little synopsis of the Felton case, which I read on the flight. You would think everybody in this town, especially the chief of police and the state attorney, would want Felton dead. I don’t know why they’re prosecuting you.”
“I’m not sure either,” Jack said. “But Sam Jeffries—”
“That’s the chief?”
“Yeah. I think he might hold me responsible for Felton’s getting out of prison and killing his daughter.”
“The strongest motive in the world—revenge. Well, if they’re out to get you, you’re not going to help them. I’m going to call the state attorney right now and tell him you’re not going to testify. We’ll see if we can work something out so you don’t have to show up at all. Sometimes, if you just tell them you’re going to take the Fifth, they won’t require you to come in. He’ll probably want something in writing signed by you and me, but that’s fine. I’ve already prepared the document.”
“Wait a minute. I think I should testify. I mean, I already admitted I shot the man. I can explain to the grand jury exactly what I saw and why I was there.”
Dez Calderon just looked at Jack for what seemed like the longest time.
“I know you’re famous for your death penalty stuff,” he said finally, “but I also know you’re not a criminal lawyer, so let me be brief. Whatever case they have against you right now, it’s because of what you’ve already said. They’re going to get an indictment, you and I both know that. It’s just the way this world works. If they are out to get you, talking some more will just lock you into your story and give them more information to twist into a coherent case against you. I know you’re no boy scout, Jack, even though the newspapers make you out to be one. You know what I’m talking about. Bottom line—if I’m representing you, you’re not testifying. Got it?”
“All right.”
Calderon opened his briefcase, which was lying on the dining room table, and took out a piece of paper. “This is a written assertion of your Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination. I want you to sign it and I’ll sign it and then I’ll call the state attorney.”
Jack read the document quickly and signed it while Calderon called Robert Merton on his cell phone. By the time Jack had finished writing his name, Calderon was done.
“It’s all settled. Merton said they’ll probably be done today, which means you will be formally indicted probably tomorrow. Be prepared to be arrested in the next day or so. Are you with me?”
“Yeah.”
All the time Calderon was talking, he was packing his briefcase. By the time Jack gave his brief answer, Calderon was headed for the door.
“I’ve gotta run. I’ll be in touch with you in the next couple of days. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Jack was worried though. He followed Calderon and his silk suit out to the waiting limousine.
“Did he say what they were charging me with?”
“He did,” Calderon said as the driver opened the limo door and he got in.
“What is it?”
Calderon lowered the backseat window.
“First-degree murder.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. I gotta go.”
The limo driver took off for the airport and Dez Calderon’s private jet, leaving Jack standing dumbfounded in the parking lot.
PART FOUR
April 21, 2003
St. Albans, Florida
Chapter Fifty-One
Henry drove his own car, a Ford Explorer, to St. Albans, a city about an hour northwest of Tallahassee. It was a quiet, comfortable ride, a far cry from his last trip to Tallahassee in Jack’s pickup.
He’d decided to go to St. Albans after his last conversation with Jack. When Dez Calderon left the condo, Henry was just pulling into the parking lot. He found Jack standing outside about as upset as he’d ever seen him, and that was saying something considering all the things that had occurred recently.
“What happened?” Henry asked after he’d parked his car and approached Jack, who hadn’t moved.
“Nothing. I’m just pissed.”
“At who?”
“Myself mostly.”
“For what?”
“I’ve just abdicated making my own decisions since Felton’s latest and last murder. I wanted to testify before the grand jury and then I listened to you and Calderon. That son of a bitch was in and out of here in about fifteen minutes and when he left, I was getting indicted for first-degree murder. I’ll bet I get a bill for ten grand for that little visit.”
“First-degree murder! I can’t believe that.”
“Well, believe it, Henry, because it’s true.”
“You can’t blame Calderon for that, Jack. That’s the prosecutor and Sam Jeffries. They’ve got it in for you. Calderon gave you good advice not to testify. You can’t control what happens with the grand jury.”
“Henry, you’re my best friend and I love you, but I disagree with your assessment. Everybody says the grand jury is controlled by the state attorney but that’s because there’s no other lawyer in the room. It’s just the state attorney presenting the state’s case.
“If Calderon ever thought outside the box, he would have understood that if I testified, there would be two lawyers in the room and that the possibility existed that I could persuade those jurors by my testimony that there was no crime. I can be pretty convincing when I need to be.”
“I know that, my friend. There’s nobody better in a courtroom than you and there’s nobody I’d ever want representing me but you. You can’t represent yourself, though. You’re too close to this. You need somebody dealing for you.”
“Maybe so, Henry, but I’ve got to be part of the process even if I’m the client. That’s not going to work with prima donnas like Calderon.”
“We’ll find somebody you can work with, Jack.”
During those long years on death row, Henry, as part of his self-education, had read every book he could get his hands on. One of the first subjects he had read about was the civil rights movement, especially how that movement had played out in his home state of Florida. He figured that if he coul
d understand the civil rights movement, its leaders, and what motivated them, it might help him understand himself and turn his life around. He’d read about a lawyer in St. Albans, Florida, a white man, who had put his life on the line on numerous occasions to protect innocent black people accused of crimes. The man’s name was Tom Wylie. When he was released from prison, Henry eventually took a trip to St. Albans to see some of the historic sites from the civil rights movement. While he was there, he stopped to see Tom Wylie. He just walked into the office, gave the secretary his name, and two minutes later, he was shaking hands with the man himself.
“What brings you to these parts, Henry?” Tom asked after Henry had introduced himself and told Tom he was visiting from Miami.
“I know this city was a hotbed of action during the civil rights movement and I just wanted to visit the sites and meet you.”
“Me? Why would you want to meet me?”
“Well, I read about Rufus Porter for one thing, and the civil rights committee of which you were a member. There’s one particular story I recall, about you single-handedly taking on the local Klan on a dirt road one night. You were riding shotgun for a doctor on an emergency call to the black community and they stopped you. Is that true?”
Rufus Porter was a black man who had been accused of raping a white woman. There was no evidence to support the charge other than the fact that Rufus was in the vicinity of the crime, but, in those days, that was enough. Tom had taken Rufus’s case even though he’d put his own life in danger, and he had gotten Rufus off. The other story was true as well.
“You can’t believe everything you hear, son,” Tom said. He was a tall man, not as tall as Henry but close. And he was thin like a reed, but strong. Henry could tell that from his handshake. His face and hands were tan and weathered, and he had a full head of thick brown hair, cropped short, with only a stray strand of gray here and there, even though he had to be in his midsixties. “I did represent a man named Rufus Porter but that story and the other one are way overblown.”
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