The Lawyer's Lawyer

by James Sheehan

  “Sure they are,” Henry said. “When I read Rufus Porter’s own account of the hair on his forearms standing straight whenever he mentioned your name, that’s exactly the word I thought of—overblown.”

  Tom changed the subject immediately. “Since you’re here, Henry Wilson, I guess I should be neighborly and take you to lunch. After that, I’ll give you a short tour. I’m sure you’d like to see the Monsoon Hotel where the manager poured the acid in the pool.”

  “I would,” Henry replied.

  At the height of the civil rights movement, when Congress was actually debating the Civil Rights Act and the southern senators were filibustering, the manager of the Monsoon Hotel had poured acid in the hotel pool while a group of black and white protesters were swimming. Somebody took a picture of the act and it made the newspapers all over the world. It was such a clear picture of the racism that existed in the South, and the backlash was so great that it caused the senators to end their filibuster and the Civil Rights Act to be passed.

  Henry was so moved reading about the courage of the young demonstrators and people like Tom Wylie. That’s who I want to be if I ever get out of here, he’d thought to himself at the time. Now he was out and he was sitting at a table having lunch with Tom Wylie.

  “So what’s your story, Henry?” Tom asked after they had ordered and had their drinks. Both men were drinking water.

  “I was on death row for seventeen years. I just got released a couple of months ago.”

  “That’s why your name sounded familiar to me,” Tom said. “I read all about your case. Jack Tobin represented you. Fine lawyer. Good man, too. We’ve met a few times at different events over the years. Well, congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  The rest of the lunch went by quickly with Tom telling stories about St. Albans in the sixties and Henry telling stories about life on death row, which Tom found fascinating.

  “Now that you’ve got a new lease on life, what are you going to do?” Tom asked.

  “I’m not sure exactly but I’m going to try to make a difference like you and Jack have.”

  “Good for you, Henry.”

  Henry didn’t know how to handle the compliment so he changed the subject as Tom Wylie had done a little while before.

  “I want to ask you a question, Tom. I’m just curious.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Isn’t it hard to be a criminal lawyer? I mean, you have to represent everybody that comes in the door, don’t you?”

  “I’m not a criminal lawyer, never was a criminal lawyer,” Tom replied.

  “But Rufus Porter, and those other people I read about…”

  “I didn’t say I didn’t represent people who were charged with crimes. I just said I’m not a criminal lawyer. I never represented a person I didn’t believe was innocent. I could never get my arms around the idea of representing people I knew were guilty, so I never did it.”

  Henry was thinking about that previous visit and his conversations with Tom Wylie as he drove to St. Albans to ask Tom to represent Jack. Both men were great lawyers and they shared the same values. It was only right that Jack should have somebody like Tom representing him. The words were ringing in his ears—a lawyer’s lawyer. Henry knew he would have to be very convincing, though.

  He’d called ahead and made an appointment but he didn’t say what it was about.

  St. Albans was one of the oldest cities in the United States. Originally it had been founded and settled by the Spanish, and the Old City reflected those roots. The city fathers had worked hard to keep the flavor of the Old City intact through zoning ordinances and other similar regulations. New buildings had to be built in the old Spanish Colonial style and no building could be over two stories in height. There was another part of St. Albans, the New City, that was modern and sleek and a commercial center. Tom Wylie, however, lived in the Old City, and that’s where Henry was headed.

  Tom was waiting for him.

  “Henry, how are you? It’s been a long time,” he said as if they’d known each other all their lives. The two men had bonded in that one afternoon they’d spent together, and Tom had kept up somewhat with Henry’s new life. He knew, for instance, that Henry now worked with Jack.

  “I’m fine, Tom. How about yourself?”

  Henry noticed that Tom had changed somewhat over the years. The handshake was still strong but he looked thinner and his thick brown hair had started to gray. For a moment he was concerned that Tom might be sick, but the handshake and the smile convinced him that the man was just getting older.

  “Getting a little long in the tooth but I can’t do anything about that. Come on into the office and sit down, and we’ll have a chat. I know you’ve got something on your mind.”

  They went into Tom’s office, and the two men sat in the client chairs next to each other. Tom didn’t want his big desk to come between friends.

  “So what is it, Henry? I assume it has something to do with our mutual friend Jack Tobin. I’ve been reading about the events down in Oakville.”

  Henry smiled. Tom was so perceptive. He probably knew what Henry was going to ask him already.

  “It does,” he replied. “As you know, Jack has been indicted on first-degree murder charges.”

  “They’re going after him because he represented that Felton character. I know this game. I’ve been there.”

  “That’s why I’m here, Tom. You and Jack are so much alike. You have a passion for the law and for people just like he does. Jack needs help, but he won’t be represented by just anybody. He needs somebody who can see all sides of an issue and who will listen to his input. He needs you, Tom.”

  Tom sat back in his chair and put his index finger to his lip, thinking about Henry’s words. After a few minutes he spoke.

  “Have you talked to Jack about this?”

  “Only to the extent that I told him I’d help find somebody for him. He knows he needs somebody.”

  “I’m sure Jack can handle the preliminary stuff, including the bail proceedings.”

  “He can,” Henry replied.

  “I can clear my calendar to do this,” Tom said, thinking out loud. “I’ve been slowing down here for the last year or so. Henry, you need to go back and talk to Jack. Tell him I’m willing to represent him if he wants me to. I can probably get down there for a day sometime next week and we can go over everything in detail—start mapping a strategy.”

  Henry was elated. “I’ll tell him. Thanks, Tom. And I know we haven’t talked about money, but I’ll pay whatever the fee is.”

  “I’m sure that won’t be a problem. It will be a flat fee, and Jack and I will agree on a number together.”

  Henry smiled again. “You’re the perfect lawyer for him.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. I know this much though: When the state has it in for somebody—when it gets personal—they will move mountains to get a conviction. Jack has pissed off people in power for a long time. They are going to go after him with a bazooka.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  The day Tom Wylie travelled to Oakville was a typical late-April day in Florida. Most of the drive had been relatively pleasant but during the early afternoon, when he was about thirty miles outside of town, thunderstorms rolled in, accompanied by fifty-mile-per-hour winds and lightning that persistently pierced the afternoon sky. A few of the thunder claps were so sharp they made Tom literally jump out of his seat. He wanted to pull over, but he considered it more dangerous to be parked on the side of the road than actually driving.

  It was still bad when he arrived at the condo. He’d made arrangements with Henry so that he and Jack could meet alone for the first hour. Then, if the decision was going to be that Tom would come aboard, Henry and Ron would join them.

  Henry waited for the call over at The Swamp. He sat at the bar and had a draft while Ron worked the room, stopping occasionally to chat.

  “What does this guy want me there for anyway?” Ron asked Henry on his first stop
. The storm had not yet hit, and people were still eating and drinking.

  “I don’t know. He just asked me if Jack or I had any trustworthy friends that lived in Oakville and could give him the lay of the land. The only person I could think of was you. I thought of Danni, too, but I think she’s a little compromised by all of this.”

  “She is. She was in here not too long ago and refused to talk about the case.”

  “I’m really surprised about that. I thought Danni would support Jack.”

  “You’ve got to remember, Henry, she’s been in law enforcement all her life. Getting back to me again—what am I supposed to be able to tell this guy?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he wants you to keep him posted about the mood of the people. You do know everybody in town.”

  “That’s not true. There are about four or five people whose names I can’t recall.”

  Then Ron was off again, hitting the tables, making sure that everybody was happy. The first rumblings of the bad weather that was coming could be heard off to the west. Henry saw the customers almost immediately start to quicken their pace. People at the bar drank up and headed for the door. Others at the tables were asking for their checks before they were done eating. One sound and they know what’s coming, Henry thought to himself. Nobody wants to be caught out in a bad thunderstorm.

  The thunder was closer now. The wind was picking up, and people were rushing to their cars. In a matter of minutes, The Swamp was nearly empty. Ron stood in the middle of his establishment and looked heavenward.

  “You’re killing me here,” he said to the ceiling.

  Henry was thoroughly enjoying his beer and the entertainment.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  The rain was still coming down when Tom reached Jack’s condo. He rang the bell and Jack answered right away. Both men were dressed casually in jeans and tee shirts although Tom’s clothes were a little wet from the race from the parking lot to the condo.

  “Hi, Tom. How are you? It’s been a long time.”

  “Yes, it has, Jack. I was a young man last time we talked.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “You’re still a young man, Jack. You’ve got a lot of years ahead of you, and I’m here to make sure they’re good years.”

  “Thanks, Tom. Let me get you a towel so you can dry off.”

  The two men had not spent a lot of time together in the past but enough to have developed a friendship of sorts. About ten years before, the Florida Bar had given Jack a professionalism award and Tom, the previous year’s recipient, had made the presentation. They’d had a few that night and commiserated over the state of the profession.

  “The professionals are losing, I think,” Tom had said. “Now it’s all about advertising and the money.”

  “You’ve got that right,” Jack had replied. They were in a little beach bar in Daytona Beach across the street from the hotel where the awards ceremony had taken place. “The day the US Supreme Court allowed lawyers to advertise is the day this profession started to turn south.”

  Tom had a son who was a lawyer in Miami, and Jack knew him as well, although the son, Kevin, never mentioned his father. Jack had learned through another lawyer that Kevin was Tom’s son. He verified it that night in Daytona, but Tom wasn’t very forthcoming about the relationship.

  “I’ve met your son, Kevin, a few times. He seems like a nice young man.”

  “Except that he works for Bernie Stang. My son and I don’t talk.”

  The way he’d said the words at the time assured Jack that he didn’t want to discuss the whys and wherefores of why they didn’t talk. Bernie Stang was a prominent criminal lawyer in Miami who represented drug dealers almost exclusively. His name didn’t come up too often when people were discussing professionalism. Tom’s remark told Jack that the man was disappointed that his son was working for Bernie.

  They’d met a few times since then at bar functions and always set aside a little time to reconnect. There were phone calls as well over the years, usually to refer cases, or to ask about judges and the like. Even on those occasions, they took a few minutes to touch base with each other.

  “So you already had the bond hearing, is that right?” Tom asked when he had dried off and they were seated at the dining room table.

  “Yeah. The state wanted me held without bond but the judge did me a favor and let me out for a million.”

  “Some favor. Who is the judge and will he be doing the trial?”

  “I believe so. His name is Holbrook. He’s a retired judge from the northern part of the county and he handled the evidentiary hearing for a new trial in Felton’s case. He’s a special appointment, probably because he’s familiar with all the underlying facts.”

  “Is that a positive or a negative for us?” Tom asked.

  “I think he’s probably a good trial judge, but he’s susceptible to public opinion. He should have granted us a new trial in Felton’s case but he didn’t. I had to go to the supreme court, although, in retrospect, he made the right decision.”

  “Should we try and get him off the case?”

  “We don’t have any grounds. Last time I checked, having a judge rule against you wasn’t sufficient grounds to have him kicked off your future cases.”

  “Wouldn’t it be a beautiful world if that were so? Okay, we’re stuck with Judge Holbrook. Why don’t you tell me about the case.”

  “You probably know the basic stuff, Tom. I got a serial killer, Thomas Felton, released from death row, and he started killing again. The first person he killed was the daughter of the police chief, Sam Jeffries. He’d already killed the man’s wife ten years earlier.

  “I came upon Felton in the woods behind another cop’s house, a female named Danni Jansen. I told him to stop. He turned toward me and I thought he had a gun in his hand and that he was going to shoot me, so I fired my gun and killed him.

  “You don’t know for sure whether he had a gun?” Tom asked.

  “I can’t say for sure and I didn’t check the body after I fired my gun. Felton was coming from the vicinity of Danni’s house. After I shot him and saw him go down, I immediately went to check on her. She was fine. When we got back to the scene, Sam Jeffries was already there. Danni and I told him the story, which, in retrospect, was probably not a wise decision, and everything happened from there.”

  “The amateur detective in me tells me there’s more to the story between you and this Danni woman.”

  Jack smiled. “There is. We met two years before I took Felton’s case, and we had a brief romantic relationship at that time. She wanted to shoot me when I took Felton’s case, but right now we’re back to being friends. At least, I think we are.”

  “You’ll probably find out for sure sometime during this trial. What happened to Felton’s gun?”

  “They never found it. I told you I thought he had a gun. I wasn’t a hundred percent positive but it was daylight and I’m pretty sure that’s what I saw.”

  “If that’s the case, somebody picked up the gun. It didn’t just disappear into thin air.”

  “Nope.”

  “Whether there was a gun or not, it sounds like Sam Jeffries is the guy who’s driving this train.”

  “He is, and that’s something we need to discuss if you are going to be my lawyer, Tom. You and I both know that our best defense might be to go after Sam Jeffries. I mean, he’s got motive to be angry at me and we can make a lot of hay with that, but I don’t want to do it unless we have concrete evidence.”

  “Why?”

  “The guy has been through hell. His daughter’s murder is at least partially my responsibility. I’ve ruined his life enough. I just don’t want to go after him and possibly ruin his reputation unless I’m absolutely sure.”

  “If he was the only one at the scene and he took the gun, you might not get concrete evidence, Jack. And he sounds like your best defense at this point.”

  “I know.”

  “It could mean your life. If it
’s tried here, these folks might execute you.”

  “I know.”

  “Any other conditions you want to tell me about?”

  “I want to testify.”

  “That’s not a problem. It sounds like this is now purely a self-defense case. You’re going to have to testify.”

  “Good. There’s nothing else.”

  “Okay. Now let’s talk about the details for a minute. How are they ever going to prove premeditation for a first-degree-murder conviction?”

  Jack reached for some papers behind him on the floor. He picked them up and set them on the table.

  “It’s all here in the grand jury indictment,” he said.

  “I’ll read that eventually, Jack. Why don’t you paraphrase it for me.”

  “They found two documents on Felton’s body. One was a claims bill that I had intended to file with the legislature asking for twenty million dollars for his wrongful incarceration for ten years. The other one is a contingency fee agreement whereby Felton agreed to pay me one-third of whatever we recovered from the legislature.

  “They also have Felton’s phone showing two calls from me, one of them two days before he was killed and one minutes before he was killed. Lastly, they have the testimony of two police officers who said I threatened to kill Felton when I was drunk. You add it all up and the theory is that I was really representing Felton for money. Felton caused me to lose almost seven million dollars when he killed Kathleen Jeffries, so I killed him and set it up to look like I was protecting Danni Jansen.”

  Tom didn’t react to Jack’s very succinct summary right away. He was digesting Jack’s words, rolling them around in his mind to see if all the parts fit. It took several minutes.

  “It’s a very persuasive argument, Jack, and it fits, except for the gun. If you were setting this up, you definitely would have planted the gun for the police to find. Jeffries didn’t think that part through when he took Felton’s gun.”