The jurors' chuckles made it clear that they were in full agreement.
Again, about all Jaywalker could do on cross was to es tablish that Redding, like Mazzini, had a passkey that opened the door to every apartment in the building, though Redding was initially a little less forthcoming about admit ting the fact. Apparently the bylaws of the co-op didn't provide for the arrangement, but he'd gotten Mazzini to make him a key anyway.
MR. REDDING: You know, for emergency use.
MR. JAYWALKER: Like a fire, or a similar disas
ter?
MR. REDDING: Yeah, that sort of thing. Ex
actly.
MR. JAYWALKER: So in the event of a nuclear
attack, say, you could go from floor to floor, unlock ing everyone's apartment?
MR. BURKE: Objection.
MR. JAYWALKER: I'll withdraw the question.
Burke followed up by calling Alan Manheim. The very first question out of Burke's mouth was whether Manheim currently had, or had ever had, a key to either Barry Tan nenbaum's apartment or Samara's town house. Manheim replied emphatically that he didn't, and never had.
Manheim testified that he'd been employed on a fulltime basis as Barry Tannenbaum's personal lawyer for eleven years. During that time, he'd been involved in, among other things, the purchase and sale of several homes and other properties, the negotiation of a divorce settlement with Tannenbaum's third wife, and the drawing up of a pre nuptial agreement between Barry and Samara, the terms of which fully protected Barry in the event of yet another divorce, and ensured that Samara would walk away with precisely what she'd brought to the marriage—which, in round numbers, had been nothing.
Manheim had continued to work for Tannenbaum in a variety of capacities, as significant as securing a non refundable ten-million-dollar advance to write an autobi ography, never even begun, and as mundane as paying overdue parking tickets. Then, about six months before Tannenbaum's death, he and Manheim had abruptly parted company.
MR. BURKE: And why was that?
MR. MANHEIM: We had a disagreement.
MR. BURKE: Would you describe the nature
of the disagreement.
MR. MANHEIM: There were two issues, really. For one thing, there was Mr. Tannenbaum's health. He'd been diagnosed with cancer, and he wanted to update his will. Specifically, he wanted to know if there was any way he could disinherit his wife, and leave his estate entirely to his foundations, his endow ments, his university and various charities he'd set up.
MR. BURKE: What did you tell him?
MR. MANHEIM: I told him that even were he to write Samara out of his will, it wouldn't work. The law would step in and give her half of his assets.
MR. BURKE: Was that an accurate statement
of the law?
MR. MANHEIM: Yes. It's so fundamental, they
teach it to you in the first year
of law school.
MR. BURKE: Is it fair to say that your response
didn't particularly endear your
self with Mr. Tannenbaum?
MR. MANHEIM: Yes, that's accurate. He wasn't
happy about it.
MR. BURKE: You said there was another
issue.
MR. MANHEIM: Yes.
MR. BURKE: Tell us about that.
MR. MANHEIM: Barry—how shall I say this?—
had a bit of a paranoid streak. He accused me of stealing, of embezzling funds from him.
MR. BURKE: Was there any merit to that ac
cusation?
MR. MANHEIM: No, absolutely not. None what
soever.
MR. BURKE: And how was the matter re
solved, if indeed it was?
MR. MANHEIM: I became more and more in censed at his repeated accusations. Finally I offered my resignation.
MR. BURKE: And?
MR. MANHEIM: And Mr. Tannenbaum accepted
it.
MR. BURKE: And six months later, did you
get even by plunging a steak
knife into his heart?
MR. MANHEIM: Absolutely not. I got even by securing an even better-paying job, and by continu ing to be the very best attorney I can possibly be.
If it was a crude way of eliciting a denial, it was also ef fective. What interested Jaywalker, however, wasn't what Burke had asked his witness; it was what he had refrained from asking. Which meant one of two things, as far as Jay walker was concerned. Either Burke didn't want to go there for some reason, or he was setting a trap for Jaywalker. There's a rule of thumb employed by just about all
lawyers who try cases, and it goes like this: "Never ask a question unless you already know the answer."
As he did with most rules, Jaywalker chose to ignore it, but only selectively. His modification altered it to read, "If you're ahead on points, never ask a question unless you know the answer. If you're in trouble already, fuck it." Early in the second week of Samara Tannenbaum's trial, Jaywalker was a lot of things, but one thing he wasn't was ahead on points. It was definitely time to fuck it.
MR. JAYWALKER: Mr. Manheim, you say you landed an even better-paying job after leaving Mr. Tannenbaum's employ. Is that correct?
MR. MANHEIM: Yes.
MR. JAYWALKER: Would you say Mr. Tannen baum was underpaying you?
MR. MANHEIM: Considering everything I was
doing, yes I would.
MR. JAYWALKER: I see. And what was he pay
MR. MANHEIM: (To the Court) Do I have to
THE COURT: I'm afraid so.
MR. MANHEIM: (Inaudible)
MR. JAYWALKER: Can't hear you.
MR. MANHEIM: Two point seven.
ing you?
answer that?
MR. JAYWALKER: Two point seven what?
MR. MANHEIM: Million.
MR. JAYWALKER: Wow.
MR. BURKE: Objection.
THE COURT: Sustained.
MR. JAYWALKER: Sorry. Two million, seven hun
dred thousand. That was your
total annual compensation?
MR. MANHEIM: Yes.
MR. JAYWALKER: No bonus at the end of the
year?
MR. MANHEIM: Well, yes, but that varied from
year to year.
MR. JAYWALKER: I see. Well, why don't you tell
MR. MANHEIM: (To the Court) Do I really—
THE COURT: Yes.
MR. MANHEIM: One point five.
us how much it was for the last full year of your employment?
MR. JAYWALKER: Help me with the math here, if
you would. Two point seven plus one point five comes to?
MR. MANHEIM: Four point two.
MR. JAYWALKER: Million.
MR. MANHEIM: Yes.
Okay, thought Jaywalker, here comes the trap Burke had set for him. But why quit now? The jurors seemed abso lutely stunned by the numbers, enough so that they appeared to be having real trouble with Manheim. Perhaps some of their distaste would rub off on Tannenbaum, as well. Jay walker had won his share of cases for no better reason than that the jurors ended up hating the victim more than they did the defendant. Besides, he was having too much fun with the witness to quit now. He shot one last look in Burke's di rection, to see if he could pick up a poker player's "tell." But if Burke was setting Jaywalker up, he gave no sign of it.
MR. JAYWALKER: And this embezzlement, or alleged embezzlement, I should say. What was the total amount in controversy, including end-of-the year bonuses, if there were any?
MR. MANHEIM: There were no bonuses in
volved.
MR. JAYWALKER: So?
MR. MANHEIM: (Looks at the Court)
THE COURT: Please answer the question.
MR. MANHEIM: Two hundred and twenty-seven.
MR. JAYWALKER: Two hundred and twenty
seven what?
MR. MANHEIM: Million.
MR. JAYWALKER: Two hundred and twentyseven million dollars. And did Mr. Tannenbaum ever threaten to go to the police or the
federal authorities, or to sue you civilly, or to go public with his claim? Any of those things?
MR. MANHEIM: He never threatened. He hinted, I guess you could say. I told him go ahead, I had nothing to hide.
MR. JAYWALKER: You weren't worried?
MR. MANHEIM: No. Why should I have been?
Just as there are ups and downs to any trial, so, too, are there special moments. Alan Manheim had delivered such a special moment in the midst of his answer to Jaywalker's question. Not with what he said, but how he said it. He got the "No" out all right. But two words later, on should, his voice cracked, and the word came out in falsetto. No one missed it. No one could have missed it. So Jaywalker let it hang there for a good fifteen seconds, staring at the witness, not saying a word.
If you don't think fifteen seconds can be an eternity, try doing absolutely nothing for that long, right now.
Finally, Jaywalker broke his own silence just long enough to ask one final question.
MR. JAYWALKER: Tell me, Mr. Manheim. That two hundred and twenty-seven million dollars. Would you call that chump change?
MR. MANHEIM: No.
They broke for lunch.
* * *
"You shredded him," said Samara, once she and Jay walker were safely out of earshot of the jurors. "You were sensational."
She was right, at least about the shredding part. For a prosecution witness, Alan Manheim had come off quite poorly. His multimillion-dollar compensation, along with the distinct possibility that he'd stolen many times that amount from his employer, had to have had a negative impact on jurors who worked hard just to make ends meet at the end of the month. Still, it was quite a stretch to ask those same jurors to conclude that because Manheim was overpaid and perhaps even a thief, he was therefore also a murderer. And even if they wanted to make that leap and consider a scenario in which Manheim had murdered Barry Tannenbaum before Tannenbaum could expose the em bezzlement, then made it look as though Samara had done it, there remained the little problem of access. How could Manheim have sneaked into the building past José Lugo, gotten into Tannenbaum's apartment, stabbed him to death, locked the door on his way out without a key and slipped out of the building past Lugo? And even if he'd managed to do all those things, that was the easy part. The hard part would have been getting into Samara's town house without a key, hiding the towel, the blouse (her blouse) and the knife, and then sneaking back out—all while Samara had been there.
"Don't get cocky," he cautioned Samara. "We had a good moment, but in the long run, it probably doesn't mean anything."
"If I feel like getting cocky," she smiled, "I'll get cocky." And then she did the one-raised-eyebrow thing.
That from a woman who was an odds-on favorite to end up with twenty-five years to life from this trial. How she was able to joke about it, Jaywalker had no idea. Not only joke about it, but actually squeeze a laugh out of him.
"Go get something to eat," he told her. "I'll see you back in the courtroom." And before she could turn that into a joke, too, he turned and walked away.
That afternoon Burke called the fourth and last of Jay walker's "suspects," William Smythe. Smythe, a CPA with an English accent and a tweedy three-piece suit, was Barry Tannenbaum's full-time personal accountant. At least he had been, up until the time of Tannenbaum's death.
As he had with Alan Manheim, Burke began by having Smythe make it clear that he'd never had a key to either Barry's apartment or Samara's town house. Then he asked him if he'd ever had a dispute with Tannenbaum, or if Tan nenbaum had ever accused him of any wrongdoing.
MR. SMYTHE: Absolutely not. I mean, as would be the case with any two people who worked to gether on financial matters for sixteen years, we had our occasional differences of opinion as to how to do certain things. But it was never more than that. I loved Barry like a brother, and I'd like to think he felt the same way about me.
Pardon me while I vomit, thought Jaywalker. But from the look Judge Sobel shot his way, he realized he must have done more than just think it. Jaywalker's wife used to accuse him of snorting out loud whenever he wanted to register his dis approval of something but didn't want to come right out and say so. Perhaps he'd snorted just now, though he hadn't been aware of doing so. Evidently it was becoming an un conscious habit, like a tremor or a facial tic. Maybe it was the first sign of dementia, of early-onset Alzheimer's disease.
God, how he needed to get out of this racket.
Burke had Smythe describe his duties as Tannenbaum's accountant, and they were extensive—not only in their breadth, but in the depth of trust they revealed. Smythe ran his employer's personal finances far more than Manheim had. He kept track of receipts and expenditures, balanced the books and juggled half a dozen bank accounts. He enjoyed full power of attorney to sign his employer's name to leases and other contracts. When a check went out over Barry Tannenbaum's name, chances were William Smythe had actually signed it, a fact well known and condoned by all of Tannenbaum's many bankers.
Aside from his I-loved-him-like-a-brother speech, Smythe came off as a genuinely likeable witness. Unlike Manheim, he'd had no reason to fear retaliation at the hand of Barry Tannenbaum. And had he been inclined to steal any of Barry's riches, he could have done so easily enough, with the simple stroke of a pen.
On cross-examination, Jaywalker decided against at tacking Smythe and in favor of adopting him as his own witness. There remained only two names on Tom Burke's witness list, one of which Jaywalker recognized as a hand writing expert. He figured that the other one had to be someone from the company who had written the insurance policy on Barry Tannenbaum's life. It made sense that Burke would wind up his case with his evidence of motive—in other words, leaving best for last. Samara had assured Jaywalker over and over again that while she rec ognized her signature on the application and conceded that the funds for the premium appeared to have come out of her checking account, she'd known nothing of the policy until Jaywalker himself had broken the news to her.
Maybe Smythe knew something about it.
MR. JAYWALKER: Mr. Smythe, you've described how you enjoyed complete access to Barry Tannen baum's books and bank accounts. Did you have simi lar access to Samara's account?
MR. SMYTHE: In a way, albeit indirectly.
Albeit? In all his years of practice, Jaywalker had never before heard a witness utter the word. It struck him as so bizarre, in fact, that he wondered if it might not have some hidden significance. In a lesser trial, he would have chosen to play around with it a little, to see if he couldn't at very least make the witness seem patrician, removed from the real world inhabited by the jurors. But he decided to let it pass and focused instead on the other interesting word Smythe had used in his answer.
MR. JAYWALKER: What do you mean by indi
rectly?
MR. SMYTHE: In a technical sense, Mrs. Tan nenbaum's account was held jointly with her hus band. Either of them could make deposits or write checks. Although the way it turned out in practice, Mr. Tannenbaum made all the deposits, and Mrs. Tannenbaum wrote all the checks.
The Tenth Case Page 22