This was a miserable way to spend a day.
The cell phone call list from our mystery man is surprising, to say the least.
There are seven prominent businessmen in New York, Chicago, and San Francisco; two judges, in Delaware and Missouri; six members of Congress; officers of various governmental agencies including the SEC and FDA; a Washington, D.C., political consultant; a customs officer in Galveston, Texas; as well as a number of other people whose names aren’t so easily recognizable.
There are also a few numbers that Sam hasn’t been able to track down yet, which causes him to view them with great suspicion. The only way that they could be so hard to identify is if they took great pains to make it so, and Sam feels that the reasons for doing that must be nefarious.
He may well be right.
Sam presents this information to Laurie and me in my office, and while it is certainly intriguing, it is far from clear how we should proceed.
“Let’s confront these people, one at a time, and shake them down,” Sam says. “We can split the names up three ways.”
Laurie shakes her head. “Won’t work. We don’t even have an approach to use.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asks.
I know exactly what Laurie is saying, so I take over from here. “It does us no good to go to someone on that list, and tell them they got a phone call from someone we can’t identify, and then ask them what it was about. Even if they know what we’re talking about, they’ll laugh at us.”
We kick it around a while longer, and then Laurie says, “We need to make them think we know more than we do. If there’s any chance at all to get them to talk to us, it would be because they are afraid not to. Of course, the problem is that we’re not really in a position to instill fear in anyone.”
“Maybe we are,” I say. “For the most part, these are public people. They run public companies, or serve in various areas of government. They are not going to want to deal with being dragged into this kind of spotlight.”
“So maybe they’ll talk to us quietly.”
I nod. “Maybe. Or maybe the fact that they were on this call list has nothing to do with this case. Maybe we’re wasting our time.”
“What else do we have to do?”
There’s certainly no good answer to that, so we address ourselves to the question of how we can credibly make these people fear public disclosure, when we don’t have the slightest idea what it is we’re threatening to disclose.
By the time we’re done, we’re close to having a plan of attack. It’s not brilliant, but it has a chance, and it feels good to at least have that.
With the trial about to start, I have to put on my lawyer hat, and leave the investigating more to Laurie and Marcus. But the way our plan sets up, I’m going to have to be the one to set it into motion, though I’m going to recruit some help.
At the moment I have to prepare for trial, to go over the evidence again, and again after that, until I know it cold. I also have to prepare my opening statement, though “prepare” may be overstating it. I think in general terms about what I am going to say, and what points it is essential that I make. But I never write it out, and I absolutely never rehearse. It cuts down on my spontaneity, and spontaneity is one of the few things I’ve got going for me.
So basically I have to think, which means Tara is about to go for another long walk. She’s lucky I don’t take on more clients, or at her age she’d probably have to get knee replacements.
We are in trouble on two fronts. The evidence is against us, but so will be the emotional factor, and in this case it will be incredibly strong. Tara is way more sensitive than me, so it’s this aspect that I decide to talk to her about.
“Dylan is going to parade the families and friends of all the victims to the stand. They’re going to talk about what wonderful people they were, and what a nightmare it was that they died an agonizing death in that fire.”
Tara keeps sniffing the grass; I don’t think I’m getting through to her. “They’re going to hate Noah, because they’re going to want somebody to suffer for it and he’s the easy and obvious target.”
More sniffing; as golden retrievers go she’s as coldhearted as they come.
“I talked to some of those people with Laurie. Just listening to them made me want to vote guilty. I mean, the world moves on, but these people have had to live with it every day. And then suddenly they’re harassed by cops and lawyers, and—”
Tara stops sniffing just as something hits me; I don’t think the two actions are connected.
Jesse Briggs mentioned that he was questioned by a police officer recently, and it annoyed me that the interview report wasn’t included in the discovery documents that Dylan had sent me. But Noah’s arrest was as the result of a federal investigation; there were no documents at all relating to “policemen.”
It could be just semantics, but I would think that if Briggs was questioned by an FBI agent, he would know the difference and speak more precisely.
More significantly, Tony at Taco Bell also mentioned something about talking to the cops recently. I didn’t think much of it, and assumed he meant back near the time of the fire, or to FBI agents. But maybe that’s not what he meant at all; maybe it was local cops that were doing the questioning.
If that’s the case, I need to find out why they were suddenly active, and more importantly, when.
The “when” is everything.
Becky was right; Bailey is not a golden.
Becky says that she’s a mastiff when she and Marcus drop her off, but I think she might be a horse. I even think I might have bet on her once.
She’s enormous, at least a hundred and fifty pounds, and walks slowly, languidly, as if it’s fine if she gets where she wants to go, but if she doesn’t, no big deal either way. She’s only three years old, but seems to have less energy than Edna.
As we always do when we introduce Tara to a visitor, we bring them separately to the backyard and have them meet there. Tara has no idea what to make of her; I’m sure she’s never seen an animal this big. She wouldn’t have to bend down much to walk under her.
Bailey, for her part, seems fine with Tara, though she doesn’t seem to care one way or the other. She wags her tail a couple of times, and I’m glad I’m not standing in the way of it when she does. Godzilla knocked over buildings in Tokyo with a smaller backside.
“What does she eat?” I ask, hoping the answer is not “small children.”
“Becky brought her food. It’s the same as Tara’s, only more. Much, much more.”
“Okay, Bailey,” I say. “This is Tara. She’s in control here; you have a problem, you come to me. If I can’t handle it, I go to Tara. We don’t ask much of you, just make your bed in the morning, and don’t make anything else in the house. And I handle the remote control at all times. You got that?”
I think she nods, although it could be that she’s dozing off. I don’t think she’s going to be a problem.
When we get back in the house, Bailey walks over to the couch and lies down on it. It’s amazing to watch; she doesn’t jump on to the couch, or climb on to it. Her legs are so long that she walks on to it.
I’m still staring at her when Willie Miller comes over. He does a double take when he sees Bailey, and says, “Whoa, what is that?”
“That’s Bailey. Tara’s new friend.”
“Oh, man, I want one of those.” He goes over and hugs Bailey on the couch, who seems to take it in stride.
Willie is here to update me on the progress he is making on his book. “This writing stuff is not as hard as I thought,” he says. “It’s like talking, only somebody puts it on paper when I’m finished.”
“Finished with what?”
“Talking. My helper has a tape recorder, and he asks me questions, and I answer them. Then he says, can we say it this way? Or that way? And I say, sure, whatever you want.”
“Sounds easy.”
“Well, not everybody could do it, but I’m pi
cking it up pretty fast. You should try it; you can use the tape recorder when I’m done.”
As jury selection gets more crucial, it gets more boring.
That’s not to say it isn’t both crucial and boring to start with; it’s just that both aspects get magnified as it goes along.
The reason it’s crucial is of course that a few weeks down the road twelve people are going to sit in a room and decide whether Noah goes free or spends the rest of his life in jail. And right now Dylan and I are in the process of choosing who is going to be in that room.
But it’s also deadly dull, particularly now when we’re in the second day. We’ve already asked the same tedious questions of at least fifty people, and listened as they’ve given pat answers that may or not be true.
People react to their being called for jury duty in different ways, but all of them show up with a plan. That plan could consist of a way to get excused, or a way to get on a panel. They then answer questions according to what they think will accomplish their goal.
When it’s a high-profile trial like this one, the stakes get that much higher, both for the lawyers and the potential jurors. It increases the number of people who want to serve; instead of a lot of them seeing it as a few weeks out of commission, they often look at it as a potential book deal waiting to happen.
If you’re a defense lawyer, as I happen to be, the peril is even greater in this situation. That is because people who want on the jury to make a name for themselves are more likely to convict.
The public wants someone to blame for this crime, and the jurors that identify the fiend and put him away come off a lot more heroic than those who let the guy walk. There weren’t too many parades thrown for the Simpson jurors … not that there should have been.
So it’s a crapshoot anyway, but an even more difficult one in this case. We’re looking for open-minded people, should some happen to exist on this planet. We’re also looking for people smart enough to embrace alternative theories, should we stumble on one.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem as if these potential panelists were chosen from a list of Rhodes scholars, and we are having to settle for people who seem less than ideal for our purpose. My guess is that Dylan is feeling the same way, but that doesn’t cheer me up to any great degree.
It’s almost three o’clock before we have our panel in place, and Judge De Luca sends them home with the admonition to be back bright and early tomorrow morning.
He also reads a long, prepared speech about how the jurors are to avoid media coverage of the trial at all costs.
Yeah, right.
I’m assuming that they are normal human beings, and that they will therefore be channel-surfing tonight to find every bit of trial coverage that is available. And if they do, they will be seeing a lot of me.
I’m going on three cable news shows tonight, and all were eager to have me. It’s a sign that the 24/7 cable news networks have enough real programming to fill up maybe 14/4, if that.
We timed my proposed appearances to come on the night before opening statements. I’m doing them all from a single studio on West Forty-eighth Street in Manhattan, and they’re being beamed by satellite to the various networks. It’s not exactly a long beaming, since they’re all located right here in New York, but it certainly cuts down on cab fare.
I’m not going on alone; I’m doing so with Alexander Downey, Willie Miller’s publisher. When I called and told him what I wanted him to do, he jumped at the opportunity.
The first show is the most serious. Douglas Burns has just gotten his own legal show on CNN, and unlike some of his colleagues, he examines issues from an intelligent, legally savvy point of view.
Burns is a former federal prosecutor, turned defense attorney, turned TV personality. He’s done it all, and knows what he’s talking about, so it’s a little dangerous for me to go on his show. But if I can get by him, the rest will be easy.
Burns starts off the segment by summing up the issues in the case, utilizing all the evidence that has made its way into the public domain. It’s a thorough, compelling presentation, and if I could get him to slant it in our direction, I could use it as my opening statement.
But I’m not here to discuss the evidence, or our strategy at trial. For one thing, the evidence is stacked against us, and we haven’t formulated a coherent defense, at least not for our case in chief.
I’m here to plant some things in the minds of the people that shouldn’t be watching, the seven men, five women, and six alternates who are on our jury. But more importantly, I’m here to scare a bunch of people who aren’t.
I’m easily able to deflect questions about the evidence and our strategy by claiming that we can’t reveal too much, lest the other side gain an advantage. Burns understands that and backs off, and opens the door for me to discuss what I’m interested in.
I decide to be direct, and say, “To be honest, Doug, my hope is to use your show to send a message.”
He smiles, spreads out his arms, and says, “That’s what we’re here for.” He probably senses that this has the potential to be a big story, and besides, we’re live on television. He’s not going to throw me out; he’s got air time to fill.
“There’s a man named Ray Camby; he’s a two-time ex-con who has been available for hire. From the moment I took on the Galloway case, he started following me.”
“Why was he doing that?”
“Because there are people who are trying to stop this trial, because they are afraid of what will come out. They are the people who killed Danny Butler.” The audience will know who Butler is, because he was in Burns’s setup piece.
“Do you know who these people are?” Burns asks.
“Not yet. But we’re getting close.”
“Is Ray Camby still following you?” He smiles, peers into the lights, shielding his eyes, and says, “Ray, are you out there?”
“You’ll have to talk louder than that,” I say. “Ray Camby was murdered last week, to prevent my investigators from questioning him. But we did manage to get a great deal of valuable information, and we’ve traced back Camby’s connections.”
“Who are those connections?”
“They are people in very prominent positions, in business and in government.”
“You have names?”
I smile. “I do, but I’m not going to reveal them here, at least not tonight. My investigators are going to be approaching these people, starting tomorrow. They will be given an opportunity to cooperate, to discuss with us in confidence what they know about this situation. If they refuse, their names will be made public, and I will invite the working press to start digging.”
“You’re making a very serious threat,” Burns points out.
“I understand that. But twenty-six people died in that fire, and two more have been killed in recent weeks. In addition, an innocent man faces the possibility of life in prison. I think it’s time we played some hardball, and I’m not only willing to make these threats, but I’m very prepared to back them up. And that’s where Mr. Downey comes in.”
Burns then takes the cue and starts asking Downey how he is involved in this process. Downey announces that his company has accepted my proposal to publish a book I will be writing, mainly about the Galloway case, but also about others in my career.
“It will be after the conclusion of the case,” Downey says, “so there will be no reason to hold anything back. Andy has promised to name names, most notably of those who have not cooperated with the defense.”
Downey fends off Burns’s questions about details, mainly because he doesn’t have any. He doesn’t even have a contract with me, not even an agreement that I will write the book. He certainly hopes I will, but the publicity this will generate for his company is payment enough for the moment.
We go through the drill twice more, on two other shows, and head home. The trial starts tomorrow, so I’ve got quite a bit of work ahead of me tonight.
I’m tired, but pleased with how it wen
t. Hopefully I’ve made some people very nervous. I know I am.
“I thought I had seen it all,” is how Dylan begins his opening statement. “I’ve been in this job a long time, and I thought I’d seen it all.” He shakes his head, sadly, at the realization that in fact he hadn’t seen it all.
“It’s my job to deal with terrible things, and I’ve seen a lot of them. Every time someone gets robbed, or embezzled, or assaulted, or murdered, it comes through my office. And I have to admit my colleagues and myself get a little hardened to it; I suppose that’s human nature.
“But every once in a while we’re presented with something so terrible and so tragic that it stuns us all, and makes us recoil in horror. But someone in my job doesn’t get to make it go away by turning off the TV, or not buying the newspaper. I need to face it head-on, as distasteful as it might be.
“And now, today, so do you. You are going to see things during the course of this trial that I wish you didn’t have to see. You are going to hear things I wish you didn’t have to hear.
“But it all comes with my job, and now it comes with yours. Because you and I need to do whatever we can to make sure that something as horrible as this does not happen again.
“Twenty-six people died a horrible death one night six years ago. Most of them were completely innocent, a few weren’t. But none of them deserved the fate that they got. None of them deserved to suffer as they suffered … no one does.
“It took six years to identify the perpetrator of this horrible crime. There was certainly no rush to judgment here. Finally, when it looked as if it might go unsolved, someone came along and provided a key piece of information. After that, through diligent and dedicated investigation by the Federal Bureau of Investigation, all the pieces fell into place.
“Noah Galloway committed this crime. This is not the time for me to convince you of that fact; the evidence will do that. You will be left without a reasonable doubt, which is what our system properly demands.
One Dog Night Page 14