CHAPTER 50
WITNESS TAMPERING
On Friday afternoon Wilkerson finally got to the end of his long list of witnesses. The final witness was perhaps the most important—Walter Johansen, the VP Banker from Tortola. Since we knew his entire testimony was going to be fabricated, we'd spent most of our preparation time working on ways to impeach it. Unfortunately, the more we prepared, the more we realized how difficult it was going to be to discredit him. The problem was the British Virgin Islands' secrecy laws which made it impossible for us to research bank or corporate records. So, we had no way of contradicting Walter Johansen's testimony.
Johansen looked like a banker in his charcoal gray suit as he walked to the witness stand. Paula had told me he was smart and a smooth talker, so he wouldn't be easy to impeach. At 1:31 p.m. Wilkerson began his direct examination. He asked Johansen about his background, education, and employment. Then he asked him if he knew Cheryl Windsor.
"Yes, she contacted me in late August of this year."
"How did she make contact?"
"By telephone at first. She called and said she'd heard about international business corporations and wanted to set one up. I explained how they worked and she said she wanted to move forward immediately as she was expecting to receive a large sum of money."
"Did you agree to do it?"
"Sure. That's our business."
"Did she set up a bank account as well?"
"Yes. Zorcor, Inc. did. That's what she called her IBC. Then she wired money into it."
Cheryl shook her head and whispered to me, “I can't believe this guy. He’s such a liar. I've never seen him before in my life."
I nodded. "Yeah, this is what we expected."
"When was the first wire?" Wilkerson asked Johansen.
"Shortly after the account was set up—early September, I believe."
"And how much was transferred into the account?"
"About $3.7 million."
There was a gasp from the gallery and some of the spectators began talking. The judge frowned and banged his gavel demanding order.
Wilkerson continued. "Is the money still in the account?"
"I don't know."
"Why is that?"
"After Ms. Waters was arrested, my superiors took the account away from me, but even if I did know, the law prohibits me from disclosing such information."
"Thank you. Pass the witness."
The judge said, "Your witness, Mr. Turner."
"Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Johansen, can you set up an IBC by telephone?"
"Uh huh. We just FedEx an agreement to the customer and they sign it and send it back. I sign all the corporate papers on their behalf."
"Does a customer have to come to the bank to set up the account?"
"No, I can send them the signature cards and account agreements, and they can sign them and return them to me."
"Is that what happened here?"
"No. She came to the bank. I personally met with her and we completed all the paperwork while she was here."
Johansen was a good actor. He spit out his lies like they were the gospel. The jury looked mesmerized.
"But it is possible for someone to do this entirely by telephone and through the mail?"
"Yes, but that didn't happen in this case," Johansen stressed
"How do you know it was Cheryl Windsor who set up the account? You didn't know her, did you?"
"No. She faxed me a copy of her driver's license and passport."
"Well, is it possible the documents she gave you were forged, particularly if they were faxed copies? That's pretty common in this day and age, isn't it?"
"I wouldn't know. They looked genuine."
"Couldn't Martin Windsor have enlisted the help of any woman to pretend to be Mrs. Windsor?"
Wilkerson jumped up. "Objection, Your Honor—calls for speculation!"
"Sustained," the judge ruled.
"Did you take any steps to verify Mrs. Windsor's identity?" I asked.
"Well, a few days later I called information in Dallas and got her telephone number. When I called the number, she answered."
Cheryl leaned over and whispered, "That's impossible. My number is unlisted."
"Why would you have to call and get the number from information? Wouldn't she have given you her number when she set up the IBC and the account?"
"She did, but when I called the number it wasn't in service. I figured she had transposed two numbers so I called information."
"What if I told you Mrs. Windsor's telephone is unlisted?"
"Well, I wouldn't believe you, because I did call information and they gave me the number and she answered the call."
"Now, Mr. Johansen. You realize you're under oath, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever lied in court before?"
Johansen stiffened. "Excuse me?" he said indignantly.
"Objection!" Wilkerson exclaimed. "That's argumentative, lacks foundation, and inflammatory."
"It's a legitimate question, Your Honor," I said.
"I'll allow it," the judge said.
"Did you not hear the question?" Wilkerson asked, "Should I ask the court reporter to repeat it?"
Johansen glared at me. "No, I heard it. . . . No. I've never lied in court before."
"What about when you were on trial for money laundering, bribery, and conspiracy in Alabama?"
Johansen swallowed hard. "I didn't lie then, and I'm not lying now."
"But you were convicted, were you not?"
"Yes, but I didn't lie. I was innocent."
"Did you testify at your trial?"
"Yes, I did."
"So, you testified you were innocent, yet you were convicted."
"A lot of innocent men are convicted."
"Right. But you will admit the jury thought you were a liar."
Johansen didn't respond, but just glared at me."So," I continued, "if you lied then, how do we know you're not lying now?"
"Objection!" Wilkerson spat. "Argumentative!"
"I'll allow it, but move on, Mr. Turner. You made your point."
"Have you ever met Martin Windsor?"
"No. I don't know him."
He was lying again. I could see it in his eyes, but I had no way of challenging him. I listed the names of all of Martin Windsor's various enterprises but Johansen denied ever hearing of any of them. Then I went through the names of several of Windsor's friends and associates to see if Johansen recognized any of them. He said he did not. Finally, I asked him one final question.
"Do you have any knowledge as to the whereabouts of Martin Windsor or his children?"
Johansen shook his head. "No idea whatsoever. I wouldn't know them if I saw them."
"Thank you," I said. "Pass the witness."
Wilkerson and I went one more round with Johansen but neither of us extracted any new information of value. After Johansen was excused, Wilkerson rested. The judge looked at his watch and said, "Mr. Turner, you can begin your case in chief on Monday morning at 9:30. We're in recess until then."
As we were packing up, I said to Cheryl, "Well, I doubt Johansen will have much credibility with the jury now."
She turned and I saw a worried look in her eyes. "I hope not," she said softly.
On Saturday morning Jodie, Paula, and I met to discuss our witness list. The most difficult of our witnesses was going to be Weldon Everett, the disappearing man, who we felt was the key to our case. He obviously wouldn't testify candidly, if he testified at all. He could assert his Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination. If he did take the stand, we either had to trip him up or somehow induce him to tell the truth.
Paula asked, "How do we get him to tell the truth?"
"We can't. We don't have anything to offer in exchange. If he testifies truthfully, he'll go to prison, not to mention piss off some very powerful people who might make sure he ends up dead."
"Too bad we can't inject him with some truth serum," Jodie said.
> I thought for a moment. "Truth serum, . . . hmm?" I said. "That's not a bad idea."
"Sodium Pentothal doesn't necessarily make you tell the truth," Paula said. "We studied it at the DA's office when I was working there. It's just a mild sedative that makes you relax and feel talkative."
"I bet the CIA has some more advanced drugs that may be more effective. If we could get a dose of a drug like that and inject him with it, he might actually end up telling the truth."
"The judge wouldn't let us do it. It's unconstitutional," Paula cautioned.
"Obviously, we'd have to do it surreptitiously," I said. "I think it can be administered in liquid form. If not, Rebekah could teach us how to inject it since she's a RN."
"How are you going to administer it without Everett knowing about it?" Paula asked.
"I don't know. That's a problem we can tackle once we have the drug and decide to use it. I'll call Mo and see if he can get us something suitable."
"If we give him the drug and he finds out, he'll sue us or file a grievance," Paula complained. "We may end up disbarred."
"I doubt it. The last thing he's going to want is more publicity. He's more likely to kill us."
"Wonderful!" Paula replied. "I feel so much better."
"You don't want to end up in jail for the next twenty years for withholding evidence, do you?" I asked.
Paula sighed. "No. Not really."
"Then we're going to have to do something extraordinary—take some risks. We don't have any other choice."
We all agreed I'd call Mo to see if we could even obtain the drug before we decided what to do. When I got home, I put a call into Mo and he called me back an hour later. I told him what I needed. He said he'd look into it and see if he could help out. I thanked him and hung up the phone.
On Monday morning he called and told me to go to the men's room in the basement of the Records Building and I'd find what I needed. I thanked him and then stopped by the Records Building on my way to the courthouse. I took the stairs to the basement. Nobody was inside so I went in and looked around.
Now where would he hide the drug? In all the gangster movies I'd seen, the gun was always taped inside the toilet tank. Unfortunately these toilets didn't have tanks. I searched behind the toilets, under the sinks, and along the window sills but found nothing. Then I noticed the towel dispenser.
Its lock looked really flimsy. On my key ring I had a small luggage key, so I stuck it in the hole and twisted it around. Sure enough the cover fell open and inside was a small brown bag. I stuck my hand in the bag and pulled out a cinnamon brown bottle with no label. I stuck it in my pocket and closed the dispenser door.
A wave of fear suddenly washed over me. Aside from the obvious personal peril we faced, what if we were successful and Everett admitted he was an alien or was working for aliens who had infiltrated our society? What would be the repercussions of that?
When I got to the courtroom I took Paula and Jodie aside and told them I had the drug.
"What's it called?" Paula asked.
"I don't know. It's just a bottle with no label."
Paula gave me a horrified look. "Do you think we should be giving someone a drug we know nothing about?"
"I trust Mo," I said. "I'm sure it's the most advanced truth serum the CIA has."
"The problem now is how to administer it to our man."
"Someone could hand him a soft drink during the break," Jodie suggested.
"But the bailiff will see that," Paula said.
"He'd have to be distracted somehow and while he was busy someone could hand Everett a soft drink. If he's thirsty, he'd take it and start drinking. I don't think he'd suspect anything."
"Okay, I'll create a distraction," Paula said. "Jodie, you give him the drink."
Paula gave me a hard look. A chill darted through me as we put our plan into play. We were about to embark on an illegal and unethical course of action—witness tampering—the worst crime a lawyer could commit. Even though our goal was to discover the truth, it was still illegal and Paula and I would surely be disbarred and go to jail if we were found out. My heart pounded as I contemplated our fate if our scheme backfired. I just prayed it wouldn't.
Cactus Island, A Stan Turner Mystery Vol 8 Page 50