Jessie Black Box Set 2

by Larry A Winters

  The reporters launched another stream of questions at Hal. He answered a few of them, but when the tone apparently turned too negative for his liking, he shut them down with a big smile and a friendly wave.

  “That’s all the time I have. Thank you for listening to my client’s side of the story. The Nolan law firm appreciates your attention.”

  Jessie felt a tap on her shoulder. Crap, she thought. She had stayed too long, and one of the reporters had spotted her. But when she turned around, it wasn’t a reporter. It was Kristina Nolan.

  “Hal loves the spotlight.”

  “Your husband is trying to taint the jury pool,” Jessie said. “That’s totally inappropriate. Probably an ethical violation.”

  Kristina did not show a reaction. She was cool under pressure, Jessie had to give her that much credit. “He prefers to think of it as mounting a zealous defense.”

  “And how do you think of it?”

  Kristina gazed past Jessie at her husband, who was extricating himself from the crowd of reporters. “Your case against our client isn’t looking so hot. Should we talk about a deal?”

  “Why? Can’t wait to get away from your sickening client?”

  For a split-second, Jessie thought she caught a micro-expression flash across the lawyer’s face. Had she struck a nerve? Maybe. It was hard to tell. Kristina recovered immediately, her cool expression back in place. “I’m serious.”

  “It depends,” Jessie said. “Will your client agree to plead guilty to murder?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Then we have no deal to talk about.”

  Jessie heard her name from a voice in the crowd of reporters. She turned and saw two of them looking her way. A woman she knew who covered trials for NBC News tapped the arm of the cameraman beside her. The camera swung in Jessie’s direction.

  “Time for me to go,” Jessie said.

  “Don’t like to grandstand?”

  “I don’t have a law firm I need to advertise,” Jessie said.

  Kristina’s smile definitely twitched at that. Another nerve? “Politicians need publicity just as much as private firms. Maybe more so.”

  “I’m not a politician, Kristina. I’m a prosecutor. I only have one goal here, and that’s to see that justice prevails. I wonder if you can say the same.”

  Kristina’s lips pressed together. She did not answer.

  Three reporters broke away from the crowd and headed in her direction. Jessie gave Kristina a parting nod and walked around the corner of the building in a purposeful, but also unhurried, stride.

  As soon as she turned the corner and was out of view of the cameras, she flagged the nearest taxi. She slid into the back seat. The vinyl felt cool against the backs of her legs.

  “Where to?” the driver said.

  Jessie saw the NBC reporter round the corner with her cameraman. “Just drive.”

  21

  The jail visitation room was a grim space, all metal with sparse furnishings bolted to the floor. But Oscar Hazenberg looked as comfortable and relaxed in his steel seat as he might have looked in a leather recliner at home.

  “Counselors,” he greeted.

  Hal Nolan forced a smile as he and Kristina stepped into the room. He immediately felt a chill, and it wasn’t entirely because of the temperature. He tried to ignore the sounds of the officer closing the door behind Kristina and him and engaging what sounded like a hundred locks.

  When the sounds finally ceased, a quiet descended. Not a peaceful quiet—the air itself seemed agitated, almost alive with tension.

  “What brings you by?” Hazenberg said.

  “Seemed like a good time to visit our favorite client,” Hal said.

  “Really? Your law partner doesn’t seem too happy to see me.”

  Hal glanced at Kristina. She had not bothered with even the pretense of a smile. Her posture was unusually rigid. She was watching Hazenberg as if he might bite her.

  “We came to discuss trial strategy,” Kristina said in a flat voice.

  “That’s good,” Hazenberg said. “I thought you might have come here to boast.”

  Hal managed to keep his smile. “Well, you have to acknowledge that was quite a victory for us today. Knocking out two key pieces of prosecution evidence before a jury has even been impaneled? I’d say the Hazenberg defense is off to a pretty promising start, wouldn’t you?”

  Hazenberg shrugged. “A rookie could have won those motions.”

  Now Hal’s smile did fall. “I know it looks easy, but good lawyering—”

  Hazenberg continued as if Hal had not spoken. “I could have represented myself pro se and prevailed. “

  “Well, I disagree, but—”

  “Did they drop the charges?” Hazenberg said. “No. Because they can still win. And they know it.”

  “That’s true,” Hal said. “That’s why I called it a promising start. I didn’t declare total victory—”

  “What has your investigator turned up?” Hazenberg said.

  Hal hesitated. Hazenberg’s stare seemed to drill into him. He had thought this visit would be an ego boost. Instead, he was being called on the carpet. “We haven’t engaged one yet.”

  “You haven’t engaged one yet?” Hazenberg rose from his metal chair and walked to one of the bare walls of the room. He stared at the wall, as if lost in thought. “You haven’t engaged one yet….”

  Hal felt a blush of embarrassment rise in his cheeks. He could feel Kristina’s questioning gaze on him now, but he didn’t dare look at her.

  “But you said you would,” Hazenberg said. “I remember that clearly. It was part of your justification for a fifty-thousand dollar retainer. Which I paid.”

  “Part of, yes,” Hal stammered. “But, you know, there are also court fees, expenses—”

  “Your firm is in financial distress.” Hazenberg returned to his seat in the metal chair. “My guess is that you used my retainer to pay some of your loans, probably with some late fees, too. I doubt that’s permitted under the rules of your profession, but maybe you figured I couldn’t do much about it from my solitary confinement here in the big house. There’s not much left of the retainer, is there? Not enough for an investigator, apparently.”

  “That’s ludicrous,” Kristina said. Her face turned from Hazenberg to Hal. “Right?”

  Hal remained silent. His heart hammered in his chest.

  Hazenberg grinned. There was no warmth in his expression, only cold disdain. “That’s right, Hal. Don’t confirm or deny. Put that legal education to use.”

  Hal got his mouth and tongue working again, although it took some effort. “It was an oversight. I’ll call an investigator today.”

  “Don’t. I have a guy who will work for free. He owes me a favor.”

  Hal licked his lips. This was definitely not going the way he had thought it would. Far from it. “The investigator we usually work with is very thorough—”

  “I’m sure he is. But if the Nolan law firm goes bankrupt, he won’t do me any good. We’re going to use my guy.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Kristina said.

  “Yes, it is,” Hazenberg said. There was a finality in his tone that seemed to close off discussion. “Right, Hal?”

  Hal’s mouth felt dry. He swallowed with difficulty. “If you have an investigator you’d like us to use, we’ll do so. You’re the client—”

  “Good.” Hazenberg nodded with satisfaction. “He’s loyal. I trust him. His name is Ivan Coakley. He’s already expecting your call.”

  “Ivan Coakley?” Kristina said. “I haven’t heard the name before. Is he a local PI?”

  “No. Ex-con.”

  Two officers retrieved Hazenberg to take him back to his cell. A third escorted Hal and Kristina to the building’s lobby. Hal could sense his wife’s agitation throughout the seemingly endless walk.

  Finally, outside, Kristina apparently could no longer hold it in. “What the hell was that? He’s not right about our finances, is he?”


  “It’s complicated.”

  Kristina stopped walking. “Complicated?”

  “We had a minor cash flow issue. It’s no big deal.”

  Kristina did not look entirely satisfied by his explanation, but at least it got her moving again. They crossed the parking area. At the car, she said, “We’re not really going to use his thug as our investigator, are we?”

  Hal unlocked their car. “Just because he’s an ex-con doesn’t mean he’s a thug.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “No.” He slid behind the wheel as Kristina climbed into the passenger seat beside him.

  “This isn’t how it’s supposed to work,” she said. “The lawyer chooses the investigator. And investigators have to be licensed. There are regulations.”

  He started the engine. “I’m aware of that, Kristina.”

  “Then why did you say yes?”

  “What else was I going to say? I didn’t mean it. Don’t worry. I’ll talk to this guy Coakley and explain that he’s not the right person for the job. I’ll do it nicely so that nobody leaves with hurt feelings.”

  “Hurt feelings, Hal? Seriously? This is a murder trial. Our client is accused of a vicious killing that he probably committed. I don’t think avoiding hurt feelings should be your top priority.”

  “Kristina, it’s me. Hal. Your brilliant, talented, amazingly sexy husband.” He flashed her his most winning smile. “Just trust me on this, okay?”

  “I’m trying to.” She sat back in her seat and turned her face away from him.

  22

  Jessie waited as Warren gazed mournfully out the window of his office. From her seat in one of his visitor chairs, she could see a slice of overcast sky, crowded with gray clouds. After a few seconds, he said, “We knew opposing those motions was a Hail Mary move, Jessie. Don’t beat yourself up about losing.”

  Judging by the expression on his face, Warren looked like the one who needed a pep talk. Maybe that’s what he was really doing right now—talking to himself.

  “I agree,” she said. “It still stings, though. You know how it is. Every time you go into the courtroom, no matter how strong or weak your case, you always believe you’re going to win. It’s the mindset you need to have as a trial lawyer.”

  Warren turned from the window and looked at her. “The question is, how are we going to win now? The glove and the confession are out. Fine. Let them go. Forget about them. Focus on what we do have.”

  “What we do have isn’t much, unfortunately.”

  Warren grunted. “Leary hasn’t dug anything up? Graham and Novak? There’s got to be more evidence out there. A guy doesn’t drop a bloody glove within walking distance of his crime scene, but make no other mistake.”

  “He made other mistakes. He got himself caught on video, for one thing. Wearing two different outfits—one coming, one going. And we found a witness who says she saw him enter Edley’s house.”

  “That sounds good.”

  “Well.” Jessie chewed her lip. “She saw him from a house across the street. At night. And she didn’t ID him from a photo array or a lineup. She told the police it was him after seeing Hazenberg’s picture on the news.”

  “Sounding less good,” Warren said.

  “I know. If we just had the glove and the confession.”

  “I told you, forget about those. Thinking about them is holding you back. Did we have a couple smoking guns? We thought we did. But we don’t. So why are you comparing every piece of evidence to something we don’t have? Evaluate the new evidence on its own merits, not on whether it can replace evidence that we lost.”

  Jessie nodded. She might have her issues with Warren as her boss, but there was no question he was an experienced and knowledgeable prosecutor. She recognized the value of the advice. But she was finding it difficult to implement. Her brain kept coming back to the glove and the confession. Imagining twelve jurors looking at that glove, holding it in their hands, hearing about the DNA evidence recovered from it. Imagining them listening to Maxine Hazenberg’s harrowing testimony. All that great evidence, lost.

  And she couldn’t shake the premonition that Hazenberg was going to walk.

  “Thanks, Warren. I’ll try.”

  23

  Day one of the trial, Hal thought. And here we go.

  Hal watched two sheriff’s deputies bring Oscar Hazenberg into the courtroom. His heart rate kicked up a notch as Hazenberg—dressed in a bespoke suit nicer than anything his lawyers could afford—walked past the jury box. The man had to know the eyes of the jurors were locked on him, but he walked past them with a businesslike stride, as if he were just another lawyer in the room. And, in fact, when he reached the defense table and his armed escorts left his side, Hazenberg did almost blend in with the lawyers and other courtroom personnel.

  Hal stood and drew Hazenberg into an embrace. He felt the man’s resistance and said into his ear, “This is to demonstrate for the jury my firm belief in your innocence.”

  “I certainly hope that’s all this is.”

  “No jokes.” Hal spoke quietly and quickly. “The jurors are watching. The prosecutor is going to make her opening statement in a few minutes. No matter what she says, don’t wince. Don’t smirk. Don’t shake your head. Don’t nod your head. Don’t lean back. Don’t lean forward. Don’t look at me. Don’t look at the judge. Definitely don’t look at the jurors. Don’t have any reaction. You’re a stone, okay? A statue.”

  “Just do your part and we’ll be fine.” Hazenberg slipped out of his embrace and sat down in the chair to Hal’s left. Hal sat in the middle chair, between his client and Kristina.

  Only after he was sitting did Hal allow himself to look over at the jury. He had been happy with the results of the jury selection process. He believed that the twelve men and women—and two alternates—sitting in the box were likely to hold the prosecution to its high standard of proving Hazenberg’s guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. He had managed to knock off the more judgmental, self-righteous looking types. Some of the jurors he even felt a warm attachment to, after bantering with them during the voir dire process. One of these, a balding, middle-aged sales executive, caught his eye now and nodded at him. Hal allowed the hint of a smile to touch his lips as he nodded back. Yes, this was his jury, and he couldn’t wait to talk to them, to address them directly in his opening statement.

  Unfortunately, it was the prosecution’s right to speak first, one of the many unfair advantages the Commonwealth had over the accused.

  The cranky Judge Carabotta made some preliminary comments, and then invited Jessie Black to begin. Hal watched her rise from the prosecution table and approach the jury.

  In addition to the advantage of going first, this particular prosecutor also had the advantage of being pretty. Although few jurors would admit it, Hal knew that looks mattered, and that attractive lawyers tended to win more frequently than ugly ones. Jessie wore a conservative navy-blue suit that fit her body well. Her black hair fell stylishly past her shoulders. She presented the image of a respected government official fulfilling her role of protecting the people of Philadelphia, but Hal suspected most of the male jurors—and maybe some of the female ones—were admiring her more personal assets.

  Luckily for him, Hal was a damn fine looking man, and Kristina could stop traffic. He had no doubt they would turn as many heads as their adversary.

  Jessie smiled at the jurors. “I want to start by thanking you for performing a vital role in this trial. Every person is entitled to a jury of their peers, and you serve a critical function in our justice system by listening to and evaluating the evidence. But I also want to apologize to you. Because this trial is going to be difficult for many of you to endure.”

  Several of the jurors leaned forward. She had grabbed their attention. Hal resisted the urge to roll his eyes at this cheap trick.

  “The nature of the crime you’re going to hear about is particularly repulsive. It involved not just murder, but also torture and
mutilation. You’re going to see crime scene photographs that may turn your stomach—they certainly turned mine—and some of you may actually feel physically sick. If you do, I urge you to let someone know, so that we can take a quick break for you to recover. I don’t normally offer this warning. That’s how vile the details of this crime are.”

  Hal knew what Jessie was doing, but knowing how the magic worked didn’t make it less impressive. She was eliciting an emotional response from the jury, simultaneously grabbing their attention while also making them angry at his client. And she hadn’t even pointed him out yet.

  She did that now, her arm rising and her finger pointing accusatorially at the defense table where Hazenberg sat stone-faced.

  “The person responsible for this crime is sitting right there at the defense table with his lawyers. His name is Oscar Hazenberg. The prosecution is going to show that the defendant brutally tortured, mutilated, and murdered the victim.”

  She paused, letting the jurors absorb the words for the second time. Torture. Mutilation. Murder.

  “The victim’s name was Kent Edley. You may be wondering who he was, and why the defendant would inflict these atrocious acts on him. The answer is, Kent Edley was just a regular guy.”

  She walked over to the prosecution table, picked up a piece of poster board, and showed it to the jury. It was a candid photo of Kent Edley, smiling happily as the sun shined on him while he stood in a park, the Philly skyline at his back. Nice touch.

  Accusing Hazenberg while humanizing his victim. Textbook prosecution tactics. But they were textbook for a reason. Because they worked.

  “Kent Edley was only thirty-two years old. An up-and-coming executive with a public relations firm in Center City. When he wasn’t working, he pursued his personal hobbies. He liked to go to pubs with a group of friends to play Quizzo. He was taking a cooking class at Drexel.”

  Hal watched the jurors closely. He didn’t like what he was seeing.