Bury the Lead

by David Rosenfelt

  She shakes her head. “Very hard to say. Maybe he was abused by a woman, and the method of abuse could have involved her hands. Or maybe he feels horribly manipulated by women, and this is a symbolic way to put a stop to it. There’s really no way to tell with the limited information you have, Andy.”

  I broaden the conversation to include some nonprivileged information about Daniel, including the murder of his wife. She sees little likelihood that a murder of a spouse for money could fit with the killings we’ve seen these last few weeks. It’s encouraging and confirms my instincts as well.

  I thank Carlotta and head home, feeling a little better about things. I’m starting to open up to the remote possibility that Daniel is not guilty. The evidence says otherwise, but attacking evidence is what I do.

  Laurie is waiting for me when I get home, on the front lawn throwing a ball to Tara. My two favorite women, waiting eagerly for their man to come home. Can my newspaper, pipe, and slippers be far behind?

  Apparently, they can, since as soon as Laurie sees me she sends me back out to bring home some pizza. In Laurie’s case, she orders so many toppings that it’s more of a salad than a pizza. Since I’m a man’s man, I get a man’s pizza, plain cheese. That way I can eat four pieces, eat just the cheese off the other four, and give the crusts to Tara.

  After dinner we have some wine. Laurie has opened a rather flinty-tasting bottle, but I decide that sitting in candlelight, minutes before bed, is not the time to lecture or educate her. Instead, she tells me of her session with Richard Dempsey, husband of murder victim Nancy Dempsey.

  Laurie did not like him very much at all. On three separate occasions he let slip the fact that theirs was a troubled marriage, comments that Laurie considered inappropriate in light of the subsequent tragic events. “If I had given him the opportunity, I think he would have tried hitting on me,” she says.

  “Should that ever happen, use the face-smash-into-the-car maneuver you used on the pimp,” I say.

  She nods. “Will do.”

  “Do you think he’s involved in this?”

  She firmly shakes her head. “I don’t, Andy. The guy’s a little slimy, but a serial killer? I could be wrong, but it just doesn’t fit at all.”

  Nothing fits, and it’s starting to get on my nerves. I’m also feeling tired, and what I want to do right now is get into bed with Laurie. The problem is that she seems comfortable on the couch, drinking wine and petting Tara’s head.

  My mind races, wondering how to lure her into the sack. I think back to the numerous techniques I tried on women during my fraternity days, but the one thing they had in common was that they never worked.

  “You ready for bed?” she asks.

  I fake-yawn nonchalantly. “Whenever . . .”

  “Then I’ll stay up for a while. You can go on to sleep. You look tired.”

  There’s as much chance of me going to bed without Laurie as there is of me crawling into the microwave and pressing High.

  “No, staying up is fine. I’m completely wide awake,” I say. “I can’t remember the last time I was this awake.”

  She smiles, a humoring-the-pathetic-idiot smile. “I think we should go to bed. You coming?” she asks.

  “Damn right,” I say. “I’m exhausted.”

  She takes my hand and we go to bed.

  I am Andy the master manipulator.

  • • • • •

  RANDY CLEMENS HAS the same look on his face every time I visit him, and today is no exception. Once again he has a plan, an idea, and he’s positive that his telling it to me will be the first step to freedom. He’s hopeful and enthusiastic, and those feelings are not tempered by the fact that every time he’s felt them before he’s been wrong.

  Unfortunately, my job is to always break the bad news. But I secretly harbor my own faint hope, the hope that one day his idea for a new appeal will be brilliant, something I completely overlooked, and will result in his being set free. In a sadistic quid pro quo, it always falls on him to demonstrate that I am wrong, simply by telling me his idea.

  He enters the visiting room, and his eyes seek me out from the other visitors and prisoners, talking to each other on phones through the glass partitions. He heads toward me, though pausing to warily eye the others on his side of the glass. Seeming to decide that it is safe, he sits down.

  “Andy, thanks for coming,” he says. “I know it’s a hassle.”

  “I was in the neighborhood.”

  He grins. “Yeah, right.” Then his voice gets lower, and the wariness returns to his eyes. “Andy, I’ve got something. Something that could get me out of here.”

  I try to seem eager to hear what he has to say, but in reality I dread it. I can’t stand to shoot this man down again. “What is it?”

  “I know why those women were killed.”

  If you had given me a thousand guesses, I never could have predicted that was what he would have said. “What?”

  “Andy, I can’t scream it out, you know? I know about the murders, and I want you to use the information to get me released. I tell them all about it, and I get paroled. They make deals like that all the time.”

  “Did you know I’m representing the accused?”

  The shock is evident on his face; he had no idea. “Oh, my God!” he enthuses. “This is great! This is unbelievable!”

  I’m not quite ready to join in the euphoria. “What is it you know, Randy?”

  Again he looks around warily, more understandable in light of what we are talking about. “It’s all about the rich one. The others were window dressing.”

  “You mean—”

  He interrupts me, shaking his head. “No, not here. But I won’t let you down, Andy. Just set this up, please. Give me ten minutes in a room with the DA, and your client is in the clear.”

  “They’re going to want a preview before they meet.”

  He shakes his head firmly. “Andy, I can’t now. Okay? I’ve heard things . . . please trust me, and please get this done. I swear on my daughter’s life . . . this is real.”

  I’m not going to get any more; he’s calling the shots. And I do trust that he believes what he is saying, though I have strong doubts that he can deliver what he hopes. “Okay. I’ll get right on it.”

  His relief is so powerful it seems to be seeping through the glass. “Thank you,” he says, and walks off. He looks around, seems to pause for a moment, and then hurries out of the room.

  By the time I reach my car, I’ve decided what to do with Randy’s request. The DA’s office is the obvious place to go, but I’m not about to trust Tucker with it. There is too much chance he would bury the information, even if it turns out that the information does not deserve to be buried.

  Instead, I call Richard Wallace. Richard originally prosecuted Randy’s case, but that is not why I choose him. Richard has always demonstrated total integrity. It’s a cliché, but in his case true: He is more interested in justice than victory.

  I’m lucky enough to get Richard on the phone. I tell him I need to see him about something important, but I don’t overplay it. My belief is that this will turn out to be unsubstantiated jailhouse chatter and ultimately not amount to anything. He agrees to see me right away, and I ask that we meet at a nearby coffee shop. I don’t want to run into Tucker.

  Richard is already at a table waiting for me when I arrive. We exchange small talk, after which I lay out what Randy told me at the prison.

  “This should go to Tucker,” he says.

  “I can’t, Richard, he’d never follow up. It would be detrimental to both my clients.”

  Richard nods; he knows I’m right, and he’s trying to find another way. “I assume everything you’ve just said to me is unofficial? Off the record?”

  I don’t know what he’s getting at, but he’s nodding his head, prompting me, so I nod right back. “Right,” I say, going along. “Totally unofficial and way off the record.”

  “Suppose you officially come to me and tell me Clem
ens has something important to say, that it could involve the perpetrators of some serious crimes. But you don’t mention which crimes, or any other clients of yours that might be involved.”

  I immediately see where he’s going with this. “Then you would have no reason to talk to Tucker. It’s the kind of thing you could and should handle on your own.”

  He nods. “At least until I hear what Clemens has to say.”

  I lean forward. “Richard, there’s something I want to officially talk to you about.” Feeling a little silly, I lay out the new version, and he agrees to arrange for Randy to tell his story. We schedule it for Monday morning, and Richard promises to set it up with the prison authorities.

  Just before he gets up to leave, he says, “You know, the evidence was there, and I believe he was guilty, but the Clemens conviction never felt completely right. You know?”

  “I know. Believe me, I know.”

  • • • • •

  JUDGE CALVIN NEWHOUSE is assigned to preside over New Jersey v. Daniel Cummings. A wealthy New Englander by birth and a graduate of Harvard Law, Calvin understands the law inside and out. He’s also quite sophisticated; this is a guy who knows flinty wine when he tastes it. Yet he has always tried to portray himself as a crusty, seat-of-the-pants judge with a disdain for legal procedure but a reverence for “good old country common sense.” He’s even incorporated a trace of a southern accent, which makes him sound like a cross between William Buckley and Willie Nelson.

  Calvin’s reputation is as a prosecution judge, which doesn’t exactly put him in select company. I’ve tried one case before him, which I won when he agreed to my motion for an order to dismiss. I found him to be highly intelligent and reasonably evenhanded, so all in all I’m not unhappy with the selection. It could be better, but it could be a hell of a lot worse.

  One major plus is that Calvin is unlikely to be swayed by the media coverage and public pressure surrounding the case. He’s sixty-four years old, due to retire anyway, and fiercely proud of his independence. He won’t fold before Tucker, but neither will he do us any great favors.

  The hearing today is mostly a formality; a get-acquainted session with the judge, during which he will set the trial date and hear a few ordinary motions. Despite that fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen this many members of the press in one place. Clearly, there is nothing else going on in the world.

  Vince has gone to Daniel’s house to get him a suit to wear, and when I see him in the suit, I’m glad there’s no jury present. If Calvin were inclined to grant bail, which he won’t be, the value of the suit would cover it. When there is a jury, I will not have Daniel looking so regal. He should look like a man of the people, a little tattered, with no sense of fashion. It’ll be easy to pull off; I’ll just send Vince to my closet instead.

  Tucker has three lawyers from his office with him, all of whom I know to be quite competent. As a group they represent considerable overkill for the task at hand, unless Tucker is planning to use them to haul in the boxes of convincing evidence.

  Tucker suggests a trial date in the prescribed two months and is shocked when I agree. I would much prefer a longer period of time, but Daniel has insisted we move forward quickly. He seems to have the notion that the trial will result in his being let out of prison, a concept not currently supported by any facts that I am aware of.

  Calvin asks us whether discovery is proceeding smoothly, which to a degree it is. Boxes are arriving at my office every day, and they don’t even yet include the DNA tests, which will take a few more weeks. I’m not waiting for them with bated breath; I have no doubt the blood and hair on the scarves found in Daniel’s house will match those of the victims. My task is to convince the jury that Daniel did not put them there.

  “Your Honor,” I say, “discovery has to this point been limited to the documents and reports relating to Mr. Cummings as a suspect. They indicate he wasn’t viewed this way until late in the investigation. I would request that the defense be given all reports from the investigation, whether or not they relate to him as a suspect.”

  Tucker confers briefly with one of his colleagues, then stands. “Your Honor, the rules of discovery are very clear on this point, and they do not support the defense’s request. All relevant discovery is being turned over. Defense is on a fishing expedition.”

  I shake my head. “Your Honor, my client was a conduit between the actual killer and the police. The police used him as such; they directed him in his dealings with the real killer. This all took place before he was a suspect. He was an integral part of their investigation, and as such we should be privy to all aspects of that investigation.”

  Tucker objects again; he is on fairly solid legal ground, and it would take a surprise ruling by Calvin for us to prevail. My hope is that he will bend over backward to give us every chance, knowing that if we lose this death penalty case, appeals courts will be scrutinizing his rulings for years.

  “I’m inclined to grant the defense motion,” Calvin says as Tucker does a double take. “If there are cases where the prosecution contends that innocent third parties will be injured by these documents being turned over to the defense, then I will review them in camera.”

  I never expected to win this motion, so I might as well press my luck. “Thank you, Your Honor. We also request that we be provided with any prior police investigative reports concerning Ms. Linda Padilla, beyond those relating to her murder. We believe they may reveal others with a possible motive to have caused her death.”

  This possible linkage of Linda Padilla to unsavory characters gets the press mumbling and Tucker jumping to his feet. His frustration is obvious. “Your Honor, there is no foundation for this. There is nothing in those reports relating to this case.”

  Calvin nails him. “You’ve read those reports, have you?” He knows Tucker would have had no reason or occasion to read old, unrelated police investigative reports on Linda Padilla, yet Tucker has just said there’s nothing relevant in them.

  “I’m sorry, I misspoke, Your Honor. I actually don’t even know if such reports exist. But unless they contain information about Mr. Cummings, they certainly could have nothing to do with this trial and therefore are not covered by discovery rules in this state.”

  Calvin gives us another win, albeit a smaller one. He will look at those reports in camera but only give them to us if there is anything that could be beneficial to our defense.

  I once again bring up the question of bail, though I’m aware it’s always a nonstarter in a capital case. “Are you trying to waste the court’s time, Mr. Carpenter?” Calvin asks.

  “No, Your Honor, I am trying to prevent a man who has never previously been charged with a crime, who is not a flight risk, and who has always been a distinguished member of the community from sitting in a jail cell while we get around to finding him not guilty.”

  Tucker stands. “Your Honor, the state—”

  Calvin cuts him off. “Request for bail is denied. What’s next?”

  I stand. “Your Honor, we have filed a motion for change of venue with the court. We feel strongly that the already strong public awareness and reaction, which has been further inflamed by Mr. Zachry’s self-serving press conferences, has made it impossible to empanel an impartial jury. We—”

  He cuts me off. “I read the motion, as well as the prosecution’s response. It may take a little longer than usual, but we’ll get our jury. Motion denied. We finished here, gentlemen?”

  We’re not quite finished, though my last issue is sure to be a loser. “Your Honor, Mr. Zachry has been telling the press that his case is airtight on all four murders, yet he’s held back charging my client for the first three. He’s obviously concerned that his airtight case might spring a leak, and he might need a second chance if he loses this one. I would therefore request that he not be allowed to use evidence from those other murders unless he includes them in the charges for this trial.”

  Tucker states his position directly from the
statute, which is that the other evidence is “proof of motive, opportunity, intent and preparation.” I know I’m not going to win; I’m simply creating an issue for appeal.

  Calvin rules against us, and I head back to the office to brief Kevin and Laurie on my conversation with Randy Clemens. They’re more hopeful about it than I am, probably because they don’t understand Randy’s desperation to find something that will free him.

  “So he said it was all about Linda Padilla?” Laurie asks.

  “He didn’t mention her name; I think he was afraid we’d be overheard. But he referred to the ‘rich’ victim, and I don’t see how the others qualify.”

  Marcus calls from Cleveland to fill us in on his progress, and we put him on the speakerphone. Talking to most people on the phone is not quite the same as talking in person; there are facial expressions and body language that can be almost as important as the spoken words. Marcus is a notable exception. The inanimate phone captures his expression and mannerisms quite well, is just as bald, and contains the same percentage of body fat.

  Marcus has talked to the detective that was assigned to the murder of Margaret Cummings, Daniel’s wife. He tells us that the detective is shedding no tears for Daniel’s current plight, since he has always had a hunch that Daniel was behind Margaret’s death.

  Daniel was widely considered a solid citizen in Cleveland, and support for him through his ordeal was almost unanimous, the detective being the notable exception.

  “Does he think Daniel pulled the trigger?” Laurie asks.

  “Unh-unh . . . farmed.” That is Marcus-speak for “No, the detective is of the opinion that our client employed a subcontractor to do the actual deed on his behalf.”

  Marcus goes on to grunt that a young man had been arrested for the murder but that the case against him fell apart, and he was no longer a suspect.

  Marcus has certainly not found any real evidence implicating Daniel, which is no surprise, since apparently the Cleveland police didn’t either. I ask him to stay in Cleveland and keep digging, though it makes me slightly uncomfortable to do so. The truth is that there is little chance he can uncover anything to help Daniel’s defense against the multiple-murder charges. If I were to be honest with myself, which I try to do as rarely as possible, I would admit that I’m hoping Marcus can help me learn more about who it really is we are defending.