Bury the Lead

by David Rosenfelt

  There are two minutes left in the game, and the Giants are running out the clock, despite my screaming admonitions for them to run up the score even more.

  The door opens and Laurie comes in. She doesn’t say anything, simply walks to the TV and turns it off.

  I’m stunned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, because I must be wrong. But did you just turn off a Giants-Cowboys game?”

  “We’ve got a witness,” she says. “Let’s go.”

  “A witness to what?” I ask, but she’s already on the way to the car. I stifle the instinct to turn the game back on, and I follow her out the door.

  Laurie tells me that Kevin has been trying to reach me all afternoon but that I haven’t been answering my phone. “I didn’t hear it ringing,” I lie. “Tara must have been barking.”

  “Right. That Tara can really bark.”

  Kevin is waiting for us in my office with a man, probably in his early forties, wearing sneakers, jeans, and a pullover shirt. The man is drinking a beer, interesting only because I don’t keep any in my office. Either he brought his own, or he sent Kevin out to get him one.

  Kevin introduces him as Eddie Gardner, a truck driver who travels the country but whose home base is North Jersey. He turns the floor over to Eddie, so that he can repeat for me what he saw.

  “It was September fourteenth,” Eddie begins. “I saw a guy pick up a hooker on Market Street in Passaic.”

  I look up at Kevin, who nods at my unspoken question, indicating that September 14 was in fact the night Rosalie was killed.

  “What were you doing there?”

  He smiles with some embarrassment. “Hey, come on, man. What do you think? I had just come back from a two-week haul—that’s how I remember the date—and I had some extra money . . .”

  “So you were there as a customer,” I say, stating the obvious.

  He shoots a quick glance at Laurie, then nods. “Right. A customer.”

  “Who was the guy you saw?” I ask.

  He points to the newspaper on the desk, with Lassiter’s picture on the front page. “Him.”

  “What time was it?” I ask.

  “About one o’clock in the morning.”

  “So you were there to pick up a hooker, but you were looking at the other customers?”

  “I notice things,” he says.

  “And how is it you noticed him?”

  “He pulled up in his car, and usually the girl comes over and gets in the car. That’s how it’s done. But this guy leaves his car running and gets out. Then he walks around, trying to figure out who to take, like he’s out shopping, you know? He picks one, and they go back to his car and pull away. It just seemed weird, so I remembered him.”

  “Why didn’t you come forward earlier?” Laurie asks.

  “I didn’t see the picture until today,” he says. “And I’m on the road a lot, so I hadn’t known there was a murder that night.”

  We question Eddie for a while longer, and when we’re finished, he gives us a number at which he can be reached. He’s willing to testify, even though it will cause him some personal embarrassment.

  After he leaves, Laurie speaks first. “I don’t believe him.”

  “Why?” says Kevin, his surprised tone revealing that he disagrees.

  Laurie shakes her head. “I’m not sure. It just seems too easy, too pat.” She turns to me. “What about you?”

  “I’ve got some doubts myself,” I say. “But I can’t be any more specific as to why.”

  We talk about it some more, and Laurie takes on the responsibility of checking into Eddie’s background. Absent any significant negative discoveries, we agree that his story is credible enough that we have to put him on the stand.

  In terms of the impact on our case, it can be enormous. Eddie provides a way to introduce Lassiter into the courtroom. Our alternate theory will be before the jury and might well create the reasonable doubt necessary to get Daniel off.

  I have my doubts about Eddie’s veracity, but on its face his story stands up. As a lawyer, I cannot introduce testimony I know to be false, but I do not have to have an affirmative belief in its truth. That is for the jury to decide after they hear our side of the story.

  And starting tomorrow they will.

  • • • • •

  TUCKER GOES MORE than a little nuts when we meet in Calvin’s chambers before the start of the court day. I can’t blame him: I’ve just announced that we intend to call Eddie Gardner as a surprise witness.

  “Your Honor,” says Tucker, “we’ve had the defense witness list for weeks, and the day they are to begin their case we have this bomb dropped on us? It’s outrageous.”

  Calvin turns to me, but I put up my hands as if it’s not my fault, which in fact it isn’t. “Your Honor, the witness came to us yesterday, as a result of the publicity from my television appearance Friday night.”

  He interrupts me. “An appearance which I am not at all happy about.”

  That’s too bad, Calvin, is what I’m thinking. What I say is, “In the last two months Mr. Zachry has been on television more than Oprah Winfrey, and far more than I have. Perhaps Your Honor would like to issue a gag order; the defense would certainly have no objections.” Especially since we’ve already got Lassiter’s picture out to the public.

  He lets it drop and gets me to agree that I won’t put Eddie on the stand before tomorrow, an easy concession, since that was my plan anyway. I want to give Laurie a chance to dig further into his background.

  I make time to talk with Daniel before court, and he’s more optimistic and excited than he’s been since this started. Eliot told him about the Walter Castle connection, and he’s embarrassed that he hadn’t seen it, but he didn’t know Castle had been a target of Linda Padilla. He considers it very promising, but not nearly as large a cause for celebration as Eddie’s appearance on the scene.

  My first witness is Cheryl Kelly, a reporter for Vince’s newspaper who happened to be in Daniel’s office when he got the first call from the killer.

  I get her to recount the events, then ask her about Daniel’s reaction. “What did he say when he got off the phone?”

  “That somebody just confessed to a murder,” she says. “Told him how it was done and where the body was.”

  “Did he seem surprised?”

  Tucker objects, but I counter that I am merely asking for the witness’s impressions. Calvin lets her answer. “Yes. But he wasn’t sure he believed it. He said it was probably a crank.”

  “Did you at any time think Mr. Cummings was putting on an act, that the call wasn’t real?” I ask.

  She shakes her head firmly. “Absolutely not.”

  I turn her over to Tucker. “Did you hear a voice on the other end of the phone?” he asks.

  “No.”

  “Are you and Mr. Cummings very close friends?”

  “No, not really. We just work together.”

  “Has he ever lied to you?” Tucker asks.

  “No. I mean, I don’t think so,” she says. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “So he could be lying and you might not be aware of it?”

  Backed into a corner, Cheryl has to admit that she might not be able to tell if Daniel is lying. It’s a nice move by Tucker and partially negates a witness of already modest significance.

  The rest of the day is taken up by similar witnesses who spent time with Daniel during the period when he was in contact with the killer. All of them completely believed, and still believe, Daniel’s story.

  Tucker takes the same approach with each, which is to demonstrate that they have no certain knowledge that Daniel was telling the truth. He does not spend much time on each, signifying to the jury that he doesn’t consider their testimony very important.

  He’s right about that.

  Our nightly meeting is devoted to how we will handle Eddie on the witness stand tomorrow. Laurie has checked him out as best she can, though she warns that she had little to go on and little time to dig. />
  Kevin’s view is that we just let him tell his story, quickly and concisely. I agree, but I’m more concerned with the argument that Tucker will present to Calvin afterward. Our defense view is that Eddie’s testimony opens the door to other testimony about Lassiter, possibly from law enforcement officials. Tucker will say that those witnesses have no specific knowledge of Lassiter’s involvement in this case and therefore should not be permitted to testify. It will be a struggle; Calvin could come down either way. But it’s a fight we have to win.

  Eddie seems a little nervous and tentative when he arrives at court in the morning. It’s understandable: He’s about to enter the glare of the national spotlight and talk about the night he went to pick up a hooker. It’s a sign of how little I know about my own witness that I don’t even know if he’s married.

  He proves to be a decent witness on direct examination. My questions are straightforward, as are his answers, and he lays out what he saw that night, much as he did in my office. He speaks softly and without much emotion, but his words cause obvious excitement in the jury and gallery.

  The defense has thrown its best punch. The battle has been joined.

  I turn Eddie over to Tucker, who is trying to look confident despite what he has to consider a major blow to his case.

  “Mr. Gardner, you testified that you are a truck driver and that you often drive cross-country. Is that correct?”

  Eddie nods. “Yes.”

  “How is it you know you were in this area on that particular night?”

  “I keep a log for my employer of where I am at all times. It’s how I get paid.”

  Tucker nods; this seems reasonable. “And your previous trip ended two days before the night of the murder?”

  Eddie nods again. “Right. I got home on the twelfth; the murder was on the fourteenth.”

  “At about one A.M.?”

  “Right,” agrees Eddie.

  Tucker makes some notes, then turns a page on his legal pad. “Are you familiar with the number 201-453-6745?”

  “Yes. It’s my cell phone.”

  Uh-oh. I don’t like where this is going.

  Tucker takes a sheet of paper and gets permission from Calvin to approach the witness. He hands it to Eddie, who looks intently at it, still seeming unworried.

  Tucker directs him to two calls made that night, at 12:45 and 12:51. Based on the area codes of the numbers called, they were both in this area.

  “Did you make those calls?” Tucker asks.

  “I don’t remember,” Eddie says. “I guess so.”

  “Does anyone else use your cell phone?”

  “No.”

  “And it wasn’t stolen?” Tucker asks. “You still have it?”

  “Yes.”

  Tucker introduces another document into evidence, which he asks Eddie to read. It is an affidavit, signed by a vice president at Eddie’s cell phone company.

  Eddie’s voice grows softer as he reads one particular sentence. “The two calls in question were made from within four miles of Camden, New Jersey, more than ninety miles from the city of Passaic.”

  A bomb has been dropped in the courtroom, yet when I look around, I don’t see any charred wreckage. All I see are jurors and press and citizens and a judge staring right back at me. Kevin looks like he may throw up on the defense table, and Daniel is somehow able to obey my edict to look impassive. He may just be in a state of shock.

  If it weren’t so sad, it would be laughable: Dominic Petrone had promised to help me if I kept his name out of the trial. I did keep his name out, but only because Lassiter’s name was a ready and preferable substitute. Now it seems obvious that Petrone has delivered on his promise by providing me with a witness to support my case. The problem is that the witness is lying, and my case has blown up in my face.

  Thanks, Dominic.

  Eddie finally gets off the stand, but not before Calvin publicly directs Tucker to pursue perjury charges against him. Calvin then tells Tucker and me to come back for a meeting in his chambers.

  Tucker is surprisingly subdued in chambers, though I wouldn’t blame him if he were turning cartwheels. Calvin asks me how this disaster happened, and I tell him the truth, minus my previous conversation with Petrone. Both Calvin and Tucker seem to accept my denial that I knew Eddie was lying when I put him on the stand, and Calvin doesn’t seem inclined to sanction me further.

  “I think you’ve probably suffered enough,” he says.

  There’s no doubt that I have suffered, but not as much as my client, who I happen to be sure is innocent. There is virtually no chance that the jury will agree with that assessment, not now that his defense has been shown to be lying in front of them.

  I make it through the afternoon court session in a semifog. I can only liken it to a team in the last game of the World Series, when the other team scores ten runs in the seventh inning to take a fifteen to nothing lead. The trailing team goes through the motions in the eighth and ninth, but they know the boat has sailed.

  Ironically and pathetically, my next witness is a cell phone technology expert, whom I’ve brought in to show that the science is inexact as it relates to the night Linda Padilla died. I make some decent points, but Tucker blows me out of the water with his cross-examination.

  “If your technology shows a call was made from Camden, could it actually have been made in North Jersey?”

  “No,” says my expert.

  Game, set, and match.

  Our team meeting tonight is more like a wake, with my body the one on display. It is incredibly frustrating: We know who the guilty party is, but we can’t take advantage of that fact. Worse, we’ve been shown to be liars, which is to say that the jury will not believe anything we tell them for the rest of the trial.

  Laurie and I take turns beating ourselves up. She feels she should have done more to check out Eddie, though there really is no way she could have in the time allotted. She would not have access to cell phone records, nor did she have the manpower at Tucker’s disposal.

  For my part, I put someone on the stand that I was unsure of. In doing so, I staked the reputation of the defense on his testimony, and it took Tucker less than five minutes to leave that defense in shreds. I blew it, plain and simple.

  Kevin tries to make both of us feel better, an impossible task if ever there was one. After a half hour or so he gives up, and turns his efforts toward motivating me to prepare for court tomorrow. It’s not an easy job; I would rather spend tomorrow having my eyeballs plucked.

  The phone rings and I jump to get it, anything to not have to think about the mess we are in. I don’t even bother to look at caller ID; which is okay, because Willie’s voice is on the other end.

  “Andy? It’s me.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask, hoping to be drawn into a long conversation about dog adoptions or coffee futures or anything else not having to do with our case.

  “Sondra was attacked,” he says, and I now realize his voice is shaky.

  “Is she all right?”

  “Yeah, I think so. She says she is. It happened in front of my house.”

  “I’ll be right over,” I say, and he doesn’t try to talk me out of it.

  I tell Laurie and Kevin what has happened, and Laurie comes with me to Willie’s. Kevin stays behind to go over tomorrow’s witnesses, pathetic though they may be.

  Willie still lives in a very run-down area of Paterson. He bought a small house and has done a lot to fix it up. He is wealthy enough to live pretty much anywhere he wants, but feels like he would be a traitor if he left his old neighborhood. I wonder if what has just happened will change his mind, but I doubt it.

  Sondra is lying on the couch when we arrive. She seems shaken but not badly hurt. Willie is more upset than I have ever seen him, even when he was on death row.

  “Tell me what happened,” I say.

  “We got home from Atlantic City about an hour ago. I dropped Sondra off in the front and went to park the car because our garage is
filled with stuff. I came back and saw her on the steps, with this guy grabbing her from behind.”

  I turn to Sondra, who picks up the story. “I couldn’t find my key, so I was waiting for Willie. The guy grabbed me around my neck; I didn’t see him coming.”

  Willie takes over, describing how he ran toward the house screaming and the guy took off. Willie hesitated to make sure Sondra was okay before picking up the chase, which allowed the attacker to get away.

  “If I had caught him, I’da killed him.”

  I have no doubt Willie would have done just that. “Did he take anything?” I ask. I look at the alexandrite locket still around her neck. “Any jewelry or anything?”

  Sondra shakes her head. “No. I don’t think so.”

  Willie asks if he needs to call the police, and I say that it would be a good idea. Sondra hadn’t seen her attacker, but at least calling would alert the police to be on the lookout for him in the area.

  Willie, mostly because of his past experiences, has a healthy distrust of the police, but he makes the call. He reports that they don’t seem too distressed, but promise to send an officer over to take a statement.

  Laurie and I stay around awhile, mainly because I don’t want to go back and deal with the grim realities of court preparation. The doorbell rings and I answer it, fully expecting it to be the police. I am very surprised to see Kevin standing there.

  “I didn’t know Willie’s phone number, but I knew where he lived,” Kevin says.

  “Sorry,” I say, “I should have called you. Sondra’s fine; just a little shaken up.”

  “That’s not why I’m here,” Kevin says, and for the first time, I notice he has a weird expression on his face.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “There’s been another murder,” he says. “A woman’s been strangled and her hands were cut off.”

  • • • • •

  DENISE BANKS HAD been out dancing with friends at the Belmont Club in downtown Paterson, approximately six blocks from Willie’s house. Friends say that she complained of a headache and left the club alone at eleven P.M. Her body was discovered an hour later in an alley fifty feet from her car.