Law and Vengeance

by Mike Papantonio

  Paul Long looked from one lawyer to the other, unsure what to do. Zimmer looked as if he was on the same hot seat as the witness. Gina knew the opposing lawyer was likely calculating the risks of being sanctioned if he continued his excessive attempts to obstruct the flow of the deposition.

  “Yes,” Long finally answered.

  Gina didn’t hide her smile. It had just become more likely that she could get a favorable ruling from the judge about the need for Tim Knapp’s depo. He was now in her sights.

  And she wouldn’t be doing her aiming with a Sight-Clops.

  Gina started her next round of questions.

  No one on the Madsen-Zimmer side expected Gina to finish up with the witness as soon as she did. An early lunch was agreed upon, and at one o’clock both sides resumed the deposition proceedings.

  “Lean and mean” was how the Bergman-Deketomis team had practiced for the depositions. For the afternoon session, Gina took the seat next to Ned Williams. She had learned a lot of her depo strategy under the tutelage of Nick Deketomis. Deke was one for using baseball analogies; he likened the use of lawyers doing depositions to pitchers throwing fastballs. According to Deke, you started the game with a pitcher who was good at smoking the opposition. Then, mid-game, it was always good to change pitchers as a way to offer up a different look and feel.

  “First you come at them high and fast,” Deke liked to say, “and then you bring in a reliever and challenge them with off-speed pitches.”

  Deke also seemed to think it was good to have “lefty on lefty,” and “righty on righty” matchups. That translated to women lawyers talking to women witnesses and male lawyers talking to male witnesses. Of course, there were plenty of exceptions to his pitching strategies; what it came down to was getting the right matchup. The best game plan was figuring out your lineup ahead of time and matching up strengths against perceived weaknesses.

  Ned, Gina had decided, was the right person to question CPD locksmith Sal Ricci, who clearly prided himself as being a “tough guy.” Ricci wore blue-collar garb to his deposition—steel toe boots and an industrial uniform-type shirt and pants. His shirt had a patch with the name Sal written on it, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal two old-school blue tattoos. On his right arm was a coiled snake with the words, Don’t Tread on Me; on his left arm was an inked blue-metal gun. Above the gun were the words: I miss my Ex . . . Beneath it was written . . . But my aim is improving.

  Ricci was fifty-four, but looked older. He was sworn in for the record and loudly chewed on a piece of gum while waiting for the questioning to begin.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Ricci,” said Ned. “For the record, I’d like you to confirm that you’re employed at the CPD Libertyville shooting range, known by most as Bull’s-eye.”

  “Correct,” he said.

  “How long have you worked there?”

  “I’ve been there since it was built.”

  “So you’ve been there for five years?”

  “If you say so.”

  “But you’ve been employed by CPD for twenty-five years?”

  “That sounds about right.”

  “Where were you working before Libertyville?”

  “For most of the time I was at Southside.”

  “Southside is the older shooting hall for CPD personnel, is that right?

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And I understand as part of your job you repair and rebuild firearms, is that also correct?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Have you installed Arbalest gunsights onto weapons at the club?”

  “Yeah,” said Ricci. It looked as if he was about to say more, but a glance from Templeton was enough to remind him that he was supposed to keep his answers short.

  “Tell me about your relationship,” Ned said, “with police union president Tom Lutz.”

  Ricci shifted his arms and frowned. “What do you mean by relationship?”

  “Mr. Lutz works in the same location as you, correct?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Is he your boss?”

  “I’m employed by CPD,” said Ricci, “not by the union.”

  “But as union president, I imagine Mr. Lutz wants all CPD officers to be properly trained and armed. Is that so?”

  “I guess.”

  “And isn’t it also part of your job to train officers in how to handle their firearms?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “And did Mr. Lutz encourage you to replace all CPD gunsights with the Arbalest gunsight known as Sight-Clops?”

  “Yes.”

  “I understand that in addition to training CPD officers as to how to use the Sight-Clops,” said Ned, “you also traveled to other cities where you demonstrated the use of that product. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Like you said, I demonstrated.”

  “But who was asking you to do this?”

  “You ever hear of something called the Brotherhood of Blue? Cops are cops. We help each other out. We share things.”

  “So you shared things, as you called it, with police departments and purchasing agents throughout the Midwest?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where you demonstrated the Sight-Clops?”

  “That wasn’t all I demonstrated.”

  “Yes, you demonstrated a number of Arbalest products, did you not?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Yes or no, Mr. Ricci?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you demonstrated the Sight-Clops product, Mr. Ricci, did you mention to potential buyers that the gunsight doesn’t work properly in hot, muggy weather?”

  “It was my experience that they worked just fine,” said Ricci.

  “Are you saying that’s always been your experience?”

  Ricci looked over to the Madsen-Zimmer lawyers. When they didn’t help him, he shrugged and said, “We never had any problems here.”

  “You work inside of an air-conditioned building,” Ned said. “But the summer before last, you did an outdoors demonstration in Naperville where I understand things didn’t go so well. Can you tell me what happened?”

  “One of the sights was off,” said Ricci.

  “On the day in question, it was ninety degrees and very humid, wasn’t it?”

  “It was hot,” said Ricci. “That’s about all I can say for sure.”

  “Tell me what happened with the Sight-Clops that didn’t function properly.”

  “The shooter missed.”

  “Did the shooter miss by an inch? Or two inches?”

  “He missed the target.”

  “He completely missed the target?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “At what distance was he shooting?”

  “Around ten yards.”

  “So we’re talking a distance of only thirty feet?”

  “Yes.”

  “How big was the target?”

  “Thirteen inches by eighteen inches.”

  Ned approximated that size with his hands. Then he asked, “And was the shooter experienced?”

  “He seemed to know what he was doing.”

  “Was he a law enforcement officer?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I understand he was an expert marksman, is that true?”

  “I couldn’t say for sure.”

  “And what did this officer tell you after he missed the target?”

  “He said the sight was way off.”

  Ned nodded. Then he came with a different off-speed pitch. Gina had coached him to introduce the names of Lutz and Thursby in his deposition.

  “Was CPD Officer Ron Thursby with you on that occasion?”

  “I couldn’t tell you for sure.”

  “But Officer Thursby was frequently at your side when you did these demonstrations and met with purchasing agents?”

  “Yes,” Ricci said.

  “In what capacity did he serve?”

  “He d
emonstrated products.”

  “Arbalest products?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you notice if Mr. Lutz ever gave Mr. Thursby a bag of cash to take with him when he met with—”

  Before Ned could finish his sentence, both Templeton and Zimmer were on their feet. Zimmer spoke first: “Objection! Mr. Ricci, I’m instructing you to not answer that question! This lawyer is being abusive and is trying to suggest that you participated in criminal activity. You have every right not to answer.”

  Ned pretended to be surprised by their vehemence. “I’m sorry I must have stepped on some sensitive toes there. Now, if you two will take your seats, I’ll be happy to withdraw the question. At the same time, that question isn’t just going to go away. Sooner or later in this proceeding, it will be addressed.”

  “What will also be addressed is your conduct,” said Templeton.

  “So, Mr. Templeton,” said Ned. “What’s the going price for a corporate lawyer’s false outrage? I’m guessing about ten thousand dollars a day, right?”

  “Do you have any more questions for the witness?” Zimmer asked.

  “You’re only looking at the very tip of a big iceberg my friend.” Ned replied.

  Ned’s questions branched out. He questioned Ricci’s relationship with Arbalest and then brought up the death of Vinnie Velez. Specifically, he asked about the Sight-Clops gunsight on Officer Knudsen’s gun.

  “Now you personally installed the Sight-Clops on both Officer Velez’s department issued handgun, as well as on Officer Knudsen’s gun?”

  “Yes,” said Ricci.

  “And according to what we know, those gunsights were installed just ten days before the fatal shooting.”

  “That sounds right,” said Ricci.

  “And you properly installed both of their gunsights?”

  “Yes,” said Ricci.

  “Then how do you explain the fatal shooting of Officer Velez?”

  “The ruling was that it was human error.”

  “How is it that you received Officer Knudsen’s gun and gun-sight after the Velez shooting?”

  “I guess someone thought it was my job to test it.”

  “But you took this weapon and gunsight and turned them over to Arbalest rather than leaving them in an CPD evidence locker?”

  “They’re set up to do all sorts of testing.”

  “You’ve worked around law enforcement for decades, and you never thought giving them the firearm and gunsight would potentially taint the chain of evidence in a homicide investigation?!”

  For the next half an hour, an incredulous Ned tried to make sense of the “fox being put in charge of the henhouse.” Through different avenues, he continued to press Ricci as to how a gun and gunsight involved in a fatal shooting had gone missing from police custody only to end up in the hands of the very people who manufactured it. Despite numerous objections, the Madsen-Zimmer lawyers couldn’t stop the bleeding, but it was Ricci who put an end to his deposition.

  “Mr. Ricci,” Ned asked, “how many handguns do you personally own?”

  “Somewhere between forty and fifty,” said Ricci.

  Ned lowered his voice and slowed his pace. “Now I want you to think real hard. If we went and looked right now, how many of your guns would have a Sight-Clops sight attached to them?”

  Ricci got to his feet and stared Ned down. “Come by my house, shyster, and I’ll show you my guns up close and personal.” Then he stormed out of the room.

  Behind him, Ned yelled, “Is that none? Is your final answer, sir, that you do not have a Sight-Clops on even one of your own guns?”

  30

  SHARED TEARS

  Even though Deke was working his own case a thousand miles away, to Gina, Ned, and Cara, it almost felt as if he was the fourth lawyer in the room with them. The lawyers had learned their jobs under Deke. It was under his catechism that they had become trial lawyers.

  “If you want to be a trial lawyer that’s a force of good in this world,” Deke often said, “if you want to be a trial lawyer who succeeds, then you need to have the character and strength to stand your ground even when you are surrounded by those who reject and even hate what you stand for.”

  From anyone else but Deke that would have sounded like lip service, but he had practiced what he had preached all his career and had built his practice around attorneys with similar beliefs.

  Gina and Ned would have had trouble working at a firm like Madsen-Zimmer because they needed their causes; they needed to believe in something besides living for billable hours. Deke made every effort to build his firm with lawyers driven by a healthy conscience. He would often ask his young trial attorneys how it would make them feel to have a job in a corporate defense firm where they would be asked to use their skills to prevent widows and orphans from being compensated after reckless corporate conduct killed “Daddy.” That’s what drove them to succeed far more than a paycheck. For the Madsen-Zimmer lawyers, it was all about the Benjamins and the lifestyle that came with them. It didn’t matter that they were representing businesses like Arbalest. Their lawyers bought into a lifestyle of hobnobbing with the rich and powerful, being members of country clubs, dining at posh restaurants, and sending their children to private schools. They practiced the kind of law that enriched them financially, but all too often left them morally bankrupt.

  On the second day of depositions, the body language of the opposing lawyers revealed much; the Bergman-Deketomis team had a bounce to their step and looked eager to continue; the Madsen-Zimmer lawyers came in tired and dragging. Gina suspected they had strategized until late in what was referred to as a regroup session, which was a postmortem of the first day’s depositions designed to better prepare the team for the proceedings of the next day. Good luck, thought Gina. She couldn’t wait to send them and their battle plan running for the hills, as she and her team would most definitely continue pulling threads to see what might unravel.

  Before the deposing formally began, Charles Zimmer asked to go on the record. Gina knew what he was about to say, but allowed it anyway. With patriarchal gravitas, Zimmer bemoaned the “unprofessional” and “acrimonious” conduct of the Bergman-Deketomis legal team from the day before, and he said because of that they might be seeking sanctions. As one, the Madsen-Zimmer side nodded in sanctimonious disapproval even though at the time they did not know that would be the highpoint of the day for them.

  Betsy Mackey was the first witness sworn in. She had worked at Arbalest for four decades doing secretarial work. Her first boss had been Gordon Knapp, grandfather to Tim Knapp.

  When Carol Morris had done her background check on Betsy, she’d learned that her retirement was imminent and that having a short timer’s attitude had loosened her tongue. Betsy was of the opinion that “Timmy” was not nearly the man that “Mr. Gordon,” or Timmy’s father, “Mr. Lyndon,” was. In fact, Betsy was heard to say that Mr. Gordon and Mr. Lyndon would never have cut employee benefits as Timmy had, especially when Arbalest was recording record profits. She also disapproved of Timmy’s moving much of Arbalest’s manufacturing offshore.

  When the videographer and stenographer signaled they were ready to go, Gina smiled and began. She knew Madsen-Zimmer expected her to be as aggressive and dogged as she’d been the day before. They had worked out a system among themselves to try and interrupt her fast pace and throw off her rhythm. But the lawyer they expected, the devil in heels, didn’t show herself. Overnight, she had been replaced by an angel.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Mackey,” she said. “Before we begin I’d like to say that I love your dress. It’s so nice to see such vibrant floral colors in such a boring sterile environment.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her smile contrasting with the glower of Charles Zimmer who’d just heard his precious interior design slammed.

  Gina continued: “I promise I will make this as painless as possible, Mrs. Mackey. In fact, I doubt our talk will take us much longer than it would if we were to sit down
and have a cup of coffee together.”

  Looks passed between the Madsen-Zimmer lawyers. This wasn’t going as they had expected. They had thought Gina would try and relentlessly grill the older woman in the hopes of wearing her down.

  “That sounds fine,” Betsy said.

  Gina continued to present a persona that was so sweet that sugar wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “And I want you to stop me right away if you have any questions about anything. I don’t want you to think I’m out to confuse you, or trying to trick you into saying something you might regret. Does that sound okay with you, Mrs. Mackey?”

  “That sounds fine with me, dear. And why don’t you call me Betsy?”

  Templeton bit his lip. He had coached the witness to be wary of the opposing lawyers. But he hadn’t expected one of those lawyers to try to kill his witness with kindness.

  “Thank you, Betsy. I’d like to start by asking you about your job. You’ve worked for Arbalest for a long time.”

  “Forty years in February,” she said.

  “It’s rare these days to see such loyalty in the workplace,” said Gina. “What is it you do for Arbalest?”

  “I started as personal secretary to Mr. Gordon,” she said.

  “That is Gordon Knapp, correct?”

  “Yes,” Betsy said. “I worked for four years until he retired, and then I worked for Mr. Lyndon. I worked for Mr. Lyndon for more than twenty years,” she said.

  “And you were his personal secretary as well?”

  “I was, but the workplace changed. With the advent of computers, I became an administrative assistant, and my work responsibilities expanded.”

  “After Lyndon Knapp retired, did you become Tim Knapp’s personal secretary?”

  “Yes and no,” Betsy said. “Mr. Timmy usually telecommutes most days during the workweek. Of course, I was always there to help him with anything he might need.”

  “What about on those days that Mr. Tim Knapp did come in. Did you do his secretarial work?”

  “Yes,” said Betsy.

  “And did that work include taking notes during office meetings?”

  “It did,” she said. “When I was hired by Mr. Gordon, I could do shorthand at one hundred and eighty words per minute. Even now, I can still do one hundred and fifty. Not bad for a woman my age, is it?”