“Sure,” Joe said, but he didn’t move away from the team. If something was going to be said, it was going to be said in front of his players
“A player on the other team-I don’t know his name-is dead,” Officer Gillette said casually, like the kid had merely left the field to get a hamburger. He pointed to the other sideline. “Some of his teammates say he died because two of your people hit him illegally.”
“Bullshit!” someone shouted angrily. Joe Sheffield stuck his hand up to quiet them.
“Whoever’s making that accusation is wrong, Officer. It was a clean hit.”
“Maybe so,” Gillette replied. “But I gotta take the two involved in for questioning.” He turned to the team. “Who were the two guys who tackled the dead kid?” If the incident hadn’t been so tragic, Dan Gillette’s attitude and choice of words would have been funny.
Nobody responded.
“I got no takers, huh?” Dan said, looking around at their faces. “Okay, we’ll play it a different way.” He turned toward the far sideline and whistled. Two Viking players came across the field.
“Can you guys pick those two tacklers out?” the fat cop asked when they arrived.
The taller, heavier one pointed right at Floyd. “That nigger back there is definitely one of them.”
“Watch your mouth,” Frankie O’Connor snapped at him. “That cop is gonna be gone in a minute and you’re gonna be dealing with me.” The Vikings player didn’t react to Frankie’s words, although he had to have heard them.
“You!” Gillette yelled, pointing at Floyd. “Come up here. What about the other one?” he said, turning back to the two Vikings as Floyd slowly made his way out of the pack.
They scanned the faces of the Lexingtons. One of them fixed right on Rico. Johnny saw it.
“It was me,” Johnny said, stepping in front of Rico before the Vikings player could say anything. He didn’t know why he did it. Maybe deep down he knew things would go better if he, rather than Rico, went to the station with Floyd.
“No it wasn’t,” Rico said. “It was me.”
“No!” Johnny protested.
Rico grabbed Johnny by the shirt with both hands and pulled him close. “Listen,” he said. “Me and Floyd deal with cops all the time. We know how to get out of this. You-they’ll have you feeling so guilty about this guy dying, you’ll sign a full confession and still be apologizing as they cart you off to prison. Just shut up and let us handle this, okay?”
Rico didn’t wait for a reply. He turned and walked straight up to the cop.
“All right, let’s go down to the station,” Gillette said, motioning to Floyd and Rico. “You boys have some questions to answer.”
22
Charlene Pope-Charlie-had been a certified public accountant at the firm of Harrel and Jackson in New York City for twenty years. She was one of those strange people who truly found the tax code interesting. She loved her work, and she especially loved the firm she was with. All her significant relationships were at Harrel. She’d met her ex-husband there. When they divorced, there was no question that he would be the one who would have to go. Charlie would never leave the firm. She also met her best friend at Harrel-Pat Morgan.
Pat was ten years older than Charlie, but they had common interests. They liked concerts and sports, good books and men-not necessarily in that order. Pat was a runner, Charlie was a swimmer, and both of them were in great shape. Pat was the taller of the two, although Charlie was almost five-six. She had large green eyes that complemented her auburn hair and a smile so warm it could melt an iceberg.
They took long walks together accompanied by Charlie’s dog, Tinkerbell. Charlie was crushed when Pat moved to Florida but made frequent visits. As a senior member of the firm, she had plenty of vacation time stored up. And she loved Bass Creek.
“This place is like going back in time,” Charlie had exclaimed on her initiation morning at Jack and Pat’s special place on the river. “I feel like I’m part of it all-nature, I mean.” She caught the way Jack and Pat smiled at each other. “What? What did I say?”
“You said what we all say,” Pat told her. “That’s why it’s funny. Of course, if you didn’t say it, Jack and I would have to drop you as a friend.” Pat and Jack laughed, but they were half-serious.
Charlie felt like somebody had kicked her in the stomach the day she learned about Pat’s cancer. Denise Nichols, another friend of Pat’s and Charlie’s, worked in Human Resources at Pat’s old accounting firm, and Pat had called to check on her insurance coverage and to make sure the bills would be paid. Even though Pat had been working full-time as a teacher in Bass Creek, she was still considered a “substitute” because she had not received her certification from the state Department of Education. Consequently, she received no benefits from her teaching job.
Pat told Denise she was going to have some major bills but she was fuzzy on the details. Denise suggested Pat send the initial bills to her so she could personally verify the necessity, put them in line for payment, and make sure there were no glitches. When Denise saw the test results, she was shocked. She was almost in tears reading them when Charlie walked into her office to find out if she wanted to go to lunch.
“What’s wrong?” Charlie asked, noticing Denise’s teary eyes. Charlie had to do a little prying and persuading, but finally she got Denise to spill the beans. Try as she might, Denise could not keep the news from Charlie at that moment. Charlie was on the phone with Pat that night.
“I’ll be on the plane tomorrow,” she told Pat. “I just called to let you know I’m coming.”
“Charlie, I’m fine. There’s no need to come.”
“Are you doing chemo?”
“Yeah.”
“When does it start?”
“Monday.”
“Okay, I’ll be there Tuesday. How’s Jack doing?”
“He’s fine. We’re both fine. Really we are.”
“I’ll just have to see for myself. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”
Charlie’s pushiness was a godsend for Jack, who had been faced with a dilemma. He had to file the motion for recusal personally in Miami and wait for the judge to sign the order, no matter how long it took. But he also didn’t dare leave Pat. Even though she looked okay, he knew she wasn’t, and he refused to leave her alone under any circumstances. Charlie’s arrival solved the problem. She was someone he trusted.
He stayed for an hour after Charlie arrived, to visit and catch up. He knew what a private person Pat was and that she hadn’t wanted anybody to know about her illness. Now that Charlie was here, he could tell that she was delighted. They could sit and have tea and talk and maybe take a walk-so far, Pat was feeling no ill effects from her first chemo treatment. And she could tell Charlie her fears-things that he knew she might hide from him. As the two women cheerfully waved good-bye, he felt his burden of concern lighten a little. They seemed to want to get rid of him.
Jack handed the motions for rehearing and recusal and the order of recusal to Judge Hendrick’s secretary and told her he was going to wait until the order of recusal was signed.
“I wouldn’t suggest you do that,” she lectured him, as only a judge’s secretary could do. “He’s got a busy day. He may not even get to it.”
“Well, ma’am, I have a client on death row who is scheduled to be executed in a week, so I’m not going anywhere until the judge looks at these pleadings. You tell him that.”
The judge’s secretary looked taken aback by Jack’s tone. She wasn’t used to being talked to that way by attorneys. It wasn’t Jack’s way either, but he didn’t have time to be polite. “I’ll tell him what you said,” she replied coldly.
“Thank you. I’ll be in the waiting room.”
Every half hour he walked into the judge’s outer office just to let her know he was still there and to remind her, in case she’d forgotten, that this was a pressing matter. Jack suspected that the judge had already looked at the motion, heard from his secretary how rude Jac
k had been, and was making him wait until the last minute. Some things were just so predictable, even when a man’s life was at stake.
Judge Hendrick called him in at 4:30.
“What is this, Mr. Tobin, some kind of joke? You don’t like my ruling so you move to have me recused?”
“Judge, I waited all afternoon because I need an answer now as to whether you’re going to sign this order or not. I didn’t expect to talk to you, and I’m uncomfortable stating my position on this matter when the state is not present.”
The judge ignored him. “I think your actions are despicable, Counselor. There is a finality to the law, and death-row inmates are not going to get out of their just deserts with shenanigans like this on your part.”
Jack had had just about enough. “Look, there is a motion in front of you and an order. I’ve attached a case from Polk County that is right on point where ten judges recused themselves when a colleague’s competence was questioned. I’ve got a wife at home sick with cancer and a client who is scheduled to be executed next week. With all due respect, Judge, I don’t have time to listen to your petty insults. Now make a decision: either sign the order or don’t.”
Judge Hendrick glared at Jack. There was a long silence while he appeared to be weighing his options. Then he turned toward his office door.
“Martha!” he yelled to his secretary in the other room. His door had remained open during the entire conversation: the judge had wanted a witness. “Get Wofford Benton on the phone.”
Wofford was waiting for the call. Jack had phoned earlier to say he was at the judge’s office, and Wofford had assured him that he would take the call no matter what he was doing.
“He’s on line one,” Martha shouted back to the judge a few moments later.
“Wofford, Arthur Hendrick here. I’ve got a motion for recusal on my desk and an affidavit from you. Mr. Tobin has been here all afternoon and he has been rather insistent. I would say rather insolent as well.”
“Well, Arthur, he’s insistent and probably insolent because a man that I once represented is about to die,” Wofford told his colleague, his voice booming on the loudspeaker phone. “Frankly, it was my idea to file the recusal motion. I made mistakes in that case, and I know you wouldn’t grant a motion for a new trial on that basis. So sign the order and let Mr. Tobin get on his way.”
Five minutes earlier, Arthur Hendrick had no intention of signing the order of recusal. Now he had Jack Tobin standing over him and Wofford Benton-whom he had called-telling him to sign it. He was boxed in pretty good.
Arthur Hendrick sighed heavily. “If you insist. . and because you insist, Wofford, I’m going to sign this order.”
He hung up the phone, signed the order, and handed it to Jack without ever looking up.
Jack left Judge Hendrick’s office on the run. He had barely enough time to take the order to the clerk of court, file it, get another judge assigned, and take the court file and the motion for rehearing to her office-only to learn that Judge Susan Fletcher had already left for the day.
“Much better!” Wofford told him later that evening. “Susan Fletcher has a good mind and she’s fair. The problem with her is that she’s disorganized and we’ve only got a week. Sometimes it takes her a week to tie her shoes. You’ve got to call her office every day, Jack.”
“Will do, Wofford. I’ll keep you posted.”
Pat and Charlie were having a grand old time back in Bass Creek while Jack was having it out with Arthur Hendrick. Their walk was short, mainly because Pat was tired. Then they sat out on the back porch by the pool drinking tea and catching up.
“How is that new guy you were dating-Ted?” Pat asked.
“Oh, he’s history,” Charlie replied. “It’s a shame how people who really seem promising end up disappointing you. I thought Ted was the real deal-handsome, generous, caring-everything you look for in a man but never seem to find. About week five, the whining started. He had to have everything his own way. And he was so tight his ass squeaked.”
Pat laughed. Charlie had a way with words. “Oh, that’s too bad. With your looks you’ve never been without suitors. Any new prospects since then?”
“None that have passed the initial sniff test. I guess I’m getting jaded. I just can’t stand to go out with a man who wants to do nothing all night but talk about himself. Ninety percent of them are like that, you know. The other ten percent are whiners like Ted.”
Charlie had succeeded in one of her goals: Pat was laughing. It was time to get serious for a moment.
“What are they telling you, by the way?”
“It’s not good. They say I have stage four cancer, which is usually terminal, but then they tell me I’m young and strong and don’t give up hope.”
“I didn’t know it was that advanced, Pat.”
“Yeah, it is. We haven’t given up, though. I can’t give up. I couldn’t do that to Jack.”
“I’m sure he’s a mess, the way he adores you. I’ve never had a man feel that way about me.”
“Yeah, I’m very lucky, Charlie. Jack is special.”
Charlie leaned across the table and took her best friend’s hands in hers.
“So is his partner.”
23
A few days after he had cut short his interview with Benny Avrile, Nick Walsh was called downtown to the office of Assistant Chief Ralph Hitchens. Tony Severino was with him when he got the call.
“I wonder what the fuck that asshole wants,” Nick said out loud.
“It’s probably nothing,” Tony replied, although Nick could tell from his tone of voice that Tony knew something.
“They could at least wait until the investigation is over,” Nick continued, now trying to feel out his partner.
“Well, you know the brass on the big ones-the ones where their ass is hanging out there on the line with the rest of us,” Tony quipped. “They want to declare victory at the earliest possible moment.”
There were more surprises awaiting Nick when he arrived downtown. He was ushered right into the assistant chief’s office, something that had never happened before in all his years on the force.
Ralph Hitchens was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk looking like an overnourished, stuffed turkey. He wasn’t alone. Another gentleman, dressed in a dark blue suit, was with him. As Nick walked in, Hitchens accomplished the very arduous task of getting out of his chair and shaking hands with him as if they were old friends. Nick instinctively tightened up. He knew something bad was coming.
“Nick, I want you to meet Spencer Taylor from the district attorney’s office. He’s going to be trying this case.” Taylor extended his hand and Nick shook it. He and Taylor had never met, but he had seen Taylor on television. Taylor was the chief assistant district attorney. He was not only their premier trial attorney, he was often the spokesman for the DA’s office when Warren Jacobs, the district attorney, didn’t deem the issue important enough to merit his personal appearance. To Nick Walsh, Taylor was a peacock-impeccably dressed, with a silky smooth voice that instantly made you want to check your pockets and tighten the belt holding your pants up. Well, they obviously think this is an important case, Nick thought to himself. They’re bringing out the big gun. But why am I meeting him now? The investigation isn’t over. Nick’s question would be answered momentarily.
Hitchens started on a congratulatory note. “Nick, you and Tony did a real good job on this Benny Avrile case.”
But. . Nick was thinking.
“But,” Hitchens continued, “we want you to shut it down. In fact, I’m taking you off the case. It’s got nothing to do with the work you did-the detective work was great. I just want to shut it down.”
“Can I at least ask why?”
Spencer Taylor cut in at that point. “You see, Nick-and don’t take this as a criticism because it’s not-you think like a cop. You want to run every thread down until every aspect of the case makes sense. Me, I think like a lawyer. I’ve got a suspect and I’ve got two
eyewitnesses that put him at the scene at the time of the murder. And I’ve got a motive-robbery. It doesn’t get any better than that. If you keep snooping around you may dig up enough dirt to give a good attorney a defense that at present doesn’t exist.”
“I don’t understand,” Nick said.
“Let’s take this Lois woman, for instance,” Taylor continued. Nick could tell from that remark alone that Taylor had studied his investigative file in great detail. “Right now there is just a vague reference to her as being a friend of Angie’s. There’s no concrete tie between her and Benny. There’s no evidence that they even knew each other. She wasn’t at the scene, as far as we know, and we don’t even know what she looks like, other than she has long black hair like a million other people.”
“And your point is, Counselor?” Nick knew where Taylor was going; he just wanted to hear him say it.
“My point is, I can live with that evidence. You start filling in some of those blanks, however, and my case starts getting weaker. You see what I mean?”
“Yeah, I see what you mean. Benny might have had a female accomplice, but you don’t want me to continue to look for her because it might weaken your case, is that right?”
“Exactly,” Taylor responded.
“So we just let a murder suspect go because we caught somebody else?”
Nick could instantly tell he’d struck a nerve. Taylor’s warm smile turned to a sneer.
“Look, Walsh, I’ve tried to be nice about this. I heard about your interrogation of Avrile the other day. You treated him with kid gloves. Worse, you raised the issue of the woman and you didn’t follow up. It’s that kind of police work that fucks up a prosecution’s case, so don’t start talking to me about letting a suspect go. If I leave it up to you, both of them will walk.”
Nick made a move toward Taylor who took a step back. “I ought to smack you in the fuckin’ head, asshole,” Nick said. “I was solving murder cases when you were still sucking on your mother’s tit.”
The Law of Second Chances jt-2 Page 12