by Jack Ford
“In this case? Everything,” answered Wallace. “I’m essentially going to give them my opening statement when we’re picking them. No sense holding anything back.”
“How about the question of the senator testifying? How will you deal with that?”
Wallace seemed to bristle for a moment, and then assumed the attitude of a teacher trying to explain a complicated concept to a faltering student. “As I’ve tried to explain to you before, it’s generally a bad idea to put a defendant on the stand to testify, unless you absolutely have to. Changes the whole dynamic of a trial. Practically—even if not strictly legally—it subtly shifts the burden of proof to the defense.” He shook his head vigorously. “I’m not inclined to do it—and I’m certainly not going to talk about it to the jury beforehand. Don’t want to promise something that we probably won’t end up delivering.”
“No,” said Jessup, slamming his fist on the table.
Wallace turned toward him, puzzled. “No—what?”
“I’m testifying,” he said, glaring at Wallace.
“Senator, we’ve discussed this . . .” Wallace began.
“I don’t care what we discussed,” Jessup interrupted. “I’m testifying!”
Wallace looked to Henning for help, but when it quickly became clear that Henning would not dare to contradict his boss, Wallace turned back to Jessup, his tone now more pleading than professorial.
“Senator, I can understand why you’d want to take the stand to deny all of this, but . . .”
Jessup again angrily interrupted. “No, you obviously don’t understand. I’m not one of your sleazy banker clients who’s only interested in hearing the words ‘Not Guilty,’ and who don’t give a shit how they win their cases. Their only damn interest is getting back out on the street so they can continue rippin’ off the poor sonsabitches they been rippin’ off for years. I’m tryin’ to win a goddamn election! It’s not enough to have this jury say ‘Not Guilty’ because the prosecution didn’t prove its case. ‘He might’ve done it but we’re just not sure’ doesn’t get me into the governor’s mansion. I need this jury to say that I’m innocent and that this case has been an abuse of the justice system from the beginning. And the only way that happens is if I get on the damn witness stand to deny it all. Otherwise, it’ll never go away. I’ll be haunted by it until I die.”
“You can’t forget that we’re trying to win an election here,” Henning chimed in.
Wallace wheeled to face Henning, directing the anger at him that he didn’t dare direct at Jessup. “I understand that you’re trying to win an election. But you don’t seem to understand that I’m trying to keep the senator from spending the rest of his life in prison. And if you’ll just let me do my job, we’ll win this case and you can then go ahead and do your job and get him elected.”
Wallace and Henning glared at each other until Jessup, now calmer, broke the tension.
“Listen here, Channing,” Jessup said soothingly. “We all know that you’re lookin’ out for my best interests the only way you know how. And I appreciate that. I really do. But you’re just going to have to do it my way this time. There’s a whole lot more at stake here.” He reached over and patted Wallace reassuringly on the shoulder. “This is my decision and I take full responsibility for it. But I sure as hell know that you’re gonna destroy this Ricky Earl Graves when he gets on the stand. And then I’ll get up there and make sure that those twelve folks will finish up on our side. Not just ‘Not Guilty’ but absolutely goddamn ‘Innocent.’ So I want you to tell those jurors, from the get-go, that I’m an innocent man and an innocent man will damn sure get on that witness stand and testify.”
Wallace leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath, released it slowly, and finally nodded.
“Fine, Senator. You’re the client and, ultimately, it’s your decision to make.”
“Thank you, Channing. I appreciate your understanding. Now,” he said, clapping his hands together. “What else do we need to talk about before we start on Monday?”
Looking down at a legal pad on the table, Wallace pursed his lips as he scanned his notes. “I think we seem to be ready to go.” He looked up at Jessup. “The only thing left is for me to have a quick chat with Mrs. Jessup about what I’d like from her during the trial.”
A shadow passed quickly across Jessup’s face. “Afraid she’s not feeling too well right now. But she’ll be okay by Monday. And I’m sure she’ll do just fine during the trial. She’s a good soldier. Been the wife of a politician long enough to know how to handle just about anything,” he said with a politician’s smile. “Now, it’s about time we had ourselves a little drink.”
As he was making his way around the table to the elaborately stocked bar, his cell phone began to vibrate. Flipping the phone open, he stared for a moment at the “Restricted” notation on the incoming number screen. Frowning, he hit the talk button.
“Hello?”
“Senator Jessup?” the caller asked, in a deep, gravelly drawl.
“Yes? Who is this?”
“A voice from your past.” A pause. “Name’s Hollingsly.”
CHAPTER 36
Jessup appeared puzzled for a split second, then blanched, and, turning his back to the others, lowered his voice.
“I’m sorry,” he said brusquely. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Are you alone?” the voice asked.
“Actually, no.”
“Well, I think you’re gonna wanna hear what I have to stay, so why don’t y’all find a nice quiet place so we can talk. Only gonna take a minute of your time.”
Jessup looked over at Wallace and Henning and gestured that he had to take this call. He opened a set of French doors and walked out into the gardens.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a formal tone. “I don’t think I understand what this is about.”
“Let’s us not waste each other’s time, Senator,” the voice said. “Y’all damn well know who I am and what this all’s about. First of all, there ain’t no taps on any of your phones. I had ’em all checked out. So you can relax. And you can be damn sure I ain’t taping anything, either. No need for you to do any talkin’. You just listen, okay?”
“Okay,” Jessup replied uncertainly, his mind racing.
“Bunch of folks been tryin’ to track me down. They’re real interested in my role investigatin’ the killin’ of a nigger preacher back in 1960. Seem to think that I know somethin’ about who did the killin’.” He laughed, a dark, malevolent, mirthless sound. “Can’t for the life of me figure out why they’d think that. Or why they’d think, even if I did know somethin’, I’d ever want to talk with them about it. Or why your name keeps comin’ up.”
“And what did you say to these people?”
There was a long pause. For a moment, Jessup wondered if Hollingsly was still on the line. Finally, he heard more laughter.
“Hell, I made it clear—real clear—that I ain’t got no interest in talkin’ to them or anyone else about whoever did us all a favor and sent that damn nigger on his way to meet his maker. Then I decided to take myself on a nice, long vacation.”
Jessup was quiet, unsure how he should respond.
“Like I said,” Hollingsly rasped. “Ain’t no need for you to do no talkin’. Just wanted you to know that I ain’t gonna be any kind of problem for you. And, if things work out, neither will Ricky Earl Graves.”
“I don’t understand,” Jessup whispered. “What . . .”
“Never mind. Nothin’ for you to worry about. Just know that y’all still got some friends lookin’ out for you. Now, why don’t you just head back in the house and huddle up with your lawyers. No need for them to know anything about this here conversation.”
Jessup looked around frantically.
“How do you know . . . ?” he stammered. “Where are you? Are you watching me?”
Hollingsly was gone.
/> CHAPTER 37
Jeff crossed the street, heading toward his apartment, lugging a bag of groceries. Ella, who was upstairs waiting for him, had suggested that they cook dinner at his place and then make it an early night. The Jessup trial was set to begin with jury selection in the morning.
As he entered the courtyard, he heard his name called.
“Mr. Trannon?”
Jeff turned, squinting into the shadows of the settling dusk. A man stepped off of the sidewalk and walked toward him, hand outstretched in greeting.
“Mr. Trannon, I’m Royce Henning and I was hoping to have a word with you.” Henning was wearing a tweed blazer over a roll-neck sweater, and sharply creased jeans. Stylish, as always.
Jeff had initially taken a quick step backward, unsure of the stranger’s identity. Once he recognized Henning, he stepped forward and, somewhat uncertainly, shook his hand.
“I’m Senator Jessup’s chief of staff, and . . .” Henning began.
“I know who you are, Mr. Henning,” Jeff said, his voice tinged with suspicion. “What can I do for you?”
Henning looked around and, satisfied that they seemed to be alone on the street, dropped his voice to a near whisper.
“I wondered if we could have a very private—and very candid—talk?”
“About?”
“About the trial.”
Jeff looked at Henning deliberately for a moment. “What about the trial?”
“Well,” Henning said smoothly, “you and I are both lawyers, and we’ve had many occasions over the years to settle cases. Some more difficult than others. But my experience has always been that, if both sides are reasonable, deals can usually be made. Deals that work for everyone.”
Jeff nodded, not entirely sure where this conversation was going. “True, I guess. But why talk to me about the trial? I’m not a party.”
“Technically, no, you’re not. But,” Henning said, an eyebrow slightly raised, “you do represent an important player in the trial.”
Henning paused, waiting for some response. Jeff said nothing.
“And,” Henning continued, “as this person’s lawyer, I’m sure your primary interest is in his well-being. Correct?”
Jeff stepped closer, anger flaring. “Are you threatening . . . ?”
Henning raised his hands. “Please, Mr. Trannon. Of course I’m not threatening anything. You misunderstand me. I simply want to have a conversation about what would most certainly be in your client’s best interest. And since your obligation, as his lawyer, is to protect his interests, I assumed you’d like to, at the very least, hear what I have to say?”
Jeff searched Henning’s eyes, looking for some sign of where this conversation might be heading and wondering if he should even be talking to him. Finally, his curiosity prevailed.
“I’m listening,” Jeff said coldly.
Henning offered an ingratiating smile. “Good. Well, then, here are my thoughts on the subject. Just thoughts, mind you. Your client is surely looking for some way to get out of jail. Understandable. And you, as his lawyer, are, of course, looking to help him. Because that’s your job. Well, I have a suggestion—hypothetically—that your client might find attractive.” He paused.
“Go on,” Jeff said.
“Well, if we are correct, as I believe we are, that there is no way that any jury is ever going to convict Senator Jessup of this ridiculous charge . . .”
Jeff started to interrupt, but Henning held up his hand.
“Please, just listen to me, first. If we’re correct, then your client will be left sitting in jail, with a big target on his back—the blacks will want to get at him because he’s admitted to being a part of the preacher’s killing, and the whites will be after him for snitching—and all he’ll have to show for it are some vague promises about a possible parole. In the meantime, Senator Jessup will then be Governor Jessup—perhaps, paradoxically, more popular than ever after this trial—and guess who plays a major role in the granting of parole? And in the granting of pardons and the commutation of sentences?” Henning flashed his unctuous smile again. “That’s right. The governor.”
Jeff glared at Henning, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he tried to control his anger.
“So just what is it you’re suggesting, Mr. Henning?”
“Suggesting?” Henning asked innocently. “Why, I’m not suggesting anything. This is just a hypothetical conversation, remember? But, if I’m right—and I’m certain that I am—then perhaps your client would be better off, and have a better chance of seeing the outside of the jail walls before he dies, if the next governor of Mississippi had some reason to consider his parole application, or even a commutation request, favorably. As opposed to, say, unfavorably.” He paused a moment. “Hypothetically speaking, of course. Just two lawyers mulling over possible resolutions of a complicated case.”
Jeff took a deep breath and slowly released it, still glaring at Henning.
“Well, Mr. Trannon, I must be off. Busy day tomorrow. You, too, I imagine. Thanks for your time,” he said, turning back toward the street and quickly striding away.
Jeff stood unmoving, rooted to the spot, for a full five minutes, thoughts about what had just taken place tumbling about in his mind. Finally, he trudged up the stairs to his apartment.
“Wow,” exclaimed Ella, as he crossed the living room, his face contorted by anger, and tossed the grocery bag on the counter. “What’s that look all about?”
Jeff turned to her. “You won’t believe what just happened.” Pacing back and forth across the living room, Jeff told her about the conversation with Henning. Ella listened carefully and silently to the story. When Jeff had finished, she looked at him intently, her head cocked slightly.
“So, what are you going to do?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, exasperated. “I don’t know. Knowing Henning, if I try to make an issue out of it, he’ll just completely deny we ever had the conversation. Would be his word against mine. Plus,” he added, still clearly wrestling with the implications, “even if he admitted it, he’d argue that it wasn’t anything more than, as he said, ‘two lawyers talking hypothetically about a case.’ And he was smart enough to not actually make any offers, anything that could be viewed legally as a bribe attempt. Damn it!” he said, throwing himself down onto the couch.
“Are you going to tell Ricky Earl about it?”
Jeff rubbed his hands on both sides of his face. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “Henning’s such a clever bastard. He’s boxed me in. He kept mentioning my obligation to Ricky Earl to get him the best deal I can. Trying to play on my responsibility as his lawyer.”
“But what he’s offering is, at the very least, unethical. And maybe illegal. You can’t tell Ricky Earl. Why would you?”
“Because he’s my client,” Jeff answered, an anguished look on his face. “My duty is to him. What if this really is his best chance at ever getting out of jail . . . ?” His voice trailed off.
“Jeff, you can’t be serious. After all your talk about justice? About not letting somebody get away with murder, no matter how important that person is?”
Jeff looked at her, his eyes troubled and uncertain.
“Look,” she said gently, sliding next to him and taking his hand in hers. “You don’t have to do this right now. Let’s have some dinner, try to relax, and sleep on it. We’ll figure out what to do in the morning. Okay?”
Jeff sighed deeply and nodded.
“Damn it!” he whispered.
CHAPTER 38
“Shit, man! You’re my lawyer—what do I do?” Ricky Earl pleaded.
Jeff and Ricky Earl were sitting in a conference room in the district attorney’s office. It was early Monday morning and jury selection was scheduled to start in a few hours. Sheriff Clayton Poole had brought Ricky Earl over from the jail and was waiting outside the room. Inside, the tension
was rising. Jeff had decided that he needed to share the Henning conversation from the previous night with his client. Ricky Earl’s reaction had been predictable. At first, he seemed puzzled as Jeff described the conversation, then he became angry. Now, he was a combination of frustrated, frightened, and uncertain.
Squirming in his chair, his fingers twirling around a phantom cigarette, he leaned forward, his hand slapping the table.
“C’mon, man! Whatta we do?”
Jeff sat calmly, and looked him square in the eyes.
“We do exactly what we’ve planned on doing,” Jeff said coolly. “You testify.”
“But how do we know what he said ain’t true? That if Jessup beats this and is the governor, that he ain’t gonna come gunnin’ for me? And make sure I never get the fuck out?” Ricky Earl said, his voice rising.
“We don’t know. At least, not for sure. But what we do know— for damn sure—is, if you try to back out of your deal now and refuse to testify, you got nothing. Absolutely nothing. The DA certainly wouldn’t go to bat for you in front of the parole board. Damn, who knows when you’d even see the parole board. And if you did, Haynes would probably object to any release.”
“But what about Jessup? If I don’t testify, he walks. And didn’t his boy say he’d look out for me then?” Ricky Earl asked.
“Are you some kind of fuckin’ idiot?” Jeff exploded. “Do you really believe that Jessup will help you out? That he’ll do anything for you? How would that look? How would he explain why he’s helping out the guy who first claimed he’s a killer, then took a dive for him?” Jeff sat back, and forced himself to calm down. “And then what’ll we do? Sue him if he doesn’t help you? C’mon, man, you’re smarter than that.”
“I don’t know,” Ricky Earl said, shaking his head, his eyes wide and confused. “I’m just tryin’ to figure out what the fuck’s my best bet.”
“Your best bet is to go with the guys we trust. We can trust the DA, whether we win this case or not. He’ll keep his word. Does that absolutely guarantee you get out? No—but it gives us our best shot.” He paused. “We got no shot if we’re counting on Jessup. Just a prayer.”