Hear No Evil

by James Grippando

  “My investigator, Theo Knight.”

  Alejandro did his best to get his chest out, but the belly was still more prominent. “I hear you want to defend my daughter-in-law.”

  “I’m considering it,” said Jack. “Can we sit down and talk?”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary. This isn’t going to take long.”

  Jack rocked on his heels. More hostile than he’d hoped. “First of all, I want to say that I’m very sorry about your son.”

  “Then why do you want to represent the woman who killed him?”

  “Mainly because I haven’t come to the conclusion that she did it.”

  “That pretty much makes you the only one.”

  “Is there something you can tell me, maybe enlighten me a little?”

  Pintado glanced suspiciously at Theo, then back at Jack. “I’m not going to tell you two jokers anything. You aren’t here to help me. All you want to do is get her off.”

  “Mr. Pintado, I’m not going to lie to you. I’ve represented some guilty people before. But this is an unusual case for me. I’m being completely honest when I say that I have no interest in representing Lindsey Hart if she’s guilty.”

  “Good. Then you should fold your tent right now and go home.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve met Lindsey. She’s raised some serious questions in my mind. Lindsey says she’s being framed. She thinks the NCIS report is a cover-up.”

  “She’s been saying that for weeks. What else can she say?”

  “So, you don’t buy into the theory that your son may have been murdered by someone with a hidden agenda?”

  “What are you implying?”

  “Nothing. I’m just asking a question.”

  “I am sick and tired of people suggesting that my son was murdered because of the life of resistance I’ve led. It is not my fault that my son was killed.”

  Jack was taken aback by the defensiveness. “Look, I didn’t come here to lay blame on anyone.”

  “I think you did. So let me clear this up right now. I know why Lindsey killed my son.”

  A commercial jet cruised overhead, the deafening screech of its engines seeming to punctuate the man’s words. Finally, the noise subsided, and they could talk again.

  “You want to tell me why she did it?” said Jack.

  “It’s pretty obvious, really, once you know something about me, my family. I came to this country in a rowboat, not a penny to my name. My first job was washing dishes at the Biscayne Cafeteria. Twenty years later I was a millionaire, owner of thirty-seven restaurants. You’ve heard of them, no? Los Platos de Pintado.”

  “I’ve eaten there,” said Jack. He knew the Pintado success story, too. It was printed on the back of the menu, including the quaint explanation of how the chain bore a tongue-in-cheek name that harkened back to his humble beginnings as a dishwasher: Los Platos de Pintado meant “Pintado’s dishes.”

  Theo said, “Your restaurants are great, dude. But what’s that got to do with your son’s death?”

  “It’s not the restaurants. It’s the money. We may not show it, but I’ve made a lot of it. Each of my children has a trust fund. I don’t want to get into specifics, but the principal is seven figures.”

  “That’s big bucks,” said Jack.

  “More money than most people can handle, if you ask me. So my children earn interest only starting at age twenty-one. The principal is theirs to keep when they turn thirty-five.”

  “So your son was a millionaire?” said Jack.

  “Yes. For almost three years.” He lowered his eyes and said, “He would have been thirty-eight next month.”

  “So, you think Lindsey killed him because…”

  “Because they didn’t live like millionaires. Oscar was a lot like me. Money wasn’t that important. He wanted to serve his country. Six months ago, he signed on for another stint at Guantánamo.”

  “Interesting,” said Jack. “Lindsey was married to a millionaire who lived the simple life of a soldier on a military base.”

  “That’s correct. So long as he was alive.”

  “And if he was dead?”

  “She could live anywhere she wanted, with enough money in the bank to live any way she wanted to live.”

  Jack stood silent for a moment, thinking.

  Pintado’s eyes narrowed as he said, “And I guess she can afford to go hire herself a pretty fancy lawyer, too.”

  Jack said, “I’m not in this case for the money.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Jack heard the crank of an engine. Another private plane slowly emerged from the hangar, its whirling propellers practically invisible.

  Pintado grabbed his flight bag, threw it over his shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got another flight plan to chart out.”

  “One more thing,” said Jack.

  “Enough,” he said, waving him off. “I’ve already told you more than I should.”

  “I was just wondering about your grandson.”

  That got his attention. “What about him?”

  “Since you’re so convinced of Lindsey’s guilt, how do you feel about Brian staying with her?”

  Pintado’s eyes closed, then opened, as if he needed to blink back his anger. “You can’t imagine how that makes me feel.”

  Jack studied the old man’s pained expression, then looked off toward the runway. “You might be surprised,” he said quietly. “Thanks again for your time, sir.”

  8

  That night, Jack went bowling. He hadn’t bowled in about five hundred years, but anytime he got together with his father, they seemed to end up doing something that made Harry Swyteck shake his head and say, “You don’t get out much, do you, son?” Last time it was golf, and Jack was thankful that this time at least there were gutters to keep his balls from hitting the other players.

  “You owe me thirty-two thousand seven hundred and sixty-eight dollars,” said Harry.

  Double-or-nothing wagers could add up in a hurry. Especially when you sucked. “I’ll race you home for it,” said Jack.

  “You expect me to go double or nothing on a footrace?” Harry said with a chuckle.

  “I promise not to trip you.”

  “Whattaya say we just save your old man the heart attack and call it even?”

  “Oh, all right. But only because it’s your birthday.”

  Harry slapped his arm around his son’s shoulder, and they walked out together to the car. Harry was turning sixty, and it didn’t seem to bother him a bit, so long as he could spend a chunk of time celebrating alone with his son. As Jack drove him home, he couldn’t help thinking what a difference ten years made. Jack hadn’t been part of the fiftieth birthday celebration. It had been a huge party in the governor’s mansion, but back then he and Governor Swyteck had not even been on speaking terms. Some thought it was because Jack was working for the Freedom Institute, defending death row inmates, while his father was signing death warrants faster than any other governor in Florida history. That philosophical disagreement probably hadn’t helped matters, but the rift between them had existed for years. In hindsight, neither one of them fully understood it, but the important thing was that they’d finally gotten past it. Still, it made Jack wonder what this father and son might have been like, how different it would have been for Jack growing up, if his mother, Harry’s young and beautiful first wife, hadn’t died bringing Jack into the world.

  They reached the Swyteck residence at eight P.M., right on schedule. Jack was just about to invite himself inside to say hello to his stepmother when Harry beat him to the punch.

  “So, you coming inside for the surprise party?” said Harry.

  Jack hesitated. It had been his job to get his father out of the house and back precisely at eight P.M. “What party?” he said lamely.

  “Jack, really now. Have you ever known Agnes to keep a secret?”

  “Good point.” They got
out of the car and followed the walkway to the front door. Harry opened it and stepped inside. Jack was right behind him.

  “Surprise!” they shouted in unison, a houseful of friends erupting in one loud cheer.

  Harry took a half step back, as if overwhelmed. His wife came to him, smiling east to west. They’d been out of the governor’s mansion for nearly four years, but she still carried herself like the First Lady. “Got you this time, didn’t I, Harry?”

  He hugged her and said, “Sure did, darling.” Then he winked at Jack, as if to say, No one outfoxes the fox. “A total surprise.”

  It was wall-to-wall people, the guest list having grown from two hundred of the former governor’s closest personal friends to more than five hundred “must invites.” Drinks were flowing, platters of tasty hors d’oeuvres were circulating, and it seemed that within every circle of conversation someone was telling stories about Harry at twenty, Harry at thirty, and so on. It was fun for Jack to hear the old tales, especially ones from the part of Harry’s life that Jack had missed by his own choosing, and to his later regret.

  The band was starting to play outside by the swimming pool. Jack was slated to give a little toast before the cake and candles, and even though he was no stranger to speaking before a crowd, he was feeling a few butterflies. He kept going back and forth in his mind, trying to decide between a speech from the heart or a lighter speech that tickled the funny bone. The choice, he realized, was preordained. No matter how close he and his father became, they would always be Swytecks. There would always be things left unsaid.

  “Jack, I want you to meet someone,” said Harry.

  Jack turned to see his father standing beside a distinguished Latin gentleman, his silver and black hair slicked straight back, almost as if he’d just emerged from the swimming pool. Harry’s arm was draped around the man’s shoulder affectionately. “Jack, this is Hector Torres. He’s south Florida ’s new-”

  “ U.S. attorney. I know, Dad. I’m a criminal defense lawyer, remember?”

  “Don’t be so hard on the old man,” said Torres, smiling. “I was the one who asked to be introduced. We’ve never formally met, Jack, but I feel like I know you, I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “You mean from my days as a prosecutor?” asked Jack.

  “More from your old man. He and I go way back. I remember his thirtieth birthday party.”

  “Boy, that’s some memory.”

  “Hey, watch that, son.”

  They shared a laugh, then Torres turned more serious. “I don’t think your father ever ran for office without my backing. Can you think of anything, Harry?”

  “Nope. You were always there.”

  “That’s true. I was always there for you.” He paused, as if to let the reminder hang in the air for a moment. Then he looked at Jack and said, “In all seriousness, your reputation is still sound at the office. I understand you’re quite an exceptional lawyer.”

  “Depends on who you talk to,” said Jack.

  “Actually, I’ve been talking to a lot of people recently. Matter of fact, just a couple of hours ago I was speaking with Alejandro Pintado about you.”

  It was an awkward moment, such a festive atmosphere and yet such a stoic expression on the face of one of Harry’s oldest friends.

  Harry grimaced. “Ah, poor Alejandro. I read about his son, and I’ve been meaning to drop him a note. Terrible thing.”

  “Yes,” said Torres, but he was looking straight at Jack. “A terrible, terrible thing.”

  “How’s he handling it?” asked Harry.

  “About as well as can be expected.” Again he looked at Jack, then added, “Of course, he has his setbacks every now and then.”

  “Well, give him my best,” said Harry.

  “I will. Actually, I left him in pretty good spirits. I can’t get into details-grand jury secrecy and all-but I think we’re pretty close to an indictment. With the victim’s family in south Florida, the case has been assigned to the Miami office.”

  “I was wondering about that,” said Jack.

  “Yes. Alejandro asked me to handle the case personally. It’s sort of unusual for the U.S. attorney to actually try a case. But Alejandro’s a good friend. I told him I would.”

  “That’s nice of you,” said Jack.

  “Least I can do,” said Torres.

  Outside the house on the back patio, on the other side of the opened California doors, the band suddenly stopped playing. The lead singer grabbed the microphone and announced, “We’re about ready for cake. Could the birthday boy start making his way toward the stage, please?”

  “I guess that’s our cue,” said Harry. “Great to see you again, Hector. Thanks for coming.”

  “I wouldn’t have missed it.”

  Jack said, “And thanks again for the nice words.”

  Harry started away, and Jack was about to follow when Torres grabbed him by the sleeve and stopped him. He spoke slightly above a whisper, softly enough so that no one but Jack could hear him amid the party noises. “I hate to have to say this at your father’s birthday, but it needs to be said. Stay the hell out of the Pintado case.”

  “Is that coming from you or Alejandro?”

  “Both. And if need be, I’ll make sure you hear it from your father, too.”

  Jack chuckled lightly. “You really think that’s going to stop me?”

  “Only if you’re as smart as he says you are.”

  “You’re out of line, Mr. Torres.”

  “And you’re out of your league, Mr. Swyteck.”

  Jack met his stare, finding not so much as a trace of a smile on the prosecutor’s face. “We’ll see about that.”

  Jack turned and worked his way through the crowd, passing one smiling well-wisher after another as he headed toward his father on stage. He wondered if Torres knew something-if somehow he’d discovered Jack’s personal stake in defending Lindsey Hart. Or was he just protecting his old friend Pintado, playing the typical prosecutor’s mind game, trying to screw with the mind of the opposition? It wasn’t clear.

  His stepmother hugged him as he reached the stage. Jack hugged her back, but he turned her body just so, allowing himself one last glimpse of Hector Torres amid a jubilant crowd.

  The man still wasn’t smiling.

  9

  Jack met Lindsey for breakfast at Deli Lane, a popular sidewalk café in South Miami. The street and sidewalk were paved with Chicago brick, and a tidy row of young oaks, each of identical height and limb span, planted at regular-spaced intervals, lent a Disney-like precision to the thoroughfare. The humidity had driven most customers inside, but they chose an outdoor table beneath the shade of a broad umbrella. Every few minutes, an exercise enthusiast jogged or walked past them, while a hungry stray terrier sniffed around for fallen scraps of bacon or French toast. Jack couldn’t help overhearing the cosmetically enhanced supermoms at the next table, one of whom wanted to sue her plastic surgeon for making her a full cup size larger than she’d requested, and she was just, like, so totally pissed, darling, because her husband had blown her entire malpractice claim by sending the doc a two-page thank-you letter and a bottle of Dom.

  The women finally finished off their three hundred calories for the day, divided the bill down to the last penny, and sped away in their respective gas-guzzling SUVs, leaving Jack and Lindsey in sufficient isolation to talk privately. Over coffee, Jack laid his concerns on the table.

  “Everyone tells me you’re guilty.”

  “I told you they would,” said Lindsey. “It’s because they don’t know what they’re talking about.”

  “Oscar’s father got pretty specific.”

  “Pardon my language, but Oscar’s father is an asshole.”

  “I don’t know enough about him to debate you on that point. But he does know some influential people. And he doesn’t want me representing you.”

  “Of course not. He never fights fair.”

  “He did lose his son, which can skew your perc
eption of fairness. I’m not saying he’s in the right, but he does seem genuinely concerned about his grandson.”

  Her voice shook as she said, “He’s evil, Jack. I don’t think Alejandro has come right out and told him that I did it, but it seems like every time he sees Brian, I end up having to explain to my own child why so many people are saying that I killed his father.”

  Jack drew a breath, reminding himself that every homicide was really about the innocent victims. And there was always more than one victim. “How is Brian doing?”

  “Brian is a great kid. He’s like his dad. He’ll be fine.”

  For a split second, Jack thought she was paying him a compliment, but then he realized that she’d meant Oscar. Or had she?

  “Has to be tough on him,” said Jack.

  “More than you know. Not only did he lose his dad, but then Guantánamo gave us the boot. Bad for morale to have a homicidal wife on the base, you know. So Brian doesn’t even have any friends to lean on.”

  “Have you found a place to live yet?”

  “Yeah. I got a month-to-month rental in Kendall. Brian will be starting middle school next week. We even went to Disney World a couple days ago. Thought that might help take his mind off things.”

  “How did he like it?”

  “He loved it. I survived it. Don’t take this the wrong way, but in certain respects I think that’s the one place on earth that’s actually better if you’re deaf.”

  “I know what you’re saying.” He started humming “It’s a Small World After All.”

  She actually smiled, and Jack noticed a little sparkle to her personality that, to this point, had been nonexistent. It suited her well.

  Jack said, “Now that you’ve brought it up, I guess we’ll need someone to sign when I speak with Brian.”

  “I can do it. I did it when the military police questioned him.”

  “I’d rather meet with him out of your presence.”

  She did a quick double take. “Why?”

  “Getting a child out from under the influence of his mother is just a sensible interview strategy. It has nothing to do with you or me or our circumstances. It’s the way I’d do it in any case.”