Hear No Evil

by James Grippando

Jack said, “Johnson was your source, wasn’t he? He was feeding your son information about Coast Guard routes. And Brothers for Freedom used that information to improve the flow of Cuban rafters to U.S. soil.”

  He looked at Jack and said, “I’m not the one on trial here.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. That’s why I would have much preferred to have Johnson on the witness stand than you.”

  “Look, I just don’t see where you’re going with this. I’m not admitting anything, mind you. But so what if Johnson was leaking Coast Guard information to help us bring Cuban rafters to shore? It doesn’t give anyone a reason to kill my son.”

  “No, it doesn’t. Not until you mix drugs into the equation.”

  His head snapped. “Drugs? What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Think about it. It helped your operation immensely to know when and where Coast Guard cutters would be patrolling certain areas of the Florida Straits. You could tell rafters when to sail, where to sail, when to change course, where to look for help coming to shore. How valuable do you think that same information would be to a drug smuggler?”

  “Are you accusing me-”

  “No,” Jack said firmly. “I’m not accusing anyone yet, because I honestly don’t have the goods. But let me tell you what I think. I think Damont Johnson was taking the same information he gave to you and selling it to drug dealers. I think your son found out about it. And I think it got Oscar killed.”

  Pintado’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “That’s the first I’ve heard any such thing.”

  “It didn’t come to me until recently. Not until I found out that drug people were the ones who torched my Mustang.”

  “Have you gone to the U.S. attorney with this information?”

  “It’s not information. It’s a theory. Two-thirds of the way through trial, Torres isn’t interested in helping the defense prove its theories.”

  “Why should I be interested?”

  “Because a win is a win to an egomaniac like Hector Torres. But his win is your loss. If Lindsey is convicted, the person who killed your son is still walking the streets.”

  He took a breath. “This is…this is an awful lot you’ve just unloaded on me.”

  “I know it’s late in the game. But I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t have some hope that you’d want to eliminate any possibility that the mother of your only grandson is an innocent woman.”

  “What are you asking for?”

  “Lieutenant Damont Johnson.”

  “What about him?”

  “I know he’s in Miami. And I have a feeling you know where Torres is hiding him. Let me get a subpoena on him. Give me a shot at him on the witness stand, and I promise you, I won’t call Brian to testify on his mother’s behalf.”

  Pintado glanced out the window, and Jack followed his gaze toward the cul-de-sac at the end of the street, toward Brian racing around on his bicycle. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Swyteck.”

  “Will I hear back from you?”

  He looked at Jack, answering in the same flat tone. “I said, thanks for your time.”

  Pintado flipped a switch that unlocked the car doors, then pointed with a nod toward the handle. Jack opened it and stepped out of the car, taking just one more distant glance at Brian as he closed the door and walked back to his rental.

  43

  It would forever remain a mystery, Jack figured. He was standing at the bathroom sink in Sofia ’s house, his hands dripping wet. His ex-wife used to have the same puzzling habit, always stocking the guest bathroom with linen-and-lace hand towels that were frilly enough for royalty and about as absorbent as Teflon. He’d always suspected that the towels you were actually supposed to use were hidden away in some secret drawer that only people who were raised “properly” knew how to find. He just didn’t get it. One of life’s little enigmas.

  He wiped his hands on his pants.

  “Jack, should I pour you some coffee?” Sofia asked from outside the closed door.

  “Thanks, good idea,” he said.

  He was bracing himself against the countertop, palms down and elbows straight as he stared wearily at his reflection in the mirror. The in-prison prep session with Lindsey had delivered more than its usual share of surprises. They could have spent all night with her, but the guard had allowed them only an additional fifteen minutes beyond the end of visitation. Jack had hoped to get a good night’s sleep before putting Lindsey on the stand, but he and Sofia had left the jailhouse with the same realization. They had a lot of work to do.

  “I’m making espresso,” said Sofia. Jack could tell she was no longer right outside the door but was shouting from somewhere near the kitchen. “You want some, or you still want coffee?”

  “Double espresso,” Jack shouted back.

  It was funny how eighteen-hour workdays and late-night trial preparation bred such familiarity between coworkers. Sofia was actually carrying on a conversation with him while he was in the bathroom. For all she knew, he was seated on the proverbial throne, yet it didn’t seem to faze her. Not even his ex-wife used to talk to him through the bathroom door, except for that one time. Honey, hurry up, I’m ovulating! As it turned out, the world was probably a better place for his decision to go right ahead and finish that Sports Illustrated article about Dan Marino and his record-setting passing season.

  Jack was still staring into the mirror. He looked exhausted, bordering on burnout. Trials were always draining, but few lawyers had ever handled during their career a murder trial in which the stakes were as personal as they were for Jack in this one. Brian was his son, and no matter how much Jack tried to play that down as a mere biological fact, he couldn’t erase it as irrelevant. So what if the law of adoption regarded him as insignificant? It had meaning to him, and so long as it had meaning, it mattered not only whether Lindsey was acquitted or convicted, but also whether she was truly guilty or truly innocent. The trial was nearing an end, and for all the ups and downs, ins and outs, he still didn’t know whom to believe.

  And tonight’s session hadn’t helped any.

  He splashed cold water on his face, then again took stock of himself in the mirror.

  It seemed like light-years ago, but earlier that same evening he’d been on a definite roll. His drug-running theory had finally gelled in his mind, and he was even beginning to believe it. It seemed entirely plausible that Lindsey had been right all along. Her husband had been murdered because he knew the wrong thing about the wrong person. Her theory seemed to fit nicely with his latest thinking that Captain Pintado had uncovered a connection between his Coast Guard source and a drug-smuggling scheme.

  Then Lindsey dumped on him all over again.

  “There’s something you should know,” Lindsey told him. She was seated on the opposite side of the table, dressed in prison coveralls. Her voice was flat, her expression grave.

  “What?” asked Jack.

  “There’s a good reason my fingerprint was found on Oscar’s gun.”

  “Right. You said it was because you and Oscar had shot the gun previously in target practice.”

  She shook her head. “That’s not it.”

  Jack had the definite feeling that she was about to tell him something he should have heard much earlier. “All right. Tell me how your print really got there.”

  Her shoulders slumped, she looked down at the table. “You know how we’ve talked in the past about how Oscar’s gun was found with the safety on, which meant his death probably wasn’t suicide?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a long silence, then finally she said quietly, “I was the one who put on the safety.”

  44

  Jack kept one eye on the jury as his client passed before the judge and took a seat in the witness stand. He’d been wrong about jurors before, but it didn’t take a mind reader to see that Lindsey had a long way to go with this group.

  Lindsey appeared somewhat nervous, which was to be expected, but it didn’t prevent her from capturing
exactly the right look. Jack and Sofia had choreographed her image right down to the tiny American flag on the lapel of her navy blue business suit. Sofia had helped with her hair in the rest room, a conservative twist suitable for a single mother. They didn’t want to overdo it with a too-traditional, Laura Ashley-inspired matronly look-that just wasn’t Lindsey-but Jack had definite guidelines. Two-inch heels or less. No cleavage. No flashy jewelry; pearls preferred. Easy on the makeup. Tell the truth.

  That last one was his only remaining worry.

  “Good morning,” said Jack. “Would you please introduce yourself to the jury?”

  “My name is Lindsey Hart. I was married for twelve years to Captain Oscar Pintado, United States Marine Corps.”

  “Did you and Captain Pintado have any children?”

  “We were unable to conceive, so we adopted a baby boy. Brian is ten years old now.”

  “Would you say you were a happy family?”

  She hesitated, considering it. “We were at one time. For several years, yes, we were very happy.”

  “When did things start to change?”

  “When Oscar was transferred to the naval station at Guantánamo. About four years ago.”

  “What was it about Guantánamo that had such a negative impact on your family?”

  “I don’t think it was anything specific about Guantánamo. Oscar simply started to change.”

  “How so?”

  “Brian and I seemed to become less important to him.”

  “Was there something or someone else who became more important?”

  “His friends, I would say.”

  “Any friend in particular?”

  “Lieutenant Damont Johnson. He was with the Coast Guard. He was Oscar’s best friend.”

  “Did you get along with Lieutenant Johnson?”

  She averted her eyes. “No. Not in the least.”

  “Ms. Hart, you’ve heard testimony about a possible relationship you may have had with your husband’s best friend. Did you have any kind of relationship with Lieutenant Johnson?”

  “Yes.”

  Jack softened his tone, but it didn’t make the question any easier. “Was that relationship sexual in nature?”

  “It was entirely sexual.”

  That raised a few eyebrows, including the judge’s. Jack asked, “How long did this relationship go on?”

  “Over a six-month period, I’d say.”

  “During that period, how often did you have sex with Lieutenant Johnson?”

  She lowered her eyes and said, “As often as Oscar told me to.”

  If jaw-droppings could make a sound, there would have been a cacophony from the gallery of spectators. Jack let the answer settle upon the jurors, then said, “Tell us about the first time you and Lieutenant Johnson had sex.”

  “I’ve never had any recollection of it.”

  “You mean you’ve forgotten it?”

  “Not in the sense that I once remembered and have now forgotten it. From the day it happened, I’ve never had any memory of it.”

  “Were you conscious when it happened?”

  “No. I had been drugged.”

  “How do you know it occurred?”

  “I know my body. I know when I’ve had sex. And if there was any doubt, Oscar showed me the photographs he took.”

  “Photographs of you and Lieutenant Johnson having sex?”

  “Yes.”

  Again, Jack paused. The packed courtroom seemed to take a collective breath. Jack said, “You say you were drugged. How do you know you were drugged?”

  “Because one moment I was feeling fine. Then Oscar brought me a glass of wine. I drank just half of it, and I’d never felt like that before. Dizzy, disoriented. Then I passed out. When I woke up, my body felt so strange. The only thing I can compare it to is when I had my appendix out and I came to after the anesthesia. And then…”

  “Then what?”

  “Then Oscar showed me the photographs.”

  “The ones of you and his friend having sex?”

  Her eyes were beginning to well. Her voice shook as she said, “Yes.”

  Jack gave her a moment to compose herself. “Do you know who gave you the drug?”

  “I assume it was-”

  “Objection. The witness is clearly speculating.”

  “Sustained.”

  Jack asked, “Did you drug yourself?”

  “No.”

  “So someone else gave it to you?”

  “Clearly.”

  “Do you know what kind of drug it was?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Getting back these photographs of you and Lieutenant Johnson, when your husband showed you those photographs, was Lieutenant Johnson with him?”

  “No. It was just Oscar and me.”

  “Do you know who took the photographs?”

  “All I can say is that when Oscar showed them to me, they were still on his digital camera. They weren’t developed or printed out. He brought them up electronically on the LCD display.”

  “How did that make you feel, when you saw those photographs?”

  Her eyes clouded over, and she reached for a tissue. “I was drugged and violated by my husband’s best friend. And my husband took photographs. How do you think it made me feel?”

  He gave her more time. “I’m sorry I have to ask these questions,” said Jack. “Just a few more on this. Do you know what happened to those digital photographs?”

  “No. Lord knows I searched the house for that camera. I wanted to destroy the images. But I never did find anything.”

  “Before this happened, would you describe your sexual relationship with your husband as normal?”

  “No,” she said, her voice quaking.

  “I’m not prying for too much detail, but I have to ask this. What about it was not normal?”

  She pulled herself together, took a breath. “After we were unable to conceive, Oscar took it as a blow to his manhood. It was a slow process, but he never really recovered. It was so irrational.” She paused as if searching for strength to continue. “I felt so much anger coming from him every time we were intimate. It was a perversion of the Marine mentality, that if you suck it up and try harder, you’ll succeed. But finally he had to accept that there was something wrong. We weren’t going to have our own child. And like I say, that realization was a real blow to him. As time went on-I’m talking years, now-it became more and more difficult for him to…perform.”

  “When this incident with Lieutenant Johnson took place, did you have any sexual relationship at all with your husband?”

  “No,” she said, staring down into her tissue. “Unless you call hiding in the closet and snapping photographs of your wife with another man a ‘relationship.’ ”

  “What did your husband do with these photographs?”

  “He kept them.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “He told me that-”

  “Objection,” said Torres. “We’re getting into hearsay.”

  Jack said, “Judge, the testimony is offered simply to prove that the witness felt threatened. It’s not offered to prove the truth of the matter asserted.”

  The judge made a face. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed when it came to evidentiary matters such as hearsay, and Jack had given him just enough to scare him away from excluding the testimony. “Overruled. The witness may answer.”

  Lindsey said, “Oscar told me that if I didn’t continue to have sex with Lieutenant Johnson, he would divorce me and use the photographs to take Brian away from me. Prove I was an unfit mother, having sex with another man in my own bedroom while my deaf child slept in the next room.”

  “But the photographs showed that you were unconscious, didn’t they?”

  “It was hard to tell in the photographs. Lots of women close their eyes at some point while having sex.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I did what he wanted me to do.” Her voice was barely audibl
e.

  The judge said, “Ms. Hart, you’ll have to speak up.”

  “I did what he wanted me to do,” she said. “I continued to have sex with Lieutenant Johnson.”

  “Were you drugged on those occasions?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  “I didn’t see a choice. I didn’t want to lose my son.”

  “Are you saying that you were prepared to do this for the rest of your life?”

  “No. But you have to understand. Oscar was from a very powerful family. He was a respected Marine on a military base. My word against his wasn’t going to add up to much. Until I could figure something out and find help from someone I could trust, I had to go along with it.”

  “So, when that Cuban soldier came into this courtroom and testified that he saw you and Lieutenant Johnson together, that could very well have happened?”

  “If he saw anything, he saw me yielding to my husband’s threats. I was just going along with it.”

  Jack nodded, as if satisfied. But in his own mind, he couldn’t help juxtaposing her “going along with it” against the soldier’s “going at it like a couple of porn stars.” Thankfully, those words never made it before the jury. “Ms. Hart, did you observe any impact that this ‘threesome,’ I’ll call it, was having on the friendship between your husband and Lieutenant Johnson?”

  “Toward the end, I did.”

  “What happened?”

  “Lieutenant Johnson started showing up at my house alone, when Oscar wasn’t there.”

  “Did you have sex with him when your husband wasn’t there?”

  “No, never.”

  “Did you tell your husband about Lieutenant Johnson’s extra visits?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was his reaction?”

  “He was very angry. He told me that if he ever caught me and Lieutenant Johnson together, he’d kill us both.”

  “So it was okay to be with Lieutenant Johnson only so long as your husband was there to watch.”

  “Yeah. He was very much into control.”

  “Did you ever observe your husband have any cross words with Lieutenant Johnson over this?”

  “Only once, and they took it outside. I’m not sure what was said.”