Blood Money

by James Grippando

  “Let me stop your speech there,” said the judge. “I agree that it’s nothing to celebrate. But it’s not something that this court can rush to judgment about, either. As I understand it, a juror in this case has been accused of accepting a bribe. Last time I checked, he is presumed innocent until proven guilty.”

  “Mr. Hewitt will be in federal court this afternoon to enter a plea of guilty,” said Crawford.

  The judge glanced at Jack, as if curious to know if the defense was as surprised as everyone else in the courtroom. “Is that so?” said the judge.

  “Yes. Mr. Hewitt’s attorney is here this morning to answer any questions the court may have.” Her gaze drifted toward the gallery, where a man rose—and Jack’s jaw nearly dropped.

  “May it please the court, I’m Ted Gaines, counsel for Brian Hewitt.”

  The judge invited him forward. Gaines walked to the end of the row of bench seating, stepped through the swinging gate, and joined the prosecutor at the podium. He shot a quick glance in Jack’s direction, which Jack could only interpret to mean, You’re fucked.

  “Is this true, Mr. Gaines?”

  “It is, Your Honor. We have a signed plea agreement with the U.S. attorney, under which my client will enter a plea of guilty this afternoon.”

  “This seems like an unorthodox way to present it,” said the judge.

  “Unusual circumstances, yes,” said Gaines. “But an important part of the plea arrangement is Mr. Hewitt’s agreement to testify in connection with the state of Florida’s motion to set aside the verdict entered in this case.”

  “Interesting,” said the judge. “I must say, that’s an impressive display of expedited coordination between state and federal prosecutors.”

  Crawford said, “It was a late night, Your Honor.”

  Jack rose. “And I guess I must have left the phone off the hook, because this is the first I’ve heard any of this.”

  The judge raised a hand, stopping him. “The defense will have its opportunity to respond. Ms. Crawford, I presume you would like to present this testimony.”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Objection,” said Jack.

  “On what grounds?” asked the judge.

  “No notice was given that this would be an evidentiary hearing with testimony from witnesses. My client isn’t even here. The Sixth Amendment guarantees her the right to be present and confront witnesses against her.”

  It was lame, but it was the best Jack could do. The judge seized on it, offering up his BNN sound bite for the day. “Consider this your notice: Men in black robes sometimes hear evidence. Ms. Crawford, proceed with your witness.”

  “The state calls Mr. Brian Hewitt.”

  The double doors in the back of the courtroom opened, and the deputy brought Hewitt down the center aisle. Jack watched him all the way, but Hewitt never made eye contact. The witness cast his gaze at the floor as he swore the oath, and when he finally took a seat and looked at the prosecutor, whereupon everyone could see his face, it was obvious to Jack—as it must have been to all—that Hewitt hadn’t slept a wink last night.

  “Please state your name,” said the prosecutor.

  The preliminaries were familiar to Jack. It was his practice to commit to memory the basic personal information for every juror, and the recent flood of news coverage about Hewitt had more than refreshed his recollection. Jack was less interested in the litany of background information and more interested in Hewitt’s demeanor. The guy had the fidgets—as Jack’s late friend and mentor at the Freedom Institute would have said, “nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” The deeper the prosecutor led him into the proverbial room, the longer his tail grew.

  “Mr. Hewitt,” said the prosecutor, “please describe for the court the first communication you had about the payment of money to you in exchange for a not-guilty verdict.”

  Jack listened and took notes as the prosecutor walked Hewitt through two different phone calls and finally a face-to-face meeting. Five minutes, ten minutes, almost twenty minutes of testimony. Jack expected at each turn for the prosecutor to pause for dramatic effect and ask the witness if the man who had offered to pay him six figures for a verdict of not guilty was in the courtroom, at which time all eyes would follow the accusatory finger that was pointing straight at Jack. But that moment didn’t come.

  And the judge seemed bothered by it.

  “Ms. Crawford, as powerful and disturbing as this testimony is,” the judge said, “I’m concerned by what I’m not hearing. The prosecution is asking the court to set aside a verdict of not guilty and order Sydney Bennett to stand trial again on the same charges. I’m willing to hear your evidence, but let me say this unequivocally. There is no way I’m going to order another trial if you can’t show me that it was the defendant or her counsel, or someone acting under their direction, who bribed this juror. In other words, if you can’t show me that the defendant tainted this verdict, it’s my view that a retrial would constitute double jeopardy.”

  Jack rose. “That’s our view as well, Your Honor.”

  Crawford glanced across the courtroom at Ted Gaines, then back at the judge. “No worries, Your Honor. We can link the bribe to the defendant.”

  With the court’s permission, a projection screen lowered from the ceiling, Crawford’s assistant went to the computer and brought an image onto it. Jack couldn’t tell what it was, but his finger was on the OBJECT button, figuratively speaking. Crawford walked over to Jack, gave him a copy of an affidavit, and then handed up the original to the judge.

  “Your Honor, this is an affidavit from Petty Officer Charles Cook, United States Coast Guard,” said Crawford. “Officer Cook is stationed at Opa-locka Executive Airport in Hialeah, Florida.”

  The image on the screen suddenly became clearer to Jack.

  Crawford continued, “Officer Cook was on duty the night of July eleven. As set forth in the affidavit, Officer Cook shot two minutes of video on his iPhone from two forty A.M. until two forty-two A.M. For the record—and this is not a matter of dispute—Sydney Bennett was released from the Miami-Dade Women’s Detention Center at two twelve A.M.”

  Jack was on his feet. “Your Honor, if the prosecution intends to offer this video into evidence, I object on numerous grounds, not the least of which is that this affidavit is no assurance of the authenticity of this recording.”

  “Fine,” said Crawford, “if that’s the way Mr. Swyteck wants it. Judge, as I mentioned, Officer Cook is on active duty in the Coast Guard. We’d be happy to bring him in live when he’s not in a helicopter flying over the Gulf Stream.”

  “That seems fair to me,” the judge said. “This isn’t a jury trial. We’re all here. Let’s see the video, and if the defense still has authenticity concerns, we can bring in Officer Cook for cross-examination. Roll it.”

  The lights dimmed, and on Crawford’s cue, the grainy, still image on the screen came to life. It was a man and a woman standing by a chain-link fence.

  “Stop it right there,” said Crawford. “Judge, I should add that since it was dark, our tech expert has enhanced this video to make the people in it more visible.”

  “Your Honor, that’s yet another reason to exclude this video,” said Jack.

  “I understand the defense’s position. In addition to the Coast Guard officer who shot this video, the prosecution will make their tech expert available for cross-examination. But right now we are going to see this video. Ms. Crawford, proceed.”

  “Thank you,” said the prosecutor, and then she turned to the witness. “Mr. Hewitt, do you recognize the two people in this frame?”

  “Yeah, the man looks like—”

  “Objection,” said Jack. “The witness is clearly speculating.”

  “Really?” said the judge. “It looks like you, Mr. Swyteck, which is what I believe the witness was going to say. Are you telling me that it’s not you?”

  “With all due respect, I’m not on the witness stand.”
r />   “We can put you there,” the judge snapped.

  A chorus of chuckles washed over the courtroom.

  “That objection is withdrawn,” said Jack.

  “Good decision,” said the judge. “The witness may answer the question.”

  Hewitt leaned forward, speaking into the microphone. “That appears to be Mr. Swyteck.”

  “And the woman who he is with,” said Crawford, “do you recognize her?”

  Hewitt nodded once, firmly. “I spent a month in this courtroom looking at Sydney Bennett. I’d swear that’s her.”

  “Thank you,” said Crawford. She cued her assistant, and the video resumed.

  Jack watched, riveted. It was an actual recording of the image that had replayed in his mind many times since that night. Sydney turning away from him. Sydney walking across the runway, slowly at first, gaining speed. Finally, Sydney running into the arms of a man who was waiting for her outside the small aircraft. After three years in prison, Sydney Bennett was in the full embrace of an unidentified man.

  “Stop,” said Crawford.

  The image froze on the screen—Sydney locked in the man’s arms.

  Crawford faced her witness. “Mr. Hewitt, do you recognize the man in this frame?”

  Jack froze. It was the question he’d been asking since the night of Sydney’s release.

  “Yes, I do,” said Hewitt.

  “Who is it?” asked Crawford.

  Hewitt said, “That’s the man who I met at the Metromover station at Government Center.”

  “The man who offered you the bribe?”

  “Yes,” said Hewitt. “That man.”

  Crawford paused, allowing the answer to linger. Her assistant turned off the video, and the lights came up. “I have no further questions.”

  Jack did a double take. He was expecting to hear a name, but obviously the government didn’t know it. Or they didn’t want Jack to know it.

  “Mr. Swyteck, you may cross-examine, if you wish.”

  Jack rose slowly. That second possibility—that the government knew the man’s name but simply didn’t want Jack to know it—was burning in his mind. Instinct told him that he would be playing into Crawford’s hands if he rushed through this witness, no preparation.

  “Judge, the defense would like a recess before cross-examining this witness. In my mind, this case has been over since the not-guilty verdict, Mr. Hewitt was just arrested last night, until ten minutes ago I had no idea no idea this video existed, and I—”

  “You can stop there, counselor,” the judge said. “I have another jury trial that I’m trying to finish today anyway. I’ll give you the weekend to prepare. Let’s reconvene here at nine A.M. Monday morning.”

  “Thank you,” said Jack.

  “Don’t thank me, counselor. Based on what I’ve seen, the government has done a convincing job of linking your client to the man who bribed Mr. Hewitt. I’m not going to tell you how to do your job, but it may require nothing short of Sydney Bennett herself coming into this courtroom to rebut this showing. Now, she may want to invoke the Fifth Amendment, and that’s her decision. But without her testimony, I don’t see how you can even begin to explain the fact that on the night of her release from jail, she was throwing herself at the man who bribed a juror.”

  “I understand,” said Jack.

  “Make sure you do. I’ll see you all Monday morning.”

  The judge stepped down from the bench, and the packed courtroom rose on the bailiff’s command. Jack had one eye on the judge as he headed to his chambers, but his gaze slowly shifted to the other side of the courtroom. Finally, when the judge was gone and people started talking and heading to the exit, Jack caught sight of Ted Gaines in the crowd. He was behind the prosecutor’s table, standing at the rail with his client, when he glanced in Jack’s direction. Gaines mouthed the words, and Jack could plainly read his lips.

  Call me.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Jack’s car was waiting at the curb with the motor running. The group of demonstrators outside the courthouse was mostly people who wanted to get on television, and the BNN cameraman was happy to oblige. The gathering would look much larger and much more passionate on the evening edition of the Faith Corso Show; there was nothing like well-edited crowd-scene video to obscure the fact that no one inside the courtroom had actually presented any evidence to link Jack “Sly-teck” to jury tampering. One protester managed to thrust a sign in Jack’s face as he raced down the granite steps, but before the reporter could catch him and demand a comment, Jack jumped into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. Theo hit the gas, and the car pulled away.

  “Thanks, man,” said Jack.

  Judge Matthews had deferred ruling until at least Monday, but Jack could count on one hand the people on the planet who believed that someone other than Jack and his client were behind the jury tampering. Two of them were in the car—Theo and Abuela.

  Theo glanced in the rearview mirror and said, “She ain’t happy.”

  Abuela was in the backseat behind Theo, with her packed suitcase on the seat beside her. If Rene’s murder had proved anything, the threat against “someone you love” was pretty broad. It was time to follow through on getting Abuela out of town.

  “Jack, el ticket,” said Abuela. “Is one way.”

  Jack glanced over the passenger’s-side headrest. His grandmother was studying her itinerary.

  “We’ll buy a return when it’s time to come home,” he said.

  “How long I go?”

  “I don’t know,” said Jack.

  “You send me away for you don’t know how long?”

  “It’s all about keeping you safe,” said Jack.

  “An old woman alone in a strange land—this is safe?”

  Jack tried not to roll his eyes. “You’re going to Tampa to stay with your brother.”

  “Forty years I fight to get out of Cuba to see my grandson. He sends me away on one-way ticket. Ay, Dios mío.”

  “Abuela, please—”

  Theo reached across the console, stopping him. “Dude, you’re not gonna win this one.”

  Jack’s phone rang. It was Ted Gaines.

  “Swyteck, I asked you to call me.”

  Jack recalled the gesture at the end of the hearing. “I was getting around to it.”

  “We have a hearing at two P.M.,” said Gaines.

  “No, Judge Matthews said Monday morning.”

  “I’m talking about Laramore versus BNN. You know, the frivolous lawsuit you filed against my client?”

  Jack ignored the swipe. “I didn’t get notice of any hearing.”

  “I’m sure his assistant will be calling you any minute now. It was just scheduled at BNN’s request.”

  “I’m getting tired of the sniper tactics, Ted. What’s this about?”

  “More postings on Celeste Laramore’s Facebook page. Everything you took down is back up. Plus more.”

  Jack caught his breath, not sure he had enough fingers to plug another hole in the dam. “When did this happen?”

  “While we were in court at this morning’s hearing.”

  “That can’t be. We reset the username and password to freeze Celeste’s Facebook account.”

  “I assure you, the account is up and running, telling the world all about your lawsuit against BNN in flagrant violation of Judge Burrows’ order.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “At this point, Swyteck, I don’t care if you do or you don’t. BNN’s position is that this is the second willful violation of a court order, and I’m going to ask the court to dismiss your case.”

  “Fine,” said Jack. “Do what you gotta do.”

  Gaines ended the call. Jack immediately accessed Facebook on his iPhone. Sure enough, Celeste’s page had been reactivated. The only way to remove the postings was to log in as the administrator, but when Jack typed in the username and password, he got an error message: username and password invalid.

  “Some
body hijacked Celeste’s Facebook page,” said Jack.

  “Hijack?” said Abuela. “Someone hijack plane?”

  “No,” said Jack. “Not the plane.”

  Theo glanced over from behind the wheel. “Say what?”

  Jack didn’t have time to explain, and this wasn’t something that Theo could fix anyway. “Just keep driving,” he said.

  Jack put an emergency call in to a tech expert who owed him a favor or two. The call went to voice mail, and Jack left the essential details in an urgent message.

  “You calling who I think you’re calling?” asked Theo.

  “Chuck Mays,” said Jack.

  “Ah, good ol’ Chuck-my-name-rhymes-with—”

  “Stop,” said Jack, saving Abuela’s ears. Apart from being famous for dropping the f-bomb, Chuck Mays was in the personal data-mining business, and he knew the dark side of social media better than any predator on the Internet. With Jack’s legal guidance, Chuck had turned those skills against an online pedophile who had targeted the Mayses’ teenage daughter. Jack had never asked for anything in return, but if ever there would be such a time, this was it.

  In less than a minute Chuck returned Jack’s call, which Jack took on the Bluetooth speaker so that he could jot down notes, if needed.

  “You want me to figure out a Facebook password?” said Chuck. “Are you fu—”

  “Yes, I’m serious,” said Jack. “And please mind your language. I have my grandmother in the car with me.”

  “Oh, sorry. My fucking bad.”

  “Chuck!”

  “Terrible habit. But okay,” he said, breathing deeply, “I got it under control.”