Paine flinched.
"I have a long memory," Gianelli said, "and I am well aware that you and Judge Rake were up to your sleazy little necks in ex-parte communications about this case. You are lucky no one has filed an independent complaint."
Paine scoffed. "What are you insinuating, Tony?"
Gianelli stood and poked Paine in the chest. "Counsel, if you do not shut up and let me continue this trial, I will have a team of investigators down here before Santa gets into his sleigh." Gianelli's voice had never risen a decibel. He put both fists on his desk and leaned toward Paine. "Have I made myself clear?"
Paine did not respond. Instead, he snapped to attention, executed a perfect, parade ground about-face and exited the room. I was right behind him. I hadn't needed to say a word.
Reggie sat in the front row when we got back to the courtroom, chatting with Jefferson and his guards. I scanned the courtroom for Rose. She was absent. I wasn't sure what she wrote in her article, but I was concerned that Paine would use it to discredit Strickland. I called Rose on my cell phone. It went straight to voicemail. I walked over to Reggie. "Strickland ran his mouth to Rose about Johnston," I said. "She published an article this morning."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Find Rose and get me a copy of that article."
"Consider it done." Reggie stood and walked out of the courtroom.
Chapter 79
When we reconvened, Judge Gianelli addressed the jury. "Welcome back, everyone. We are scheduled for Specialist Aaron Strickland's cross-examination. Bailiff, please recall Specialist Strickland to the stand."
The bailiff left the courtroom and returned alone. "Your Honor," the bailiff said in a sheepish tone, "he's not in the witness waiting room."
"Check again, and make sure he's not in the bathroom." The bailiff left and came back five minutes later, empty-handed. That's when Gianelli blew his top. "Trial counsel?"
Paine was on his feet by the second syllable. "Your Honor, Specialist Strickland appears to be-"
"Colonel, if the next word out of your mouth is 'unavailable,' you might want to consider a career in the Merchant Marines."
Paine looked so obviously lost. I almost felt sorry for him. "This witness was told to be here by 0730 hours. Now, he's not answering his phone."
Gianelli said five words, "Find him. Now. Or else."
Paine, Weiss, and Bronson skittered from the room like rats. Nelson must have drawn the short straw - he had to stay. So did I. Judge Gianelli remained on the bench. Any whisper, cough, or yawn ran headlong into a withering gaze from the bench. Waiting in a courtroom with an angry judge is never fun. But, waiting in a courtroom with an angry Judge Antonio Gianelli felt like agony. Forty-five minutes later, the bailiff handed Judge Gianelli a note. His brow darkened as he read it.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "we are in recess until tomorrow morning at 0800 hours. I need to see counsel in my chambers - now."
On most days, the noise of the crowd filing out of the courtroom approximated the sound of junior high kids leaving for summer vacation. Today, something in Gianelli's tone warned everyone into silence.
Nelson and I walked into Gianelli's chambers. Gianelli sat. We didn't. Not enough chairs. Ten minutes later, a lathered trio of Paine, Weiss, and Bronson joined us. They didn't get to sit, either.
Gianelli held the note in his hand, a tiny sliver of white in his enormous paw. "Specialist Strickland is dead," he said.
I looked at Paine. He looked at Bronson. Odd. Shouldn't he have looked at me?
"Your Honor, the defense moves for a mistrial," I said.
"Save it, Counsel," Gianelli said, with a wave of his hand. "You are not getting a mistrial. I know you were unable to cross-examine Specialist Strickland. As such, I will order his testimony stricken and will instruct the jury to disregard it."
"The bell's been rung," I said.
Gianelli locked his eyes on mine. "Captain O'Donnell, the jury will do as instructed, and will disregard the testimony when so ordered."
I continued, "Sergeant Jefferson has been denied his Constitutional right to a fair trial. If there's a possibility that Strickland or Johnston could have provided exculpatory evidence, then you must remedy this situation. And the only remedy is a mistrial."
Gianelli rubbed his dimpled chin. "I'll take this under advisement."
"Your Honor, what was Strickland's cause of death?" Paine's prosecutorial DNA was in high gear.
"Says here he was found in his motel room with a needle in his arm. Apparently, he OD'd on heroin. Sounds a little fishy to me."
I couldn't think of anything to say. I wasn't alone. Finally, Gianelli spoke, "Take the day to reorganize. We'll start tomorrow at 0800 hours. That is all."
After Gianelli dismissed us, Jefferson and I double-timed it to our small office. I turned on my phone and called Rose. Again, it went straight to voicemail.
"What's going on?" Jefferson asked.
"Strickland's dead, and Rose is missing."
"Huh?"
"Last night, Strickland changed his testimony. He was going to help you. But this morning, he OD'd."
"He's a junkie. What'd you expect?"
"I expected him to show up, alive, and save your ass."
"How?"
"He was going to testify that you couldn't have killed Nassar because he was removed from the prison in August. Some kind of prisoner exchange."
Jefferson smirked and rocked back in his chair.
What the hell? I thought.
"You really think he OD'd?" Jefferson asked me.
I shook my head no. "There must have been foul play. Last night, Strickland told Rose about the prisoner swap. She wrote an article outlining the details. I haven't heard from her since. I sent your dad to look for her."
Jefferson paused for a long moment like he was struggling to come up with an idea. "Can't we just show the jury Rose's article?" he said.
"No. Newspaper articles are hearsay. They're not admissible."
Jefferson shrugged. "Now what?"
"I have some work to do. Head back to the brig and get some rest. I'll see you tomorrow morning." Jefferson gave a weak nod, and I handed him back to his guards.
On the way to my motel room, I got a call from a blocked number.
"Hello."
"Max, this is Rose. I'm using a burner phone." Her voice reverberated when she talked - lousy connection.
"Where are you?"
"Doesn't matter."
"Are you safe?"
"No."
"Strickland's dead," I said.
"I know."
"What happened?"
"This morning, he called. He was freaking out. Said someone was outside his room. I thought he was paranoid. Then, I heard a crash and a struggle."
"And?"
"A man's voice came over the phone."
"Who was it?"
"Don't know."
"What did he say?"
"'You're next, cunt,' and hung up."
"You have to go to the police."
"No way. I'm going underground until this blows over."
"What about the trial?"
"Fuck the trial, Max. The verdict doesn't matter if I'm dead. And whoever did this won't stop - these guys don't mess around. And they hate to lose." Then, the phone went dead. Every time I called back, it went straight to voicemail.
Chapter 80
I spent the night alone, thinking of how to proceed with Jefferson's case. We were almost at the finish line. My thoughts wandered to Strickland and how he could have saved the day, or not. I knew he was a loose cannon. His testimony could have easily backfired. Now, it didn't matter. His secrets would never see the light of day.
Then, I thought of Rose. My gut told me she was next. I replayed the Juárez meeting in my mind. Why did I trust her? From the start, she was only out for herself. And where the hell was Reggie? I had not heard from him since he walked out of the courtroom in search of Rose. I called him multiple
times. He never answered.
After a restless night, I climbed out of bed, took a long shower, and headed back to Fort Custer. At 0800 hours, Judge Gianelli called the Court to order and said, "Members of the jury, due to unforeseen events, Specialist Strickland is unavailable to be cross-examined by the defense. Therefore, I am striking his entire testimony from the record. You must completely disregard his testimony. It cannot be considered for any reason. Is that understood?"
The jurors slowly nodded.
"All right then. Government, you may proceed."
Paine stood and faced the jury. "The United States rests."
Gianelli never looked away from the jury. "Before the defense proceeds with their case, I must inform you that I am dismissing Charge I, the premeditated murder charge, with prejudice. You are not to speculate as to why. You are not allowed to consider that charge, for any reason."
I thumped Jefferson on the leg underneath the table. This was an unexpected victory.
"Still," Gianelli said, "there are several charges yet to be adjudicated." He turned to me. "Defense, call your first witness."
I stood. "The defense rests." As I took my seat, I heard murmurs and papers shuffling at Paine's table. By calling no witnesses, we surprised them. They expected us to call character witnesses to say Jefferson was a good soldier. Then, Paine would call another dozen witnesses to prove the contrary.
"Captain O'Donnell," Gianelli said, "what is the status of the stipulation that we discussed?"
"Given the dismissal of the murder charge, the stipulation is unnecessary."
Paine let out a loud, dramatic sigh.
"Since the defense did not put on a case in chief, there will be no case in rebuttal," Gianelli said. Paine and Weiss whispered back and forth for a minute. It sounded like they were arguing. As the whispering grew louder, Gianelli cleared his throat and said, "Is there a problem, Government?"
"We wish to reopen our case," Paine replied. "We have a few more witnesses to call."
"I don't think so. You rested, and the defense rested. The case is over. I'm not allowing you to reopen your case because you supposedly forgot to call some witnesses."
"Your Honor," Paine said in a whimper, "it was an oversight."
"Don't go there. You have three experienced lawyers at your table and a team of paralegals sitting in this courtroom. You cannot tell me with a straight face that you forgot you had more witnesses. If that's true, which I doubt, then you have assembled a team of nitwits."
Gianelli turned to the jury. "You have now heard all of the evidence in this case. Before you hear closing arguments and begin deliberations, we're going to take a short recess."
Chapter 81
During the break, Paine cornered me in the bathroom and racked me against the wall. Veins bulged from his neck and forehead. "I know you fucking did this, O'Donnell!" he said in a rage.
"Did what?"
His red-rimmed eyes searched my face for the truth. "Don't play games with me, you piece of shit. Last night, you sent photos to my wife."
I knew precisely what he was talking about. It was my parting gift. During his surveillance, Reggie put GPS tracking devices on the prosecutor's cars. He compiled the data and noticed Paine took detours after work. So did Major Weiss. Instead of going to their homes, they headed north toward the Devil's Triangle, a high crime neighborhood known for drugs, prostitution, and cheap motels. Reggie followed Paine with his trusty Canon 7D camera and zoom lens when he noticed the detours.
Reggie snapped dozens of photos. He took pictures of Paine entering a motel room, and the couple embracing outside. But Reggie was a pro. He didn't stop there. He approached the motel's assistant manager, Javier Delgado, and asked for his help. At first, Javier refused. But everybody has a price. Javier allowed Reggie to install a discreet video camera in one of the rooms for a small fee.
On their next visit, Javier upgraded Paine and Weiss to "The Lover's Suite," for their regular patronage. The suite featured a heart-shaped hot tub, a vibrating bed, and a disco ball. The next day, Javier handed over the video, in exchange for $500 and an ounce of Royal Kush.
Back in the restroom, Paine's face twitched like a crackhead craving his next fix.
Time to end this standoff, I thought.
I gripped Paine's throat and slammed him into a restroom stall. "Listen, asshole," I said, "your wife got the G-rated version." His eyes widened. My left hand pulled his phone from his pocket. "You're going to call my wife and apologize for the lies you've spread. If not, your wife's getting all the videos, including the footage of Major Weiss getting you up the ass with a strap-on dildo."
Paine's face turned from red to green as he raced toward a toilet. After he finished puking, he dutifully called Annabelle. He explained everything, the photos with Rose, the bogus CID report, and the lies spread by Dill. I knew it wouldn't completely fix my marriage, but it was a start.
Chapter 82
At 1030 hours, Judge Gianelli announced to the jury, "Now, you will hear closing arguments." He motioned to the prosecution's table. "Government, please proceed."
Paine, who still looked a little nauseated, stood with the solemnity of a priest preparing to break bread. "Abraham Lincoln, the martyred sixteenth President of this country we hold so dear, once said, 'We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.'"
Jefferson pushed a legal pad over toward me. I read the note. "What is he talking about?" I responded with a shrug.
Paine continued a rambling message. He quoted Aristotle, John F. Kennedy, Steven Hawking, and Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. When Paine harkened back to the testimony of Needham, Cullen, Rickard, and the others, he paced the floor like a nervous father waiting outside a delivery room. When he got to the OGAs, his tap-dancing would have made Bill "Bojangles" Robinson jealous.
"The defense's case was nothing but smoke and mirrors," Paine said, shaking his finger at the jury. His delivery was so melodramatic it reminded me of a high school play. "They are trying to distract you. To confuse you. You need to keep your eye on the ball. These poor victims did not deserve the treatment they received, the abuses they endured." Paine turned and pointed at Jefferson with a quivering finger, tears welled in his eyes. "At the hands of that man. Nobody deserves that. U.S. soldiers cannot use prisoners of war as punching bags."
Paine moved closer to the jury, so close a few members leaned back to avoid being sprayed by his spittle. "The defense repeatedly brought up whether Other Government Agencies were in the prison. Who cares? What matters is that Sergeant Jefferson was in the prison and that he committed these crimes."
Paine could smell the finish line. "The issue in this trial is not the intelligence service of our great land. It is the standards by which we conduct ourselves as Americans. We stand for fairness and justice and righteousness. Despite our enemies' malicious intentions, we will not allow our servicemen and women to stoop to their low levels. We will not encourage, nor will we permit our military personnel to abuse those in the custody of the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave. Though we may despise everything our enemies stand for, we will not descend into the madness of their barbarous behavior."
The bailiff smiled at me and rolled his eyes.
Paine returned to the podium and took several swigs from his giant water bottle. When he quenched his thirst, he continued, "The defense has spun an elaborate spider web of misdirection. Yet, they cannot get past the fact that credible witnesses revealed Sergeant Jefferson as a violent, uncontrollable man. These witnesses, I might add, did not hide behind the mantle of secrecy, but felt honor-bound to give their damning testimony in the broad light of the Texas sun."
In a move he'd obviously practiced in the mirror, Paine pirouetted like a young Patrick Swayze, and pointed to Jefferson. "That man is a disgrace to the uniform we all wear
, the tunic of bravery, worn with courage and integrity for centuries. Through our witnesses and exhibits, we have proven these heinous accusations beyond any reasonable doubt."
Paine paused, listening to the thunderous applause in his head. Then, he swept across the room, Julius Caesar ascending to the Emperor's seat before the Roman Senate, hesitated momentarily - and sat. How Gianelli kept from snickering at the pomposity of it all defied my imagination.
My turn. I gathered my notes and walked to the podium. "Members of the jury," I began, "Sergeant Jefferson is not guilty. Not - guilty. And the prosecution has not proven its case beyond a reasonable doubt. Not even close."
I stepped from behind the podium. "What have they proven?"
I held up a finger. "They've proven that Sergeant Cullen is a backstabbing liar who can apparently see through walls. I guess that immunity deal he got gave him superpowers."
A second finger. "They've proven that Doctor Needham has selective amnesia, and he was coached. I counted every time he said, 'I don't recall,' when I asked him a question. Sixty-seven times in total. Sixty-seven!" I stomped my foot for emphasis.
A third finger. "They've proven that unidentified civilians were running the prison like a medieval dungeon."
A fourth finger. "They've proven that nobody documented any abuses at the time."
"Last, but not least," I said, holding up five fingers, "the prosecution spent several days trying to prove that Sergeant Jefferson is an unpopular asshole." I stopped talking and let it sink in.
"Think about it," I said, "they called a dozen witnesses that witnessed no crime. They called them to sling mud on this man's character." I walked over to Jefferson and put my hands on his shoulders. "Being unpopular is not a crime. Being rude is not a crime. Being an asshole is not a crime." A First Sergeant in the back row of the jury nodded. I took it as a good sign.
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