Dr. Wong shouted something in Chinese, and right away four Chinese men rushed into the room. Dr. Wong said something else, and the men moved toward Henry and his two assistants, who were still loading the exhibits.
“Hold it! Hold it!” Jack yelled and moved between Dr. Wong’s men and Henry. Dr. Wong’s men stopped in their tracks. They seemed to be looking for a reason not to go near Henry.
“Doctor, I have a letter here that I sent you last week confirming that you were paid six thousand dollars for your work.” Jack pulled a letter from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Dr. Wong. “Now, you can call the police and you can set these men on me and my partner, but the bottom line is, those are our exhibits.”
“I never let my exhibits leave this office,” Dr. Wong shouted. But he didn’t tell his men to proceed.
“That may be your practice, Doctor. And you may have gotten away with it up to now. But again, the bottom line is that you were paid for your work by my client. He’s going to trial in a couple of weeks, and he needs these exhibits. I’ll certainly give you credit for them with everybody—the judge, the jury, the press. I guarantee you, however, that if I walk out this door without them, you will not want to hear what I have to say to every news outlet in the country about you, and you will not want to be in court against me in a civil suit for damages.”
Dr. Wong only needed a few seconds to understand the full import of Jack’s words. If he tried to hang onto his exhibits, the damage to his reputation and his finances could be substantial. It was a no-brainer.
He motioned his men to move back.
“Take them and get out of here,” he barked at Jack.
“That was a pretty convincing speech you delivered just before the fireworks were about to begin,” Henry told Jack on the cab ride to the airport. “Did you practice it beforehand?”
“No. I just operate well under pressure.”
“Nobody knows that better than me, Jack. I just hope you have some magic left for Benny.”
52
The week before Benny’s trial, Luis took a train to the Ossining Correctional Facility, better known as Sing-Sing. He’d heard about the place all his life. It was where prisoners had always been executed in New York.
Luis had called beforehand to make arrangements to see Benny and to make sure somebody told Benny he was coming. He didn’t want to surprise him again; Luis’s heart couldn’t take it. Jack had called the warden as well and asked that the two men be allowed to meet in a private room. This was the second time Jack had spoken with the warden, and they had developed a bit of a rapport. He pointed out that Benny was still presumed to be an innocent man even though he was already a resident in a maximum-security prison. The warden didn’t agree to the request right away; he had to make some calls of his own. He got back to Jack the next day to tell him he’d authorized the private meeting.
Luis was shown in first. The room had windows that looked into the prison hallway. He waited nervously for his son to arrive, not knowing what kind of reception he would receive this time. As he sat, he wondered if it was a good idea to be meeting Benny without some bars between them. Then the door opened and two guards brought Benny into the room. They removed his handcuffs and promptly left. Luis watched them just to make sure they were staying close to the window and could see inside.
“How ya doin?” Benny said pleasantly as he extended his hand.
This simple gesture melted Luis’s heart on the spot. “I’m doing okay. I’m a little nervous.”
“About being in a room alone with me?”
“Oh no, no—about your trial coming up.”
“Oh yeah, that. There’s nothing we can do about that. It is what it is.”
“Yeah,” Luis replied. There was an awkward silence for about thirty seconds.
“Listen,” Benny began, “I want to apologize for the way I acted last time I saw you.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Luis told him. “You have a right to feel the way you do.”
“That’s just it. I don’t feel that way anymore. I’ve had a lot of time to think in here. And that new lawyer you got for me, Jack Tobin, and his partner, the big black guy, they said some things that made me think a little differently. You had your own shit to go through with the war and losing your best friend—”
“That’s no excuse,” Luis interrupted him.
“Well, I have no excuses either, Pop. I made a mess of my life too. If the war and losing your best friend isn’t an excuse for you, then you not being around isn’t an excuse for me. I’ve gotta take responsibility for my own shit. I’ve been a pimple on the ass of this world for too long.”
Luis wanted to recognize the significance of what Benny was saying—that he was taking ownership of his life. It was the first step toward any type of new beginning. But he couldn’t do it right away. For the moment, he could only focus on one word—Pop. Luis would polish that word, put it in his pocket, and take it with him from the prison that day. Over the next week as the pressure mounted, he would take it out and listen to its sweet sound and it would relax him. That one word made him a father again.
He addressed everything else a few seconds later.
“Benny, it’s a long life. We can stumble and bumble and make a mess of it all and still right the ship in the end. Look at me. I’m drug free. I have my own business. Look at Henry, the big black guy. He was on death row for seventeen years.”
“Yeah, I hear ya, Pop.” There it was again. “But I don’t think I’m gonna be getting any second chances anytime soon. I just want you to know that I appreciate what you’re doing for me. And I don’t want you to carry any guilt around with you if things go bad in that courtroom. I want us to make peace with each other right now.”
Luis didn’t know what to say. This was what he’d been hoping for for so long. This was a dream he’d thought would never come true. Tears filled his eyes. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop himself from crying. Once he started, it was like a dam bursting. Benny went over to console him. The guards at the window took notice of the contact. Benny put up his hand to let them know everything was okay. He held his father until he had no more tears left.
53
Back in his office in Bass Creek the next day, Jack called Mike McDermott, a civil trial lawyer in the city and an old high school buddy, to get the lowdown on Langford Middleton. He had to take some good old-fashioned ribbing before he got what he needed.
“Is this the famous Jack Tobin? The one who’s all over the newspapers in New York City? Would it be possible for me to get an autograph at some time?”
“You play your cards right, Mike, and I’ll see what I can do. Have your people call my people. We’ll do lunch and all that stuff. How are you doing?”
“Good, Jack. I’m not so sure about you, though. That’s a tough case you’ve got.”
“I hear you. As a matter of fact, that’s why I’m calling. I wanted to get the straight poop on Langford Middleton.”
“The worst judge you could get, bar none. He just can’t make a decision. I’m actually surprised you’ve gotten this far. He refuses to try most cases. He pressures the lawyers into settling.”
“I’ve heard that about him from the public defender, but that’s not the way he’s been handling this case.”
“That’s because he’s getting pressure. The wife of one of our associates is an assistant DA, and she says the DA himself went to see Middleton. The DA told Middleton if he even thought about continuing the case he’d go after him. I hear the Judicial Qualifications Commission is looking at Middleton too because of the complaints they’ve been getting. That’s one of the reasons they transferred him to criminal.”
“That’s why he won’t even think about a continuance. Well, at least we’re getting a trial. How would you propose that I handle him during the trial?”
“I’m not sure. Like I said, Jack, nobody has had much experience trying cases with the son-of-a-bitch. I know he’s sensitive about bein
g appealed, so you may want to imply at every step of the way that you’re going to appeal his rulings. That’s a backhanded way of putting more pressure on him.”
“What about his ego? Does he like to be stroked?”
“He’s a really bright guy. He’s a little arrogant too. If you can appeal to his intellect you might win him over on a point. The biggest problem you have, as I already mentioned, is the son-of-a-bitch won’t make a decision. How in the hell do we get judges who can’t make decisions? That’s their job, for Christ’s sake.”
Jack didn’t have an answer for that one. He thanked Mike for his advice, and the two men agreed to meet for lunch soon.
“Oh, one other thing, Jack,” Mike added. “My office is a stone’s throw from the courthouse. Why don’t you come down here sometime before the trial starts, and we’ll get you a security clearance and a key and you can work out of here. I’ve got an extra office, a copier, fax, telephone—whatever you need. You can come and go at any time, day or night.”
It was a detail Jack had not thought much about. He needed a place to work from, and Mike’s office would be perfect.
“Mike, I’m definitely going to take you up on that offer. Thanks again.”
54
Jack had returned from San Francisco on Tuesday but didn’t call Molly and didn’t show up for breakfast at the Pelican the next morning, Molly’s last day in town. He assured himself that Henry’s remarks had nothing to do with his decision. He just wanted to slow things down a little. Molly had left a note for him with Hannah, and it included her address and telephone number. Please call me when you’re in New York, she wrote.
An envelope had been waiting for Jack when he arrived home, mailed from New York but with no return address. He’d opened it right away. It was Sal Paglia’s autopsy report, complete with gruesome photographs of Sal, his face bloodied, an exit wound in his forehead and two holes in his chest. Somebody is going to great lengths to scare me out of this case, Jack told himself. But it’s not going to work.
He called Henry right away and told him about the package. Henry agreed with his assessment. “They’re putting the heat on you, Jack. They’re asking you if you want to end up in a pool of blood like Sal.”
“Who are ‘they,’ Henry?”
“Good question: I have no idea, but I’m working on it. Listen, I know I got you into this, so hear me out. I wanted Benny to have a good lawyer, something I didn’t have. It shouldn’t mean your life, though—especially since he’s probably guilty. Jack, you should seriously consider dropping out.”
“That’s not going to happen, Henry, and don’t mention it again.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say. No, that’s what I knew you’d say. I had to bring it up, Jack. You understand.”
“Yeah, I do. Now let me bring something up. It’s your job to protect me, so don’t screw up.”
On Thursday afternoon, a week and a half before trial and just a few days before they were off to New York for the duration, Henry and Jack decided to take a break and do a little fishing. They anchored out on the big lake. Henry was lounging in a chair at the back of the Sea Ray with a fishing pole in his hand while Jack was in the galley making some Cuban sandwiches for lunch.
“So did you talk to Charlie about someone trying to kill you?” Henry asked.
“Yeah, I did. She’s in, no matter what the risk. You know Charlie—nothing or nobody is going to scare her away.”
“That’s what I figured. Have you found a place to hide her?”
“I think so. Some friends of mine have a lake house in Virginia that’s always vacant. They said I could use it.” Jack brought the sandwiches out along with two beers from the cooler and sat in the chair next to Henry. The sky was cloudless and the temperature was close to perfect. They hadn’t had a fish on the line all day, but neither man cared.
Henry took a swig of his beer. “Have you thought about how to get her to Virginia undetected?”
“Not really. Who would follow her if I haven’t disclosed her as my expert yet?”
“You know, I’ve been thinking about that since you first mentioned using Charlie as your expert. They could be watching the apartment. Obviously they know that’s where you stayed, since that’s where they tried to kill you. We’ve got to assume they know you and Charlie are friends. She’s a CPA. You need a financial expert. Are you starting to get the picture yet?”
“Oh my God, you’re right! I didn’t think about that. Has she been in danger this whole time?”
“Probably not. If they kill her too early you can just get another expert. They’ll probably wait until she and the documents are together in one place—kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
“When did you become so damned smart, Henry?”
“I know how criminals think. Why don’t you let me take care of getting Charlie out of town?”
“All right.”
“She can’t stay alone, you know.”
Jack stood up, grabbed his pole, and reeled in, then cast the line back into the calm waters of the big lake and sat down again next to Henry.
“Yeah, I’ve thought about that,” he said. “I’ve got somebody in mind, so I’ll take care of that part.”
“Why don’t you call her tonight and let her know I’ll be contacting her?”
“All right.”
“Have you made any arrangements for the transfer of the documents?” Henry asked.
“I talked to Sam Mendelsohn, the attorney for the estate, yesterday. Get this: they’re bringing the documents in by truck—that’s how many there are—and they’re going to park the truck in a secure warehouse downtown late Sunday night. I’m going to meet him at the warehouse. Monday morning we can remove the items from the truck and transport them however we want to wherever we want.”
“What about the telephone records?”
“They’re going to be on the truck as well. The lawyers are working together.”
“I’ll bet they are,” Henry replied. “Listen, let me make arrangements for the unloading and loading.”
“Sure,” Jack replied.
“By the way, we’re going to be staying in Harlem.”
“Why can’t we just stay at Charlie’s apartment?”
“That’s where they tried to kill you last time, if you recall. I’m not sure, but I doubt that the people who are trying to kill you know anything about Harlem.”
That evening Jack drove to the other side of the lake to visit his friends Joaquin and Maria Sanchez. They lived on a little inlet off the lake and were sitting out on their lanai looking out over the water when Jack arrived. Jack always experienced a brief bout of melancholy when visiting Joaquin and Maria. He and Pat and Joaquin and Maria were married together in a double wedding. Joaquin and Maria’s happiness brought home to him in a unique, personal way the depth of his loss. They knew it too and refrained from any displays of affection when Jack was around. Pat’s death was an event still too close to everyone’s hearts.
Joaquin brought Jack a beer without asking and set up another chair on the lanai. Jack didn’t waste any time getting to the reason for his visit.
“Joaquin, I’ve got to hide a witness in Virginia and I need a bodyguard to watch her. Are you interested?”
“Whereabouts in Virginia?” Joaquin asked.
“I’m not sure of the town. It’s up in the mountains on a freshwater lake.”
Joaquin was a retired homicide detective and, like so many of his colleagues, still kept up with the major murder stories across the country. He knew all about Benny Avrile’s case and who was representing him. “How long is the job and when does it start?”
“It starts next week—Sunday, to be exact. It will probably be for two weeks, three at the max. You’ll be paid for three no matter what, and the cabin is yours for three weeks and longer if you want to get some fishing in afterward. You just tell me what you require for a salary.”
“Give me some more specifics, Jack.”
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“I’ve got an accountant who’s going to be reviewing some records for me and testifying. If they find out where she is they may try to kill her.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“I don’t know.”
“The State of New York is on the other side of your case.”
“I know, but somebody has already tried to kill me, Joaquin. I can’t take any chances with this witness. She was Pat’s best friend.”
Joaquin looked at Maria. “What do you think, honey?”
“I’d feel much safer if you had backup,” she told him.
“I could call Dick.” Joaquin was referring to his old partner in Homicide, Dick Radek.
“That’s fine with me,” Jack said. “I was going to give him a call after I talked to you two anyway.”
“Let me call him,” Joaquin offered. “He’ll have a hard time refusing me. I’ll call you tomorrow and give you a final decision.”
“Thanks, Joaquin. And thank you, Maria.”
On Saturday afternoon at three o’clock, Dorothy Pierce, a tall, husky black woman in her early sixties, knocked on Charlene Pope’s door.
“Who is it?” Charlie asked without opening the door. “Ms. Pope?”
“Yes?”
“Ms. Pope, my name is Dorothy Pierce and I’m Henry Wilson’s aunt. You may have heard him talk about me—at least, I hope you have. Anyway, I have a message for you from Henry.”
Charlie immediately opened the door. “Hi, Dorothy,” she said. “Come on in. It’s so nice to meet you. Henry did indeed talk about you.”
Dorothy smiled politely but seemed a little distracted. “Thank you, but I can’t come in. Could you step into the hallway for a moment?”
It was an unusual request, but Charlie went along with it and stepped into the hallway.
“Close the door,” Dorothy whispered. Charlie closed the door. “My nephew is worried about bugs. I think he’s been watching too many spy movies. Of course, I haven’t been where he’s been. Anyway, he wanted me to give you a message. Two black men are going to knock on your door at two in the morning. Their names are Calvin and Mohammed and they won’t be saying anything to you. You’re simply supposed to go with them. Henry says you can trust these men. Don’t pack. If you have a dark running outfit or something, you may want to put that on. Don’t turn any lights on before you leave. Just walk out the door. Someone will be waiting for you where you’re going and will take care of your wardrobe and your other needs when you get there. Any questions?”
The Law of Second Chances Page 28