Back to Jerusalem

by Jan Surasky

  “I’m not going to call you to the stand, Sammy. McKay would make chopped suey out of you. I know it’s hard to stay silent, but that’s the best way here.”

  “Okay, Jake.” Sammy looked almost beaten, but he recovered when he looked at Annie. “I’ll keep to myself like you told me.”

  “If we’re ready to order, get something to really stoke your bellies. I’m paying.”

  “Thanks, Sparky. I’ll get it next time.”

  “No problem, Jen. I’m fixed for life. I caught a flaw in a senior engineer’s calculations that would have cost a company its job with the city of Brooklyn and probably set them up for a lawsuit. They were mega grateful.

  “Jake, Cliff sends his best. If you need him, he’ll be there.”

  “Thanks, Sparky. He can help by shoring up Sammy’s folks. They’re pretty down over this.”

  “Will do.”

  Lunch went all too fast and it was back to the courthouse. They rode in silence.

  The afternoon saw a stream of witnesses, all Anderson Motors employees. The drift was the same. Sammy was a good worker who was always willing to help but pretty much kept to himself. The afternoon ended with the judge rapping his gavel on the bench and giving instructions to the sequestered jury while reminding everyone in the courtroom to be back at 8 a.m. the following day.

  Jake packed up his papers and strolled out. Sammy found his family and Jenny and Sparky got Annie back to Sparky’s house for a much needed rest.

  Jenny drove back to Aunt Gert’s. Aunt Gert was up but looked pale and wan. Jenny got her back to bed and made some chicken soup which Aunt Gert could only sip. Jake called. Their chat was brief. Despite their years in the sophisticated environs of Manhattan, the day had them beat. They could only look forward to a good night’s sleep.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Jenny stood in the windowless Steuben County courthouse as the bailiff announced the entrance of the judge. She sat at his instructions as well.

  The jury was seated and the courtroom was packed. Bill McKay called his first witness, a Syracuse tax lawyer named Stanley Lee Bastian who took the oath with the calm of a courtroom veteran.

  “Mr. Bastian, what is your relationship to Anderson Motors?”

  “I am their lead tax lawyer.”

  “And, how long have you been in that position?”

  “Twenty-five years.”

  “And, what are your qualifications.”

  “I am a certified public accountant and an attorney.”

  “Are you a solo practitioner?”

  “No, I am a partner in the firm of Bastian, Piccolo, and McFee.”

  “How many people do you employ.”

  “Right now, we have somewhere in the neighborhood of sixty-five employees.”

  “And where is your firm located?”

  “In Syracuse, New York.”

  “In all the time you have been working with the Andersons, have they ever found fault with your work?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And, have you ever found fault with their method of record keeping?”

  “No, I never have.”

  “And, would you say they are meticulous record keepers?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “What types of books do they keep?”

  “The usual. A record of their sales, the money they bring in from repairs, and their expenses. It’s a pretty straightforward method of bookkeeping.”

  “Have you ever noticed a deviation in this pattern in the twenty-five years you have been doing their books?”

  “No.”

  “In your expert opinion, can you tell me what led you to believe someone was stealing money from Anderson Motors?”

  “I started to notice a pattern. At first, it seemed that a small amount was unaccounted for and I put it to perhaps careless error in daily activities in their record keeping by one of the office workers who was tired or had personal problems. But, then, as time went on, the amounts were bigger and I notified Mr. Anderson and we started to investigate.”

  “And who did the investigation?”

  “Blanchard Securities.”

  “And, what did they find?”

  “They found an enormous amount of money missing. Hundreds of thousands.”

  At that point, McKay stopped his questioning and produced a thick, black-bindered report and approached the bench. “Your honor, this is the report which Mr. Bastian has referred to which I have labeled Exhibit A. I would like to pass this to the jury.”

  “You may do so Mr. McKay.”

  McKay returned to his questioning. “Mr. Bastian, how did you come to the conclusion that the defendant Samuel Walker was the one who took the money?”

  “In their investigation, Blanchard was able to track a number of deposits to a specific bank account. They followed that lead to an account set up at Northeast Trust & Securities in Manlius.”

  “And, who did that account belong to?”

  “It was in the name of Samuel Walker.”

  “And, why did you suspect the defendant Samuel Walker of embezzling the Andersons’ funds?”

  “Because the amounts of the deposits matched the missing moneys and the amounts were thousands of dollars over the salary Sammy made.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bastian.”

  “Mr. Martin, you may cross examine.”

  “Thank you, your honor.”

  Jake walked to the front of the courtroom and faced the witness.

  “Mr. Bastian, where did you generally meet with the Andersons to go over their books?”

  “We went to Anderson Motors. With our bigger clients, we generally went to their place of business. It was a courtesy we showed all our large accounts.”

  “And, did you ever meet with them in the Cayman Islands?”

  “Not to my knowledge. I may have run into them once or twice while they vacationed there. It’s a popular spot.”

  “Mr. Bastian, it is well known in the financial world that Grand Cayman is the hub for laundering money, that is putting it into other equities and properties until it is no longer recognizable as to where it came from or who is actually getting it.”

  “Objection. Counsel is basing his observations on hearsay.”

  “I will be producing expert witnesses, your honor, who will be able to give credence to that statement. They will also be showing where the money went and how it was laundered.”

  “Objection overruled. Counsel may proceed.”

  “Mr. Bastian, how many times have you visited the island of Grand Cayman?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Maybe a few.”

  “As a matter of fact, you have visited Grand Cayman a total of fifteen times in the past ten years. I have produced fifteen travel itineraries with your name on it paid for by Anderson Motors. And, according to Cayman records, your hotel accommodations were paid for by the Andersons as well.

  “Your honor, I would like to show these receipts for Mr. Bastian’s trips to Grand Cayman as Exhibit B and pass them to the jury.”

  “You may place that material in the hands of the bailiff.”

  “Thank you your honor. I am finished with my cross examination of Mr. Bastian.”

  “Thank you Mr. Bastian. You may now step down.

  “The court now calls Mr. John Butterfield to the witness stand.”

  Jake returned to his table to file the papers he had used to question Bastian. There was buzz in the courtroom and buzz at McKay’s table. Who was this Butterfield? McKay’s staff had never heard of him.

  Butterfield, a bespectacled, mild-mannered man in his middle forties, took the oath and sat. “You may now examine your witness, Mr. Martin.”

  “Thank you, your honor.” Jake returned to the front of the courtroom.

  “Mr. Butterfield, what job do you hold?”

  “I am a bank officer at Chase Manhattan bank in Syracuse.”

  “And, what position did you hold two years ago?”

  “I was a bank officer at N
ortheast Trust and Securities in Manlius, New York.”

  “And, why are you no longer employed there?”

  “I quit. I couldn’t take their policies.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “The bank was started by a couple of local lawyers. Since they were a start-up, and that is very difficult in the banking business, they tended to relax a few banking laws or not abide by them. I have worked in the banking business for twenty-five years. And, I am not accustomed to doing that, nor do I think it’s right.”

  “Which laws are you referring to?”

  “Well, for instance, they didn’t ask for proper ID when prospective customers applied to open an account. The laws are very specific on this.”

  “What happened when the account in the name of Samuel Walker was opened?”

  “The same thing that happened with every other account. The officers were told to look the other way if the customer didn’t produce the appropriate information.”

  “Was the appropriate information produced for the Samuel Walker account?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Did you bring this to the attention of anyone at the bank?”

  “Of course I did. I took it to the manager who told me that Mr. Blake, he was one of the owners, was very specific on that. We should look the other way because everybody was local and they were working hard to build up business.”

  “And, do you have any knowledge of who came in and applied for the account in the name of Samuel Walker?”

  “Yes, I do. It is a very small bank, and at that time, had very few customers. I knew every one. That was part of our policy. To provide a friendly and neighborly atmosphere.”

  “Is that person in this courtroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you point him out?”

  “That person there.”

  “Let the court reporter note that the witness pointed to Mr. Stanley Lee Bastian, the previous witness in this trial.”

  A collective gasp, though unheard, seemed to go up from the jury, who were now turned as one toward the witness.

  “Do you remember any other transactions on this account?”

  “Yes. There were periodic, sizable deposits.”

  “And, who made those?”

  “The same person I just pointed out.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Butterfield. That completes my questions, your honor.”

  “Mr. McKay, you may now cross-examine the witness.”

  The surprise witness had knocked out McKay’s panache for the moment. He merely mumbled he didn’t choose to cross at this time.

  The afternoon brought a number of expert witnesses, both for the defense and for the prosecution. The jury sat transfixed. McKay produced two very prominent Syracuse CPAs who had studied the Anderson books independently of Stanley Lee Bastian’s firm and had never been connected to any of the accounts there. Jake had flown three forensic accountants in from Manhattan, the best The City had to offer. They were by far more knowledgeable in finding “lost” money and far more knowledgeable in finding where it went. Combined, they had put several New York racketeers behind bars and uncovered several white collar crimes worth millions.

  The judge rapped the gavel at the end of the day. He cautioned everyone who needed to be there the following day to be there promptly at 8:00 a.m. The jury rose and the courtroom emptied. After a hasty goodbye to Sparky and Jake, Jenny left for Aunt Gert’s. She would have lots to tell and a pot of chicken soup to make. Aunt Gert’s health seemed still to be ebbing. She would call old Doc Masterson who Aunt Gert still seemed to rely on in the morning.

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  "All rise for the honorable Judge Marinetti.” Jenny stood as the judge entered the courtroom, his robe set for the early morning session. The jury was already seated in the jury box.

  As the spectators sat, Judge Marinetti addressed the jury. The tension in the courtroom was palpable. A lot rode on the jury being free of Andersons’ goons or being infiltrated or bribed. “The defendant will rise.” Sammy stood up, his countenance pale and his hands which hung by his sides obviously shaking.

  “Will the foreman of the jury please rise.” A rather shy, middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair brushed and permed stood. “Madame foreman, has the jury reached a verdict in the case of Anderson Motors versus Samuel Walker on the charge of embezzlement?”

  “It has, your honor.”

  “And how do you find the defendant? Guilty or not guilty?”

  “Not guilty, your honor.”

  There was a moment where silence swept the courtroom. Sammy’s mother, at the back of the courtroom, burst into tears. Annie breathed a sigh of relief and looked lovingly at Sammy. Sammy shook Jake’s hand.

  “Jake, I know I can never thank you.”

  “You already have. You have been a good husband to my sister and a good neighbor to all of us. I wish you the best of luck.”

  As Sammy rushed back to Annie, Jake looked at Bill McKay. McKay came over to shake hands. “Counselor, it’s been a pleasure to be beaten by a pro.”

  “It’s been a pleasure to go up against an honest and hard working D.A.”

  “If you’re ever in the area, we could use a good member for our team.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind. Until then, good luck in keeping the county safe.”

  Jenny stood. The courtroom had emptied, but her feet seemed rooted to the floor. She stared at Jake. His countenance seemed different than their days in the Thompsons’ hayloft together, but despite the expensive haircut and the clothes that had replaced the heavy, denim overalls, there was a shred of the youth, a belief that the world was a place to make your mark, that you could make your mark. And, that the world would let you. If only you could just look straight ahead instead of roundabout.

  “Hey, Jen.” Jake smiled as he saw her standing there. “How about some lunch?”

  “Sure, Jake. That would be great.”

  “How does Blimpy’s sound. Or, would you like something more upscale?”

  “That sounds fine to me.”

  Jake drove, finding a perfect spot in front of the neighborhood diner. He jumped out of his truck to let Jenny out. “I think we’ll have the place to ourselves. The lunch crowd hasn’t arrived yet.”

  As they sat, the far end booth being theirs without a struggle, they both breathed a sigh of relief. “You did good, Jen.”

  Jenny could barely answer. The relief she had felt for Sammy and his family had taken her words away. “Jake, you gave up a lot to do this.”

  “I didn’t really, Jenny. It’s where I should have been all along. It took you to waken me to that fact.”

  “You saved Sammy’s life. Now, what will you do?”

  “I think I’ll shack up with Ma and Pa until I get my life back on track. I have a lot of catching up to do. How about you?’

  “I’ll be heading back to New York. There’s not a lot of hurry. Cathy and Jeff gave me an open-ended leave and Josh is happy at the Marshall’s. But, it seems I need to be busy.”

  “Okay. Let’s celebrate. They even have champagne at this place. New York wine country’s finest.”

  They clicked their glasses in celebration. Jake looked at Jenny. “If you’re going to be here awhile, maybe we can browse around some of our old haunts.”

  “That sounds fine, Jake. Aunt Gert needs looking after for a while.”

  Jenny felt the confusion of years taking root in the pit of her stomach. Jake, flushed with victory, single-mindedly following his overwhelming ambitions since he left the fields of Jerusalem for New York, seemed not to know where he was, or even what he had done. Jenny herself was stunned. Sitting in a diner along the southern tier of New York with pick-up trucks lining the streets seemed to bring her back to the days of hanging out at the The Captain’s and shopping at a dry goods store for clothes. The woman who had climbed the ladder of success in one of the most competitive cities in the world seemed almost another person.

  Jenny
decided to put those thoughts on the back burner of life. After all, the effects of the champagne were beginning to take hold, and she would soon be back in New York where life was safe because people were too busy to contemplate much except elbowing out some poor tourist for a taxi.

  Her thoughts began to swirl, her head drooped and her eyelids closed. Jake smiled and called for the check.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Jenny sat at her oversized mahogany desk in her burgundy leather chair thirty-five stories above the streets of Manhattan. The sunbeams played over her black onyx pen stand and her multi-colored sticky notes. The work had piled up in her absence but Cathy had been generous about it. “Do it when you can, Jen. I know this has been hard.”

  Jenny could only stare at the street below, the miniature cars and taxis and buses and trolleys slowing to a crawl as lunchtime traffic crammed the avenues never wide enough for the antics of New Yorkers. Cathy stuck her head in the door. “How about lunch?”

  “Sounds great. See you in about a half hour.”

  As Jenny studied what seemed like toy trucks and cars below, she thought of the month she had spent with Jake visiting their old haunts, eating ice cream from the Seneca Dairy with the carefree stroll of their youth, helping his folks sell their wares on Saturday at the Windmill Market in Penn Yan, walking the shores along the beautiful blue waters of the forked Keuka Lake, its name handed down from the native tribes who had lived there before them.

  Suddenly, the city of eight million below seemed a lonely place without her childhood friend, someone who had shared the difficulties, the dreams, and the joys of a hard-scrabble youth. Jenny put down her pencil. It was time to fight for space in one of the posh restaurants nearby.

  As she and Cathy strode down the block toward the latest restaurant to brave the financial district competition it was almost like old times at Mallory, Hollander & Wexler. Cathy’s step was more lively than it had been back then, and her confidence level had of course soared through the roof. And, she was happy. Jeff had been a perfect partner for her, helpful but not overbearing. And, he adored her. Jenny was happy for them both.