New Tricks

by David Rosenfelt

  “But consider this: Judge Henderson will explain to you that to find Steven Timmerman guilty, you must do so beyond a reasonable doubt. If you think that there is a chance, even a relatively small one, that Thomas Sykes is guilty, then you must have a reasonable doubt as to Steven’s guilt.

  “It’s as simple as that.

  “Steven Timmerman is a victim. He’s lost his father, and he’s lost his freedom. His father is gone forever, but you have the power to give him his freedom back. Thank you.”

  When I take my seat, Steven puts his hand on my shoulder and softly says, “Thank you; I think you were fantastic.”

  “I wish you were on the jury,” I say.

  He smiles. “So do I.”

  I’LL NEVER AGAIN describe waiting for a verdict as the most stressful thing I have ever faced. Not after sitting in that hospital room while Laurie was in a coma, fighting for her life. Nothing compares to that, but waiting for the jury to rule is no day at the beach.

  I’m naturally pessimistic when it comes to this point in the trial, and Kevin is naturally optimistic. The truth is that neither of us knows what the hell he is talking about. Jury verdicts are impossible to predict.

  It’s an accepted maxim that the longer the jury is out, the better for the defense. That is because defense teams usually consider a hung jury to be a victory, and the longer a verdict watch goes, the more likely that somebody on one side or the other is holding out.

  Of course, like everything else, this accepted maxim is by no means always accurate. I have seen juries vote to acquit in an hour, and vote to convict after two weeks.

  So the way I deal with my stress is to hang out and try not to think about the verdict. The longest I have successfully avoided those thoughts is about twenty minutes, but as I recall they were a very peaceful twenty minutes.

  I make it a point to visit Steven once a day, though it’s unlikely I make him feel any better. I scrupulously don’t give him my opinion as to the outcome; instead I mouth meaningless phrases like “I’m cautiously hopeful” and “We’re not going to know until we know.” Real profound stuff.

  We’re in the third day of waiting when Laurie comes into the den. It’s in the morning, and she knows I like to obsess and agonize in the den in the morning. After lunch I prefer obsessing and agonizing in the living room, and after dinner my choice is to obsess and agonize while pacing around the house. The variety appeals to me.

  Laurie generally knows enough to leave me alone at these times, so her entry is a small surprise. I worry for a moment that she is going to tell me that the jury has reached a verdict, but I haven’t heard the phone ring. I’m not sure why I hate being told that a decision has been reached, but it might be that it’s because at that moment it feels officially out of my control.

  “Hi,” she says. It’s not a particularly interesting way to open a conversation, but the tone in her voice indicates that she has something on her mind.

  “Uh-oh,” I say as I stand up and gird for the worst. For some reason I gird better standing.

  “I know you don’t like to talk when you’re waiting for the jury, but I’ve figured things out as well as I’m going to, and I know you were anxious to have this conversation, so…”

  So intense was my focus on the jury that the situation with Laurie had almost been totally out of my mind, but now it is staring me in the face. I don’t want to hear bad news now, but if I don’t hear what she has to say, I’ll agonize and obsess about it as well. That won’t be good; when it comes to obsessing and agonizing, I’m basically monogamous. One thing at a time.

  “Say it really fast,” I tell her. “Whatever it is, say it really fast.”

  She laughs. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

  “You’re not going fast enough.”

  “I want to live here, with you.”

  Did she say what I think she said? “Did you say what I think you said?”

  “If you think I said I want to live here with you, then yes.”

  I go over and kiss her, mainly because that way she won’t be able to talk and tell me she changed her mind. Then I ask, “What about getting married?”

  “That’s up to you,” she says. “I’m fine with it, but I don’t need it. We love each other, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and that’s enough for me.” She smiles. “Besides, I’m already in the will.”

  I kiss her again. “What made you decide to live here?”

  “Probably what I went through. Life is too precious, and it’s too damn short. I hope we each have a hundred years left, but if we don’t, or even if we do, I want to spend it with the person I love.”

  “And will you be my investigator again? Coincidentally, a position just opened up.”

  She smiles. “Maybe. I haven’t thought that through. And I’m going to have to spend some time in Findlay, transitioning to my replacement. And I’ll want to visit a lot; I have so many great friends there.”

  “I understand; that’s perfect.”

  “I feel good about this, Andy. I’m very happy with what I decided.”

  “You’re the second happiest person in the room,” I say.

  We kiss again, and the phone rings. I answer it, and Rita Gordon, the court clerk, says, “Andy, they’ve reached a verdict.”

  I hang up and turn to Laurie. “You’re now the happiest person in the room.”

  “I’VE NEVER EXPERIENCED anything like this,” Steven says when I see him before court. “I never really realized it was possible to be this scared.”

  I’m not about to tell him that his fear is unwarranted, because it isn’t, and because he wouldn’t believe me anyway. There is nothing like this in any other area of our society. In a few minutes, twelve strangers are going to tell Steven that they’ve decided he can live in freedom, or in misery. And then they’ll go home, and that will be that.

  Richard and his team arrive a few minutes after we do, and as he walks in, we make eye contact. I get up and meet him off to the side of the room, and we shake hands.

  “Good luck,” he says.

  I nod. “The same to me.”

  He smiles. “There’s always more at stake on your side of the table, Andy. I know that. I want to win, but I’m sure not anxious for you to lose.”

  I ask him something that I never, ever ask anyone, especially a prosecutor. “Do you think he did it?”

  “Probably,” Richard says. “Am I certain beyond a reasonable doubt? I don’t think so. But I’m comfortable whichever way it goes.”

  “Will you do me a favor?” I ask.

  “If I can.”

  “When this is over, no matter how it goes, will you try to get a judge to issue a search warrant on Thomas Sykes?”

  “For what?” he asks.

  “Trace evidence in his car, and his computer.”

  “Why his computer?”

  “There’s an e-mail that was sent to Walter Timmerman by the head of a DNA lab. It would be important to know if Sykes ever saw it. I’ll tell you all about it when we have more time.”

  The bailiff signals to us that Hatchet is about to come in. “Right now we have no time,” Richard says.

  “Will you do it?”

  “I’ll certainly give you a chance to talk me into it.”

  That’ll have to be good enough for now. I go back to the defense table, my heart beginning its pre-verdict pounding. Hatchet comes in and announces that the jury has, in fact, reached a verdict.

  He calls them in, and they file in slowly, not looking at us. That’s usually either bad news, or good news. Jury-predicting doesn’t become any easier as you get closer to hearing their verdict.

  Hatchet goes through some court business, which I can barely focus on. He then gives the obligatory warning that he will not tolerate any disorderliness in the courtroom once the verdict is read.

  He asks the jury foreman if they have reached a verdict, and the woman confirms that they have. She hands the verdict form to the bailiff, w
ho brings it to Hatchet. Hatchet looks at it for a few moments, probably delighting in the fact that he is now the only person other than the jury to know what it says.

  Finally, he hands it back to the bailiff, and asks Steven to stand. Steven, Kevin, and I rise as one, and we each have a hand on one of Steven’s shoulders. In my case it’s more to hold myself upright than to make him feel better.

  The bailiff starts to read, at a pace of what seems like one word every twenty minutes. “In the matter of the State of New Jersey versus Steven Timmerman, count one, the first-degree murder of Walter Timmerman, the jury hereby finds the defendant, Steven Timmerman, not guilty.”

  Steven’s head goes down and he grips both of our arms, in a gesture I would more expect if he had lost. But I can see that he is smiling and crying at the same time, and I could easily do the same. Because I am all man, though, I just stick to smiling.

  I listen carefully as the other counts are read, and they are all “not guilty.” Steven turns and hugs me and then Kevin. This is one time I think the good guys came out on top.

  It had been out of my mind, but at this very moment it hits me that Laurie is going to live with me. Steven goes free and Laurie comes back.

  I’ve had worse days.

  IT’S A SACRED TRADITION that we celebrate winning verdicts at Charlie’s. It’s my favorite place in the world to be, so I pick the place as a victory present to myself. It’s always just the client, the defense team, and people who helped in the defense. So in this case it’s Laurie, Kevin, Edna, Steven, Martha Wyndham, and myself.

  Marcus is not here because he’s at the house, still guarding Waggy. We have no proof that Waggy is no longer a target, so we can’t take a chance on leaving him unprotected. Marcus didn’t seem to mind; I ordered in four pizzas to make it more palatable to him.

  Tomorrow I am going to have Waggy miraculously turn up at the Passaic County Animal Shelter, where Willie is going to discover him and then take him out. By tomorrow night he’ll be going crazy everywhere in my house, and not just the basement.

  Tonight Vince and Pete are here as well, less for the sacred-tradition aspect than for the free-beer-and-food aspect. Their attendance is also less significant because they happen to be here every night.

  I can’t even imagine the joy and relief that Steven must be feeling. My guess is that it would be like jumping out of an airplane after being told there was a decent chance your parachute wasn’t going to open. The chute would decide whether you would live or die, and all you could do is wait for the decision.

  Steven raises a glass of champagne and says, “To Andy and Kevin, fantastic lawyers and even better people.”

  Other people make toasts as well, and the more we drink the less eloquent they get. I finally stand with my beer bottle raised and say, “I have an announcement to make. Laurie Collins and I may or may not be getting married.” A cheer goes up, but the state of inebriation in the room is such that they would cheer if I announced it was going to be cloudy tomorrow.

  Steven comes over to me later in the festivities and says, “You haven’t sent me a bill yet.”

  “I will,” I say.

  “Do you have a recommendation for a lawyer I should use to deal with my father’s will?”

  I know someone who is very good at probate, and I give Steven his name.

  “So you thinks Sykes is guilty?” he asks.

  “I think he killed your father,” I say.

  “But not Diana?”

  That something that’s still bothering me. The only reasons I can think of for Sykes blowing up the house would be to kill Diana and destroy Walter’s laboratory, so that no one could get access to his work.

  Neither rationale completely holds up to close scrutiny. If he married Diana, they would have walked away with over four hundred million, compared with the eighty million Sykes would get as part of the company. On the other hand, Diana could have been in the process of dumping him, and he might therefore have faced the prospect of getting nothing.

  As far as the laboratory goes, Sykes had full access to the house through Diana. He could easily have destroyed the lab without taking the house down with it. Of course, this theory also has an on the other hand attached to it. Sykes could have had Childs use the overkill of a bomb purely as a further way to frame the explosives expert, Steven.

  “I’m not sure if he killed Diana,” is how I answer Steven. “But maybe we’ll learn more about that.”

  “How?”

  I mention that I’ve asked Richard to seek search warrants against Sykes, and how I will be pushing that when I meet with him tomorrow. Steven seems happy to hear it; he naturally wants his father’s killer caught.

  Martha Wyndham, Laurie, and Kevin come over and join the conversation. “Why do you guys look so serious?” Laurie asks. “The trial is over. You won.”

  “Winning isn’t enough for us,” I say. “We want to dominate.”

  “I wish Waggy were here,” Martha says. “He certainly played a key role.”

  “I agree completely,” says Steven. “And is it proper for me to ask what you’ve decided about him?”

  “If he ever turns up, and I’m very optimistic that he will, I’m going to file a motion with the court awarding him to you—”

  Steven interrupts: “That would be great.” He says it with real enthusiasm, which makes me feel like I made the right choice. Tara won’t admit it, but she’s going to miss Waggy as much as I will. Or maybe she won’t.

  “—though I would be reluctant to give him up until I felt certain he’s no longer a target.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “But if you ever go on vacation, Waggy doesn’t get boarded; he comes to stay at our house,” Laurie says. I have to admit, I love the way she says “our house.”

  Steven smiles. “You got a deal.”

  “And I get visitation rights,” Martha says.

  Steven nods. “Whenever you want.”

  I can tell the evening is coming to an end, because Vince signals for the waiter to bring me the check. Steven grabs it and pays it, bringing the grand total of times I haven’t gotten stuck with the check at Charlie’s to one.

  When we get home, Marcus has brought Waggy up to the living room, and he is playing with him and Tara. I think he’s going to miss the Wagster as much as the rest of us.

  “You really think he’s still in danger?” Laurie asks.

  “To tell you the truth, I have no idea. There’s just too much I don’t know about this whole case. But for now I don’t want to take a chance with him.”

  “When he goes to live with Steven, are you going to get Tara another friend? I think she likes the company.”

  I shrug. “Maybe; I’ve been thinking about it. But it would be a dog closer to Tara’s age.”

  She nods. “Good idea.”

  I’m pretty much ready to go upstairs with Laurie, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be planning to leave. “Marcus, can I get you anything?” I ask.

  “Nunh.”

  “We’re going to go to sleep, okay?”

  “Yuh.”

  Laurie whispers to me. “Andy, do you think we should? Is it right to just leave him here?”

  I nod. “Yuh and yuh.”

  MY MEETING WITH RICHARD WALLACE isn’t even necessary. By the time I get there, he already has gotten the police department to prepare the search warrants on Thomas Sykes, which will be presented to a judge and then hopefully executed. They’re for his home, his car, and his office, and basically they’re hunting for trace evidence and incriminating documents and computer records.

  It’s an entirely different situation than would have occurred if Steven had been found guilty. Then there would have been almost no way Richard could have convinced his boss to try to pin the crime on Sykes. Once Steven had been convicted, they would not have had the stomach to do something that might have overturned that conviction.

  “I buy that he killed Walter Timmerman,” Richard says, “but not the house. It
doesn’t feel right. If he was going to do that, why not do it when both of them were home? He could have killed them both with one bomb, and it would have been even easier to place it on Steven.”

  “Because I think Sykes wanted a chance to get a look at that lab, without Walter around.”

  “How could he have been sure that Diana would be home when he set the bomb off ? She could have been at the goddamn beauty parlor.”

  It’s a good point, and one I hadn’t thought of. “That’ll have to go to the bottom of a long list of things I don’t know,” I say.

  “Unless he called and she answered the phone; that would have been the key to detonate the bomb.”

  I think back to that day. “No, she was having Martha tell people she wasn’t available. And she gardened a lot; even if she was home, she could have left the house at any time.”

  “Maybe we’ll learn something with the warrants,” Richard says.

  “Or maybe it’ll raise more questions.”

  He looks at me strangely. “You seem awfully downbeat for a winner.”

  I smile. “I know; I hate unresolved cases, especially when the fact that they’re unresolved means a murderer may walk.”

  Richard promises to keep me informed as best he can about the results of the search warrant, but I’m aware that it will be in the hands of the police, and it will only be brought to him if charges seem justified.

  On the home front, Laurie and I are making plans for a trip to Findlay. The doctor isn’t quite ready for her to travel yet, but he said he’ll likely retract that restriction in a couple of weeks.

  Laurie figures it will take about three weeks to help in the job transition; she has already notified the city manager of her decision to leave, and fortunately her second in command is a likely successor. She also has to make arrangements to sell her house and transport her things.

  Laurie has a million friends there, and because the chief of police is widely known and admired, I’ll likely be viewed as the villain who’s taking her away. It’s a small price for me to pay.