CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Having arrived a few minutes early, Jayson found himself alone with Judge O’Hare and attempted to engage him in a little small talk. However, his inquiries about the judge’s upcoming retirement, his golf game—even his granddaughter’s recent ballet exploits—yielded short, tightlipped responses. Jayson got the message and proffered nothing further. He made himself as comfortable as he could in a chair near O’Hare’s desk and retrieved a set of interrogatory responses from his briefcase to review. The judge, wearing a dark blue suit, read a legal brief and paid no attention to his guest. Jayson felt like a child summoned to the principal’s office awaiting likewise errant classmates.
As uncomfortable as he felt in O’Hare’s chambers, his thoughts turned once again to weighing options for his impending date with Leslie. He expected her to call sometime in the next few hours and provide him with instructions about when and where to deliver her “gift” the next day. Jayson hadn’t been completely forthright with her about his access to funds. Of course he and Renee shared several accounts, but each also maintained separate accounts to which only he or she had access. They referred to these as their “personal money” and used them primarily to buy gifts for each other.
The day after his meeting at Vivid Dreams, Jayson had confirmed his ready access to a little over fifty thousand dollars in personal money. However, he had no intention of handing half of it over to Leslie. As a matter of principle, he wouldn’t pay to prevent her from publicizing a regrettably truthful item—along with an assortment of mostly spurious allegations—about their past.
That was in the second place. In the first place, after exhausting the funds, which Jayson assumed would take no short amount of time, she would surely be back for more. He had prayed about the best course of action for nearly a week, and now, sitting in a hostile judge’s chambers, he decided he must confess everything to Renee. Tomorrow he would tell Leslie to go to hell and take the consequences.
Renee’s current emotional distance toward him would make the task difficult. Her coldness had, of course, begun after he had accepted the Stone case from Judge O’Hare in the very office he now found himself being snubbed. Renee had always been extremely sensitive to what other people thought of her. When she and Jayson had begun seeing each other seriously nearly a dozen years before, she had explained that as a biracial child, she had occasionally faced rejection from blacks, whites and others, which had left her with lasting emotional scars. While Jayson was satisfied to have a couple of very close friends and a handful as acquaintances, he noticed that Renee constantly sought the approval of others, courting friendships like a fluttering bee seeking flowers.
Jayson anticipated that after he disclosed the whole Leslie mess, Renee would rail and wail at the ignominy of a public scandal. He feared their marriage might not survive the resulting trouble. He had to consider how a scandal about her birth mother would affect Jennifer.
Shortly after she had turned five years old, he and Renee had casually informed her she had been adopted. Contrary to Renee’s fear the revelation would emotionally damage the child forever, Jennifer had welcomed the news of actually having been chosen by her parents, then asked if she could watch cartoons on television. A month later, her kindergarten teacher had mentioned when the subject of adoption had surfaced at school, Jennifer had explained with aplomb what the word meant. Nevertheless, Jason thought, if she had endured taunting from her peers about the Stone case…
The sound of footsteps outside of the judge’s chambers jarred Jayson back to his present situation. He glanced at O’Hare and privately fumed. The son of a bitch had a lot of nerve treating him like dirt after practically begging him to take the Stone case. Jayson heard a knock on the door. He stuffed his papers back into his briefcase and stood as Rahmani and Anderson entered, one minute late. He knew he would have the advantage for having arrived a bit early.
“Good morning, Your Honor,” Anderson said.
“Good morning, Your Honor,” Rahmani echoed. “We’re sorry we’re a bit late. There’s some construction going on—”
“I know about the construction, Ms. Rahmani,” O’Hare replied, his voice low but sharp. He turned to Jayson. “Did you encounter the construction project a few blocks away?”
Jayson felt uncomfortable. He didn’t want to collude with the judge to embarrass his opponents because he respected both of them as colleagues. He had also recently asked Rahmani for a monumental favor. However, he thought, if one is presented with the upper hand in battle, one must accept it. “Um, well, yes, Judge,” he answered, then attempted to soften the blow, “but it can get real bad depending on when you get there.”
“Um-hmm,” O’Hare mumbled. “Not for those who plan ahead.” He pointed at the chairs. “Sit down, and let’s get down to business.” The three attorneys sat and declined an obviously insincere offer of coffee from their host. The judge scooted his chair closer to his desk and folded his hands. “I saw the promos about your client on TV yesterday afternoon and watched the interview last night.”
Jayson said nothing.
O’Hare pointed at Rahmani and Anderson. “And I saw another one of your stories on Channel Eight a couple of days ago.”
“Channel Nine,” Anderson said.
Jayson clamped his teeth together to keep from smirking. He glanced at Rahmani, who closed her eyes and winced, apparently understanding what Anderson didn’t: on a trivial matter, correcting a judge who’s pissed off at you will piss him off even more.
“Channel whatever, okay?” O’Hare growled. “The point is, Stone’s been sitting in jail for over a year and a half, and I’d like to see if we can get him a jury that hasn’t seen stories about the case every day on the fucking news!” The loudness of his voice at the end of his sentence caused all three trial attorneys to lower their heads.
“I completely understand, Judge,” Rahmani agreed. “What can we say? You know how the media are.”
“Yeah,” Anderson agreed. “They’re like hungry animals that have to be fed.”
Jayson still said nothing.
O’Hare stared at Anderson. “They are, huh?” He pointed at Jayson. “At least this man has the integrity to feed them out in the open.”
Anderson flashed an uncomfortable smile. “Um, I don’t understand.”
“You wouldn’t,” the judge snarled. “All the stories on Jayson’s side have been on the record. He’s given short statements and quotes to the media, and this recent interview of his client was face to face.” O’Hare pointed at Rahmani and Anderson. “Almost all of your recent stories have been from ‘anonymous sources’”
Anderson sat up and straightened his tie. “Judge, I hope you don’t think Samira or I had anything to do with those—”
“Don’t waste my time with a whole lot of crap!” O’Hare snapped. “I could gag all three of you and be on solid ground, but here’s why I called you here.” He took a deep breath to calm himself and spoke slightly slower and softer. “Jayson, I know you acted in self-defense, but I’m telling you I wouldn’t be happy to see another interview.”
“I understand, Judge,” Jayson replied.
“As for you two,” O’Hare said, bouncing his cold glare between the two ADAs, “I’m flat out telling you if I see one more ‘unnamed source’ story on the news about the Stone case, I will grant a defense motion for a change of venue.” He paused and leaned forward. “Then I’ll come down on you two like fire and brimstone on Sodom and Gomorrah. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes,” Rahmani and Anderson whispered and nodded.
“I want to hear from all parties about scheduling a pre-trial conference by five o’clock the day after tomorrow so we can get this thing on the docket.”
Rahmani opened her hands. “There are still a few—”
“Get out,” O’Hare demanded and waved in the direction of the door.
Jayson stood and followed Anderson and Rahmani into the outer office. He was about to close the door when he heard his
name called. With his hand still on the doorknob, he leaned forward so only his head broke the plane into the chambers. “Judge?”
O’Hare didn’t look up but spoke gently. “That little grandangel of mine, she’s been doing real well in ballet. How’s your little twinkletoes?”
Jayson smiled. “Real good. Thanks for asking.” He appreciated O’Hare letting him know that no ill feelings existed between them. He closed the door and stepped into the hall with Rahmani and Anderson. The building didn’t open until nine a.m., so foot traffic in the area was still almost nonexistent.
“Old racist fart,” Anderson said. “What did he want?”
“Nothing important.”
Anderson shook his finger at Jayson. “Now you know any ex parte communication between you and the judge about the case is—”
“Didn’t the old man bite your butt hard enough?” Jayson shot back. “Channel Nine, huh, smart ass?” He pointed at Anderson. “None of this would’ve happened if your office hadn’t been leaking confidential information about the case to the press.”
Rahmani raised her hands near her face as if Jayson held a gun. “Okay, it’s water under the bridge.” She set her briefcase down. “So what day is good for you to meet?”
“First, I want everything you haven’t given me, Samira,” Jayson said.
Anderson stepped closer to Rahmani. “We’ve given you everything you’re entitled to.”
Jayson frowned. “How about the witness statement you took from Gregory Morgan?”
Rahmani opened her hands. “We gave you that.”
“You gave me the first one from the police, not the second one you took later.”
Anderson spotted an attractive black female dressed in a business suit. Apparently recognizing her, he excused himself and dashed off to speak to her.
“Um, well, I thought I gave that to you,” Rahmani said, clearly embarrassed.
“And I want that other stuff too,” Jayson insisted. He only had knowledge of the Morgan witness statement, but decided to bluff.
“What other stuff?”
Jayson pointed at O’Hare’s chambers and took a step forward. “Don’t mess with me, Samira. We can go right back in there and debate this in there.”
Rahmani stepped in front of him. “Now let’s not get all upset, Jayson. Sometimes things slip through cracks. I’ll make sure you get anything else we missed, um, right away.”
“Before I agree to a pretrial conference.”
“Of course,” Rahmani said. “It’ll be sent over to you, um, by the end of the day.”
Jayson checked to ensure their privacy and changed the subject to a much more important matter. “Any word on that other thing?”
“No, but it’s just a matter of time before—”
“Christ, Samira. I don’t have any more time!”
“I’m doing what I can, Jayson. Take it easy. I’m waiting on someone, too.”
Jayson patted Rahmani on the shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I appreciate your efforts. I do.”
Anderson returned. “So what did I miss?”
Jayson and Rahmani exchanged guilty looks. “Nothing important,” Jayson said.
•
Later that evening Jayson, in his shirtsleeves, found it difficult to concentrate on his driving. He turned the steering wheel left and right as he snaked through the winding and surprisingly busy Fresh Pond Parkway in Cambridge. With the moonroof’s tinted glass panel open, he tried to enjoy occasional glimpses of the bright half-moon and abundant stars offered by the clear, early July sky. He casually listened to a talk radio discussion about upcoming cases on the docket for the United States Supreme Court. Normally he would be totally engrossed by such a program, but his life was anything but normal these days.
After the meeting in Judge O’Hare’s chambers, he had raced back to his office and spent the entire day there. The telephone had rung repeatedly, mostly legitimate business, along with a few cranks complaining about his appearance with Stone on television—as well as additional requests for interviews. Leslie hadn’t called. Jayson assumed she had decided to make him sweat. If she wanted to follow scripts from the movies, she would call his office the next day and give him barely enough time to meet her at a location of her choosing. The less time she gave him, the less likely he would be able to surprise her. Smart.
Jayson checked his rearview mirror and noticed a compact, red BMW convertible with the top up had been trailing him since he had left the office at around eight-thirty. He checked the clock on the dashboard: eight-forty. He had not paid particularly close attention at first. Victor drove a similar vehicle, so did thousands of motorists in Greater Boston. Due to the darkness and his preoccupation with Leslie, Jayson had not been focusing on the other vehicles in his vicinity. He noticed the driver of the Beemer stayed well behind even when an open lane next to him became available.
In ten years of practicing law Jayson had never been followed from his office—at least so far as he knew. He slowed down and watched his rearview mirror. The driver appeared to be a male. He wore sunglasses, no doubt to obscure his identity, and had short, dark hair.
Jayson didn’t recognize the man or know why he was following him, but he knew better than to lead the driver to his home. Jayson could feel the rate of his heartbeat increase. He kept his right hand on the steering wheel and reached for the lower side of his seat with his left, checking for the tire iron he kept there. “If you need to bust somebody’s head, that hunka metal won’t do you no good in the trunk of your car,” his father had told him when Jayson was just a teenager.
Although he had an unlisted home telephone number, he recalled that the Boston Courier, in more than one snide article, had revealed “Cook lives away from the black community, in Belmont.” After Leslie had flaunted her awareness that he lived in Belmont, Jayson assumed she knew his address. He now realized that most likely she didn’t: if she had, knowing her, the troublemaker would have presented herself near his home in some fashion. Jayson surmised that Leslie had engaged the services of this operative behind him to ascertain his address. It made perfect sense.
He had an advantage—he knew the area. Jayson made a sudden right turn into a dark, narrow, two-lane private street that fed into a large parking lot for a mall. The mall consisted of a dozen stores, and its main attraction: a ten-screen movie theater on the far side of the property. Jayson had been there many times and knew the lot as well as he knew his front yard. He drove about fifty yards before he spotted the reflection of the red convertible as it turned onto the street.
When Jayson reached the edge of the parking lot, he quickly turned left and jetted to the end of the lot another forty yards away. He approached the streetlight that controlled traffic for cars entering and exiting the lot, then checked for oncoming traffic and turned right onto the busy main street just as the light turned red. Even at that hour, dozens of vehicles rushed behind him. Given that the lights favored the main street for some length of time, he knew he had lost his tail.
•
Jayson sat on the bed and tenderly placed his hand on Renee’s leg. She lay on her side with her back to him. A nightlight similar to the one in Jennifer’s room allowed him to see that Renee had pulled the bed sheet up to her shoulder and covered her legs with a thin blanket. Jayson could see the straps of her familiar one piece white nightgown. The air conditioner hummed on quiet mode. “Sweetheart, you okay?” he asked. “Magda told me you’ve been in bed for hours. She said you’re not feeling well.” He lowered his face to kiss her.
Renee pulled on the sheet and placed her hand on her cheek. “Don’t,” she whispered.
Her response annoyed Jayson. He heard her sniffle and realized she had been crying, changing his annoyance to concern. He put his hand on her shoulder. “What’s the matter, honey?”
Renee spoke without facing him. “The promotion, I didn’t get it,” she whimpered.
Jayson’s heart sank. “Oh honey, I’m really sorry. I k
now how much you wanted it.”
Renee abruptly swung her elbows and sat up. She scooted to the other side of the bed and spoke without facing him. “And I know all about your slutty, young girlfriend with the big tits you’ve been meeting at some strip club.” She folded her hands across her chest. “I guess that’s where you met her in the first place, huh?”
Jayson closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had a lot of explaining to do.
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Guilt by Association Page 19