Fortunately, Alice Hanover knew him.
“Well, if it isn’t Deputy Charlie Parker! How the heck have you been? I haven’t see you for...how long has it been, Charlie? Since our kids were in high school together?”
“Time marches on, Alice,” replied the deputy. “Chet’s married, got four kids, moved West. Ginny was married, had three kids, then her son-of-a-bitch husband up and left her and the kids, so they’re all back home with us. What brings you over here, Alice? You mixed up in legal stuff havin’ to do with this lawyer? You know I always said it don’t pay to take the side of killers and rapists. Ain’t no good can come of it.
“This poor guy—he’s in really bad shape, Alice. Must have lost a case for somebody who’s none too happy about it. His nurse just told me he’s talkin’ a bit now, just a coupla words, but he’s not out of the woods. They took him off the ventilator earlier today and still got him on a huge amount of pain killer.”
The psychologist explained that her two friends were visiting from out of town and just wanted a few minutes to talk to the lawyer—if he was up to it—because they were interested in a case he was working on.
“Guess there’s no harm in that, as long as they’re not from the press. The sheriff doesn’t want this to turn into a media circus. They’re bringin’ in the State Police and the ATF to try to figure out what kinda explosive device was used to blow up his car, and maybe who did it. We’re not supposed to talk about the case. You guys got business cards and driver’s licenses? I gotta keep a log of who comes and goes.”
“Sure, thanks,” said Winkler. “We’ll be brief.”
“Maybe you want to take a look at this story in the newspaper before you go in, so you’ll have an idea of what this fellow has been through.” The deputy handed Winkler a local newspaper with a front-page story and photo of the charred remains of the lawyer’s SUV. It was just a burned out chassis.
“Mind if I keep this?” asked Winkler.
“No problem,” replied the deputy. “I can’t imagine how the guy got out of that fireball alive!”
“With what he probably has ahead of him, I wonder if he wishes he hadn’t,” said Rollins as he, Winkler and the psychologist entered the room.
Although Room 403 was in the Burn Unit, it looked like any other ICU. Electronic gadgets covered the wall above the bed, reporting all the patient’s vital signs. A bag of IV fluid hung along one side of the bed, and a urinary catheter tube ran to a bag hanging off the other side. The newspaper story reported that Jeremiah Bean had third-degree burns on 80% of his body, and Winkler wondered what part of him hadn’t been burned. He was wrapped up like a mummy, the head of the bed propped up at a slight angle. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be sleeping quietly. The three of them stood there a moment in silence, then the psychologist pulled up a chair to the side of the bed and spoke softly.
“Jeremiah. Jeremiah Bean. Can you hear me? This is Alice Hanover.” She hoped he remembered her.
His eyes opened slightly. She got up from the chair and moved closer so he could see her.
“Alice? What are you doing here? What happened? There was a huge blast, then fire—”
“Jeremiah, we’re not going to stay long. I brought two fellows with me. They’re interested in the Martinez case and have some new information. They’re wondering where things stand, if you’d planned to make any more appeals. Your Application for Clemency was denied, and Martinez is scheduled to be executed next Tuesday.”
“No, no! You can’t let that happen! I was working on more appeals. The files…in my car…my laptop...”
“It’s all gone, Jeremiah. Your car is nothing but a burned-out chassis, and everything in it was reduced to ashes. Does anyone else have drafts?”
“No…working alone. Everybody else…given up. This last appeal…my Hail Mary pass.” He closed his eyes.
Then, with his eyes still closed, he continued to speak. “If…new information…there may be—” His voice trailed off to a whisper. “—other possible appeals.”
Winkler came closer and strained to hear what Jeremiah Bean was suggesting. Words came out slowly, sometimes barely audible. Three minutes later, exhausted, he stopped talking. But Jeremiah Bean had given Winkler his best ideas for a last-ditch effort to spare Martinez’ life, or at least get a stay of his execution.
CHAPTER 34
ALICE HANOVER AGREED TO REVIEW HER AFFIDAVIT and get it back to Winkler immediately. She headed back to the prison, leaving him and Rollins to map out their strategy.
Realizing he had no time to lose, Winkler called Emma as he and Rollins walked through the crowded hospital lobby to the parking lot.
“Emma, I need some urgent litigation support,” he said, calmly. Winkler was the kind of attorney who could deal with any complex situation by identifying the issues and dealing with them systematically. He knew no one in his blue stocking firm had ever done anything like this before, but that wouldn’t stop him. There were probably only a handful of attorneys in the country who’d ever seen a situation even close to this, and there was no time to go looking for one of them.
“Get Dillingham on this. He came from the prosecutor’s office and should be able to put something together that’ll at least pass the requirements for filing.”
Dan Dillingham was a seventh-year associate who’d worked in the Wayne County Prosecutor’s office for three years before joining the firm. One of the reasons he left was that he felt criminal defendants often had inadequate counsel. Despite the fact that his job was to put them behind bars, he sympathized with many of them. He’d often told Winkler he wished he were working for the Federal Defenders’ Office. Winkler also suspected Dillingham would be willing to give some extra effort to this petition, because he’d soon be up for partnership, and burning the midnight oil would show he was a team player.
“I’m going to need a Petition for Emergency Stay of Execution of Juan Velasco Martinez, Georgia State Prisoner Number 74-762158. He’s scheduled to be executed next Tuesday at six in the evening. The Georgia Board of Pardons and Paroles has denied his request for clemency. Unlike most other states, the Governor of Georgia has no direct authority to grant clemency, but we should think about whether he can exercise some political pressure on the board or others.” Winkler just wanted a bare bones pleading he could massage.
“We have some new information, and we’re going to try several long shots. Ask Dillingham to draft the petition—just the guts of it based on new information—and I’ll provide the rest. He can refer to new information discussed in Exhibit ‘A’ and allude to prosecutorial misconduct. I’ll fill in the facts. Further support will be in Exhibit ‘B,” which will be an Affidavit of Georgia State Prison psychologist Dr. Alice Hanover. I should have both exhibits by tomorrow morning.”
“Sure, David. I saw Dan earlier today, so I know he’s around. But Afzam has some very important information for you, the veritable ‘smoking gun.’ He’s located old records of the New York State Banking Commission. They date back to when Guttmann applied for a banking license in connection with the purchase of a New York bank. Guttmann’s fingerprints are in the file!” Emma was delighted to be the bearer of good news.
“Unbelievable!” said Winkler. “Have Afzam get a certified hard copy via FedEx overnight. Send me a copy of the prints via e-mail. I’m going to e-mail you Martinez’ prints from the Georgia prison records. Have them compared with Guttmann’s. Dillingham can get someone to do that for us. My guess is, you’ll have a match.”
“David, there’s something else you should know. The office is swarming with police. We had a break-in last night.”
“How did they get by the sensors?” asked Winkler. “We invested a fortune a couple of years ago when the partners had a concern about security.”
“David, you won’t believe it. The intruders passed themselves off as carpet cleaners—with uniforms and cleaning equipment—and literally walked in the front door after hours. They weren’t scheduled to clean, but t
hey gave a forged letter from our office manager to the security guard who actually came up to our floor and opened the door for them around ten o’clock last night. The guard became suspicious when they left after only twenty minutes. Apparently, he hadn’t been watching the security cameras when they were on our floor.
“David, the only areas that were touched were your office and my desk. They cleared all the papers off your desk and took your laptop from the closet.”
“What could they have been after?” Winkler asked.
“My steno pad is gone as well. It had my notes from a couple of days ago, when you asked me to reserve the suite for Mrs. Weinman under the name of Sylvia Greenspan. It’s all there in black and white, David, including the name of the hotel and her room number.”
“I’ve got to contact Mrs. Weinman. I’ll be back in touch.” Winkler was suddenly in panic mode.
“But wait, David, there’s one more thing. Mr. Banks from Tricontinental Research has been calling. He said he’s looking for an update.”
“Damn, I was supposed to touch base with him weekly. Things have been moving so fast, I totally forgot. Does he want me to call?”
Winkler really didn’t have the time to talk to Banks and frankly didn’t know what he’d tell him. Even if Martinez really was Guttmann, the clock was ticking on his execution, and the last-ditch appeal for a stay was far from a sure thing. Recovering the fortune from the Swiss bank wasn’t even on his mind, except that Mrs. Weinman had unwittingly gotten herself into a crossfire.
“No need to call, David, but he does want to meet with you. He’ll be in Detroit next Monday and asked me to set aside half an hour for him. Your schedule is clear. Although I wasn’t sure you’d be back, I set up an appointment for ten in the morning. I told him I’d get back to him to confirm.”
“Fine, Emma, let’s just keep putting out fires. As far as I know right now, I should be able to meet him next Monday morning. But have Afzam try to find out as much as he can about Trevor Banks. Something just doesn’t sit well with me, and I can’t put my finger on it. Get a photo of him off our security cameras, and have Afzam see if he can come up with any matches.”
“WE’RE SURE SPREAD THIN, LUKE. We’ve got a man headed for execution, who presumably doesn’t want to meet with us. His attorney has been blown off the case, and we may have what it takes to get his situation reconsidered—if we can put it together, get it filed quickly, and get someone to listen. At the same time, I think the Russians may have enough information to pay a nasty visit to Mrs. Weinman. They’ll stop at nothing to get to that account.
“We have to move her out of the Ritz immediately. I expect she’ll resist, but I have to try to persuade her.”
Winkler punched in the number of the Ritz Hotel and asked for the room of Sylvia Greenspan. The phone range once, twice, three times.
“Yes. Who’s calling?” the voice answered.
“This is David Winkler. Who’s speaking?”
“Molly Abraham. Mrs. Weinman’s sister-in-law. You’re the lawyer. It’s so nice of you to put us up here. I’d heard about this place, but I’ve never been here—”
“May I speak with Mrs. Weinman? It’s very urgent!”
“She’s not here, Mr. Winkler. We were just sitting here, having a nice, late breakfast from room service, like you said, when all of a sudden she went to the ring of keys in her purse and saw one and said, ‘That’s it!’ Then she said something about Joshua having a safe deposit box down here at the First Intercoastal Bank and she had to go check something and would be back in a few minutes.”
“How far away is First Intercoastal Bank?”
“Just a short walk down the boardwalk—maybe ten minutes, no more.”
“When did she leave?”
“Gosh, it must be over an hour by now. Should I be worried? Has something else happened?”
“Mrs. Abraham, please go downstairs and take a cab to the nearest police station. Then call my office and let them have a phone number for you. We’re going to ask you to move to another location. But for now, we need you to leave the hotel immediately.”
“And what about Sarah? What if she comes back here? Should I leave her a note?”
“Absolutely not! But when you get to the police station, tell them she went to the First Intercoastal Bank over an hour ago to make a large cash withdrawal and is long overdue. They’ll send out a car to find her. Don’t you worry!”
Winkler felt sick. In his gut, he knew there could be only one reason why she would have left the hotel. But was she merely delayed talking to folks on the boardwalk, or had the Russians already scoped out the hotel and followed her to the bank?
AS THE EXECUTIVE JET READIED for take-off at the county airport in Griffin, Georgia, Rollins was chatting with the pilots, and Winkler’s cell phone rang.
“David, I’ve got Mrs. Weinman on the phone for you.” It was Emma, poised and business-like, as usual. “Should I patch her in?”
“Absolutely,” said Winkler, anxious to hear where she was, and feeling great relief that she was able to contact him.
“Mr. Winkler, I’m calling you from the police station in Ft. Lauderdale. I think I have the information you’re looking for. When I got down here, it occurred to me that my husband had a safe deposit box in Florida, and when I looked at the ring of keys, I saw that funny safe deposit box key. I just had to go to the bank and see whether he might have put that information in the box. And sure enough—”
“But Mrs. Weinman, you can’t go back to the hotel. I have to keep you away from some men who are eager to get their hands on that information.”
“Not to worry, Mr. Winkler. I think they’ll be busy with the police for a while. When I left the hotel, I had a feeling I was being followed. You know there are certain kinds of people you see around here, mostly in their eighties or older, and two men in their forties, not even very good looking, stick out like a sore thumb! So when I got to the bank, I alerted the manager, and since they were hanging around outside the bank when I finished my business at the box, the manager called the police.
“So, now the police are holding them for questioning. From what I overheard a police officer say, they’ve asked for a Russian interpreter and a lawyer. Funny how they knew enough English to ask for a lawyer! I had to give the police a statement, and they may want to ask me more questions. I told them I really don’t know very much, just that you were looking for some information about a foreign account. I gave them your name and phone number, and they’ll probably contact you as well.”
“That’s fine, Mrs. Weinman, but just to be safe, I’d like you and your sister-in-law to move to another hotel. We don’t know if these men have accomplices who may be watching your room at the Ritz. Please stay on the line, and Emma will give you the address for another hotel. Go there, and we’ll contact your sister-in-law and make sure she joins you. This time, you’ll check in under the name Sophie Adler. Do you have some cash for cab fare?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Winkler. A lady never ventures out—not even to the drugstore—without identification, her health insurance card, and enough cash for cab fare to get home from wherever she may find herself. That much, my mother taught me.”
“And as soon as you get to the hotel, Mrs. Weinman, please fax the information you found in the safe deposit box to my office. Emma will give you the fax number. I’m very sorry about all this, Mrs. Weinman, and really appreciate your help.”
CHAPTER 35
“DAVID, DAN DILLINGHAM JUST SLIPPED ME A NOTE. He needs to talk to you about the petition. I think you may want to delay your flight until tomorrow. Can you call him back right away?” Emma had already brought Dillingham into the loop.
“Sure, Emma. You finish up with Mrs. Weinman, and I’ll call Dan immediately.”
Winkler was totally out of his element and really needed a litigator with a can-do attitude. Dillingham had pulled off major litigation coups for Winkler in the past, and he hoped this time he could do so as well. The
other cases all involved complex commercial disputes, with millions of dollars at stake; this time, a man’s life was on the line.
Winkler dialed Dillingham’s direct number and explained the situation.
“David, I get the picture—a Hail Mary appeal for a death row inmate based on mistaken identity—and we’ll have new information to prove the mistake. What’s this about proving he’s not who they say he is by reference to fingerprints in New York Banking Commission records?”
“That’s right, Dan. Afzam located a set in the New York Banking Commission files. Those prints were submitted as the prints of an Argentine banker, Ricardo Guttmann, and they were taken by the NYPD based on positive identification. You can get them from Afzam. I’m going to e-mail you a photo of a screenshot of Martinez’ prison record with his fingerprints on it. The quality isn’t the best, but have those compared to the prints from the Banking Commission. If they match, I’d say there’s every reason to at least stay the execution of Martinez—or Guttmann—and then have a full hearing to have him released. I should also have an affidavit from the prison psychologist for you tomorrow morning.”
“OK, David, but there are a couple of problems.
“The first is a big one, and may be a deal-breaker. It’s not enough that Martinez—or Guttmann—is innocent, even if we can prove it. We may need to raise a separate constitutional issue. In some cases, it would be that the prosecutor buried crucial evidence, witnesses lied, police hid evidence or coerced false confessions, or defense attorneys performed so poorly that they basically failed to advocate at all. Basically, once the trial has taken place, you need to raise a constitutional issue. Mere innocence isn’t enough to support a habeas corpus petition.”
“What?! The fact that our guy didn’t commit the crime, that they have the wrong person, isn’t enough to get him out? I can’t believe it! Is this based on some obscure lower court decision?”
“No, David, it’s a judicial perversion that’s been on the books since the 1993 Herrera case in the U.S. Supreme Court. The majority opinion held that Texas courts’ refusal even to consider the prisoner’s newly discovered evidence didn’t violate due process and suggested he file a Clemency Petition with the Texas Board of Pardon and Paroles. In our case, I don’t know how far we’ll get with the Georgia Board of Pardons and Paroles, since they just rejected a Clemency Petition a few days ago.”
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