Eddie Flynn 02-The Plea

by Steve Cavanagh

‘Eddie Flynn and David Child for Gerry Sinton,’ I said to Sergei.

  ‘These gentlemen are from Harland and Sinton’s security. They will escort you,’ he said.

  The security team eyeballed me, their jaws clenched, hands clasped in front of them. One of them looked Samoan, his dark hair swept back from his face in a tight braid. The other man was white and smaller than the Samoan, but he looked the meaner of the two.

  ‘Just a second,’ I said.

  Turning to Boo, I said, ‘Ms Feldstein, you wanted an establishing piece?’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Flynn,’ said Boo, who walked past David and me. Roger followed behind her. I didn’t need to turn around to see the cogs working in the security team’s tiny little heads as Roger pulled a large TV camera from his bag, handed Boo a microphone, and hit a button on the camera lighting up the reception.

  Boo straightened her blouse, mumbled something to Roger, then began her piece to camera.

  ‘Tonight, the billionaire David Child begins consulting with his legal team in preparation for tomorrow’s hearing. At the weekend, Child’s lover, Clara Reece, was brutally shot and killed in his apartment. The NYPD believe they have a strong case against Child. Here at 60 Minutes we will be taking you deep into the heart of this fascinating case. We’ve been granted exclusive access to the private, attorney-client consultations between David Child and his expert legal team as they desperately try to build a defense for what many believe to be an open-and-shut case.’

  She paused. Roger made sure he got the security team in the shot, then flicked the beam off.

  ‘Great, that’s uploaded. They’ll start cutting it right away – no retakes; you’re gonna be big, Lana,’ said Roger. Boo smiled.

  ‘What the hell is this?’ said the Samoan.

  ‘It’s TV,’ I said. ‘CBS. You watch 60 Minutes?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘No cameras allowed in here, Mr Flynn.’

  ‘Really? Well, then, we’ll just have to go to my office. Make sure and tell Gerry I said hi.’

  I turned and began slowly heading toward the exit, Holly, Child, Boo, and Roger came with me.

  ‘Hold on,’ said the Samoan, dialing from his cell phone.

  We stopped. I kept my eyes on the ground. David stood next to me, and I could almost feel his body shaking through the vibrations passing up from the floor into my feet. I put an arm on his to steady him. Holly’s eyes were wide, and she kept rattling her fingers along her bag. Clearing my throat to get her attention, I then made a passive gesture with my hands and she stopped fidgeting.

  I knew the Samoan wouldn’t take his eyes off of me. He worked a piece of gum in his massive jaws, and I could hear his breathing from ten feet away. He’d more than likely worked himself up into a state where he could pop a couple of people, and now he had to rethink because they’d brought a TV crew with them. His call was connected, and I heard him mumbling, probably to Gerry Sinton himself.

  I heard the Samoan say, ‘60 Minutes.’ He listened, then said, ‘Because it’s on the side of the goddamned van.’

  It was true. Roger was a veteran cameraman for CBS, and he could take out the van whenever he wanted. The benefits of a long-term business relationship with Boo meant Roger occasionally got first sight of a fresh, hot story. Whatever else Boo had her hand into, she dabbled a little in blackmail and trading the kind of photographs that politicians like to keep secret. Boo was a powerful asset for a cameraman with dreams of stepping in front of the camera one day. The producers had learned to give Roger the van and a little leeway – it always paid off.

  The liveried CBS van had proved to be the ultimate persuader. My dad once told me that the heart of the con lies in the eyes.

  People believe what they can see. As long as you control their view, you control their mind.

  ‘You can go on up,’ said the Samoan.

  David nodded frantically, clutched his laptop bag, and followed me. A discreet smile from me seemed to calm him a little.

  As we walked past the security team, the Samoan said, ‘Take all the time you need. We’ll be waiting here.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  If the lobby of the Lightner Building had been impressive, the offices of Harland and Sinton made the entrance look like the back door of a greasy rib house.

  Gold.

  Practically everything was covered in some form of gold leaf. Gold lamps, gold lettering on the glass walls, and free gold pens sat in a bowl on a coffee table that looked so delicate I was almost afraid to breathe on it. Ornate antique furniture lined the firm’s reception area, and the coffee table looked as though it belonged in a Viennese opera house. From the reception area you could see all the way into the conference room. The glass partition walls were clear and gave the impression of a large open office. The place was still in full swing, with lawyers milling around the offices, looking busy for the dollars turning over on the meter.

  I gave Boo a slight nod, and she dipped into her purse, found her cell, and set the timer on her phone to count down from thirty seconds. This was also Roger’s signal; he fired up the camera and made sweeping shots of the offices.

  ‘David, Mr Flynn,’ said a deep, authoritative voice. It was Gerry Sinton. He came out of a side office and strode toward us with his hand extended, ready to greet. Three younger men in suits, who I took to be associates, came behind him and hung back while he took David’s hand.

  ‘You should’ve called ahead and told us to expect the camera crew,’ he said, with a smile that barely masked his disgust. ‘I’m sure Mr Flynn has your interests at heart, but letting TV crews into your confidential attorney meetings is a little misguided.’

  ‘Actually, it was my idea,’ said David, and even though I could hear the tension in his voice, he’d managed to crane his neck in order to face Gerry as he’d said it.

  ‘I think it’s a great idea, but there’s a time and a place …’ began Gerry.

  ‘We need to get out in front of this with the media,’ I said. ‘It’s already out there. Far better that we make the story ourselves. Then we can control it.’

  ‘We’re getting the exclusive, so we’re amenable to a little editorial input,’ said Boo, extending her hand to Sinton.

  ‘Lana Feldstein,’ she said.

  ‘Gerry Sinton. Call me Gerry. I don’t believe I’ve seen you on 60 Minutes before, Lana.’

  ‘It’s Ms Feldstein,’ said Boo, taking off her glasses and hitting Sinton with all the power from those incredible eyes. Some kind of electricity, or light, shined out of Boo’s green secret weapons. She seemed to attract men to those eyes like moths to a lightbulb. They needed it but knew it was too hot to touch.

  ‘Of course, Ms Feldstein,’ he said.

  He held on to Boo’s hand for a second or two longer than was necessary, but he was unable to hold her gaze for the same period; no one could.

  Boo’s phone rang; the timer had run out, and she canceled the chime and pretended to take a call. ‘Scott, did you get the shots?’ she said.

  ‘Scott Pelley – the producer,’ I said. ‘Roger here is able to upload video wirelessly to their editing suite. They’re just going over the shots from the lobby with the editor in the studio.’

  Sinton nodded, and his lips worked over his teeth, as if he were trying to get rid of a bad taste. He looked over his shoulder at another man who stood in the hallway leading to the inner offices. Whatever was conveyed in that look made this man take off, back into the warren of offices beyond the conference room. There was no way they could make a move now, not with video footage of Child’s and my location existing outside of their control.

  ‘You’ve got the full file?’ he said.

  I handed him the prosecution file so he could make copies.

  He handed the file to one of the associates, who quickly left to copy it. We followed Sinton down a glass-paneled hallway.

  For the moment, we were safe. Until we had to leave. Although I didn’t want to ride our luck too much. I’d told David we would
be no longer than an hour in the office. If he couldn’t hack the algo in that time, then we bailed, no matter what.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Gerry Sinton led us into a conference room with a long table of dark river slate, sparsely flecked with dashes of luminous green. We pulled up chairs and sat down at one corner of the table, the one closest to a wide-screen TV set on the wall. I’d made sure to coach David on seating arrangements. He was to wait until Sinton sat down, and then he was to sit opposite him, and if possible David was to keep his back to a wall or a window.

  Roger panned the room, and Boo did a little introduction of everyone present. She explained that although David Child wanted to grant their viewers complete access, CNN didn’t want to take any steps that might compromise the trial; therefore, none of the sound in the confidential meeting would be recorded.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Sinton.

  From his leather bag, David produced a sleek silver laptop, powered it up, opened another can of energy drink, and leaned across the table to Boo. She came over, and they began whispering as Boo read what was on David’s screen.

  ‘Ms Feldstein is helping me out with a personal statement that we’ll release to the press tomorrow,’ said David, in answer to Sinton’s searching look.

  ‘I thought I would work on it while you read the prosecution files and got up to speed.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Sinton.

  As David tapped away on the laptop, his back was to a large window overlooking Manhattan. Sinton and his buddies sat across the table. David could work without any of the lawyers seeing his laptop screen. I swiveled around in my seat to admire the view. Behind David was the Corbin Building, one of the old office buildings in the city that had struggled to find tenants since Harland and Sinton bought the Lightner. ‘For rent’ signs were pasted on at least one window of every floor of the Corbin Building. Times were tough, even for landlords.

  The associate returned with my original prosecution file and five copies. He gave one to Gerry, one to David, and spread the remaining copies out among his other colleagues who sat beside Sinton.

  ‘I’ll just take a few minutes to read this,’ said Sinton.

  I did likewise. Roger continued to pan the room, and Boo and David continued to whisper together, with Holly chiming in occasionally.

  ‘It’s difficult to know what to say when somebody accuses you of a crime you didn’t commit.’

  That was the signal; the network password Christine had given to us no longer worked. David would have to try to hack into the system.

  Gerry took his time, scanning each page. His thick fingers worked delicately at the paper, almost reverently. The associates flicked through at a much faster rate, made quick notes on HARLAND AND SINTON headed, yellow legal pads.

  I didn’t need to reread what was in the file. I’d taken it in the first time, in the cab.

  Ten minutes later, turning over the final page, Sinton said, ‘Shall we watch the DVDs?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, handing him the first disk. He slotted it into the side of the TV and picked up a slim remote. As the TV came on, the lights automatically dimmed.

  ‘I should’ve had a PR firm draft this thing,’ said David in frustration – the second signal. He was finding it difficult to hack into their system; he would likely need the full hour.

  The screen filled with the lobby of Central Park Eleven. I watched David and Clara go hand in hand into the elevator, the swipe from David’s key fob and then he selected the floor, Clara’s fearful reaction in the elevator, which David said was claustrophobia. Camera change to the landing leading to David and Gershbaum’s luxury apartments. Time stamp on the camera read 19:46 as the front door to the apartment closed behind David and Clara. The footage played to 20:02 and David leaving the apartment with his gym bag.

  Sinton had made notes while the footage played, the time stamps and camera ID numbers.

  I flipped through the file and found the security logs for David’s building. The emergency call from Gershbaum went through at 20:02 to security, who must’ve just missed David as he descended in the elevator. The security team checked in with control when they reached Gershbaum’s front door at 20:06.

  Sixteen minutes was plenty of time to murder his girlfriend.

  While he checked his notes, Sinton wound the footage back so that he could watch David coming out of his apartment. He rewound and watched it again, this time ignoring his notes.

  I saw Gerry give David a fleeting glance, then return to the image of his client waiting nonchalantly on the elevator. Of course, I knew what Gerry was thinking – most lawyers have the same thought when they’re representing someone on trial for murder; did he do it?

  Perhaps Sinton thought David looked just too calm as he exited his apartment. He wasn’t fumbling in his pockets, bouncing on his heels to get away. There was no nervous anxiety on display. Sinton was asking himself if David was capable of killing his girlfriend and hiding it so well. I didn’t think so. I thought David was the kind of guy to get anxious ordering a latte. If the kid had just killed someone in cold blood, he’d damn near tear the door down to get out of there, and if the elevator wasn’t waiting on him, he’d leap down the stairs or throw himself out the goddamn window. Instead, the footage showed David, his hoodie up, close the door behind him, stop, turn around, and take a step toward the door, as if he’d forgotten something, then back away from the door, slip his earphones on, turn casually, and hit the button for the elevator. This was my second time watching this, and I wanted to know what had caused David to hesitate, to turn back toward the apartment, then change his mind and go for the elevator.

  David wasn’t watching the screen. His attention was concentrated on the laptop.

  I had to ask him.

  ‘David, when you left the apartment, did you hear anything in the hallway while you were waiting for the elevator, maybe a shot?’

  ‘No. I would’ve remembered,’ he said.

  A fountain pen tapped on Gerry’s lips – he put down his pen, made sure it sat straight beside his legal pad, then steepled his fingers. He was evaluating David – weighing it up. Could he have killed her?

  But the fact that Sinton was curious about David’s guilt or innocence sparked a thought – the firm had nothing to do with the murder of Clara Reece, or if they did, Sinton knew nothing about it. The murder and arrest of David Child threw the firm into a pressure cooker – no, they wouldn’t bring that kind of heat down on themselves knowingly.

  ‘I thought we could go over the paper file,’ said Sinton finally.

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘That all right with you, David?’

  ‘You guys go ahead and talk it over. Let me finish this and then we can discuss everything.’

  Another message: He still couldn’t access the system.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  ‘It strikes me that the major problem here, apart from the security camera footage placing David as the last person inside the apartment, is the gun in David’s car,’ said Sinton.

  ‘I agree,’ I said.

  ‘So what are we hoping to achieve tomorrow? With this evidence, the preliminary hearing is dead in the water. I say we waive the hearing and get ready for trial.’

  ‘No.’

  It took a second for Sinton to register that I’d contradicted him. He leaned back in his chair, folded his arms, and snorted.

  ‘There’s nothing to be gained tomorrow, Flynn, we can’t say there’s not enough evidence to hold David, when in fact, there’s easily enough evidence to convict him.’

  ‘David wants the charges thrown out tomorrow,’ I said.

  ‘I’m sure he does, but you and I know that’s not going to happen.’

  David lifted his head momentarily, clocked me. I nodded.

  ‘I’ve already told David that it’s a long shot, but these are his instructions. We fight this the whole way.’

  Sinton laughed, shook his head. ‘Come on. Even if by some miracle you win the prelim,
the DA can go straight to the grand jury anyway. We’re wasting time with this when we could be preparing for trial.’

  ‘I want to win tomorrow,’ said David.

  That cut out the argument. Waving his hands, Sinton nodded, and said, ‘Of course you do, and if you want to fight, we’ll fight, but there’s not a lot to work with.’

  Checking my watch, I saw we had less than twenty minutes of the hour left.

  Gerry played the accident footage, but I didn’t need to see it a second time. Instead I paid close attention to Sinton and his associates, so I was pretty certain they didn’t recognize Perry Lake, the professional driver who I was sure had been paid to hit David and had given a false name to the cops. According to NYPD – Perry was John Woodrow. It made sense. Perry Lake had a list of priors for dangerous driving. I suspected that John Woodrow had a clear record.

  ‘Just give me a second and I’ll be done,’ said David.

  With my right index finger, I tapped the back of my left hand. He wanted more time, and I’d signaled that he had five minutes.

  We sat in silence for what seemed like ten minutes. In reality it was more like thirty seconds. Sinton couldn’t just sit there. He wanted to stamp his authority on the case.

  ‘David, I know that you’re innocent. I know that Mr Flynn, here, has passion and skill. But he’s also – you’ll forgive me for saying so – a small-time criminal lawyer who would jump at the chance of a huge trial like this. No offense,’ he said, giving me a look that said he meant every word to be as offensive as possible.

  ‘None taken,’ I said.

  ‘The gun, which I think is likely to be the murder weapon, was found in your car.’

  ‘Like I said, I never saw it before …’

  ‘David, come on, it was found next to you,’ said Sinton.

  ‘You don’t believe me,’ said David.

  ‘It’s not a question of what I believe, David. This is about the evidence. We have to—’

  Sinton broke off. It took me a few seconds to realize he wasn’t pausing to come up with the right words to appease his client. He was staring straight at David, transfixed. I got up and moved around the table, picking up the remote as I moved. I hit eject and waited for the disk, but really I was trying to see what Sinton was looking at.