Hostile Witness Part 56

A Peel.

57.

ONCE AGAIN I WAS RIDING the marble-lined elevator to the fifty-fourth floor of One Liberty Place, rising to the offices of Talbott, Kittredge and Chase, coming as a visitor, not a member of the caste, coming as a supplicant, as one of the unworthy. But on this ride, at least, I was no longer lugging along a deep-seated resentment. I had been resentful of my exclusion from the hallways of the rich and powerful when I believed I belonged by right of merit, of talent, by right of my innate inner quality. But that belief had fled before the reality of my failure in United States v. Moore and Concannon. Not only was I not going to be offered a place at the glorious head table of the law, but the only thing I had proven at that trial was that I was inadequate to take it on my own. The jury had come back after only six hours of deliberations. Jimmy Moore acquitted of all counts; Chester Concannon guilty of Hobbs Act extortion, guilty of Hobbs Act a.s.sault, guilty of racketeering. Guilty, guilty, guilty. The words from the jury foreman were like the tolling of some unwholesome melancholy bell. Guilty, guilty, guilty. Six hours of deliberations and Chester Concannon was gone.

There was nothing I could do to salvage the trial after Veronica, my star witness, buried Chester with her testimony. I finally snapped out of my self-pitying stupor and had her declared a hostile witness, so that I could cross-examine her, and then went at her tooth and tong, attacking her credibility, attacking her story, attacking her lies. And they were lies, yes. She had told me the truth in her apartment the black night I subpoenaed her. I had no doubt but that it was Jimmy Moore who had taken that quarter of a million, cash, and handed it over to Norvel Goodwin, resurrecting with fresh capital Goodwin's moribund grip on the crack cocaine market in Philadelphia. I had no doubt but that Jimmy Moore had killed Zack Bissonette with the Mike Schmidt autographed baseball bat, that it was Jimmy Moore who had battered him into a coma and left him sucking air through the blood oozing out of his mangled face. But with all of my hammering, all of my badgering, all of my bombast, I was not able to shake her story. My only hope was to put myself on the stand and contradict her. I was the only one who could impeach her with what she had told me that night in her apartment and so I pa.s.sionately requested that Judge Gimbel let me testify.

"Mr. Carl," he said, with all the indignation his high position allowed him, "I'm not going to let a lawyer testify in my courtroom at a trial that he is conducting. That is a clear violation of the Rules of Professional Conduct. You're experienced enough to know you need an investigator or another third party to question a witness if you intend to impeach that witness's testimony with the interrogation. They still teach that in law school, I believe, and I'm not about to start changing the rules now. Was there anyone else in the room when she made her statement to you?"

"No, sir," I said.

"Did she sign a written statement?"

"No, sir."

"Is there any tape recording or video of what she said?"

"No, sir."

"Well then, Mr. Carl, you can ask her what she said to you that night, but you will not be able to personally contradict, do you understand?"

"I object, Your Honor."

"Exception noted for the record," said the judge. "Any more questions for this witness?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Then go to it, Mr. Carl. You've got work to do."

And go to it I did, but to no avail. There had always been something slippery about Veronica, she was soft and silky but I could never really get a hold of her, could never pin her down. Even when I had her tied to those bedposts I could never really pin her down. That was the way she was in bed and that was the way she was on the stand too, smooth, clear, but slippery when pressed. And in the end I failed. There was really no way to succeed once she blurted out her lies. If only I had forced her to sign a statement. If only I had placed Sheldon at the doorway with his stethoscope to listen to our conversation. If only I had recognized early on in her testimony the prepared evasiveness with which she answered questions about the bank account and quickly stopped my examination before the real damage was done. If only I hadn't been such a f.u.c.kup.

Even before she was finished testifying I had asked the court for a recess and, along with Beth, ran to the clerk's office for a fresh subpoena, filling it out on the ride down the courthouse elevator. There was one other person, I knew, who could contradict her story, the person who had been the liaison between Jimmy Moore and Norvel Goodwin, who had set up the deal for the quarter of a million and had told Goodwin where Veronica had been hiding out the day she was to testify. The same person who had been with Jimmy Moore the night of the murder, the man whose footprints had been encased in Bissonette's vomit and Bissonette's blood. I filled in Henry's name hastily as I rode down to the ground floor and Beth fished in her pocketbook for a check for the witness fee. The murder had happened on Henry's night off and he had flashed an alibi to the cops, who had been all too willing to believe the driver so as to put the blame on Concannon, but I was sure now that Henry's alibi was a lie. In a desperate trot I ran to the Market Street exit of the courthouse, where I was sure the councilman's limo would be waiting with Henry sitting calmly inside. He was my last chance. I spotted that black cat of a car at the corner of the building and rushed to it, tapping on the window, thrusting the papers inside as soon as there was a gap big enough to fit my arm. But the face underneath the chauffeur's cap was white, not black, and he looked at me uncomprehendingly as the papers waved before him.

"Where's Henry?" I asked.

"Kingston."

"New York?"

"Jamaica. He went back to his family. Something about it being too d.a.m.n cold up here, and I don't blame him one bit."

Six hours of deliberations and then the solemn tolling of the bell. Guilty, guilty, guilty.

Eggert proved willing to settle for a councilman's aide if he couldn't get a councilman. He saw that he had a sure conviction in Chester Concannon, and a now shaky chance against Jimmy, and so in his closing he went after Chester with a fury. In detail he listed his crimes, the extortion, the murder, the taking for his own purposes of the quarter of a million dollars in cash, proven incontrovertibly by the records of cash deposits into and withdrawals from the checking account with Chester Concannon's name on it, all calmly put into evidence by Prescott when he took his turn with Veronica. In Eggert's forty-minute closing he spent thirty minutes on Chet Concannon. He tried, of course, to link Councilman Moore to his aide, but even that attempt only further highlighted his argument that Chester was the real culprit here.

Prescott didn't have to say much when his turn to close arrived. He gave his public servant speech, blamed Moore's indictment on politics. Concannon was guilty, he told them, that was no longer in doubt. The only question remaining was what vile motives led the United States Attorney to indict the councilman too. "When you acquit Jimmy Moore," he argued, "you are not only acquitting an innocent man. You are also sending a message to the powers in this city that you will not tolerate the persecution of a man who is fighting for the poor, the downtrodden, who is fighting the scourge of drugs on our streets, who is fighting for you. Ladies and gentlemen, politics has its time and place, during campaigns, during elections, even in the legislative process, but it has no place before the grand jury. Mr. Eggert forgot exactly who he works for when he indicted Councilman Moore. Before the grand jury and before this court he was working for the councilman's political opponents, acting for their and his political gain. Tell him that he works not for the powerful, not for himself, but for you. Tell him the clearest way you can, tell him with an acquittal. Send Jimmy Moore back to his good work."

I closed too, of course. I stood before that jury and spoke about Chester Concannon and reasonable doubt and how Jimmy Moore had conspired to have his aide take the fall. Oh, I let it rip, I did. But it was a lost cause and I knew it and the jury knew it and when the eyes started rolling and the yawns came, first from Mr. Thompkins, who ran his own printing business and who I knew would be a tough sell, and then from the cynical Mrs. Simpson, whom I was counting on if I had any chance, it was as good as over. I kept pounding away, repeating "reasonable doubt," "reasonable doubt," "reasonable doubt," as if I were a hypnotist trying to induce some post-trial daze in the jurors. I gave it the college try for dear old Chet, yes I did, but it mattered not a whit. Six hours of deliberations and the groaning moan of the great iron bell of justice: guilty, guilty, guilty.

There was a gay tinkling ring as the elevator stopped at the fifty-fourth floor and the doors slid open. Talbott, Kittredge and Chase. That huge expanse of lobby, beautiful and sterile; that blonde receptionist, beautiful and cold. Maybe there was another reason my resentment had vanished. Maybe the bra.s.s ring had been tarnished for me. If deceit and betrayal were the price of admission, I'd just as soon sit it out. That was something I had learned about myself, something good. I had learned enough bad about myself, my incompetence, my capacity for self-delusion, my steep leanings toward venality, but I had learned good things, too. I looked around at the riches of Talbott, Kittredge and Chase and decided that maybe I just didn't want it anymore. Well, the receptionist I wanted still, let's be honest, she was something, sure, but the rest could all go to h.e.l.l for all I cared. And maybe, just maybe, I would do my part to send it there.

"William Prescott, please," I said to the receptionist.

"Who can I say is here?"

"You don't remember me?"

She gave one of those patented tosses of her mousse-swept hair and said, "No. I don't."

"Victor Carl."

Her eyes opened wide for just an instant, just long enough so I knew that the story had spread through the whole of the firm, from partners to a.s.sociates to secretaries to the receptionist. Even the cleaning crew, I bet, had a good laugh at my expense.

"Take a seat please, Mr. Carl, and I'll tell his secretary you're here."

"Don't bother," I said as I headed toward the stairs. "I know the way."

She stood up. "You can't go unescorted Mr. Carl. That's policy."

"I'm sure it is," I said without stopping. "But it's your policy and I don't work here."

By the time I reached the stairs on my way to Prescott's office she was already barking about me on the phone.

Up the wide circling stairs with the burnished rail, along the lucratively noisy hallways with secretaries typing vigorously and lawyers bustling in and out of their offices as they hurried to fill up their time sheets with billable hours, around the corners and past the richly furnished conference rooms, generously outfitted with legal pads and embossed pens and soft drinks. I had just reached the custodian's closet, where I had spent desperate hours with Sheldon waiting for the hall to empty, when a fl.u.s.tered Janice rushed to meet me. She wasn't as efficiently pretty as I remembered her to be on our first meeting, though the difference might have been mine.

"Oh, Mr. Carl," she said. "You can't just wander around the office alone."

I lifted my hands. "No staplers in my pockets, honest."

"It's policy," she said. "Mr. Prescott is on a conference call. I'll take you to a meeting room to wait for him if you'd like."

"That's all right, Janice," I said as I started again toward Prescott's office, brushing past her. "But I'll just wait with Billy. I'm sure he won't mind."

She sort of chugged after me saying something or other, but I ignored her. Why I was being so obstreperous is clear to me now. One result of my experience at the trial was to loose some shackle from my neck. I had always felt that there was a right way to behave, a right way to dress, a right manner to affect, as if all these rights would add up to something tangible, and add up to something tangible they did. What they added up to was a slavery of the soul. I had so wanted to be them I pretended to be like them, which only made it easier for them to kick me in the groin and step on my face whenever they liked. I was playing a losing game because I was playing on their turf, by their rules, number one of which stated that they always won and I always lost. But I guess I had lost one too many times. My long bitter period of obeisance had pa.s.sed. I was reveling in my freedom to be whatever I chose, even if what I chose to be was rude.

The door to his office was open a crack. With Janice just behind, I skirted her work station, pushed open the door, walked into his office, plopped down onto one of the tapestry chairs across from his desk. Prescott was sitting straight-backed in his suit jacket, talking into the phone. When he saw me his face startled but quickly composed itself again.

Janice, in the doorway, said, "I tried to stop him, Mr. Prescott," but Prescott waved her off and she backed out, closing the door behind her.

"Sam, Sam, Sam," said Prescott into the phone while he smiled at me. "We will get you everything you've asked for, I promise, but we need that opinion letter by tomorrow afternoon at the latest. We're going to the printer tomorrow night and it has to be ready by then." He spun his finger in the air, indicating that this Sam on the other end was going on and on. He winked at me. "Listen, Sam. I have to go, I have someone in my office. Simon and Jack, stay on the line and talk with Sam about getting him all that he needs. We'll satisfy you, Sam, but we need you to move on this, all right? Let me know before the end of the day of your progress."

When he hung up he shook his head. "Some lawyers are so timid about opinion letters it's amazing that any deal ever gets done. Valley Hunt Estates. We have the interim financing and we're ready to go. It's going to be a killer deal. Too bad you're not a part of it anymore."

I shrugged.

"But you'll be gratified to know that we gave the business to your friend Sam Guthrie over at Blaine, c.o.x," said Prescott. "He, at least, seems grateful for the opportunity. So, Victor, what brings you unbidden once again to our offices?"

I reached into my briefcase and pulled out a manila envelope, which I tossed onto his desk. "I wanted to personally serve our motion for a new trial that we're filing today with Judge Gimbel. In it I lay out in detail everything that happened from the moment I was hired to defend Chester Concannon."

"I see," said Prescott as he opened the envelope and scanned the lengthy motion inside. "I expected as much. And frankly, Victor, I wish you luck. Jimmy's been acquitted in the federal trial and the murder charges against him have been dropped. Nothing would please me more than for Chester to get off also."

"I don't think the judge will see it so benignly."

He shrugged his shoulders as he continued leafing through the motion.

"You set me up," I said.

"Yes," said Prescott. "It wasn't so hard to do."

"You figured the only way to really clear Jimmy of the charges was to put them off on Chet, and the surest way to get the jury to believe it all was to get Chet's lawyer to do the dirty work for you. If you had called Veronica to lie on the stand it would have looked obvious and no one would have bought it. But for Chet's lawyer to put her on and to have her bury him, well, that clinched it."

"Effective, wouldn't you say?"

"And totally improper."

"No, Victor, that is where you're wrong. We were doing everything in our power to defend our client. The Sixth Amendment requires no less. Were you following the same high standard, hmmm?"

"It's patently improper to have a witness perjure herself, even if you don't call her."

"But who's to say it was perjury?"

"She told me the truth when I subpoenaed her."

"Maybe that was the lie."

"I don't think so."

"What you think and what you can prove are two very different things. I must say, Victor, you surprised me. The whole Veronica thing was very risky. I thought all our inducements for you to cooperate would stop you from going after Jimmy. I a.s.sumed that was our surest way to win, to just have Chester sit there and eat whatever we handed him. I hired you because I thought you'd come cheap, but Jimmy suspected you'd turn into a crusader. I guess he's a better judge of character than I. So to be safe he dangled Veronica before you just in case you decided to play it n.o.ble. It worked out better than we could have hoped. You snapped at her like a trout at a perfectly tied fly. We actually expected that she'd have to tell you everything, but your investigation was amazingly thorough. The more you found out, the easier it was for us. But then when you put her on the stand, that was the riskiest part of all. You see, Victor, you seemed to have a great influence on that poor girl, greater than you know. We weren't sure what she was going to say until she said it. Her actual testimony was a great relief to all of us."

"You planned it all from the day you hired me."

"From the day Pete McCrae died, yes. Pete we knew we could trust but with his inconvenient death, well, then we needed you, or someone like you. It was too big a case to count on luck. We had all kinds of strategies and contingency plans but in the end we needed something dramatic to win it, and you certainly gave us that, Victor."

"In fact, you had been setting up Concannon even before the indictment. It was you who told Jimmy to open the bank account with Chester's name on it."

"Now you're guessing," said Prescott.

"It was the amount of the deposits and withdrawals that clued me. Federal regulations require cash transactions of over ten grand to be reported to the Treasury Department. Which means you knew all along that Jimmy was giving the money to Goodwin, capitalizing a drug dealer to set up a steady stream of funds for his rehabilitation projects. That's why Goodwin killed Chuckie, to keep him from telling me about it, and why Goodwin tried to stop Veronica from testifying. It must have been Henry who told Goodwin where Veronica was hiding. Goodwin sent his henchmen after her, fearing she would disclose the arrangement, not knowing all the time that she was in your pocket."

"I'm certainly not going to confirm such scurrilous accusations," said Prescott. "One never knows who is taping what, hmmm? But if it all were true, think of the beauty of it. Drug consumers are going to buy drugs no matter what. It is an inelastic demand. But with just a little venture capital, effectively applied, a piece of the profits of the sales would go to helping victims and to drying up the market. The more successful the marketing venture, the more active it would be in sowing the seeds of its own destruction. Pure pragmatism, Victor, a free-market solution to a previously intractable problem."

"And the kids dying from stray bullets as Goodwin battles to expand his turf?"

"Collateral damage," said Prescott. "Unavoidable."

"Jimmy is preying on the weak, profiting from murder to salve the wound of his daughter's death," I said. "It's immoral."

"Morality is a mere luxury in this world, Victor," said Prescott. "It is the enemy of achievement, the last bastion of the failed. Learn that and someday you might learn what it is to be a lawyer."

"If that's what it takes I'd sooner cut lawns."

"As you wish. But I'm actually glad you're here, Victor. I've been trying to reach you."

"I've been out of town."

"I can understand. The embarra.s.sment. I've talked it over with CUP and, with the trial finished, they've decided that they won't sue you for the retainer so long as you give up your claim to any additional fees."

"That doesn't even cover half of what I'm owed."

"Some is better than none, Victor, any day of the week."

"I think I'll hold out for it all."

"That's fine. I understand Sam Guthrie has already drafted the complaint."

"So I'll counterclaim, then. Save me the filing fees."

"You shouldn't take it all so personally, Victor. It was only business. Actually, you were better in court than I expected. It's too bad it had to conclude like it did. I'm sure we could have worked very profitably together."

"I don't think so," I said. "By the way, I'll be shortly filing a motion to amend the complaint in Saltz v. Metropolitan Investors."

"A little late, Victor. Trial's in less than two weeks."

"Oh, I think the judge will let me amend the complaint to add two new defendants."

"New defendants?" he asked, the crow's-feet around his eyes deepening. "Who?"

"Well, Billy, I told you I was out of town. Where I was, actually, was in Corpus Christi, Texas, with my partner, visiting the Downtown Marina. Maybe you've heard of it?"

By the frozen expression on his face I could tell that he had.

"Well, it seems that our mutual accountant friend Frederick Stocker was docking his pretty new sailboat at that very marina. We showed up there just yesterday, Billy, and, in an amazing coincidence, we arrived at the marina pretty much at the same time as the FBI. And somehow in all the fuss of his arrest and my dropping a subpoena in his lap Mr. Stocker seemed to think that you were somehow mixed up in the Feds finding out where he was, though I haven't a clue, really, as to how he got that idea, unless it was something I said. Do you think that might have been it?"

His whole face seemed to harden and contract, every muscle tensing one against the other. His blue eyes turned cold and steely but still he didn't move.

"Well, anyway," I continued, "he told a strange story about how the lawyer for the general partners in the Saltz partnership had an undisclosed interest in the deal and how, with the market turning against the project, he convinced the accountant to doctor up the numbers in the prospectus, promising him that no one would ever know. It was this lawyer who he says induced him to defraud my clients and then helped him hide away after he ran off with stolen money. And the funny thing, Billy, is he says that this lawyer fellow is you. Imagine that. Which is why, Billy, we're adding you and your partners as defendants. Now I'm a realist and I figure a smart fellow like you will have shielded most of his a.s.sets, so you're probably judgment-proof. I figure the best we can do with you is to pull your ticket to practice, send you to that lucrative h.e.l.l for ex-lawyers where you'll become a lobbyist or some other lowlife scavenger. But Talbott, Kittredge and Chase, why I'm betting that's a d.a.m.n deep pocket."

His face had turned a whitish gray. "It's too late to amend," he said. "The statute of limitations has run."

"Not technically. It stops running if information is denied to a party due to fraud, which your hiding of Stocker would const.i.tute."

"I'll beat you in court. Any day of the week."

I stood up. "Maybe so, but this Stocker is a very articulate man. I'm certain he'll make a fine witness."