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“Where the hell is Manatee County?” asked the governor.

“You’re standing in it,” said Dick.

“”I don’t understand,” said the governor.

“The airport is partly in both Sarasota and Manatee Counties...” Dick started to say.

“I don’t give a shit about the geography of the airport. What I want to know is what this subpoena is about.”

“I really couldn’t say, sir. I’m just the process server,” replied Dick.

“We’ll see about this,” said the governor. “No two bit judge in Mana what the fuck county is going to keep me here.” He stormed off toward the plane.

Dick turned to the deputy, grinning. “Did you hear that?”

“I sure did,” said the deputy.

“Do you want to know who the two bit judge is that’s presiding at this trial?”

“Who?”

“T. Johnson O’Reilly,” said Dick.

“Oh shit,” the deputy said, laughing, “and that guy is a mere governor. Old T. Johnson is going to have his ass.”

And sure enough, that is what happened. By the end of the first day of trial, a lawyer for Governor Wentworth had filed a motion to quash the subpoena. Judge O’Reilly had set a hearing for noon on Tuesday, and Elizabeth and I were in the judge’s chambers, along with Dick Bellinger and a lawyer from one of Tampa’s megafirms, representing the governor.

“What goes on in this hearing is going to be sealed,” said the judge, “and I’m imposing a gag order on all of you. I don’t want to embarrass the governor if this is some kind of publicity stunt on Mr. Royal’s part.”

“It is not, Judge,” I said. “I have every reason to believe the governor can shed some light on my client’s innocence, and I need him on the witness stand.”

The judge turned to the governor’s lawyer, and said, “What say you, Counselor?”

“The governor is a very busy man, and it would be an imposition to have him return to Florida for a trial about which he knows nothing. Moreover, I don’t believe he was properly served, and the subpoena is therefore no good.”

“What about that, Mr. Royal?” asked the judge.

“Your Honor, I have the process server, Mr. Bellinger, here. He can testify as to what he did,” I said.

Turning to Dick, the judge said, “Raise your right hand.” Dick did, and was sworn in by the judge. “Tell me about the service of the subpoena,” the judge said.

Dick took him through the process, testified that he was a duly licensed process server in the state of Florida, and that he had personally handed the subpoena to the Governor.

“What was the governor’s response?” the judge asked.

Uh oh, I thought, here’s where the subpoena gets upheld. “The governor said he was not going to let some two bit Florida judge keep him in this state,” said Dick. “His words, not mine, your Honor.”

Judge O’Reilly seemed unfazed by the comment. He turned to me, and said, “Mr. Royal, I swear by all that’s holy, if this is some kind of stunt, if the governor really doesn’t have anything to add to this trial, I will hold you in contempt and put your ass, strike that last word Madam Court Reporter, rear end in jail. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal clear, your honor.” I said.

Turning to the governor’s lawyer, the judge said, “Work out a time with Mr. Royal for your client to appear, Counselor. We’ll take him out of order, if necessary. And don’t forget the gag order.”

We had chewed up the afternoon, and Judge O’Reilly recessed for the day. Elizabeth flounced out of the courtroom. She was seething. She had renewed her objection to each of my witnesses and the judge had overruled each one. I didn’t know if she had completely figured out where I was going with my witnesses, but I doubted it, because I hadn’t known until the weekend before.

After the jury and judge had left the courtroom, Carl Merritt formally arrested Cox and read him his rights. They would head back to Miami that evening, and Cox would be charged with the murder of Golden Joe Johnson. He wouldn’t be making bail in Sarasota County.

As I left the courtroom, I was mobbed by the local press. They were all yelling at me, asking why I was calling the governor. I waved my hands in a downward motion, telling them to quiet down. “I can’t answer your questions. Not now. Come to court tomorrow, and you’ll find out. That’s all I can say for now.”

I walked off. They followed, like a pack of rabid dogs, yelling questions. I guess there hadn’t been any decent car wrecks that day.

Chapter 29 

FRIDAY

My body protested as I dragged it out of bed that morning. I was exhausted. The mental effort of a trial is so intense that the trial lawyer’s mind tries to shut down, and knowing it can’t, sends signals to the body to shut down instead. I have read that the second highest rate of suicides in the country is among trial lawyers. I can believe that, and the thought of suicide crossed my mind, briefly, as I rose to face another day in the pit.

Anne slept next to me, curled into a fetal ball, her dark hair mussed. Every few minutes, a delicate snore would slip from her. It was kind of cute, I thought, but if I told her about it she would be so embarrassed she might decide not to sleep with me any more. That did not seem like something I wanted to contemplate.

When I got out of the shower, she was awake, and padded naked to the bathroom. I felt a bit of stirring in places that didn’t need to be awakened on the morning of the final day of a trial.

As we neared the courthouse I saw several large TV transmission vans, some bearing the logos of national networks. I wasn’t surprised. Governor Wentworth had been in the news a lot lately, and the media would be excited, like a school of piranha, hoping to chew the flesh from his bones. The fact of his being a witness in a murder trial was just too juicy to pass up.

As Anne and I neared the courthouse steps, I was mobbed by the reporters, throwing stupid questions in my direction. I did not respond, walking quickly and quietly toward the security station at the entrance. The mob was left behind as I passed through security. Perhaps these rent a cops had some use after all.

The courtroom gallery was packed. Most of the observers had press passes hanging around their necks. There was a TV camera set up in one corner of the courtroom, aimed at the pit. Elizabeth and her assistant were at their table. Anne came inside the rail and sat in one of the chairs behind counsel table. As a member of the bar, she was allowed entrance to the pit, and I had already introduced her to Elizabeth and Judge O’Reilly.

The court was called to order, and the judge entered. Taking the bench, he told us to be seated, and said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a most unusual event, to have this many members of the press in a Manatee County courtroom. I want to caution each of you that I will countenance no outburst, no talking and no running out of the courtroom during the testimony of Governor Wentworth. I have instructed the deputies to seal the courtroom. If you want to leave, do so now.” No one stirred.

“There is a pool camera in the corner,” the judge continued. “If counsel has any objection, I will hear it now.” There was no objection. “Bring in the jury.”

The jury entered, anticipation written across their faces. This was probably the most exciting event of their lives, and they would be telling their grandchildren about it. They took their seats, intent on the proceedings. The judge said, “Mr. Royal, call your witness.” I did and the court deputy made a big deal out of walking to the door at the back of the courtroom,

“Governor George Wentworth,” the deputy called, and then stood aside as the governor strode into the courtroom. He was wearing a navy blue suit, a bright white dress shirt, and a red silk tie. His hair had obviously been styled that morning, probably by his traveling hairdresser. He had that arrogant air about him that emanates from many politicians, especially when they are campaigning. It was clear that the governor saw his court appearance as just another campaign stop; one that he was determined to turn to his advantage. He took his seat on the witness stand, was sworn, and turned and smiled at the jury as he promised to tell the truth and nothing but.

State your name and occupation, please sir,” I said.

“George Wentworth, Governor of Iowa and candidate for the Presidency of the United States.” He smiled directly at the camera in the back corner of the courtroom. He was probably thinking about the six o’clock news. He seemed very sure of himself, the arrogance oozing from every pore. It was time to start chipping away at the stone exterior. I wanted to see him sweat a little. I had heard stories about the hair trigger temper he was careful not to show in public. Trial lawyers love explosive tempers in witnesses. If you can gently goad a witness into exploding on the stand, you have him in your arena. You’re in charge, and the jury is forever after a little skeptical of his testimony.

“Where were you on October 6, twelve years ago?” I asked.

“I have no idea.”

“If I told you you were at the Lakeview Hotel in Chicago on that evening would you disagree?”

“I have no idea, Counselor.”

I walked to the witness stand and handed him a piece of paper. “Can you identify that document, Governor?”

“It appears to be a computer printout from the Lakeview Hotel for the evening October 6.”

“Does it show the name of the person registered in suite 1101?”

“Yes.”

“And what is the name?”

“It’s my name, Counselor. So, I guess you proved your point.” He was close to snarling.

“Do you remember that a prostitute was beaten to death in that hotel on the same night you stayed there?”

“What’s your point, Sir?”

“Just asking, Governor. Do you remember that?”

“Vaguely, “ he said.

“And do you remember Governor, that some john had two prostitutes in his room and they were all snorting cocaine?”

“What are you implying, Counselor?” The snarl was closer to the surface now.

“Nothing, Governor, just asking.”

“Well, ask something else. I’m tired of this line of questions.”

“Your Honor?” I said.

Judge O’Reilly leaned over his bench, his face grave. “Governor, you will answer the questions put to you unless I rule otherwise.”

“Judge, these questions have no bearing on anything,” said Wentworth.

“I’ll make that decision, Governor,” said the judge.

Turning to me the governor said, “Ask your next stupid question, Counselor.”

“Governor,” said the judge, “You will sit there and conduct yourself like a gentleman. You will answer the questions put to you, or so help me, I will hold you in contempt of this court.”

I had turned and was walking back to counsel table. I saw one of the governor’s handlers standing in the very back of the courtroom, making calming hand signals to the governor. The governor was trying to control himself, willing himself to calm down, to present himself as the strong leader with a steady demeanor.

“Where were you on the evening of May 5, 1979, Governor?” I asked.

“I have no idea.”

“Where did you live at the time?”

“I was in college then.”

“At Georgetown University in Washington D.C.?”

“That’s right.”

“Lived in a dorm on campus?”

“Yes.”

“Then why were you checked into a sleazebag hotel on that night?”

“I’m not sure I was. I guess you have a registration card for that as well.”

“I sure do, Governor.” I handed him the registration card.

“Okay. That’s my name. So what?”

“Are you aware that a prostitute was beaten to death in that hotel on the very night you were there?”

“This is getting tiresome, Counselor.”

“Can you answer the question?” I asked.

“I don’t have any memory of that.”

“Were you aware that cocaine was found in both hotel rooms where the dead prostitutes were found?”

Judge O’Reilly was getting a little restless. “Do you have a point, Mr. Royal?”

“Yes, sir, your Honor,” I said. “Just a few more questions.”

“Governor, where were you on the evening of September 6, 1984?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“Does Moline, Illinois sound familiar?”

“Maybe. I’ve been to Moline a number of times. It’s right across the river from Davenport, Iowa. I was working on my father’s campaign for reelection to the United States Senate at the time. I was traveling the whole state of Iowa.”

“Do you remember that a prostitute was beaten to death in the same hotel in which you stayed on the night you were there?”

“No. I’m not aware of that.”

“There was cocaine residue found in the room. Does that ring any bells?”

“Just what are you getting at, Counselor?”

“Are you still using cocaine, Governor?” I asked.

That was it. He came out of his chair, screaming, “You two bit pissant. I’m the Governor of Iowa. Just who the hell do you think you are?” Spittle was flying out of his mouth, his eyes blazing. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the court deputy move toward the witness stand. Two members of the jury flinched at the fury of the governor’s response.

“Sit down, Governor!” said the judge.

“Don’t you tell me what to do, you small time tyrant. I make and break judges like you every day.” The governor had lost control. I could not have asked for a better display of a witness out of control.

“Not in this state, and not in this courtroom,” said Judge O’Reilly. “Either you sit down or I’ll have the deputy arrest you. Now, Governor. Right now!” The judge’s voice was calm, but his words flowed out of his mouth like steel javelins.

Suddenly, the governor sat down. He had pulled himself back to reality by strength of will, but he must have known that he had done terrible damage to himself. His outburst would lead the national news shows that evening. “I apologize, your Honor,” he said.

“Proceed, Mr. Royal,” said the judge.

“Governor, are you aware of the progress made in DNA evidence during the last ten years?” I asked.

“Only in the vaguest sense.”

“Did you know that the Chicago Police Department had recovered semen from the room in which one prostitute was beaten to death and Vivian Pickens was almost beaten to death?”

He didn’t know that. His eyes reflected something that I had seen a long time ago in the eyes of a North Viet Namese regular soldier who was about to die. It was the acknowledgment that his life was over.

“No,” he said quietly.

“Would you be willing to give a DNA sample to the Chicago detective that is here in the courtroom?”

“I think I’d better seek legal counsel, Mr. Royal,” said the governor.

“Were you responsible for the death of Vivian Pickens and Golden Joe Johnson?”

“No.”

“Governor, you sent your goons to Chicago to find Vivian four years ago, and when they did, she disappeared. Your people picked up her trail through her father down in Pahokee, and they found her on Longboat Key. You had her killed, because you were afraid she could identify you as her attacker and the murderer of her friend. You had Sam Cox waylay Logan on the night of Vivian’s death, so someone could strangle her and leave her in Logan’s condo. You wanted it to look like a lover’s quarrel, so the police would look no further. Am I right, Governor?”

“I refuse to answer that without advice of counsel.”

“I have nothing further, your Honor,” I said.

“I have no questions, your Honor.” said Elizabeth.

“You may be excused, Governor. Under the circumstances there will be no contempt citation. I imagine you’ll be going to Chicago for awhile,” said the judge.

“Your Honor,” said Elizabeth, still on her feet, “The state dismisses all charges against the defendant Logan Hamilton.”

“Case is dismissed,” said the judge. “The defendant is forthwith released from custody. The jury is dismissed.” He rose and left the bench.

Just like that, the trial was over. Since a jury had been empaneled before the dismissal, jeopardy had attached, and Logan was as free as if the jury had acquitted him. I breathed a large sigh of relief. Logan leaned over to me and said, “What just happened?”

“Case is over,” I said. “You’re a free man.”

Pandemonium erupted in the courtroom as the judge left. Cell phones appeared, and reporters were calling in their stories. The pool camera was being broken down, the live feed having been sent all day to the trucks parked in front of the courthouse. Programming would be interrupted on all the network and cable channels, so that the feed of the governor imploding his campaign could be given to the American people without delay.

The court deputy walked over, smiling. “That was great, Mr. Royal,” he said. “That SOB had it coming. I can’t imagine him ending up as president.”

“I don’t think it’ll happen now,” said Anne.

I had turned to find Elizabeth, who was packing up, getting ready to leave. “That was a courageous thing you did,” I said. “I wonder how your boss is going to take it.”

“I don’t really care, Matt,” she said. “Maybe it’s time I moved on.”

“Don’t do anything rash, Elizabeth. You’re a hell of a prosecutor. The state needs you. Why don’t we let the dust settle and have a drink. I’ll call you the first of the week.”

“I’d like that Matt. You’re a hell of a lawyer, for a beach bum.” She was smiling.

Logan, Anne and I walked out of the courthouse, reporters vying for our attention. We ignored them, and headed for Longboat Key. I was breathing easy for the first time since I had agreed to represent Logan. The trial was over, and my friend was free. Anne was the bonus I did not expect when the case started, and I thought I could get used to having her around. We’d have to explore that.