Dead Lawyers Tell No Tales (27 page)

JUDGE TAJ DEEGAN,
a former prosecutor, had been on the Chesapeake Circuit Court bench for less than a year. At forty-one, she was the youngest judge in the city. She had a big frame and carried around a few extra pounds, which rounded out her face and made her look more imposing. She wore small black reading glasses that she propped on the end of her nose. She had a quick wit and a dry sense of humor. Nobody outworked her.

The woman had a Horatio Alger story, a single mom who had taken college and law school classes at night while working for a private security firm during the day. She had gained notoriety as the lead prosecutor against a Muslim imam accused of honor killings. During that case, she survived a courtroom shoot-out in Virginia Beach Circuit Court and became a legend. One year later, when an opening came up on the Chesapeake bench, Deegan changed her residence and was immediately appointed by the politicians. She was a local hero who would bring diversity to the bench and believed in law and order. Who could vote against that?

On Monday afternoon, one week before the scheduled start of the Elias King trial, Landon found himself in Deegan’s courtroom, arguing a number of pretrial motions.

The most important issue was the role of Elias King at trial. Landon and Elias had filed a motion informing the court that Elias intended to participate in his own defense. Franklin Sherman had objected, claiming that the defense was simply gaming the system by trying to find a way for King to testify without having to endure cross-examination.

“Judge, we’re dealing with constitutional rights here,” Landon argued. “Mr. King is entitled to participate in his own defense, and he’s also entitled to assert his Fifth Amendment rights. I’m sure in your days as a prosecutor you had numerous defendants represent themselves and never take the stand. If a defendant can handle the entire case, he can certainly handle just a portion of it.”

After she had heard from both lawyers, Judge Deegan removed her reading glasses and hunched forward a little, rounding her shoulders. “You’re right, Mr. Reed. I’ve seen many defendants represent themselves.” She paused and looked at Elias. “It’s generally not a good idea. In fact, I can’t remember a single one of them winning.”

She sighed and sat back in her chair. “But Mr. Reed is correct—the defendant has a constitutional right to do so. However, Mr. Sherman is also correct in that this is not an unqualified right. It can be revoked by the court for misconduct. And if this court suspects that Mr. King is doing what the prosecution suggests and using this as a ploy to testify without taking the stand, the court will not hesitate to revoke that right.”

She fixed her no-nonsense gaze on Landon and Elias again. “I think it becomes especially problematic if Mr. King gives an opening statement, which would, by necessity, address factual matters in the case. So I’m putting both of you on notice right now. If Mr. King decides to give his own opening statement, despite the fact that he’s represented by very capable legal counsel, I will be inclined to rule that he has waived his Fifth Amendment privilege on any factual matters addressed in that
opening statement of which he has personal knowledge. The same will be true if he examines witnesses using questions that sound more like narratives than questions. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Landon said.

Deegan flashed a quick grin showing straight white teeth. “Good. What’s the next issue?”

Forty-five minutes later, in the parking lot, Elias took an optimistic view of things. “I was going to let you do the opening anyway,” he said. “I’ll do the closing, because by then it won’t matter if I waive my Fifth Amendment right. They can’t force me to take the stand at that stage.”

It was an interesting strategy, one that Harry McNaughten would have liked. It would be one more reason why the press, already focused on the case, would be tracking their every move.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Landon said.

THE DAYS BLURRED TOGETHER
in the final week before trial. Landon spent nearly every waking moment at the office, and most of the time, Elias King was there with him. Detective Freeman breezed through once in a while to inform Landon and Parker Clausen that she still didn’t know who wanted them dead.

Elias had commandeered one of the empty offices on the second floor. The conference room became the Elias King war room, used to store most of the case files. When she came, Freeman set up shop in yet another empty office. If there was one thing McNaughten and Clay had, it was plenty of space.

Out of respect, nobody did an ounce of work in Harry’s old office. In the back of his mind, Landon had plans to move into that office if he won the King case. Harry would have wanted it that way. But if he lost, Landon would stay in the first-year associate’s office that he had been occupying since the day he walked in the door. For that matter, if he lost, Landon would probably vacate the firm altogether.

But he didn’t have time to think about the future right now. Every morning he wrote out a two-page list of things to do, and by the end of the day he had added more items than he had crossed off. He wondered how any lawyer ever got ready for a big felony case.

That was one of many reasons it surprised him late Friday morning when Elias King stuck his head in Landon’s office and asked if he needed a break.

“What I need is about four more weeks,” Landon said.

“Jake’s in his last day at an Old Dominion football camp,” Elias said. “I was thinking about going over and catching the seven-on-seven scrimmage. Want to come?”

Landon looked at the man as if he’d just suggested they go rob a bank. They had a trial coming up in three days! A murder trial.
Elias’s
murder trial.

“Are you serious?”

“Look, we haven’t taken a break in about four weeks. We’re as ready to go as we’re going to be.” Elias paused and swallowed. “This might be my last chance to see him play.”

“Why don’t you go on over? I’ve still got a ton of stuff to do before Monday.”

Elias hung his head, as if his last friend in the world had just betrayed him. “The terms of my bail only allow me to leave the house for meetings with my lawyers. If you go with me, we would probably be covered. Plus, it would mean a lot to Jake. To be honest, if I show up with you, he would think it was cool. If I show up on my own, he’d probably be annoyed.”

Against his better judgment, Landon agreed to take a few hours off. He called Billy Thurston, who decided to ride over with them.

///

When they got to the field, the shaded spots on the bleachers were already taken, so the three men picked an isolated spot about halfway up where the sun could beat down on them. Elias still had on the white
starched shirt and striped red tie that he had worn to the office. He loosened the tie and rolled up his sleeves. He didn’t have any sunglasses, so he squinted at the field. Landon wondered if the man had ever been to one of Jake’s games.

Landon was more comfortable. The past three days, he had rolled out of bed, taken a quick shower, and thrown on shorts and a T-shirt before heading to the office. No sense shaving—that took time.

Billy Thurston had on a pair of gym shorts, a Packers workout shirt, and an old Packers cap that he wore backward. The cap was frayed around the edges, and the white trim had turned brown. It looked like it had been around since the Vince Lombardi days.

When Jake noticed them, he broke into a smile, and Landon gave him a thumbs-up. When his team got the ball, Jake threw an incomplete pass on the first play and an interception on the second. He jogged back to the sidelines, head down. He avoided eye contact with the three men in the bleachers.

“I think that receiver ran the wrong route,” Billy said. “That one’s not on Jake.”

The next series was a little better, and Jake’s team marched down the field until the drive stalled at the other team’s twenty. But on the third series, Jake threw another pick, and Billy Thurston had seen enough. He stood up.

“What are you doing?” Landon asked.

“I can’t watch this anymore,” Billy said. He had his hands on his hips. “Those receivers are terrible. I’m going down to talk to Jake’s linemen.”

Billy marched down to the sidelines, and, within minutes, he was coaching. He shouted encouragement to the kids and demonstrated techniques when they came to the sidelines. The camp coaches took a backseat and let Billy do his thing.

Landon took a quick glance around. If a sniper wanted to take him out, this would be a good opportunity. He and Elias King were sitting
ducks. If Kerri were here, she might be having second thoughts about Billy’s expertise as a bodyguard.

“Don’t let that daughter of yours grow up without knowing her daddy,” Elias said. He was squinting at the field, and the comment came out of the blue.

“She won’t.”

“All those hours at the office. Running around prosecuting big-time criminals. Literally putting my life on the line to put those thugs behind bars. And where am I now?” Elias looked at Landon briefly, as if his lawyer might actually have an answer. Landon kept his eyes glued to the field.

“My kid’s a teenager, and he hardly knows me,” Elias continued. “Let’s face it; there’s a good chance I won’t be there for his high school graduation or to take him to college or to see him get married.”

It was the first time Elias had talked this frankly about losing the case. He said it with a sense of melancholy, and Landon had half an urge to give the man a pep talk. Instead, he remained silent. It was like one of those moments in a Shakespearean tragedy where the central figure took the stage for a few moments of introspection. Who was Landon to interfere?

“Julia always struggled with depression. We had different ideas about how to raise Jake. When you come home at the end of a long and stressful day, you’re supposed to feel a sense of relaxation. But I always felt like I was stepping into a war zone, full of innuendos and subtle jabs and this undercurrent that I wasn’t being the kind of father I needed to be.”

“So you spent more time at the office?”

“Yeah. At work, I was like this demigod. There was always plenty of excitement and danger. Recently, Erica infused a new sense of life and enthusiasm into what I did. I never thought I would be
that
guy, the one who lives a double life. And I know Erica never wanted to be
that
woman.”

Elias watched his son complete a pass and shouted some encouragement to him. Jake jogged back to the huddle with a little more
confidence, his head high. But the kid’s footwork was still a mess, and Landon felt a pang of guilt for abandoning Jake over the summer.

Elias leaned back so his elbows were resting on the row of bleachers behind him. But then Jake overthrew a receiver and Elias leaned forward again. “What’s he doing wrong?” he asked.

Landon gave a charitable analysis of Jake’s footwork and decision making. He ended with a breakdown of the psychological factors. “It’s mostly a matter of confidence. Jake sees the right throw, but he doesn’t trust his instincts. He hesitates, and that gives defenders a chance to break on the ball. He needs to be making throws the second the receiver cuts.”

Elias nodded his head and there was a long silence before he spoke again. “If we lose this case, could you spend a little time with Jake? The kid needs a steady male influence in his life. I’ve talked it over with Julia, and we’d want you to be his godfather or something along those lines. He could spend as much time with you as you’d be willing to give him.”

The request caught Landon off guard, but he realized that this had been the whole point of their field trip. Elias King had allowed himself to think the unthinkable. What if they lost? Elias and Julia had talked. Elias was like a man with a terminal disease putting his affairs in order.

“Sure,” Landon said. “It would be an honor.”

Elias reached over and patted Landon on the knee. It was an awkward moment; Elias wasn’t great at showing his emotions.

“Thanks,” he said.

///

On the way home, Billy drove and Elias rode shotgun, with Landon and Jake in the backseat. Jake was down in the mouth, describing his performance as “pretty lousy.”

“You can’t let one day get you down,” Landon said. “I remember some days when I threw three or four interceptions just trying to put the ball into places it didn’t belong. It’s better to just throw the ball away than to try and make something out of nothing.”

“You talking about those days you got paid to throw those interceptions or the days you did it for free?” Billy called out from the front seat. He glanced in the mirror, a smirk on his face.

“Nobody’s talking to you,” Landon said. But he noticed that Jake had managed a small grin, his first one since getting in the car.

“You know what a center is?” Landon asked Jake.

“No, sir.”

“A three-hundred-pound quarterback without any brains.”

Jake smiled broadly. But the kid didn’t dare laugh out loud. Nobody but Landon could take shots at Billy Thurston and get away with it.

LANDON GOT HIS OWN PEP TALK
on Monday morning, the first day of the Elias King trial.

He had been awake half the night thinking about it, lying on his back, eyes wide open, worrying about a hundred tasks he hadn’t had the chance to complete. For the most part, he believed in his client’s innocence, though it felt strange starting a murder trial without knowing for sure what had really happened. In his law school dreams, he had seen himself defending innocent criminal defendants, Perry Mason style, the guardian of justice. Unfortunately, nothing in the real world was so black-and-white. And nothing in law school had prepared him for this.

The alarm went off at five, but the only person it woke up was Kerri. Landon was already at the kitchen table, poring over some notes. Kerri gave him a kiss, said, “Good morning,” and fixed him a cup of coffee and two pieces of toast. They sat at the breakfast table and spoke softly, trying not to disturb Billy, who was sleeping on the couch, rustling around as they talked. Eventually he threw off the covers, went to the bathroom, fixed a large bowl of cereal, and joined them.

“You ready?” he asked Landon.

“Don’t have any choice.”

Billy snorted. “You’re gonna kick butt and take names. Don’t give me that poor country lawyer routine.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” Landon said, rubbing the back of his stiff neck. Too many hours hunched over his work.

His comment made Billy stop midbite, a highly unusual occurrence. He leaned back in the kitchen chair, which creaked in protest. “You remember that game when Dave O’Shannon got hurt?”

Landon remembered it well. It was his redshirt freshman year, and his role was to be O’Shannon’s backup. It was the first time he had played when the game was on the line.

“I remember you came into that huddle with your voice all high and squeaky,” Billy said, chuckling to himself. Kerri had heard the story before, but she still couldn’t resist a little smirk. “You sounded like one of those Vienna choirboys. I remember looking at my buddies on the line and rolling my eyes like, ‘I hope O’Shannon can walk it off.’ I mean, no offense, but your legs looked like toothpicks that year.”

“Yeah,” Landon admitted, “I felt like my knees might buckle at any minute.”

“That first series, you looked like Jake out there. Two handoffs and an incompletion. You couldn’t wait to get off the field.”

“It wasn’t quite that bad.”

“It was worse. I remember checking on O’Shannon, and he said he was out for the game. I came over, slapped you on the helmet, and told you to get your head up, the team needed you.”

“I remember that,” Landon said.

Kerri sat there, elbow on the table, chin in her left hand, her right around a coffee cup, taking it all in. Landon knew she loved stories like this: the good ole days, before everything went awry.

“Then at the end of the half, when we somehow managed to get into field-goal range, the coach sends in this nice little running play so that we can run down the clock and get three points before halftime.” Billy
looked at Kerri with wide eyes, as if he was still shocked at what happened next. “And what does my boy Landon do?”

Kerri raised her eyebrows, playing along.

“He changes the play in the huddle. Calls for a corner pattern to our best receiver. Somebody says, ‘You sure?’ But I nudged my buddies on the line. ‘Hey, I can block for a guy like this.’”

“Yeah, and you were nowhere to be found when I went back to the sidelines,” Landon said.

This brought a belly laugh from Billy. “Kerri, after he overthrew that receiver and went back to the sidelines, Coach grabbed him by the face mask and jerked his head left and right. He had a few choice words for your husband’s play selection.” He flipped a wrist toward Landon. “Tell your honey what you learned from that.”

Landon smiled. “A lot of players jog to the sidelines after they mess up and keep their helmets on. That way the ESPN cameras won’t catch the look on their face. But after that play, whenever I messed up, I always took my helmet off and carried it to the sidelines.”

“Okay, so as I was saying,” Billy continued, his enthusiasm for the story coming through in his tone. “We get to the fourth quarter, and we’re still in the game, and Coach sends in some other cockamamy running play, and darned if your boy here didn’t audible out of that one too.”

“In my defense, I saw one of their cornerbacks creeping up to the line of scrimmage. I thought we could burn him with a crossing pattern.”

“And that’s exactly what he did,” Billy said proudly. He took another bite of cereal, but he wasn’t finished, so he continued with his mouth full. “He throws a perfect pass, and our guy takes it to the house and Landon comes running back to the sidelines getting congratulated by everyone except Coach. Eventually Coach comes down and stands beside him and says something under his breath like, ‘You got the guts of a cat burglar, kid. But if that play hadn’t worked, you’d be holding a clipboard the rest of the season.’”

“So what does Billy do?” Landon asked. He was tag-teaming the
story now, his concerns about the trial far away. This was one of the great bonding moments between Landon and his center, and Landon relished the story as much as Billy.

“Billy was standing right behind us,” Landon continued. “I think he heard Coach chew me out, so he steps up beside us, as if he hadn’t heard a thing, and he says, ‘Great play call, Reed. Coach, that reminds me of that play you called in the Tennessee game last year. Must be ole Landon here was paying attention.’”

Landon and Billy shared a laugh. “I remember Coach looked at me like, ‘Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Maybe this kid’s not so dumb after all.’”

Billy had finished his cereal, and he lifted the bowl to his mouth, drinking the milk. “Anyway,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “that’s the Landon that Elias King needs this week. You might have made some boneheaded mistakes your junior year with those bookies, but nobody ever doubted that you were a leader. Nobody ever questioned your confidence.”

Kerri was nodding her head. “Frequently wrong, never in doubt,” she said. “That’s the Landon Reed I know.”

Just in case that wasn’t enough, Kerri orchestrated one more motivational event. Right before Landon and Billy headed off for the first day of trial, Maddie gave her dad a present. Landon opened it and stared at the maroon and gold power tie—the colors of Southeastern University.

“Have a good day in court, Daddy,” Maddie said.

Landon picked her up and gave her a big hug. He was a blessed man. A few years ago he had been sitting in jail wondering if he had thrown his entire life away. And now, just a year out of law school, he was helping try one of the biggest cases the area had ever seen. It was a comeback of biblical proportions, and it reminded him that somebody greater was in charge.

“Let’s pray before Billy and I take off,” he said. Kerri stepped close, and Landon put his arm around her. Billy shrugged and took off his cap. Maddie squeezed her eyes shut and listened to her daddy pray.

///

The Chesapeake Municipal Complex consisted primarily of three mammoth buildings, each constructed with white stone and blue-tinted windows. The Municipal Center, which local residents sarcastically referred to as the Taj Mahal, occupied the prime real estate at the front of the complex. Behind that behemoth building was a large swath of green space that resembled a college quad. At the corners of the green space, forming an equilateral triangle with the Municipal Center, were two court buildings—one that housed the General District and Circuit Courts and the other one home to the Juvenile and Domestic Relations Court.

Landon and Billy parked in a large asphalt lot next to the J&DR Court building. Elias had followed them and found his own spot. The three men walked silently together across the parking lot and around to the front of the building, getting their first look at the media horde that had gathered on the other side of the quad in front of the circuit court building.

“Game on,” Billy said.

They were all wearing Kevlar vests, and Landon was sweating like a pig. Billy was sweating too, but he looked like he was enjoying himself. He had on his new forest-green pin-striped suit, his shades covering his eyes and his Packers hat on backward. He was packing heat under the suit, and he made no effort to hide the bulge in the jacket. As they walked, he looked this way and that, surveying the crowd like a Secret Service agent.

“We need to get you an earbud tomorrow,” Landon said.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

They approached the gauntlet of reporters, and the questions started flying. Nobody crowded in, though, because Billy had that certain look on his face, like he might cross-body-block the first person who crossed his path.

“Will Mr. King take the stand?”

“Who killed Erica Jensen?”

“Elias, can you give us a brief statement?”

The three men ignored the questions, walked up the front steps of the courthouse, and took their places in line at the metal detector. Billy surrendered his gun to the deputies for safekeeping and stuffed his hat in a side pocket of his suit coat. The men headed upstairs and met Julia and Jake in a small conference room.

Jake looked like he was about ready to puke. “You okay?” Landon asked.

Jake nodded.

Elias reminded Jake and Julia not to show any reaction, no matter what Franklin Sherman might say. Landon noticed Julia reach out and take her husband’s hand for a few seconds. Elias never changed expressions, but Landon could sense that this was the first step toward forgiveness and reconciliation.

“We ready?” Elias asked. The five of them were going to enter the courtroom together.

“I do have one small question,” Landon said. He looked at Elias. “Which side of the courtroom do we sit on?”

Everybody smiled except Jake. When you’re fifteen years old, there are some things that just aren’t funny.