Read Flinch Factor, The Online
Authors: Michael Kahn
Using a red laser pointer, I said, “This map shows the location of the Corundum Construction building permits. As you will hear today, there are four striking similarities about those permits.”
“First, all of them were issued in towns where Ruby Productions was the developer of a project that would receive millions of dollars in city funds through a TIF.”
“Second, each of the building permits was issued shortly after the city council voted to approve the TIF.”
“Third, every single one of those building permits was issued to a city official. In fact, it appears that Corundum Construction only did work on houses owned by city officials in those towns.”
“And fourth, each of those city officials voted in favor of the TIF.”
That drew a reaction from the gallery.
“Your Honor,” I said, “to give you a sense of the scale of what I am talking about, the TIFs in the five cities highlighted on the map total more than forty million dollars in subsidies given to Ruby Productions for its developments in those cities. That raised an obvious question: was there a relationship between Corundum Construction and Ruby Productions? And if so, was there any connection between that relationship and the death of Nick Moran?”
“Objection,” Crane said. “This is a settlement hearing, not a death inquiry.”
Flinch frowned and turned to me. “And your response?”
“That is my point, Your Honor. The efforts I am describing were part of a death inquiry that I was conducting on behalf of Nick Moran's sister. I saw absolutely no connection between that inquiry and the lawsuit against the Ruby Productions TIF. But when word got back to Ruby Productions, they treated my actions, my death inquiry, as a breach of the settlement agreement. The purpose of today's hearing is to prove that my investigation was focused on the death of Mr. Moran and not on any future possible lawsuit against Ruby Productions.”
“We will stipulate to that fact,” Crane said, “and this hearing can be terminated.”
“Objection overruled, Mr. Crane. You may proceed, Miss Gold. And I do hope we will soon be hearing from the lovely Miss Jacki.”
“Soon, Your Honor.” I checked my watch. “May I call our first witness?”
But the Judge's docket clerk was standing. She handed him a note. He read it with a frown and then nodded at her.
“Something has come up, Miss Gold. It shouldn't take more than five minutes, but I need to address it now. Court will be in recess.”
The bailiff called, “All rise!”
As soon as the door closed behind Judge Flinch, Benny grabbed my arm and leaned in close. “We need to talk.”
I looked around. “Let's go back to the attorney conference room.”
The three of us moved down the center aisle past the crowd, ignoring the questions shouted by the reporters, and ducked into the small conference room at the back of the courtroom. I closed the door and turned to Benny, who'd taken a seat at the table.
“Okay,” I said.
“You told me that Rubenstein looked familiar. I had that same feeling when I saw him this morning. It was weird. I kept looking over, trying to make the connection. And thenâ” he snapped his fingers “âbingo. I recognized him.”
“And?”
“Our T-ball team. He was that fucking asshole at the first game. The guy shouting at his kid and the other team and the umpire. The guy I wanted to kill but you told me to chill.”
“My God.” I said down, dazed. “You're right. That's him.”
“Maybe he got the hint. I don't think he showed up after that first game.”
I stared at Benny. “Did we really have his kid on our team?”
“I assume. Why else was he there? At least for that first game?”
“Rubenstein?” I said, trying to remember.
“Dorian?”
I looked up. Jacki was leaning against the wall, her cell phone to her ear.
“Do you know where Rachel's T-ball team roster is? The one from last summerâ¦goodâ¦sure, I'll wait.”
Jacki looked down at me. “She's getting it. It must have the parents' names.”
“Okay,” she said into the phone. “We're looking for someone named Rubenstein. The kids are listed by first name only? Okay, there should be a column with the parentâ¦see it?â¦okayâ¦and the other one?” Jacki's eyes widened. “Jeez. Thanks.”
She disconnected the call and looked down at us. “There are two sets of parents where the moms and dads have different last names. One is Barrett's parents. His mother is Barbara Weiss. His father is Kenneth Rubenstein.”
I looked at Benny, and then Jacki, and then back at Benny again, my mind racing.
“How did I miss this?” I said.
“Did Barbara ever mention his name?” Jacki asked.
I thought back to our meeting. “No. The only name she mentionedâ¦oh, no. She told me that her husband had a contractor inspect Nick's work. The contractor's name was Rudy.”
“Maybe the same Rudy who's gone AWOL,” Benny said.
I leaned back in my chair. “That's what he was talking about that day.”
“Who?” Benny said.
“Rubenstein. In the parking lot at the supermarket. When he accused me of being a hypocrite for refusing to talk to him without a lawyer but setting up a secret meeting with someone else without a lawyer. He was talking about Barbara.”
“You think?”
I nodded. “He must have had her under surveillance.”
“I know the type,” Jacki said. “Jealous husband. Bet he knew about her meetings with Nick, too.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to make sense of this new piece of the puzzle, trying to figure out if and how it fit.
There was a knock. It was Judge Flinch's docket clerk.
“Hurry, Counsel. The Judge is coming back to the courtroom in one minute.”
“Make it snappy,” Judge Flinch said to me. “We'll break for lunch in forty minutes.”
I turned to face the gallery. “Plaintiff calls Clyde Bennett.”
Four rows back on the other side of the aisle, a man with a bushy white mustache and horn-rim glasses stood up. He was in his early sixties and had on a navy blazer open over a white dress shirt buttoned tight against his large belly. He had been seated next to a nattily-attired criminal defense lawyer named Clarence Rogers, who looked up at him and nodded slightly.
Bennett scooted down the row and then walked up the aisle toward the front of the court. He was slightly bowlegged, had leathery skin, and moved stiffly, wincing every few steps.
“Over here,” the judge said, gesturing toward the witness box.
Bennett stepped into the box, raised his right hand for the clerk, and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help him God.
“Mr. Bennet, my name is Rachel Gold. You are a member of the city council of Glenview Heights, correct?”
“Correct.”
He had a deep, raspy voice.
I gestured toward the monitor screen, which displayed a color photograph of an English Tudor home.
“This is your home, correct?”
He squinted at the photograph. “Correct.”
“Your home address is Twenty-Five Burwell Avenue in the city of Glenview Heights, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Please look at screen, sir. You are looking at Plaintiffs' Exhibit Six. Is that the building permit issued by the City of Glenview Heights for the construction of an in-ground swimming pool and deck in the backyard of your home?”
“Appears to be.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
“The building permit shows that the contractor is Corundum Construction Company, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And Corundum Construction Company did indeed install an in-ground swimming pool and deck in the backyard of your home, correct?”
“Correct.”
“That was about two years ago?”
“Correct.”
“How did you select Corundum Construction Company to do that work?”
He frowned, as if he were trying to remember. “I don't recall.”
“Did someone recommend the company to you?”
He was looking down. “I don't recall.”
“How much did you pay Corundum Construction Company for their work?”
“I don't recall.”
“You don't?”
“No.”
“Just two years ago and you don't recall.”
“I don't.”
“Let's see if we can refresh your recollection, sir. We have a construction costs expert, Robert Early, who will testify later in this hearing that the average price range for the construction of your pool and deck is $30,000 to $35,000. Does that refresh your recollection?”
“No.”
“Assuming our expert is correct, would you expect that you paid somewhere between thirty and thirty-five thousand for that pool and deck?”
“I don't know.”
“Mr. Bennett, the subpoena asked you to bring to court today copies of your contract with Corundum and all payments under that contract. Have you brought them, sir?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “I guess I must have discarded them.”
“What about the check register, sir? Did you bring that?”
“I guess I must have discarded that, too.”
I turned toward Jacki and nodded. The monitor screen displayed a blow-up of a canceled check from Clyde and Elizabeth Bennett to Corundum Construction Company in the amount of four thousand dollars.
“Mr. Bennett, up on the screen is a copy of Plaintiffs' Exhibit Seven. We obtained it through a subpoena served on your bank. That, sir, is the only check from your account to Corundum Construction during the past five years. Do you recognize that check?”
Bennett stared at the check, his jaw slightly agape.
“Let me repeat, sir. Do you recognize that check?”
He turned toward the gallery. I followed his gaze.
I said, “Is that your attorney who just signaled you?”
“What?” Bennett said, flustered.
He pulled a slip of paper out of his shirt pocket and placed it on the ledge in front of him.
“Sir, directing your attention back to Exhibit Seven, is that your check?”
He read from the slip of paper, “On Counsel's advice, I invoke my right under the Fifth Amendment not to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.”
“Is that your signature on the check?”
“On Counsel's advice, I invoke my right under the Fifth Amendment not to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.”
“Is that check for four thousand dollars the entire amount you paid for the swimming pool and deck that Corundum Construction built for you?”
“On Counsel's advice, I invoke my right under the Fifth Amendment not to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.”
“Did you agree to vote in favor of the Ruby Productions TIF in exchange for that deal on your swimming pool and deck?”
He looked up with a dazed expression, hesitated, and looked down again. “On counsel's advice, I invoke my right under the Fifth Amendment not to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.”
“With whom did you discuss that deal?”
“On Counsel's advice, I invoke my right under the Fifth Amendment not to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.”
“Did you discuss that deal with a representative of Ruby Productions?”
“On Counsel's advice, I invoke my right under the Fifth Amendment not to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.”
“Let's cut to the chase, Mr. Bennett. Did you sell your vote on the TIF for a swimming pool and deck?”
He winced.
I waited.
“Well?” I said.
He looked into the courtroom crowd and then down at the slip of paper. “On Counsel's advice, I invoke my right under the Fifth Amendment not to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.”
“No further questions.”
I turned toward Rob Crane. “Your witness.”
Crane stared at Bennett as I returned to the table. Still up on the monitor was the blow-up of Clyde Bennett's $4,000 check to Corundum Construction Company with the notation
Pool/Deck
on the memo line.
Judge Flinch was also staring at Bennett. He snorted and shook his head in disbelief.
“Well, well, well, Mr. Bennett. Good thing you had your cheat sheet up here. Otherwise you might have had to answer one of those questions.”
The judge turned to Crane. “You got anything you want to ask this guy?”
Crane shook his head. “No questions, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Bennett,” the judge said, “I got one question for you.”
Bennett looked at the judge, his eyes blinking.
“Sir,” the judge said, “have you no shame?”
“Pardon?”
“That's my one question. Have you no shame?”
Bennett, clearly flustered, looked down at this slip of paper.“On Counsel's advice, I invoke my right under the Fifth Amendment not to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.”
Flinch laughed. “You're plenty incriminated already. You're dismissed.”
He turned to the courtroom and raised his silver gavel. “Let's put on the feed bag, eh? Lunch recess. See you all back here at one-thirty.”
He banged the gavel down.
“All rise!”
I was leafing through my folder of exhibits at counsel's table. Off to my left, a reporter from Channel 4 was doing a stand-up in
sotto voce
, summarizing the highlights of the morning's hearing. She and her cameraman had been waiting for me in the hallway after lunch, but I told them I couldn't comment.
Benny was at my side. Without looking up from my documents, I said quietly, “Some new faces in the crowd this afternoon.”
“Yeah?” Benny turned around to look.“Such as?”
“Back row. Far left. Plaid jacket. That's Bertie Tomaso.”
“Oh, right.”
“Same row, near the aisle, woman in the grey suit. Sarah Polinsky.”
“Who's she?”
“Assistant U.S. Attorney.”
“Sweet.”
“Row in front of her. Two guys from the county prosecutor's office.”
“Even sweeter.” He turned back to me. “This little hearing is turning into a major cluster fuck for Rubenstein.”
“And Crane,” I said.
I had two missed calls from him over lunch.
“Where's Jacki?” Benny asked.
“She's in the attorneys' break room going over her witness notes.”
“Is she putting on all three?” Benny said.
I nodded. “The more the merrier. We want to keep our judge happy.”
Benny chuckled. “Happy? He'll be pitching a tent under that robe before she has the first witness sworn in. What's the latest on Honest Abe?”
“He's a definite go. I told him to be here by three. I'm hoping the judge takes an afternoon break before I have to put him on. I want to talk to him again. Crane's freaking out.”
“Oh?”
“According to Abe, Crane has called him three times. Abe's not taking his calls.”
Benny chuckled. “This has to be a first.”
“What?”
“Our best witness is a genuine used-car salesman.”
“He'll be a star.”
“I bet he's thinking the same thing. It'll be his first time on TV before midnight. Guy has the tackiest commercials in town.”
“Rachel?”
Rob Crane stood alone by his table. His entourage was off to the side, all busily thumb-typing emails on their iPhones. Rubenstein stood over by the jury box talking to someone on his cell phone in hushed tones. He turned toward me and then turned away quickly. His demeanor had changed for the worse as the day wore on. He was clearly rattled by the proceedings.
Crane stepped over to our table. “Can we talk somewhere?”
I glanced over at the wall clock. It was 1:25. The lunch recess was supposed to end at 1:30.
“We don't have time. The judge could be out any second.”
Benny stood. “I'll go get Jacki.”
“We need to talk,” Crane said.
“We can do it at the afternoon break.”
He scanned the gallery and stepped closer in. “Who are you calling before the break?”
I knew what he wanted to know. I'd make him ask me specifically.
“More city officials,” I said.
“Which ones?”
“Three or four. Depends how far we get before the next break.”
He moved in so close that our faces were less than a foot apart. “What about Abe Johnson?”
“What about him?”
“When are you calling him?”
“Why do you ask?”
He stared at me. “Please don't call him before the break. We need to talk.”
Please?
I studied his face. I could see the fault lines. Ever since discovering his client's connection to Barbara Weiss, I'd been mulling another approach to the hearing, a way to cut through the evidentiary underbrush to get where I wanted go. A lot riskier, yes, but maybe a lot more effective, too.
I shrugged. “We'll see what happens.”
The buzzer sounded.
“All rise!”