Authors: James Grippando
Jack waited for silence, then asked, “Why did you put the safety on?”
“When I saw his body lying there, dead, my first thought was that Oscar had killed himself. He was alive when I had left for work. As far as I knew, no one had come by the house. His own gun was on the floor next to the bed. And that whole thing with Lieutenant Johnson had me convinced that he was disturbed or depressed.”
“Let me ask you again: Why did you put the safety on the gun?”
She swallowed hard. “That’s what I was explaining. I married a Marine. Brian’s father was a captain, a leader. In a Marine’s world, courage is everything. I knew that someday Brian would probably have to know the truth about his father. But at that moment, all I could
think of was that I didn’t want my ten-year-old boy to have to deal with the fact that his father was a coward who killed himself.”
“So you put the safety on the gun?”
“Yes. I knew the police wouldn’t think it was suicide if the safety was on.”
“But, by doing that, you made yourself into a murder suspect.”
“The thought of becoming a suspect didn’t cross my mind at that particular moment. If anything, I didn’t see how I could be a suspect. I was at work when Oscar was shot.”
“Not according to the time of death established by the medical examiner. He placed the time of death sometime before you left for work.”
“Well, all I can say is that the medical examiner is wrong.”
Jack backed away from the lectern, taking a few casual steps closer to the jury. Lindsey looked drained. He knew it was time to wrap it up, lest she have nothing left to stave off the prosecutor’s attack on cross-examination.
“Ms. Hart,” he said in a firm, direct tone. “Did you kill your husband?”
“No. I did not.”
Jack shot a quick glance at the jury, a gut check to see if any of them looked persuaded. At best, they looked confused, not sure what to believe anymore. But for a criminal defense lawyer, that was sometimes enough.
“Thank you, Ms. Hart. I have no further questions, Your Honor.”
J
udge Garcia insisted on squeezing in Lindsey’s cross-examination before the lunch break. The prosecutor pecked away at her testimony, trying to highlight inconsistencies for the jury. He finished exactly the way Jack had expected. He painted her as a liar from day one.
Torres stepped toward the witness, his questions like lances. “You never told the police that you were having sex with Lieutenant Johnson, did you?”
“No.”
“You never told them that your husband had drugged you and forced you to have sex with another man.”
“No.”
“You never went to a battered women’s shelter.”
“No.”
“You never sought any rape counseling.”
“No.”
“You never told the police that it was you who had put the safety on your husband’s gun.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“In fact, when the police asked you point-blank, you denied ever having
touched
the gun.”
“That’s true.”
“When Captain Pintado’s father asked you point-blank, you again denied that you had ever touched the gun.”
“That’s true, too.”
“You lied to the police.”
“Yes.”
“You lied to your dead husband’s father.”
“I regret that.”
“You probably even lied to your son.”
“Objection,” said Jack.
“Overruled.”
Lindsey straightened in her seat, as if to strengthen her resolve. “No. I would never lie to Brian.”
“You would never lie to your son?” the prosecutor asked, incredulous.
“No.”
He scoffed, seemingly disgusted. “Ms. Hart, even
now
, when you finally admit that you put the safety on the gun, you tell us that you did it because you wanted to be able to
lie
to your own son about the cause of his father’s death. Isn’t that right, ma’am?”
She turned slightly pale, as if not sure how to handle that one. “I thought it was best that way.”
“Lies, all lies,” he said, voice booming. “Is that what you think is best?”
“Objection.”
“Overruled.”
She brought her hand to her brow, pained. “I don’t know anymore.”
The prosecutor stepped closer. Then he glanced back at Jack, shooting him an accusatory glare, before asking the final question. “Ms. Hart. Is there
anyone
you haven’t lied to?”
Jack was about to object, but there were times when a lawyer could do his client more harm in the jury’s eyes by running to her defense. Lindsey was shaky, but she needed to handle this one on her own.
“I’m not a liar,” she said. “And I’ve never lied to this jury.”
Good answer
, thought Jack.
But at this point, he wondered if even he believed it.
Trial broke for lunch, and Jack had time only for a quick bite and for a few phone calls. He made just one, in particular, about Brian.
It hadn’t been a major part of her direct testimony, but Lindsey’s mention of the fact that Brian possessed some verbal skills, even
though he was deaf, had stuck in the back of Jack’s mind. He recalled his conversation with Alejandro Pintado, who’d mentioned that Brian was going to camp for hearing-impaired children after the trial was over. The two statements weren’t inconsistent, but they did have him thinking back to one of the first things Lindsey had told him about Brian’s condition. He was born deaf, which was why Lindsey had insisted that Jack and Jessie had known about his deafness before giving him up for adoption. Jessie probably would have had no way of knowing, as Jack had discovered, but his present curiosity had a different bent, one that was completely unrelated to what Jessie might have known or not known.
It had more to do with just how many lies Lindsey had told him.
Jack didn’t have unfettered access to Brian’s medical records, but he was usually able to get what he needed when he put his mind to it. From a quiet spot in the attorneys’ lounge in the courthouse, he checked with directory assistance and dialed the phone number for Florida’s only camp for hearing-impaired children.
“Hello,” said Jack. “I’m calling for some general information.”
“What kind of information would you like, sir?” the woman asked.
Jack didn’t want to lie outright to her, but he also didn’t want her to know that he was fishing for information about a child already enrolled. He said, “I have a friend with a ten-year-old boy who I think would benefit from your camp.”
“Most children benefit tremendously. What kind of hearing impairment does the boy have?”
Jack knew some specifics from his discussions with Lindsey, but he had to think for a moment to answer to the question correctly. “He has bilateral sensorineural hearing loss.”
“To what degree?”
“I’m not an expert on the terminology, but I believe it’s in the profound category.”
“We consider profound to be in excess of ninety-one db, which means that he might not even be able to hear loud sounds without amplification.”
“That’s his situation.”
“Is it congenital or acquired?”
“He was born that way.”
The woman on the line hesitated, then asked, “Are you sure?”
“Well, yes. Like I said, it’s sensorineural hearing loss.”
“I don’t mean to condescend, but it’s called sensorineural hearing loss to distinguish it from conductive hearing loss. It simply means that the nerves are damaged, which is permanent and generally irreversible. But sensorineural has both congenital and acquired causes.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s congenital.”
“The reason I ask is this. If it is congenital, this camp would not be the right place for your friend’s child.”
“Why not?”
“We’re not staffed for prelingual deaf children. Any child who comes here developed some language skills before suffering an acquired hearing loss.”
Jack gripped the phone more tightly. “Are you saying that you don’t have any children at your camp who have congenital hearing loss?”
“Not in the profoundly deaf category. Like I said, we’re not staffed for that type of impairment. This wouldn’t be the appropriate place for such a child.”
“I see,” said Jack.
“If you check our website, there are links to some excellent alternatives.”
“I’ll do that. Thank you very much.”
Jack hung up the phone. The camp director couldn’t have been more specific. Lindsey had been equally clear in her assertion that Brian was congenitally deaf. Yet the Pintados had made arrangements to send their grandson to a camp that was not appropriate for a child like Brian. That left only two possibilities. The Pintados were sending Brian to the wrong camp, which didn’t seem very likely. Or…
Jack turned toward the window, staring out at the street traffic five stories below. The prosecutor’s cross-examination was suddenly replaying in his mind.
Lies, lies, all lies.
Jack tucked his cell phone into his pocket and headed to another conference room near the courtroom, where Sofia and Lindsey were having lunch. Since Lindsey was in custody, a guard was posted outside the door. He allowed Jack to enter.
Jack looked at Lindsey, eyes glowing. “How did Brian lose his hearing?”
She was about to answer, then stopped, seeming to have read the expression on Jack’s face. “Who wants to know?”
“Is that the way you handle everything? Your answer depends on who wants to know?”
Sofia said, “Jack, what’s wrong?”
Jack stepped farther into the room, but he did not sit down. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I’m tired of being lied to by my own client.”
“I told the truth today,” said Lindsey.
“Did you?” said Jack. “Or do you live in a world where the forecast is always the same: mostly cloudy, continued showers of bullshit.”
“What are you talking about?” asked Lindsey. “I admit, I may have misled you in the past, but that’s only because the truth is so painful. Do you think it’s easy to walk into a courtroom full of people and tell them you had sex with a sailor while your husband took photographs? Can you blame me for not running into your office on the first day and saying, ‘Hey, Jack, here’s our defense. I’ll tell the world that I was a sex slave.’ The media doesn’t publish the names of rape victims out of respect for their privacy, but if you’re married to a pervert, your entire sex life is front-page news. How fair is that?”
“Don’t change the subject, Lindsey. I’m talking about what you said to me under the cloak of the attorney-client privilege.”
“So am I. It just took me a while to get comfortable with the idea of having to say these things not just to you but to the whole world. But I did it. I was honest with you, and I did not perjure myself. Everything I said on the witness stand was true.”
“Why did you lie to me about the cause of Brian’s hearing loss?”
“What?”
“You told me he was born deaf. He wasn’t, was he?”
“What difference does it make? He’s deaf.”
“I don’t understand why you would lie about something like that.”
“It’s…it’s not important.”
“Every untruth is important. Why would you lie about this?”
“I have my reasons, okay?”
“What the hell are they?”
“Because…” Her lips pursed, as if she were about to explode. “Because I didn’t want you to think I was a bad mother, all right? But now you know. Brian has acquired deafness. You want to blame me? Great. Go right ahead and do it. Be just like Oscar, just like Oscar’s
parents, just like Oscar’s friends. Blame Lindsey. Everybody has to blame Lindsey. Well, it wasn’t my fucking fault, damnit!”
Her voice nearly shook the room. Jack was stunned into silence, not sure what to say as he watched Lindsey lower her head and cry. Sofia laid a hand on her shoulder, but her touch seemed only to trigger a deeper reaction from Lindsey. It was a veritable catharsis, perhaps months of pent-up emotion spilling onto the conference room table.
“I wasn’t blaming you for anything,” said Jack. “I just want to know the truth.”
Lindsey dabbed her eyes with a tissue, pulled herself together. “No, you want so much more than that. You want to know everything there is to know about me and Brian. You don’t have that right. Taking this case didn’t make you Brian’s father.”
Jack could have argued genetics, but he knew what she meant. “No one said I wanted to be part of your family, Lindsey.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful for everything you’ve done.”
There was a knock at the door. Jack opened it, and the guard said, “Trial reconvenes in two minutes.” Jack thanked him, then turned back to his client.
Sofia said, “I guess we should get back.”
Lindsey and Sofia rose, but Jack didn’t move. Lindsey looked at him and said, “You are coming back, aren’t you?”
Jack still didn’t move.
Sofia said, “I can take it from here, Jack. If that’s what you want.”
“No!” said Lindsey, her voice racing. “You can’t quit. You promised to stay in this case as long as you believed I was innocent. A little lie about the cause of Brian’s hearing loss doesn’t change that.”
“It’s deeper than that,” said Jack.
She grasped his arm and said, “Don’t do this to me. That’s not what I—that’s not what
Brian
deserves.”
Jack stared at her coolly, trying to take the emotion out of his decision. Finally he said, “That’s the last time I’m going to let you play the Brian card. You understand me?”
“Yes,” she said quietly, releasing him.
Jack opened the door and led the way back to the courtroom, putting a good ten feet of airspace between himself and his client.
A
t seven o’clock that night, Jack drove to Alice Wainwright Park just south of downtown Miami. Leaving the car, he followed the exercise trail toward the rock-lined edge of Biscayne Bay and took a seat on the wooden bench near a kiosk that faced the mangroves. He knew he was in the right place because he was seventy-five paces east of the graffiti-covered wall that proclaimed,
MADONNA
,
YOUR GUARD IS AN ASSHOLE
, a leftover complaint from years earlier when the singer lived in one of the exclusive waterfront mansions in the neighborhood.
And then he waited, exactly as he’d been instructed.
Trial had adjourned for the day at five
P.M.
The afternoon session was devoted to forensic experts whom Jack had hired to neutralize the testimony of the medical examiner, particularly with respect to Captain Pintado’s time of death. All had gone well enough, but Jack had much higher expectations for what the evening might bring.
His cell phone rang, and he answered quickly. It was Sofia.
“Don’t we have a meeting?” She was referring to their standard date for evening debriefings after each trial day.
“I may not make it tonight,” said Jack.
“You still thinking of withdrawing as counsel? I can’t say I’d blame you, if you did.”
“No. Like Lindsey said, I promised to stay on the case as long as I believe she’s innocent. And don’t think I’m nuts, but I’m suddenly leaning that way again.”
“What happened?”
“Alejandro Pintado called me back. He’s supposed to meet me in about two minutes.”
“What about?”
“After Lindsey testified this morning, he went home and sifted through some of his son’s personal effects. I guess Lindsey was too distraught to deal with shipping his things from Guantánamo after his death, so Oscar’s father took care of it and had everything shipped back to Miami. Anyway, guess what the old man found.”
“No idea.”
“The digital camera Lindsey testified about.”
There was silence on the line. “Don’t tell me…”
“Yup,” said Jack. “Some very interesting photographs were still on it. I’ll let you know how our meeting goes.”
Jack hung up and tucked the cell phone into his pocket. He waited a few more minutes, then checked his watch. Quarter past seven. Pintado had told him to be at this particular bench no later than seven
P.M.
He wasn’t late yet, at least not by Miami standards. Jack watched a couple of shirtless college boys toss a Frisbee on the lawn, and it was hard to believe that just five thousand beers ago, he’d once had abs like that, too.
“Hello, Jack.”
He turned and saw Alejandro Pintado seated at the other end of the bench, which startled him a bit. “What are you, the stealth bomber or something?”
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m glad you came.”
“This was something I couldn’t do over the phone.”
Jack noticed the dossier tucked under Pintado’s arm. “Is that for me?”
“Yes.”
“Pictures?”
“No.”
“No?” said Jack, surprised.
Pintado laid the dossier on the bench beside him. “It’s in no one’s interest for those photographs ever to see the light of day.”
“Don’t mean to quibble with you, Mr. Pintado. But those photographs are evidence.”
“They are evidence of the fact that your client had sex with Oscar’s best friend. She’s admitted that. There’s no need to show the world pictures of it.”
“That’s not the point. They were taken with your son’s camera. Probably by your son.”
“Probably,” he said, then looked away. “When I went down to Guantánamo after Oscar died, I cleaned out his locker at the Officer’s Club. Lindsey probably didn’t even know about it. I guess that’s why she never found the pictures. I didn’t even think to download the images myself until she testified about the digital camera.”
Jack gave him a moment, trying not to embarrass him. “Look, Mr. Pintado. I know this has to be awful for you. Your son is dead, and now you find out that he was taking these photographs of his wife. But this was no run-of-the-mill lovers’ triangle. This was an abused woman caught between two men. I don’t know what brought things to a head. Maybe Oscar didn’t like the way Lieutenant Johnson started coming around the house when he wasn’t there, pestering Lindsey for sex. Maybe in some sick way Johnson really started to like Lindsey, and he got tired of Oscar hanging around and taking pictures every time he had sex with her. Something went wrong, and Oscar got shot. Your grandson’s father is dead. And now his mother is standing trial for a murder she didn’t commit.”
“You think it was Johnson,” said Pintado. It wasn’t a question, more like a statement.
“Don’t you?” said Jack.
“I don’t know. But I do know this much: I want to hear from the lieutenant.”
“So do I. That’s why the other day I asked you for any information you could give me about his whereabouts. I want to subpoena him.”
A seagull landed at their feet. Pintado shooed it away. “You were right, you know. Johnson is in Miami. Torres wants to keep him out of the trial if he can. Says he wants him in town just in case he might need him for rebuttal. But I think he wants him here so that you never find him.”
“I’m sure Torres is convinced that Lindsey did it. He doesn’t want me pecking away at Johnson on the witness stand and filling jurors’ minds with reasonable doubt.”
“I agreed with that strategy,” said Pintado. “But I’m not sure I do anymore.”
Jack glanced at the dossier. “You got something for me?”
“The address is inside here. You get your process server out there tonight, you’ll have Johnson in trial tomorrow.”
Jack reached for the dossier, but Pintado pulled back. “Not so fast.”
“What’s wrong?”
Pintado gave him a sideways glance, then held it. “Did Lindsey ever tell you how Brian became deaf?”
Jack reeled a bit, taken by the sudden shift in their conversation. “No. She just said it wasn’t her fault.”
“It doesn’t surprise me that she’d keep it from you.”
“Keep what?”
He patted the dossier and said, “There’s a copy of Brian’s medical history in here as well. It will tell you how he went deaf.”
Jack wanted to know, but he wasn’t sure what Pintado was trying to accomplish. “How did you get this?”
“My lawyer. As a grandparent I had no legal right to see it before. But now that Lindsey’s in jail and my wife and I are Brian’s custodians, the doctor had to hand it over to us. I got it just a few days ago.”
“What do you want me to do with it?”
“Read it. And once you do, I think you’ll agree with me.”
“Agree with you on what?”
Pintado’s eyes narrowed, his expression very serious. “No matter how this trial turns out—even if it turns out that Lindsey didn’t kill Oscar—Brian belongs with his grandparents.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“Read the file, Jack. Then you will.”
Their eyes remained locked for several long moments. Then Jack reached for the dossier, and this time Pintado didn’t pull back. Jack took it from him and said, “All right. I’ll read it. With interest.”