Authors: James Grippando
T
hat night, Jack went bowling. He hadn’t bowled in about five hundred years, but anytime he got together with his father, they seemed to end up doing something that made Harry Swyteck shake his head and say, “You don’t get out much, do you, son?” Last time it was golf, and Jack was thankful that this time at least there were gutters to keep his balls from hitting the other players.
“You owe me thirty-two thousand seven hundred and sixty-eight dollars,” said Harry.
Double-or-nothing wagers could add up in a hurry. Especially when you sucked. “I’ll race you home for it,” said Jack.
“You expect me to go double or nothing on a footrace?” Harry said with a chuckle.
“I promise not to trip you.”
“Whattaya say we just save your old man the heart attack and call it even?”
“Oh, all right. But only because it’s your birthday.”
Harry slapped his arm around his son’s shoulder, and they walked out together to the car. Harry was turning sixty, and it didn’t seem to bother him a bit, so long as he could spend a chunk of time celebrating alone with his son. As Jack drove him home, he couldn’t help thinking what a difference ten years made. Jack hadn’t been part of the fiftieth birthday celebration. It had been a huge party in the governor’s mansion, but back then he and Governor Swyteck had not even been on speaking terms. Some thought it was because Jack was working for the
Freedom Institute, defending death row inmates, while his father was signing death warrants faster than any other governor in Florida history. That philosophical disagreement probably hadn’t helped matters, but the rift between them had existed for years. In hindsight, neither one of them fully understood it, but the important thing was that they’d finally gotten past it. Still, it made Jack wonder what this father and son might have been like, how different it would have been for Jack growing up, if his mother, Harry’s young and beautiful first wife, hadn’t died bringing Jack into the world.
They reached the Swyteck residence at eight
P.M.,
right on schedule. Jack was just about to invite himself inside to say hello to his stepmother when Harry beat him to the punch.
“So, you coming inside for the surprise party?” said Harry.
Jack hesitated. It had been his job to get his father out of the house and back precisely at eight
P.M.
“What party?” he said lamely.
“Jack, really now. Have you ever known Agnes to keep a secret?”
“Good point.” They got out of the car and followed the walkway to the front door. Harry opened it and stepped inside. Jack was right behind him.
“Surprise!” they shouted in unison, a houseful of friends erupting in one loud cheer.
Harry took a half step back, as if overwhelmed. His wife came to him, smiling east to west. They’d been out of the governor’s mansion for nearly four years, but she still carried herself like the First Lady. “Got you this time, didn’t I, Harry?”
He hugged her and said, “Sure did, darling.” Then he winked at Jack, as if to say, No one outfoxes the fox. “A total surprise.”
It was wall-to-wall people, the guest list having grown from two hundred of the former governor’s closest personal friends to more than five hundred “must invites.” Drinks were flowing, platters of tasty hors d’oeuvres were circulating, and it seemed that within every circle of conversation someone was telling stories about Harry at twenty, Harry at thirty, and so on. It was fun for Jack to hear the old tales, especially ones from the part of Harry’s life that Jack had missed by his own choosing, and to his later regret.
The band was starting to play outside by the swimming pool. Jack was slated to give a little toast before the cake and candles, and even though he was no stranger to speaking before a crowd, he was feeling a
few butterflies. He kept going back and forth in his mind, trying to decide between a speech from the heart or a lighter speech that tickled the funny bone. The choice, he realized, was preordained. No matter how close he and his father became, they would always be Swytecks. There would always be things left unsaid.
“Jack, I want you to meet someone,” said Harry.
Jack turned to see his father standing beside a distinguished Latin gentleman, his silver and black hair slicked straight back, almost as if he’d just emerged from the swimming pool. Harry’s arm was draped around the man’s shoulder affectionately. “Jack, this is Hector Torres. He’s south Florida’s new—”
“U.S. attorney. I know, Dad. I’m a criminal defense lawyer, remember?”
“Don’t be so hard on the old man,” said Torres, smiling. “I was the one who asked to be introduced. We’ve never formally met, Jack, but I feel like I know you, I’ve heard so much about you.”
“You mean from my days as a prosecutor?” asked Jack.
“More from your old man. He and I go way back. I remember his
thirtieth
birthday party.”
“Boy, that’s some memory.”
“Hey, watch that, son.”
They shared a laugh, then Torres turned more serious. “I don’t think your father ever ran for office without my backing. Can you think of anything, Harry?”
“Nope. You were always there.”
“That’s true. I was always there for you.” He paused, as if to let the reminder hang in the air for a moment. Then he looked at Jack and said, “In all seriousness, your reputation is still sound at the office. I understand you’re quite an exceptional lawyer.”
“Depends on who you talk to,” said Jack.
“Actually, I’ve been talking to a lot of people recently. Matter of fact, just a couple of hours ago I was speaking with Alejandro Pintado about you.”
It was an awkward moment, such a festive atmosphere and yet such a stoic expression on the face of one of Harry’s oldest friends.
Harry grimaced. “Ah, poor Alejandro. I read about his son, and I’ve been meaning to drop him a note. Terrible thing.”
“Yes,” said Torres, but he was looking straight at Jack. “A terrible, terrible thing.”
“How’s he handling it?” asked Harry.
“About as well as can be expected.” Again he looked at Jack, then added, “Of course, he has his setbacks every now and then.”
“Well, give him my best,” said Harry.
“I will. Actually, I left him in pretty good spirits. I can’t get into details—grand jury secrecy and all—but I think we’re pretty close to an indictment. With the victim’s family in south Florida, the case has been assigned to the Miami office.”
“I was wondering about that,” said Jack.
“Yes. Alejandro asked me to handle the case personally. It’s sort of unusual for the U.S. attorney to actually try a case. But Alejandro’s a good friend. I told him I would.”
“That’s nice of you,” said Jack.
“Least I can do,” said Torres.
Outside the house on the back patio, on the other side of the opened California doors, the band suddenly stopped playing. The lead singer grabbed the microphone and announced, “We’re about ready for cake. Could the birthday boy start making his way toward the stage, please?”
“I guess that’s our cue,” said Harry. “Great to see you again, Hector. Thanks for coming.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it.”
Jack said, “And thanks again for the nice words.”
Harry started away, and Jack was about to follow when Torres grabbed him by the sleeve and stopped him. He spoke slightly above a whisper, softly enough so that no one but Jack could hear him amid the party noises. “I hate to have to say this at your father’s birthday, but it needs to be said. Stay the hell out of the Pintado case.”
“Is that coming from you or Alejandro?”
“Both. And if need be, I’ll make sure you hear it from your father, too.”
Jack chuckled lightly. “You really think
that’s
going to stop me?”
“Only if you’re as smart as he says you are.”
“You’re out of line, Mr. Torres.”
“And you’re out of your league, Mr. Swyteck.”
Jack met his stare, finding not so much as a trace of a smile on the prosecutor’s face. “We’ll see about that.”
Jack turned and worked his way through the crowd, passing one smiling well-wisher after another as he headed toward his father on stage. He wondered if Torres knew something—if somehow he’d discovered Jack’s personal stake in defending Lindsey Hart. Or was he just protecting his old friend Pintado, playing the typical prosecutor’s mind game, trying to screw with the mind of the opposition? It wasn’t clear.
His stepmother hugged him as he reached the stage. Jack hugged her back, but he turned her body just so, allowing himself one last glimpse of Hector Torres amid a jubilant crowd.
The man still wasn’t smiling.
J
ack met Lindsey for breakfast at Deli Lane, a popular sidewalk café in South Miami. The street and sidewalk were paved with Chicago brick, and a tidy row of young oaks, each of identical height and limb span, planted at regular-spaced intervals, lent a Disney-like precision to the thoroughfare. The humidity had driven most customers inside, but they chose an outdoor table beneath the shade of a broad umbrella. Every few minutes, an exercise enthusiast jogged or walked past them, while a hungry stray terrier sniffed around for fallen scraps of bacon or French toast. Jack couldn’t help overhearing the cosmetically enhanced supermoms at the next table, one of whom wanted to sue her plastic surgeon for making her a full cup size larger than she’d requested, and she was just, like, so totally pissed, darling, because her husband had blown her entire malpractice claim by sending the doc a two-page thank-you letter and a bottle of Dom.
The women finally finished off their three hundred calories for the day, divided the bill down to the last penny, and sped away in their respective gas-guzzling SUVs, leaving Jack and Lindsey in sufficient isolation to talk privately. Over coffee, Jack laid his concerns on the table.
“Everyone tells me you’re guilty.”
“I told you they would,” said Lindsey. “It’s because they don’t know what they’re talking about.”
“Oscar’s father got pretty specific.”
“Pardon my language, but Oscar’s father is an asshole.”
“I don’t know enough about him to debate you on that point. But he does know some influential people. And he doesn’t want me representing you.”
“Of course not. He never fights fair.”
“He did lose his son, which can skew your perception of fairness. I’m not saying he’s in the right, but he does seem genuinely concerned about his grandson.”
Her voice shook as she said, “He’s evil, Jack. I don’t think Alejandro has come right out and told him that I did it, but it seems like every time he sees Brian, I end up having to explain to my own child why so many people are saying that I killed his father.”
Jack drew a breath, reminding himself that every homicide was really about the innocent victims. And there was always more than one victim. “How is Brian doing?”
“Brian is a great kid. He’s like his dad. He’ll be fine.”
For a split second, Jack thought she was paying him a compliment, but then he realized that she’d meant Oscar. Or had she?
“Has to be tough on him,” said Jack.
“More than you know. Not only did he lose his dad, but then Guantánamo gave us the boot. Bad for morale to have a homicidal wife on the base, you know. So Brian doesn’t even have any friends to lean on.”
“Have you found a place to live yet?”
“Yeah. I got a month-to-month rental in Kendall. Brian will be starting middle school next week. We even went to Disney World a couple days ago. Thought that might help take his mind off things.”
“How did he like it?”
“He loved it. I survived it. Don’t take this the wrong way, but in certain respects I think that’s the one place on earth that’s actually better if you’re deaf.”
“I know what you’re saying.” He started humming “It’s a Small World After All.”
She actually smiled, and Jack noticed a little sparkle to her personality that, to this point, had been nonexistent. It suited her well.
Jack said, “Now that you’ve brought it up, I guess we’ll need someone to sign when I speak with Brian.”
“I can do it. I did it when the military police questioned him.”
“I’d rather meet with him out of your presence.”
She did a quick double take. “Why?”
“Getting a child out from under the influence of his mother is just a sensible interview strategy. It has nothing to do with you or me or our circumstances. It’s the way I’d do it in any case.”
She didn’t immediately take to the suggestion, but his point slowly seemed to register. “Okay, but…”
“But what?”
“Give me a day or so to sort some things out.”
“What things?”
“Look in the mirror, Jack. I showed you his photograph at our first meeting. Brian is bound to see the resemblance. And then he’s going to start asking questions.”
“Does he have any idea that he was adopted?”
“No. Oscar and I never told him. I think I should have a long talk with him before he meets you and figures it out for himself.”
“Okay. It’s not my place to tell you how to handle that. But it is my job to tell you that we have to move fast. I think an indictment is coming down soon, so I need to make a decision about representing you.”
She pushed aside her egg-white omelet. She hadn’t taken a bite. “Which way are you leaning?”
“Brian is the only person who was in the house at the alleged time of your husband’s death. So I need to talk to him.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
Jack surrendered his last piece of toast to a golden retriever that had been staring at him for the past five minutes with the eyes of a starving child. The dog left, and Lindsey was still locked onto him like radar from across the table, waiting for her answer. “Lindsey, I told you at the outset: I don’t want to represent Brian’s mother if it looks like she killed Brian’s father.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to represent me?”
“Your father-in-law gave me some troubling information. Seems Oscar had a trust fund worth seven figures. It kicked in when he was thirty-five, but he was career military. He thinks you killed him to get off the base and get your hands on the money.”
“That is so typical of him,” she said, her voice taking on an edge.
“Did Oscar leave you his trust money in his will?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Two million and change.”
“So it’s in your name now?”
“No. The estate won’t release the funds to me. Not until it’s established that I didn’t kill him.”
“Damn it, Lindsey. Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“Because I didn’t want you to take on my criminal case just to get a big fat contingency fee in the probate matter. I’m more than happy to pay your usual criminal retainer, but mostly I want you to do this for Brian.”
“Oh, come off it. This is crucial to your criminal case. Two million dollars is plenty motivation for you to kill your husband.”
“Sure it is. If I’d known about it. But I didn’t know anything about it until after Oscar was dead.”
“Oscar never told you?”
“No.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“It’s true. The Pintado family is a strange one. They are very, very protective of their own. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m Lindsey
Hart
. Not Lindsey
Pintado
. Do you know why? Because Alejandro Pintado wouldn’t let his son give me his name. That man never liked me, and for one reason: I’m not Cuban. And when I couldn’t get pregnant and at the very least give him a half-Cuban grandchild, well, then I was truly worthless.”
“I’m sorry about that. But before you start railing against Cubans in general, I should warn you. I’m half Cuban.”
“Yeah, right.”
“It’s true. My mother was Cuban. I wasn’t raised Cuban, but—”
“Then you’re not Cuban. Kid yourself all you want, but if you weren’t raised in that community, you are
not
part of that community. I spent my entire marriage trying to fit in, and as far as that man Alejandro is concerned, I might as well be from outer space.”
“Lindsey, let’s not get off track here. I’m talking about me representing you.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, too. You’re afraid to represent me. You’re afraid of Alejandro Pintado. You’re afraid that if you defend the woman who is accused of murdering his beloved son, it will push you further and further away from being a part of a community that you can never be a part of.”
“That is totally unfair.”
“Don’t talk to me about fairness. Ask my husband how fair this is.”
Jack took the blow, though Lindsey seemed to regret having said it. “Believe me,” he said, “I couldn’t be more sorry about what happened to your family, and I am committed to doing what’s best for your son.”
“That’s very nice to hear. But let me tell you something about commitment. It’s a lot more than words.”
Now there was a speech he’d heard before. “I’m not just saying it to appease you. I mean it. The most important thing here is Brian.”
“And to hell with Lindsey,” she said, scoffing.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. So why don’t you just go to hell yourself, Jack.”
“What was that for?”
“Because you’re acting as if I have no one else to turn to. I’m not some know-nothing wife who followed her husband around the world from one military base to the next. I’ve met some very interesting people—people I would call friends.” She pulled her cell phone from her purse and started scrolling down the list of names in the address book feature. “Look, right here,” she said, showing the names and numbers to Jack. “I could call Jamie Dutton. She works in the State Department. Nancy Milama. She’s married to Tony Milama, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. People like that. I could call them, if I had to. They would help me.”
“Then call them.”
“I didn’t want to call them. I called you because I thought you were right for the job. I thought you might do the right thing, stand up to a guy like Alejandro Pintado and find out who really killed your son’s adoptive father. But it turns out you don’t even have the courage to reach up under your skirt and find your own balls.”
He tried to contain his anger, tried to understand this was a woman accused of murdering the father of her son. But he wasn’t Job. “Lindsey, get a grip on yourself right now, or you and I are done.”
She looked straight at him, her eyes clouded with a swirl of emotion. Anger. Disappointment. Then anger again. “I held my tongue before, Jack, but I’ll say it now.”
“Make it good. Because this may be the last time I’ll listen.”
She seemed about to explode. “I know you were playing games
with me the other day when you said you didn’t know Brian was deaf.”
“It was no game. I had no idea.”
“Even with all the joy that Brian brought to me and Oscar, every now and then I still had these awful thoughts.”
“About Brian?”
“No. Never about Brian. About his birth parents. I wondered, Did they know their baby was deaf? And was
that
the reason they gave him up for adoption? It seemed like such a terrible thing to think about the people who had shared such a beautiful gift. I felt guilty for letting it even cross my mind. But now that I’ve met you face-to-face, now that I’ve gotten to know you and find out what you’re really like, I have to say: That sense of guilt is gone.”
Jack wanted to defend himself, but his thoughts were drifting back to Jessie. Beautiful, brilliant, and incredibly egocentric Jessie. He hated to think it, too. But maybe that
was
the reason she had opted for adoption.
And he had a little better understanding of Lindsey’s resentment.
She rose and threw a ten-dollar bill on the table to cover her share of the bill. “Good-bye, Mr. Swyteck. And congratulations. I think there’s probably just enough room for both you and Mr. Pintado in your self-absorbed little world.”
Jack sat in silence, staring at nothing, not sure what had just hit him as Lindsey turned and walked away.