“You did? It wasn’t Ms. Newcomber?”
“No, I did it.”
“And did you also go to get the disc upon receiving Judge Boykin’s order that it be transcribed?”
“No. Ms. Newcomber did that.”
“Were you present working that day?”
“I was.”
“And even though you had been the one in the office to file the disc, you weren’t the one to retrieve it. Did Ms. Newcomber ask you to get it?”
“No. She never did.”
“And did she come to you later and tell you that the disc had been erased?”
“No.”
“She never told you?”
“No.”
“Did she ask you if you knew what could have possibly happened, since it was you who filed the disc?”
“She never told me about it. Never asked me any questions.”
“Did you subsequently learn the disc had been erased?”
“Yes. I heard from another person that the disc was erased.”
Pike stood. “Objection, Your Honor. No foundation this witness has any personal knowledge whether the disc was ‘erased.’ Further, if it was a statement made by another, it’s hearsay.”
“Sustained,” Boykin said. “You will contain your answers only to what you personally know, Ms. Harper. Do I make myself clear?”
Harper smiled up at him. “Very clear.”
Sloane nodded. “Let me ask you, Ms. Harper. Do
you
have any personal knowledge whether the disc was
erased
?”
“Yes.”
Pike shot Boykin a glance. The judge shifted in his seat, leaning forward, about to speak. Sloane beat him to it.
“How could you possibly know the proceeding was erased? Maybe, as the prosecutor and Ms. Newcomber suggest, the hearing was never recorded?”
“Because when I heard that the disc was blank I pulled the disc of the same hearing from the other defendant’s file, Thomas James Molia, and I checked that disc, and the hearing was recorded on that disc.”
A murmur spread through the gallery. Tamara Rizek smiled. When Sloane invited her to attend the hearing he said it would provide context to the contents of the package he had delivered earlier in the week. He said if she did attend he’d also make sure she finished the story she began years earlier about Judge Boykin, that she would have more Fresh Start inmates and parents to talk to than she could have ever imagined. He also said he would give her the inside track on a federal drug investigation that would implicate a superior court judge, and make front-page news across the country.
Pike’s face went blank. Boykin paled. Sloane faced Harper, so he did not see Newcomber’s reaction, but he could guess that she, too, looked sickened, sitting in the gallery.
“Did you put that disc back in Thomas James Molia’s file?” Sloane asked.
Harper shook her head. “I put a blank disc back in the file in case someone had intentionally erased the other one. I didn’t want that to happen again. I kept the original to protect its contents.” She opened her purse and held up the disc.
Boykin banged his gavel. “Bailiff, seize that disc. That is court property. You had no business taking that from the file. Bailiff, you will confiscate that piece of evidence.”
The bailiff did as instructed. Harper handed it over willingly. The courtroom stirred ever louder.
“I will take custody of that,” Boykin said, reaching down and seizing the disc from the bailiff.
“Ms. Harper, you must be relieved to know that the court now has possession of that disc,” Sloane said.
“I am,” she said, smiling up at Judge Earl. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to it.”
“Your Honor,” Sloane said, “I’d like to play the disc. Its contents are clearly relevant to the issues before this court as to whether my client confessed to his crimes or waived his right to counsel, as well as the credibility of Ms. Valdez, Officer Langston, and the court clerk.”
“Your request is denied, Mr. Sloane. The court will review the disc to ensure there is nothing inadmissible.”
“Then I would request an immediate recess to allow the defense an opportunity to file an interlocutory appeal with the Third Circuit Court of Appeals to have this matter resolved forthwith. It greatly prejudices my client’s ability to effectively cross-examine the witnesses the State has proffered here today. Furthermore, Your Honor, the contents of that disc may very well be grounds for Your Honor’s immediate recusal.”
Boykin’s eyes blazed.
“To the extent that disc reveals Your Honor has subordinated perjury,” Sloane said, adding the final brush that painted Judge Boykin into the proverbial corner. If Boykin denied Sloane’s request to play the disc, it would be suspected by all present that Boykin had subordinated perjury. And if he granted the request, the entire courtroom, including Tamara Rizek and her cohorts in the media, would hear for themselves that Boykin had done just that. They’d also hear how Boykin sentenced Jake and T.J. by having T.J. count the number of pigeons on the courthouse window ledge.
It was largely unnecessary, for reasons that would unfold in a moment, but Sloane had followed courtroom procedure because, at the very least, when he did return to Seattle and had the chance to sit down and have a beer with Father Allen at The Tin Room, he wanted to be able to look the priest in the eye and tell him that for once Allen had been wrong. Sloane had resolved the matter in a court of law. The system, while imperfect, could still work. But, just in case, Sloane had covered his bets.
On cue, the courtroom doors opened. One by one, those boys Boykin had wrongfully sentenced to Fresh Start filed in, accompanied by one or more parent. They were dressed in long shirts and pants. Some wore jackets and ties. Assembled in the back they looked like the Vienna Boys Choir. Sloane had not placed them on his witness list for his case in chief, and court rules did not require he list his rebuttal witnesses. Now he intended to call each and every one to rebut the State’s position that Jake had willingly and intelligently confessed to his crimes. Their testimony would show that the State engaged in a pattern of intimidation and trickery to elicit confessions and that they had not been given intelligently.
Boykin, having figured this out, though too late, slammed his gavel. “We’ll take a recess. I’d like an opportunity to listen to this disc in chambers and decide whether there is inadmissible material that must be deleted before its introduction.” The judge retreated quickly from the bench. The gallery stood, and those present no longer tried to suppress their voices. Questions and conversation filled the room.
Sloane wasn’t concerned with what Judge Boykin would do to the disc. Harper had made a dozen copies. One was in the packet Sloane had given to Rizek.
The last person to enter the courtroom after the families was Don Wicks, known to Judge Boykin as Carl Wade. Wicks stepped through the railing to where Molia had met Sloane. “Ready?”
“As a newlywed on his wedding night,” Molia said.
Wicks led them to the door leading to the judge’s chambers. The court correctional officer stood guard. Wicks badged him. “Step aside or I will have you arrested for interfering in a federal investigation.”
The murmur in the room lowered to a hushed silence. The officer stepped aside.
They proceeded through the anteroom. Wicks pushed open the door to Boykin’s chambers. Several federal agents were already inside the office, waiting. Judge Boykin had his back to them, staring out the window, gazing down upon the roofs of the buildings in Winchester’s Old Town. He did not acknowledge their presence;
his ego would not allow it. Sloane knew Boykin was not just considering the town, he was also considering his heritage, and his legacy, which he had disgraced. No shortage of people would want to write about the four generations of Boykins and their abuse of power in Winchester County. They would not speak glowingly of Earl J. Boykin or his ancestors. That’s how it was with history, forever at the mercy of modern-day historians. Sloane had no pity or sympathy for a man who made a sport out of abusing young men for financial gain.
“While you’re standing there,” Sloane said, “you might want to count the number of pigeons on the ledge, and multiply that number by ten.”
EPILOGUE
O
utside the courthouse, beneath a still blazing summer sun, Sloane said good-bye to Dave Bennett and Eileen Harper, as well as her son, Tommy. After they departed, Sloane and Jake said their final good-byes to Tom Molia and to T.J.
“Well, I don’t think I’ll forget this vacation anytime soon,” Molia said.
“That makes two of us,” Maggie added, squeezing her husband’s hand.
“I’m really sorry,” Jake said, “for everything. And I’m not just saying it. I really am sorry.”
Molia stepped forward and embraced him in a bear hug. “You know what? I believe you,” he said. When the detective released his grip Jake stepped to T.J., and the two walked off for a private moment. Molia looked at Sloane and just shook his head. “It’s always an adventure with you, I’ll give you that. Maybe one day we can actually have that quiet vacation in the mountains.”
Sloane smiled. “I hope so.”
Maggie gave Sloane a hug and kissed him. “Thank you, David.”
“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Thank your husband. If it wasn’t for him we would have never found the evidence we needed to do what we did today. He’s a good police officer, but he’s a better man.”
“I know,” she said. She stepped back and wiped away tears. “I plan on keeping him.” Then she turned to her son. “T.J., we have a plane to catch.”
Sloane watched the two boys shake hands and say a few more words before walking back.
“All set?” Molia asked T.J.
“All set,” he said. “Jake’s going to come out and visit. Maybe next summer.”
“You’re always welcome,” Molia said.
They said their final good-byes before departing for Sacramento to catch a plane back to West Virginia.
Sloane turned to Jake. “You still have to complete your substance abuse program, and grief counseling,” he said.
“I know. I will.”
“And you know that I’m always here for you, even if we’re not together. I mean it. I’ll never abandon you again. All you have to do is make a call and I’m on the next plane. You know that, right?”
“I know it. Same with me.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” Sloane said. There was an awkward pause. Then Jake stepped forward and hugged him fiercely. “I love you, Dad.”
“Make her proud,” he whispered. “Make your mother proud.”
“I will. I promise.”
“I love you, too, son.”
Sloane waved to Frank, wo waited across the parking lot. Then he turned quickly to his car, getting in the driver’s side. Once inside he turned his head and watched Jake pull open the door to Frank’s Mercedes. He looked away, fighting his emotions, taking another deep breath. He put the key in the ignition and reached to buckle the seat belt. Jake stood at the passenger-side window, his backpack on his shoulder.
Confused, Sloane turned the key and lowered the window. “What’s wrong? Did you forget something?”
“Just my backpack.” Jake opened the back door, threw his backpack across the backseat, and slid into the front seat.
“I don’t understand,” Sloane said.
“You did say I was spending the summer with you in Seattle, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, summer’s not over, is it? Besides, I already started the grief counseling with Father Allen and you’re always telling me to finish what I begin, aren’t you?”
Sloane looked out the window. “What about Frank?”
Jake shrugged. “He’s cool with it. He said we can discuss things at the end of summer.”
“You sure you won’t be bored?”
“I’m looking forward to being bored.”
Sloane backed out of the spot and drove to where Frank stood, lowering the window. “You did it once,” Frank said, and Sloane knew Frank was referring to that day in court when Sloane gave up custody of Jake to Frank. “I figured I could, too.”
The two of them shook hands. “I’ll take good care of him, Frank.”
“I know.”
As they exited the parking lot Jake sat back in his seat.
“You going to listen to your music?” Sloane asked.
Jake shook his head. “No. I was thinking maybe we could talk and that when we get home maybe we could take the boat out. The salmon run this time of year.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As usual, there are many to thank.
During my youth, a good friend and I would take trips to Yosemite Valley. After several days Chris and I would return, taking the back roads through California’s gold country, stopping in all the old mining towns. I remember those drives fondly, despite the hot weather and the occasional slow driver who would make the excursion to the next town on the one-lane roads seem to take an eternity. Never in my wildest imagination did I anticipate using that experience as the backdrop for a book. Last summer, however, I spent two days touring some of those old towns. While I could not re-create the experience of my youth, the trip once again helped me to recall those places and why I found them so fascinating. The problem was that everyone I met and spoke to—from the woman at the visitors’ center just outside Auburn to those people in the chambers of commerce of each town I visited—were each so darn friendly and helpful. I couldn’t find a nasty town in which to place Judge Earl and Carl Wade and Victor Dillon. So I made one up: Truluck, California. I also made up the county, Winchester. Since some of you loyal readers e-mail me and tell me you’ve gone looking for some of the places I’ve used as settings in my books, fair warning: you won’t find either.
I also want to thank the correctional officer at the Auburn Courthouse who was kind enough to provide me with a tour of that historic building, including the historic courtrooms on the third floor: Though I can’t find your business card to acknowledge your generosity properly, know that I am grateful. If you are up that way, it is worth stopping for a look. You don’t see that craftsmanship in today’s buildings, and those courtrooms on the third floor are a
step back in time. The courthouse and courtroom became home to Judge Earl Boykin. Judge Earl is fictional, made up, and not based on any judge in particular. There is not a judge in the country at all like him, to my knowledge.