So, somebody wanted you to think Goss was after you, said Manny, moving the theory along. Why?
I don't know exactly why. I guess because they planned to kill him. And they planned to make it look like I did it. That's why the silencer showed up in my car at the repair shop. Somebody planted it there.
Manny stroked his chin, thinking. And why would someone want to pin you with the murder of Eddy Goss?
Again, Jack said with a shrug, I don't know. Maybe to retaliate against me for getting Goss acquitted. Friend of the victim, or somebody like that. Maybe even a cop. All the lawyers from the Freedom Institute have lots of enemies on the force. And we already have that nine-one-one call about a cop being on the scene right after Goss was killed.
That much was true. They did know about the cop. The prosecutor had disclosed that information under rules established by the Supreme Court, which required the government to disclose helpful information to the defense. We have a recorded phone message, said Manny, putting the evidence on the cop in perspective, but we don't have a witness, because we don't have a name and we don't know who the caller is. Then he sighed, swiveled in his leather chair, and looked out the window.
Jack studied his lawyer's face, trying to discern his thoughts. It was important to Jack that Manny believe him, not just because Manny was his attorney, but because he was the only person other than Cindy to whom Jack had proclaimed his innocence - and he was a man whose judgment people valued. That was obvious, Jack thought as he admired the way income from praiseworthy clients had helped Manny furnish his oversized office. Primitive but priceless pre-Colombian art adorned his walls and bookshelves. Sculptured Mayan warriors lined the wall of windows overlooking the glistening bay, as if worshiping the bright morning sun. A touch of sentimentality rested atop his sleek marble-top desk: a glass vase with a white ribbon around it, containing the black soil of a homeland the Cardenal family had left more than three decades ago, fleeing a Cuban revolutionary turned despot.
Let me say this, Jack, Manny said as he turned to face his client. I do believe you're innocent. Not that guilt or innocence is relevant to whether I would defend you. I want you to know it, though, because it's important you continue to tell me everything. That said, he continued, I hope you'll understand if I don't appear overly enthusiastic about your frame-up theory. I've been doing this for twenty years. Every client I've ever represented claimed he was framed. Juries are skeptical of these kind of claims, as I'm sure you're aware. That makes it a tough defense to prove.
Tough - but not impossible.
No, Manny agreed. Not impossible. And I think we already have a couple of very important leads to follow, which may prove key to your theory. One is this Richard Dressler. Who is he, and why is he snooping in your file? And second, we need to find out who made that nine-one-one call and reported they saw a police officer leaving the scene of the crime. Obviously, we need to get on both these leads immediately. It could take some time, especially tracking down the nine-one-one caller.
We don't have time, said Jack.
Well, we have a little time. Trial is two months away.
The trial isn't our deadline.
I know, but -
I think you're overlooking something, said Jack in a polite but serious tone. We don't have two months. We may not even have two minutes. Whoever framed me, Manny, is a cold-blooded killer. Which means one thing: We have to find the nine-one-one caller - before he does.
If the newspapers Jack read over lunch were any indication, the public couldn't hear enough about the brilliant young son of the governor who'd wigged out and blown away his client. Jack was a veteran when it came to bad press, but still, it helped when he called home and picked up messages on his machine from Mike Mannon and Neil Goderich, both offering any help they could.
One newspaper story in particular had Jack concerned. After summarizing the evidence against him, it made prominent mention of the anonymous 911 call. A little something, the article observed, that a lawyer of Jack Swyteck's ability could seize upon to blow the case wide open.
The article made Jack feel uneasy. It was bad enough that anyone who'd looked at the police file could have learned about the 911 caller. Now, anyone who read the newspaper would know about it, too.
Jack drove the five minutes to the police station and requested the recorded 911 message. He played it over and over, until the caller's voice was one he'd recognize. The man had spoken partly in English, partly in Spanish, a hybrid that made it easier to remember.
From the station he drove to Goss's apartment building and checked the mailboxes. There were seventeen Hispanic surnames, which he wrote down. He walked to the corner phone booth, confirmed there was a telephone book, then matched the names and addresses to numbers. He then went back to his car to make the calls. He posed as a pollster from a local radio station seeking views on U. S. immigration policy, as a salesman, as someone just getting a wrong number - anything to get the person on the other end of the line to speak long enough so that he could compare his voice to the one on the 911 recording.
A few of the people weren't home. One line had been disconnected. Those people Jack did reach had clearly not made the call. After thirty minutes of calling, he still didn't have a match. Damn.
Sitting there outside Goss's apartment building, watching the last rays of the setting sun glint off the Mustang's windshield, he wondered if it might already be too late.
Chapter
28
The next morning, a Thursday, Jack and Manny were scheduled to meet in Manny's offices with their first potential witness: Jack's alibi, Gina Terisi.
From the moment he'd called Gina to arrange the meeting, Jack had been ambivalent. He considered the frame-up theory his best defense, and as the minute hand on his watch drew closer to their eleven o'clock appointment, he found himself wanting to drop the whole idea of an alibi, rather than deal with her. Manny, however, had a different point of view.
Humor me, Jack, said Manny, seated behind his desk. Just for the moment, let's put this frame-up and grand-conspiracy theory of yours aside. It may sound like a good defense. But even if my investigator makes headway on this Dressler lead, a frame-up is very hard to prove. Your best defense is always going to be an alibi. Because no human being - framed, or unframed - can be in two places at one time.
I understand that.
And I understand your reluctance about Gina. It certainly won't sound good when the tabloids print that kinky hot sex with girlfriend's roomie is your alibi. But it will sound a lot worse if a jury comes back and says you're guilty of murder in the first degree. So, he said as he reached for his desktop telephone, let's not keep Ms. Terisi waiting. All right, Jack?
Jack took a deep breath. There were so many reasons he would have liked to leave Gina out of this and just forget using her as an alibi. But it was too late for that. All right. Let's see how cooperative she is.
Manny hit the intercom button and spoke to his secretary. Shelley, send in Ms. Terisi, please.
Yes, Mr. Cardenal.
The office door opened, Manny's secretary stepped aside, and Gina Terisi entered the spacious corner office. Manny politely rose from his chair to greet her, and Jack followed suit, though with considerably less enthusiasm.
Good morning, said Manny, his face alight with the expression most men wore when they first laid eyes on Gina Terisi. She was wearing a cobalt blue dress, not tight, but flattering in all the right places. Her long brown hair was up in a twist, tucked beneath a black, broad-brimmed hat, revealing sparkling diamond-stud earrings, two on the left ear, one on the right. At least a karat each, Jack observed, and undoubtedly gifts from one of her admirers.
Nice to see you, Jack, she said through a forced smile.
He nodded courteously as Manny flashed a chivalrous smile and stepped forward to greet her. Please, he said, offering her the winged arm chair in which Jack had been seated.
Thanks, said Gina, making a production out of taking her seat. Jack moved to the couch beneath the window, and Manny returned to the black leather chair behind his desk. Both men faced their guest. Gina crossed her long legs comfortably, as if constructing a barrier between her and her interrogators.
Can I get you some coffee? Manny offered.
Gina didn't acknowledge the question. She was busy checking her makeup in the reflection of the glass-top table beside her.
Manny was completely unaware that he was staring as Gina applied her lipstick slowly and seductively to the bottom of her pouty lip. Nothing for me, she said finally. This will be a short meeting. I assure you of that.
What do you mean? asked Manny.
It means that although I tentatively told Jack on the phone that I'd support his alibi, I need to have some questions answered before I commit to anything.
That's fair enough, answered Manny. I'll do my best to answer them.
Gina narrowed her eyes, stressing the import of her question. What I need to know is this: Exactly what time of the morning was Eddy Goss shot?
Why do you need to know that? asked Jack.
Gina ignored him and looked only at Manny. Never mind why. Just answer my question.
Manny leaned back in his chair. He, too, was curious about the reason for the question. We don't know exactly. But some time after four A. M. is the medical examiner's preliminary estimate, based on the fact that the blood had not yet dried by the time the police arrived on the scene.
Four o'clock, then, was the earliest possible time he could have been shot, Gina pressed.
Manny shrugged. If you accept the medical examiner's report, yes. There's not much doubt that death was instantaneous.
Gina seemed satisfied. That's all I need to know, she said to Jack. I can't testify for you. And I won't. The time of Goss's death changes everything.
Jack's gut wrenched. Manny shot him a glance, but he just looked away uncomfortably. How does it change things? Manny asked her.
If Goss was shot after four A. M., then that makes me a very flimsy alibi. Granted, if I were to say that Jack and I went to bed, it might help Jack explain how he got his - she smiled with false modesty - scratches and bruises. But that's as far as it goes. It's not like I can place him somewhere else at the time of the murder.
But you slept together, said Manny.
No. We fucked each other. Nobody got any sleep. And, most important, he didn't spend the night. Jack left my townhouse before three. I'm certain of that.
Manny again glanced at his client, but Jack wouldn't look him in the eye.
Gina rose from her chair and headed for the door. Sorry, fellas, she said as she reached the door. I'm not going to tell the world I betrayed my best friend and went to bed with her boyfriend, when the truth really isn't much help.
Manny leaned across his desk to make his point in a firm but not quite threatening manner. You realize we can subpoena you. We can make you testify.
You can make me show up at the courthouse. But you can't make me say Jack was with me. Not unless I want to say it.
Manny knew she was right. He tried another angle. You should want to, said Manny. You should want to help Jack.
That's just the point: I don't want to. Good day, gentlemen, she said coolly, then left the room, closing the door behind her.
The two men sat in uncomfortable silence, until Jack looked into Manny's piercing black eyes and said, I warned you about her.
Manny seemed concerned, but not with Gina. I don't think she's lying, he said sharply. And now I understand why you were having second thoughts about the alibi. I think you lied to me, Jack. You told me you spent the night with her. All night. That was a lie, wasn't it?
Jack sighed and averted his eyes, then responded in a quiet tone. It happened almost exactly the way I told you before, Manny. While we were making love or having sex or whatever you want to call it, somebody did sneak into the townhouse and smear ketchup on the sheets and put a chrysanthemum under Cindy's pillow. And whoever it was called me and tried to get me to go back to Goss's place - which I definitely wasn't going to do at that point. But I didn't stay either. I honestly didn't want to leave Gina by herself - especially after seeing that some lunatic had taken a knife to my convertible. But I didn't want to wake up the next morning with Gina by my side, either. Cindy and I were technically split up at the time, but that didn't seem to matter. I just had to get the hell out of there. So I left.
Before three o'clock.
Right.
At least an hour before Goss was killed.
Jack sighed. I'm afraid so.
Unbelievable, Manny groaned, shaking his head. Or maybe it's not unbelievable. I suppose it's understandable that someone charged with murder might try to reach for something that's not there. But honestly, Jack: What the hell were you thinking? Did you think she was going to have amnesia about what time it was when you left her apartment?
I don't know, Jack grimaced. I guess I just hoped she wasn't going to be so damn certain about the time. After all, we'd had a lot to drink. I thought she might be a little fuzzy on the time. Or maybe even she'd be wrong about the time and say I left at four-thirty.