Me again, Governor, came the thick but now familiar voice.
Harry bristled with anger, but he wasn't totally surprised by the call. Clever as this maniac was, he seemed to thrive on letting his victims know how much he enjoyed their suffering, like a gardener who planted a rare seed and then had to dig it up to make sure it was growing.
What do you want now? he answered. A pair of argyle socks to go with your wing tips?
My, my, came a condescending reply. Aren't we testy this morning. And all just because you're gonna have to sign your own son's death warrant.
My son is not going to be convicted.
Oh, no? Seems to me that his last chance at getting off is lying on a slab in the morgue. I'm sure you've heard that the fox who testified against him had him over for a little chat - and then ended up a bloody mess on her bedroom floor. Too bad, because if you happened to be the eavesdropping type - he snickered, remembering how he'd perched outside her sliding-glass doors - you'd know that she was going to get back on the stand and bail him out of trouble.
I knew it was you, Harry said in a voice that mixed frustration with outrage. You butchered that poor girl.
Jack Swyteck butchered her. I told him the rules. It's just me against him. I warned him that whoever tried to help him was dead meat. He went and asked for the bitch's help anyway. That son of yours did it again, Governor. He killed another innocent person.
Harry shook with anger. Listen to me, you sick son of a bitch. If you want your revenge for Raul Fernandez, go ahead and take it. But don't take it out on my son. I'm the one responsible.
Now, isn't that noble - the loving father who's willing to sacrifice himself for his son. But I'm not stupid - his voice turned bitter - I know Jacky Boy didn't even make an effort. If he had, his own father would have listened to him in a heartbeat.
Harry sighed. You'd think so, unless that father were a pigheaded fool.
You're not going to get away with this, Harry said firmly.
And just who's gonna stop me, Governor?
I am.
You can't. Not unless you want to turn the case of State versus Swyteck into State versus Harold Swyteck. And not unless you want the whole world to know you've been paying off a blackmailer to cover up the execution of an innocent man. Didn't you get the point of my poetry, my man? You're as powerless to save your son as I was to save Raul.
The governor's hands began trembling. You bastard. You despicable bastard.
Sticks and stones - well, I think now you get the point. Gotta go, my man. Big day ahead of me. Should be a guilty verdict coming down in the Swyteck case.
You listen to me! I won't allow my son - he said before stopping mid-sentence. The caller had hung up.
Damn you! He pitched the phone aside. He was boiling mad, but he was feeling much more than that. He was scared. Not for himself, but for Jack.
He turned and saw his wife standing in the doorway.
It was him again, wasn't it? she asked.
Sensing her fear, he took her in his arms and held her close. Agnes, he asked with a sigh, still holding her, would you still love me if I weren't the governor of Florida?
Of course I would, Harry, she replied without hesitation. Why would you ask such a silly question?
He broke their embrace and stepped back, pondering his next move. Because I think I've made a decision.
Chapter
44
At twenty minutes past nine, Judge Tate's cavernous courtroom was packed with thirty rows of spectators, yet quiet enough to hear the scratch of a reporter's pencil on his pad. Trial had been scheduled to begin at nine, but the jury had yet to be seated. Judge Tate presided on the bench with hands folded, her dour expression making it clear she was infuriated by the delay. The prosecutor sat erect and confident at the table closest to the empty jury box, pleased that the judge's wrath would soon befall his opponent. Jack was seated at the other side of the courtroom - nervous, confused, and alone.
Mr. Swyteck, Judge Tate demanded from the bench, her tone more threatening than inquisitive, just where is your lawyer?
Jack rose slowly. Manny had phoned him a few minutes before nine and told him to stall until he got there. That made Jack the sacrificial lamb, for he knew the one thing that absolutely incensed Judge Tate was a lawyer who kept her waiting. Your Honor, he said apprehensively, I'm sure there's an excellent explanation for Mr. Cardenal's tardiness.
Judge Tate scowled, but before she could tell Jack just how excellent his lawyer's explanation had better be, the double mahogany doors in the back of the courtroom flew open and Manny walked down the center aisle. The steady tap of his heels echoed over the quiet murmur of the crowd.
You're late, counselor, the judge said severely.
I apologize, Your Honor, Manny said as he passed through the swinging gate on the rail, but there was a last-minute development -
Two-hundred-dollar fine, Mr. Cardenal! Bailiff, call in the jury!
Your Honor, he pleaded, could I please have a word with my client? Just a couple minutes is all I need.
All rise! came the bailiff's announcement, and with it Manny's plea was drowned out by the shuffle of six hundred spectators rising to their feet. The jurors filed in and took their seats. The bailiff called the court to session, proclaiming God save this honorable court. The judge bid a pleasant good morning to everyone, then turned to the defense.
Mr. Cardenal, she said with an unfriendly smile, will you be putting on a defense?
Manny swallowed hard. He'd been meeting with his witness all morning, but Jack still knew nothing about it. It was Manny's duty to inform his client what was going on. Your Honor, if I could have just a brief recess.
Obviously you didn't hear me, she interrupted. I asked you a question, Mr. Cardenal: Will there be a defense?
He nodded. I may have one witness, Your Honor, but -
Call your witness, or rest your case. And I mean it. You've kept us waiting long enough.
Manny took a deep breath. He wanted Jack's approval, but there was no time for discussion.
Mr. Cardenal, the judge pressed, we're waiting.
Manny paused, his eyes locking with Jack's for a moment. Jack gave a quick nod, as if he instinctively sensed that whatever Manny had planned was the right thing to do. Manny smiled briefly, then looked up at the judge. If it please the court, he announced in a resounding voice, the defense calls Governor Harold Swyteck.
A wave of surprise hit the courtroom like a huge breaker on the beach. The heavy wood doors in the rear of the courtroom swung open, and in walked a tall, handsome man whose gold cuff links and graying around the temples added color and distinction to a dark suit and crisp white shirt. Harold Swyteck never just appeared. He was the kind of man who made an appearance. Being governor amplified that trait. Being both governor and the surprise witness in his own son's murder trial made this the appearance of a lifetime.
The courtroom was electric yet silent as the governor came down the aisle. As he passed, heads turned in row after row like a wheat field bending in the breeze. Everyone knew who he was, but no one knew what he would say - not even Jack. A strange sensation filled the courtroom as he stepped to the witness stand and swore the oath. It was as if the bailiff had stood up and officially announced that the young man on trial was indeed the governor's son. The prosecutor's gut wrenched. The jurors stared in anticipation. Jack's heart filled with hope and with something else, too - something pleasant, if unfamiliar: genuine pride.
Good morning, Manny greeted the distinguished witness from behind the lectern. If you would, sir, please introduce yourself to the jury.
The governor swiveled in his chair and faced the jurors. I'm Harold Swyteck, he said cordially. Most people call me Harry.
A few jurors showed faint smiles of familiarity. If it were possible for one man to look at twelve people simultaneously and make each one of them feel like the only person on the planet who mattered, Harold Swyteck was doing it. He responded directly to them after each of Manny's introductory questions, as if the jurors, not the lawyer, were eliciting the testimony.
Now, Governor, said Manny, marking the transition from introductory questions to more substantive testimony, I want to focus on the events that took place immediately after the trial of Eddy Goss. Did anything out of the ordinary happen to you?
The governor took a deep breath, glanced at Jack, and then looked back at the jury. Yes, he replied solemnly. I was attacked.
You were what? the judge asked. The stunned reaction was the same throughout the courtroom.
Jack watched with concern as his father explained not just the attack, but also the reason for it. Harry admitted that his attacker had blackmailed him and that he had paid the man thousands of dollars.
And then he explained why.
The man threatened to reveal that I'd executed an innocent man, he said. His voice was low and subdued. His eyes filled with remorse. A man named Raul Fernandez.
A buzz of whispers filled the courtroom. Reporters scribbled down the new name, some of them recalling it from the outburst at the governor's press conference. Every word was another nail in the governor's political coffin.
Order, said the judge, banging her gavel.
Jack went cold. Long ago, he'd come to the conclusion that he and his father would never discuss Fernandez again, not even privately. His public confession was overwhelming - and a bit confusing, really, until Manny's next line of questioning brought it all into focus.
Did you come to any conclusion, Governor, about the identity of the man who was threatening you?
Yes, he said with conviction. I firmly believed it was Eddy Goss.
The whispering throughout the courtroom became a quiet rumble. Jurors exchanged glances. No one seemed quite sure whether to feel sympathy or suspicion.
Order! the judge intoned, more loudly this time, and with a few more cracks of the gavel.
Manny waited for the courtroom to settle, then proceeded, still standing behind the lectern. Governor, he asked gently, though pointedly, why did you think it was Eddy Goss who was blackmailing you?
Harry took a deep breath. I first thought it was Goss when one of the messages I received was accompanied by a bouquet of chrysanthemums. I'm sure you recall that Goss was known as the Chrysanthemum Killer. But what really convinced me was when I learned that the address the blackmailer had told me to deliver the ten thousand dollars to - four-oh-nine East Adams Street - was where Goss lived.
And did you in fact go to Goss's address?
Yes, I did - at four o'clock in the morning, on the second of August.
The courtroom exploded once again in a torrent of whispers - followed immediately by the rapping of Judge Tate's gavel. Order!
Judge, the prosecutor croaked. I move to strike all of this testimony. It's - it's, he stammered, searching desperately for some way to stop this assault on his ironclad case. It's prejudicial!
The judge frowned. I don't doubt it's prejudicial, Mr. McCue. I hardly think Mr. Cardenal would call a witness to help your case. Overruled.
McCue grimaced as he lowered himself into his chair.
Manny smiled briefly, then continued. Just a few more questions, he told his witness. Governor, is there any way you can prove you were at Eddy Goss's apartment on the night he was murdered?
Yes, he nodded, because on the night I went there I was wearing the same kind of shoes I'm wearing now. The same kind of shoes I've worn for twenty-five years. I was wearing -
Hold it! McCue shouted, seemingly out of breath as he shot to his feet. Just one second, Your Honor.
Is that an objection? the judge groused.
Uh, yes, McCue fumbled. I just don't see the relevance of any of this. Governor Swyteck is not on trial. His son is.
Your Honor, Manny countered, this testimony is highly relevant, and for a very simple reason. We now have not just one, not just two - but three people with the means and motive to kill Eddy Goss. We have Detective Stafford. We have Governor Swyteck. And we have the defendant. Ironically, it's the man with the weakest motive of all who's been charged with the crime. We submit, Your Honor, that under the evidence presented in this case, it is impossible for any reasonable juror to decide which, if any, of these three men might have acted on his motive and killed Eddy Goss. If it could have been any one of them, then it might not have been my client. And if it might not have been my client, then there is reasonable doubt. And if there is reasonable doubt, Manny said as he canvassed the jurors, then my client must be found not guilty.
The judge leaned back in her chair and pursed her lips. Very nice closing argument, Mr. Cardenal, she said sarcastically, though in truth she was more impressed than annoyed by Manny's speech. The objection is overruled.
The prosecutor's round face flushed red with anger. He felt manipulated, and he feared that clever lawyering was stealing his case from under him. But, Judge!
Overruled, she rebuked him. Mr. Cardenal, repeat your question, please.