Manny nodded, then turned toward the governor. My question, Governor, was whether you can prove you were at Eddy Goss's apartment on the night he was murdered.
Yes, because I was wearing my Wiggins wing tips.
Manny stepped toward the bench, waving an exhibit as he walked. At this time, Your Honor, we offer into evidence as defendant's exhibit two a copy of the footprint that was left outside Mr. Goss's apartment on the night of the murder. This document was prepared by the police. It is an imprint from a Wiggins wing tip.
The judge inspected the exhibit, then looked up and asked, Any objection, Mr. McCue?
Well, no. I mean - yes. I object to this whole presentation. I -
Enough, she groaned. Overruled. Do you have any further questions, Mr. Cardenal?
Manny considered. He was sure the governor's testimony had planted the seed of doubt, but with Jack's life hanging in the balance, he owed it to his client to pursue every avenue of inquiry - even if it cast further suspicion on the governor. Just one more question, Judge. He turned back to Harry.
Tell me, Governor, how did your life of public service get its start - have you always been a politician?
McCue rolled his eyes. Where was Cardenal heading now?
Harry smiled. Well, my mother would say I've been a politician since birth. A few of the spectators tittered. But no, my first years of public service were as a police officer. I spent ten years on the force, he said proudly.
And do you still have your patrolman's uniform?
I do, the governor conceded.
Over a loud murmur, Manny called out to the judge, I have no further questions, Your Honor.
Jack felt a lump in his throat. He was nearly overcome by his father's selfless act. The governor was a destroyer on the witness stand. He was destroying the prosecution's case against Jack - as well as his own chances for reelection.
Mr. McCue, the judge queried, any cross-examination?
McCue sprung from his chair. Oh, most definitely, he said. He marched to within a few feet of the witness, his stance and expression confrontational, if not hostile. Governor Swyteck, he jabbed, Jack Swyteck is your only son. Your only child, is he not?
That's true, the governor replied.
And you love your son.
There was a pause - not because the governor didn't know the answer, but because it had been so long since he'd said it. Yes, he answered, looking at Jack. I do.
You love him, McCue persisted, and if you had to tell a lie to keep him from going to the electric chair, you would do it, wouldn't you!
A heavy silence lingered in the courtroom. The governor leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he spoke from the heart. Mr. McCue, he said in a low, steady voice that nearly toppled the prosecutor, if there's one thing I always taught my son, it's that we're all responsible for our own actions. Jack even reminded me of that once, he added, glancing over at the defense table. My son didn't kill Eddy Goss, he said, looking each of the jurors right in the eye. Jack Swyteck is innocent. That's the truth. And that's why I'm here.
All right, then, McCue said angrily. If you're here to tell the truth, then let's hear it: Are you telling us that you killed Eddy Goss?
The governor looked squarely at the jurors. I'm not here to talk about me. I'm here to tell you that Jack did not kill Goss. And I'm telling you that I know he did not.
Maybe you didn't hear my question, McCue's voice boomed. I am asking you, sir - yes or no: Did you kill Eddy Goss?
It's like you said earlier, Mr. McCue. I'm not the one on trial here. My son is.
McCue waved his arms furiously. Your Honor! I demand that the witness be instructed to answer the question!
The judge leaned over from the bench. With all due respect, Governor, she said gravely, the question calls for a yes or no answer. I feel compelled to remind you, however, of your fifth amendment right against self-incrimination. You need not answer the question if you invoke the fifth amendment. But those are your only options, sir. Either invoke the privilege, or answer the question. Did you or did you not kill Eddy Goss?
Time seemed to stand still for a moment. It was as if everyone in the courtroom suddenly realized that everything boiled down to this one simple question.
Harold Swyteck sat erect in the witness stand, calm and composed for a man facing a life-and-death decision. If he answered yes, he'd be lying, and he'd be hauled off in shackles. If he answered no, he'd be telling the truth - but he'd remove himself as a suspect. Invoking the privilege, however, raised all kinds of possibilities: His political career would probably be over and he might well be indicted for Goss's murder. And, of course, there was the one possibility that truly mattered: Jack might go free. For the governor, the choice was obvious.
I refuse to answer the question, he announced, on the grounds that I might incriminate myself.
The words rocked the courtroom. Order! the judge shouted, gaveling down the outburst.
The prosecutor stared at the witness, but the fire was gone. He knew it was over. He knew there was reasonable doubt. This witness had created it. Under the circumstances, he said with disdain, I have no further questions.
The witness may step down, announced the judge.
Governor Swyteck rose from his chair, looking first at the jurors and then at his son. He wasn't sure what he saw in the eyes of the jurors. But he knew what he saw in Jack's eyes. It was something he'd wanted to see all his life. And only because he'd finally seen it did he have the strength to hold his head high as he walked the longest two hundred feet of his life, back down the aisle from the witness stand to the courtroom exit.
Anything further from the defense? the judge asked.
Manny rose slowly, feeling the familiar twinge that all defense lawyers feel when it's time to either put their client on the stand or rest their case. But the specter of Gina Terisi gave Jack and Manny no choice, really - and, more important, the governor had given Jack all the defense he needed. Your Honor, Manny announced, the defense rests.
The judge looked to the prosecutor. Any rebuttal, Mr. McCue?
McCue sighed as he checked the clock. Judge, it's almost one o'clock, and the governor has shocked everyone - including me. I'm simply not prepared to rebut something as unforeseeable as this. I would like a recess until tomorrow morning.
The judge grimaced, but this was a rather extraordinary development. All right, she reluctantly agreed. Both sides, however, should be ready to deliver closing arguments tomorrow. There will be no further delays. We're in recess until nine A. M., she announced, then banged the gavel.
All rise! cried the bailiff. His words had the same effect as There's a fire in the house! Spectators flooded the aisles and exits, jabbering about what they'd just seen and heard. Journalists rushed in every direction, some to report what had happened, others to pump the lawyers for what it all meant, still others to catch up with the governor. A few friends - Mike Mannon and Neal Goderich among them - shook Jack's hand, as if the case were over.
But Jack knew it wasn't over. Manny knew it, too. And one other man in the courtroom knew it better than anyone. He lingered in the back, concealing his shiny bald head and diamond-stud earring beneath a dark wig and broad-brimmed hat.
He glared at Jack through an irritated eye.
Should have been Raul, he muttered to himself, not you, Swyteck. He took one last look, imagining Jack telling his pretty girlfriend the good news. Then he stormed from the courtroom, determined to give the Swyteck family something else to think about.
Chapter
45
The parking lot at Jiggles strip joint was full from the Thursday evening crowd, so Rebecca had to find an empty spot on the street. She was wearing baggy jeans and a sweatshirt, her usual attire on her way to and from the bar. There was just one cramped dressing room inside for all the dancers, which was a hassle - but it was safer changing in there than walking the parking lot in some skimpy outfit that was sure to invite harassment or worse. Rebecca checked her watch. Ten after ten. Damn, she muttered, realizing she was late for her evening shift. She locked her car and started across the parking lot. In one hand she carried a gym bag, which held her dancing clothes and makeup. In the other was her mace, just in case.
Hey, Rebecca, came a low, husky voice from somewhere to her left.
Her body went rigid. Her name wasn't really Rebecca, which meant that it had to be a customer calling. She quickened her walk and clutched her can of mace, making sure it was ready. She jerked to a halt as a man jumped out from between cars.
Get back! she shouted, pointing the mace.
It's Buzz, he said.
She took a good look, then recognized him beneath his hat and behind the dark, wraparound sunglasses that he wore, even after dark, to conceal his irritated eye. Let me by, she said sternly.
Wait, he replied, his tone conversational. I have a proposition for you.
Not now, she grimaced, her jaws nervously working a wad of chewing gum. I'm supposed to punch in by ten, or I can lose my job. Come inside.
Not that kind of proposition, said Buzz. This is something different. I want your help.
Why should I do anything for you?
No reason. But I'm not asking you to do it for me. I want you to do it for Raul.
Rebecca averted her eyes. The name clearly meant something to her. What are you talking about?
I'm talking about revenge. I'm gonna nail the fuckers who put Raul in the chair.
Her shoulders heaved with a heavy sigh, then she just shook her head. That's history, man. Raul was a punk. He treated me like dirt, even when I was giving it to him for free. Shit happens to punks.
Buzz stifled his fury. He would have liked to put her in her place with the hard truth that to Raul she was just a free blow job, but that wouldn't advance his purpose. Fine, he said with a shrug. Just go on pretending you weren't nuts over him. Don't do it for him. Just do it for the money.
Her interest was suddenly piqued. How much?
Ten percent of my take.
Rebecca rolled her eyes. I've heard that one before. Ten percent of nothin'.
Yeah. But ten percent of a quarter million is more money than you'll ever make sucking cocks.
She flashed a steely look, but she was more interested in the proposition than in refuting the insult. Don't bullshit me. Where you gonna get that kind of money?
I'm not bullshittin' you. I'm serious. We're talking high stakes. And all you gotta do is make one phone call. That's it. A cush job.
She paused. I don't believe it.
Believe it. I've already conned sixty grand out of him. I'll show it to you. Count it, if you want. It's all right in my van. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. So what do you say? You in?
Rebecca pressed her tongue to her cheek, mulling it over. Sure, she said with a crack of her gum. But I want ten percent of the sixty grand you already got, up front. Then I'll know you're for real.
Buzz flashed a thin smile. I'm for real. You can have your six thousand. But you gotta come with me now.
She twitched, practically kicking herself for not having asked for the whole sixty thousand. I can't come now. I gotta go to work.
Six thousand dollars, he tempted her. You can come now. Fuck work.
She cracked her gum, then sighed. All right. I'll go. But I want my money.
He smiled and nodded toward his van. Just get in.
And I want to know more about what I'm getting into, she said as she heaved her gym bag over her shoulder and started walking. I want to know everything.
He focused on the wiggle in her rear end as she reached the other side of the van, his eyes narrowing and a smirk coming to his face. No way you really want to know everything, he thought.
Chapter
46
Cindy received a bouquet of flowers when she arrived at the studio that Friday morning. They were from Jack.
Please be there for me today, the card read. I need you.
She wanted to pretend that the message didn't affect her, but it did. Leaving Jack hadn't made her stop loving him. In fact, leaving him was the easy part. It was staying away that was the test. Tuesday morning, after attempting to be cool and distant with him, she'd felt her resolve eroding. Gina's death had reminded her of how little time there is to do anything in life - of the purposelessness of grudges and resentment. Gina had probably died believing that Cindy hated her. Cindy didn't want the same thing - God forbid! - to happen to Jack.
By the time she received the phone call, at ten o'clock in the morning, she'd already made up her mind to go over to the courthouse.
Miss Paige, a woman said over the phone. This is Manuel Cardenal's paralegal. Sorry to bother you, but he asked me to call you right away.
Yes, she said with trepidation, afraid the trial had already accelerated to a verdict.
Both Mr. Cardenal and Mr. Swyteck are in court right now, so they couldn't call you themselves. But they need you to come down to the courthouse. Mr. Swyteck needs you to testify for him. It's extremely important.