Play Dead

I head home for a long night with Kevin preparing for our witnesses. Dr. King presents an interesting problem, and a role reversal of sorts. In most cases where there has been a preliminary hearing, the witnesses that testify are almost exclusively those of the prosecution, since the purpose is to establish probable cause. The defense thus has the advantage of having heard the testimony before it is given again at trial.

In this case, because the burden was on us at the hearing to bring this to a retrial, it is our witnesses, like Dr. King, who have already been on record. It’s an advantage for Hawpe, but one we have to live with.

It’s almost midnight when we’re finishing our preparations. Kevin’s getting ready to leave, and I’m reading the report Pete left with me, when I immediately see it. “Look at this,” I say.

Kevin comes over, and I hand him the papers. “It’s the list of companies bringing large amounts of goods into Franklin’s area of customs, before and after his death.”

Kevin looks at it, but nothing registers. “And?”

At the bottom of the second page is a list of companies that have had dramatically less come through customs since Franklin’s death. “If I remember correctly, a few of those names were on the list that Sam tracked down. The companies that Hamadi was dealing with.”

I check back through the files and confirm my suspicions; four of the companies are on both lists. The man whom a worried Donna Banks called after my visit seems to have been involved with Franklin in customs activity. I don’t believe in coincidences, but even if I did, this wouldn’t be one of them.

By the time Kevin and I finish thrashing this out, it’s one thirty in the morning and we’ve got a plan. At least, I’ve got a plan; Kevin cautions me against it.

The first part of the plan involves calling Vince Sanders. I want to do it now rather than the morning, because I will be heading for court early, and I want him to get on it first thing. Also, psychologically I want to get the ball rolling.

Vince groggily answers the phone with “This better be good, asshole.” Apparently he’s not so sleepy that he can’t see his caller ID.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Vince, but I need a big favor.”

He doesn’t say a word, which could mean he doesn’t want to, or else that he fell back asleep. I decide to push on. “Vince, I need to speak to Dominic Petrone.”

“Is that all?” he asks, and then speaks to an imaginary person in bed with him. “Dominic, honey, Andy Carpenter wants to talk to you. And when you’re finished, could you run over to the asshole’s house and put a bullet in his head?”

“Vince, it’s urgent, and I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that he’ll be glad you set up the meeting.”

“You want to tell me what it’s about?”

“I wish I could, but I can’t.”

“Repeat after me. If a story of any kind comes out of this, Vince is the person I will give it to, along with an exclusive interview.”

I repeat the vow, and Vince agrees to call Petrone in the morning.

Tomorrow is showing signs of being an important day.

* * * * *

DR. GERALD KING has brought his A game to court today.

In direct examination, he is even more effective than he was at the hearing. He’s a consummate witness; all a defense attorney has to do is wind him up and let him go.

I let him go over his assessment of what happened that night on the boat, and his absolute certainty that Richard did not take any pills. It’s basically the same story he told at the hearing, with more charts and even more assertiveness.

Hawpe certainly has been preparing for him for weeks, but if he makes a dent, it’s not worth calling the insurance company to repair. The best Hawpe can get from him is an admission that the prosecution’s version of events is “not impossible,” but even that draws a sharp comeback from Dr. King.

“Not impossible?” he asks. “Is that the standard the prosecution has to meet to send a man to prison?”

It’s an unprofessional comment, and Hawpe’s objection gets it stricken from the record, but the point is made, and the jury certainly heard it. By the time Dr. King gets off the stand, I think that Hawpe is ready to throw him a good-bye party.

Mercifully, a juror comes down with a stomach virus, and the afternoon session is canceled. I don’t wish anyone ill, and if I could outlaw viruses forever I would, but if someone in America had to come down with one, I’m glad it’s a juror on this case. I need the time to focus on our efforts to learn the truth about Stacy and why she was killed.

I call Vince, who tells me that he just got off the phone with Petrone’s people. Whatever they talked about, it hasn’t improved his mood any. “They want you at Spumoni’s Restaurant on Market Street at five thirty.”

“Five thirty? That’s a little early for dinner.”

“That’s because you’re not invited for dinner,” he says.

I want to make sure I have all this straight. “Who should I ask for?”

“Who are you going to see?”

“Dominic Petrone.”