The Boys from Biloxi: A Legal Thriller (26 page)

Burch smelled blood and moved in. He called five consecutive witnesses, the same five waitresses who had been accused by the undercover officers, and the same five who had vanished from the Coast during the nuisance trial. He put them on the stand. No tight clothing, no short skirts, no teased hair, no mascara, no bleach-blond dye jobs, no jewelry, no flashy hooker’s heels. Taken together, the six could have passed themselves off as a young women’s choir during Wednesday night prayer meeting.

They sang the praises of Miss Ginger and what a wonderful employer she was. She ran a tight ship, did not tolerate drunks and troublemakers, and protected her girls. Sure, some of the others, the strippers, were up there onstage doing their thing. They were the draw, the girls the boys came to see. But they were untouchable and that was part of the attraction.

Two of the waitresses admitted to dating customers, but only when off-duty. Another of Miss Ginger’s many rules. One romance lasted a few months.

The four women on the jury saw through the charade and lost
interest. The men were harder to read. Joe Nunzio liked Marlene but soon grew interested in his shoes again. Mr. Dewey had napped through most of the previous testimony, but the ladies held his attention and he followed every word.

By noon of the second day, Burch had portrayed Carousel as virtually a kid-friendly place with wholesome fun for the entire family.

After lunch, he continued his defense with more of the same. Four more ladies came forth and gave similar testimony. They were just hardworking girls serving drinks, trying to make a living. Little of their testimony could be verified. Since no records existed, they could testify to anything, and there was nothing Jesse could do about it. He tried to pin down their names, current addresses, ages, and dates of employment, but even that was difficult.

During a long afternoon recess, Judge Oliphant suggested to Burch that perhaps they had heard enough. Burch said he had more witnesses, more waitresses, but agreed that the jurors were getting tired.

“Will the defendant testify?” Oliphant asked.

“No sir, she will not.”

While Jesse was eager to engage Ginger in a lengthy cross-examination, he was not surprised with Burch’s response. During the nuisance trial, she had been cool and calm on the witness stand, but Jesse had not hammered away at her past. With a jury watching, he was confident he could rattle her and trick her into a bad answer. Burch was concerned enough to keep her off the stand. Besides, it was usually a bad idea to allow the defendant to testify.

Judge Oliphant was suffering low back pain and taking medication that often meddled with his alertness, and he needed a break. He adjourned until the following morning.

As they walked to Jesse’s car in the lot next to the courthouse, he saw something stuck behind a windshield wiper. It was a small white envelope, unmarked. He took it, got in, as did Egan. Keith, ever the rookie, got in the rear seat. Jesse opened the envelope and
removed a small white notecard. Someone had written:
Joe Nunzio got $2000 cash to vote not guilty.

He gave it to Egan, who read it and handed it over her shoulder. They drove in silence to the law office, cleared out the conference room, and closed the doors.

The first question was whether to tell Judge Oliphant. The note could be a joke, a plant, a prank. Of course, it could also be the truth, but without more proof Oliphant was unlikely to do much. He could quiz each juror individually and try to gauge Nunzio’s body language. But, if he’d taken the money he was not likely to confess.

As always, there were two alternate jurors. If Nunzio was excused, the trial would go on.

Jesse could demand a mistrial, a rare move for the State. If granted, everyone would go home and they would try the case again another day. He doubted, though, that Judge Oliphant would grant one. Mistrials were for defendants, not prosecutors.

After brainstorming for two hours, Jesse decided to do nothing. The jury would get the case early the next morning and they would soon know what, if anything, Nunzio was up to.

Jesse began his closing argument with a rousing condemnation of the defendant, Miss Ginger, and her house of ill repute. He pitted the testimony of six dedicated law enforcement officers, undercover and in plain clothes, against that of a veritable parade of loose women who also presented themselves to the jury in plain clothes. Imagine what they looked like when they hustled customers and offered them sex.

Burch was up to the task and railed against the cops for sneaking into Carousel with the sole intent of “entrapping” the waitresses into bad behavior. Sure the ladies came from rougher backgrounds and broken homes, but it wasn’t their fault. They were given jobs
by the goodness of his client, Miss Ginger, and were well paid for serving drinks.

While Burch paced back and forth like a veteran stage actor, Jesse watched the jurors. It was the only moment in the trial when he could study them full-on without worrying about getting caught sneaking a glance. Joe Nunzio had refused to make eye contact with Jesse during his final summation, but he was watching Burch closely.

The majority of the jurors would vote guilty, but the law required a unanimous verdict, either for guilt or innocence. Anything in between would be declared a hung jury, a mistrial, and would possibly lead to another go at it a few months down the road.

The jury retired to its deliberations shortly before 11:00
a.m.
, and Judge Oliphant adjourned until further notice. At 3:00, his clerk walked down the hall to Jesse’s office and informed him that there was no verdict. At 5:30, the jurors were excused for the evening. There was no indication of which way they might be leaning.

At 9:00
a.m.
, Judge Oliphant called the courtroom to order and asked the foreman, Mr. Threadgill, how things were going. It was obvious from his face and body language that they were having no fun. His Honor sent them back to work and almost scolded them by saying he was expecting a verdict. The morning dragged on with no news from the jury room. When the judge adjourned for lunch, he asked the lawyers to meet in his chambers. When they were seated, he nodded at the bailiff, who opened the door and escorted Mr. Threadgill into the room. The judge politely asked him to take a seat.

“I take it there’s not much progress.”

Mr. Threadgill shook his head and looked frustrated. “No sir. I’m afraid we’ve reached a dead end.”

“What’s the split?”

“Nine to three. Been that way since yesterday afternoon and everyone’s dug in. We’re wasting our time, yours too, I guess. Sorry about this, Judge, but it’s no use.”

Oliphant breathed deeply and exhaled with noise. Like every judge, he hated mistrials because they were failures, nothing but failures that wasted hundreds of hours and necessitated doing it all over again. He looked at Mr. Threadgill and said, “Thank you. Why don’t you have your lunch and we’ll reconvene at one thirty?”

“Yes sir.”

At 1:30, the jury was led back into the courtroom. Judge Oliphant addressed them and said, “I have been informed that you are deadlocked and not making progress. I’m going to ask each one of you the same question, and all I want is a yes or no response. Nothing else. Juror number one, Mrs. Barnes, do you believe this jury can reach a unanimous decision in the matter?”

“No sir,” she replied with no hesitation.

No one hesitated and it was indeed unanimous. Further efforts would be a waste of time.

Judge Oliphant accepted the obvious and said, “Thank you. I have no choice but to declare a mistrial. Mr. Rudy and Mr. Burch, you have fifteen days for post-trial motions. We are adjourned.”

Two days after the mistrial, Jesse made an appointment with Judge Oliphant. Their offices were on the same floor, two hundred feet apart, with the courtroom in between, and they saw each other often, though they avoided giving the appearance of being too friendly. Most meetings were arranged through secretaries and scheduled on calendars. Their favorite was a late Friday afternoon bourbon or two when everyone else cleared out for the weekend.

After the judge poured two cups of black coffee, Jesse handed over the note he found on his windshield. Long thick wrinkles layered across the judge’s forehead and he mouthed the words at least three times. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

“I thought about it and I wasn’t sure what to do. It could’ve been a prank for all I know.”

“I’m afraid not.” Oliphant handed the note back and frowned at the table.

“What do you know?”

“I talked to the bailiff, as I always do. They hear a lot. Joe Nunzio was fiercely opposed to a conviction and said as much during the trial, during recesses. He was warned to stay quiet until deliberations, but he let it be known that he thought the prosecution was being unfair to Ginger. He was never going to vote for guilt, and he managed to persuade two others to go along with him.”

“So, he took some cash?”

“More than likely.” He rubbed his thinning hair and looked almost pale. “I can’t believe this, Jesse. Almost thirty years on the bench and I’ve never seen this before.”

“Jury tampering is rare, Judge, but it happens. We shouldn’t be surprised given the number of outlaws around here. The problem is proving it.”

“You have a plan?”

“Yes. I’m not pushing for a retrial until the supreme court decides the nuisance case. If we win that, then I’ll hound Ginger until I get her back in the courtroom and in front of a jury. In the meantime, I’ll scare the hell out of Joe Nunzio.”

“Paul Dewey and Chick Hutchinson are the other two. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

“As always, Your Honor, I heard nothing from you.”

The mistrial calmed the Strip like a gin martini. Carousel was still open. Ginger had kicked ass in court, walked out free as a bird, and was back at her desk. The hotshot DA with all of his lofty promises was flaming out, just another fading reformer.

Within days, the working girls were back in the nightclubs offering their services, but for members only.

Stofer reported to Jesse that as soon as the trial was over, it was as if someone flipped a switch and let the good times roll. He had heard other clubs had installed slots and tables and quietly reopened their casinos.

After three months at Red Velvet, Stofer was slowly fitting in. He started as a janitor, with the unpleasant job of reporting each morning at dawn to clean and mop the dance floors, wipe down the tables, chairs, and collect broken bottles and discarded cans. He worked a ten-hour shift, six days a week, and left each afternoon before the happy hour rush. He never missed a day, was never late for work, and said little but heard as much as possible. After a month, he’d moved to the kitchen when two cooks quit and help was needed.

He was paid in cash and, as far as he knew, there were no
records of his employment. The manager had asked if he had a criminal record, and he said yes. For stealing cars. This did not bother the manager in the least, but Stofer was warned to stay away from the cash registers. He kept his head down, his nose clean, and worked overtime whenever he was asked. He found a library book on mixology and memorized every type of booze and every drink, though such knowledge was rarely needed at Foxy’s. He made no friends at work and kept his personal life to himself.

He had no gossip or inside info to report. Jesse was pleased with his progress and told him to continue on course. As soon as possible, get in a few hours behind the bar where he could see and hear much more.

For his new role, Gene Pettigrew wore starched khakis, a wrinkled navy blazer, and pointed-toe cowboy boots, an ensemble he would never try around the office. In his four years as one of Jesse’s partners, he and his brother Gage had been in more courtrooms than most lawyers under the age of thirty. They were still fighting insurance companies and usually winning. They had honed their litigation skills, and with Jesse cracking the whip from his other office, they were gaining reputations as aggressive trial lawyers.

Now, though, Jesse needed a favor, a bit of undercover work.

Gene found Joe Nunzio where he worked selling auto parts at a store in Gulfport. He was behind the counter, checking a sheet of inventory, when Gene approached with a smile and said in a low voice, “I’m with the district attorney’s office. Got a minute?” He handed over a business card, a new one with a new name designed for his new role. Gene had no training as an investigator but the job couldn’t be that complicated. Jesse could hire whoever he wanted, pay for his business cards, and give him whatever title and name he chose.

Nunzio glanced around, smiled, and asked, “What’s going on?”

“Ten minutes is all I need.”

“Well, I’m busy right now.”

“So am I. Look, we can step outside and have a chat, or I’ll stop by your house tonight. Eight-one-six Devon Street, right, on the Point?”

They went outside and stood between two parked cars. “What the hell is this?” Nunzio growled.

“Relax, okay?”

“Are you a cop or something?”

“Or something. No, I’m not a cop. I’m an investigator for the district attorney, Mr. Jesse Rudy.”

“I know who the DA is.”

“Okay, off to a good start. He and the judge, you remember Judge Oliphant, right?”

“Yep.”

“Well, the DA and the judge are curious about the verdict two weeks ago in the Ginger Redfield case. They suspect the jury was tampered with. You do understand jury tampering, right?”

“You accusing me?”

“No, don’t be so touchy. I simply asked if you understand jury tampering.”

“I suppose.”

“It’s when someone outside the courtroom tries to influence a decision by the jury. Could be by threat, coercion, extortion, or old-fashioned bribery. That happens, you know? Someone might offer a juror something like, say, two thousand dollars cash to vote not guilty. I know it’s hard to believe, but it happens. And the bad part is that both parties are guilty. The guy who paid the bribe and the juror who took it. Ten years in prison, fine of five thousand dollars.”

“I think you’re accusing me of something.”

Gene looked deep into his nervous and troubled eyes and said, “Well, I think you look guilty. Anyway, Mr. Rudy would like to talk to you, in his office, a private meeting. Tomorrow
after work. He’s in the courthouse, just down the hall from the courtroom.”

Nunzio took a deep breath as his shoulders sagged. His eyes darted from side to side as he tried to think. “What if I don’t want to talk to him?”

“No problem. It’s up to you. Either go by tomorrow, or wait until he calls in his grand jury. He’ll subpoena you, your wife, your bank records, employment stuff, everything really. He’ll put you under oath and ask some tough questions. You do understand perjury, don’t you?”

“Another accusation? Seems like I might need a lawyer.”

Gene shrugged like a real smart-ass. “Up to you. But they cost a lot of money and usually screw up things. Go talk to Mr. Rudy and then decide about the lawyer. Thanks for your time.” He turned and walked away, leaving Nunzio confused, frightened, and with plenty of questions.

The bluff continued the following afternoon when Nunzio appeared at the office of the district attorney, without a lawyer. Jesse showed him to his office, thanked him for stopping by, and made small talk. That ended when he said, “Judge Oliphant is getting some reports of jury tampering in the Redfield case, so he’s planning to talk to the jurors. I’m sure you’ll be getting a call soon enough.”

Nunzio shrugged as if he had nothing to worry about.

“He feels like I proved the case beyond a reasonable doubt, yet three jurors didn’t see it that way. The other nine thought it was an open-and-shut case.”

“I thought our deliberations were confidential.”

“Oh, they are, always. Gotta keep them private. But, word usually leaks out. We know that you, Paul Dewey, and Chick Hutchinson voted not guilty, which is disturbing in light of the overwhelming evidence you heard. The three of you did a fine job of hanging the jury. The question is: Did Paul and Chick get money too?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the two thousand cash you took for a not-guilty vote. Are you denying it?”

“Hell yeah I’m denying it. You got it wrong, Mr. Rudy. I didn’t take any money.”

“Fine. I’m going to haul you in before the grand jury and ask you all about it. You’ll be sworn to tell the truth. Perjury carries ten years, Joe. Same for tampering. That’s twenty years in Parchman prison, and the judge and I can guarantee that you’ll serve every day of it.”

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m also dangerous. Look, Joe, you’ve committed a serious crime and I know it. How’s your family going to feel when I indict you for jury tampering?”

“I need a lawyer.”

“Go hire one. You have the money. What’s left of it. But you’re leaving a trail, Joe. Last week you bought a new pickup from Shelton Ford, paid five hundred down, financed the rest. That’s pretty careless, Joe.”

“Nothing wrong with buying a truck.”

“You’re right. So I won’t indict you for that. I like the other charges anyway.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do, Joe. I’m using small words here, nothing complicated. I’m going to indict you for tampering, maybe perjury too, and I’ll squeeze like hell until you tell me where the money came from. You’re a small fish in a big pond, Joe, and I want bigger trophies. I want the man with the money.”

“What money?”

“You got thirty days, Joe. If there’s no deal in thirty days, then you’ll hear a knock on the door at three in the morning. They’ll hand you a subpoena. I’ll be waiting in the grand jury room.”