The Client (36 page)

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Harry said with enough sarcasm to make McThune blush.

Fink walked him through the events of Tuesday, the day after the suicide, when young Mark hired a lawyer. They tried desperately to talk with him, then to his lawyer, and things just deteriorated.

McThune behaved himself and stuck to the facts. He left the room in a quick dash for the door, and he left behind the undeniable fact that young Mark was quite a liar.

From time to time, Harry watched Mark during the testimony of Hardy and McThune. The kid was impassive, hard to read, preoccupied with an invisible spot somewhere on the floor. He sat low in his seat and ignored Reggie for the most part. His eyes were wet, but he was not crying. He looked tired and sad, and occasionally glanced at the witness when his lies were emphasized.

Harry had watched Reggie many times under these circumstances, and she usually sat very close to her young clients and whispered to them as the hearings progressed. She would pat them, squeeze their arms, give reassurances, lecture them if necessary. Normally, she was in constant motion, protecting her clients from the harsh reality of a legal system run by
adults. But not today. She glanced at her client occasionally as if waiting for a signal, but he ignored her.

“Call your next witness,” Harry said to Fink, who was resting on his elbows, trying not to stand. He looked at Ord for help, then at his honor.

“Well, Your Honor, this may sound a bit strange, but I’d like to testify next.”

Harry ripped off his reading glasses and glared at Fink. “You’re confused, Mr. Fink. You’re the lawyer, not a witness.”

“I know that, sir, but I’m also the petitioner, and, I know this may be a bit out of order, but I think my testimony could be important.”

“Thomas Fink, petitioner, lawyer, witness. You wanna play bailiff, Mr. Fink? Maybe take down a bit of stenography? Perhaps wear my robe for a while? This is not a courtroom, Mr. Fink, it’s a theater. Why don’t you just choose any role you like?”

Fink stared blankly at the bench without making eye contact with his honor. “I can explain, sir,” he said meekly.

“You don’t have to explain, Mr. Fink. I’m not blind. You boys have rushed in here half-ass prepared. Mr. Foltrigg should be here, but he’s not, and now you need him. You figured you could throw together a petition, bring in some FBI brass, hook in Mr. Ord here, and I’d be so impressed I’d just roll over and do anything you asked. Can I tell you something, Mr. Fink?”

Fink nodded.

“I’m not impressed. I’ve seen better work at high school mock trial competitions. Half the first-year law students at Memphis State could kick your butt, and the other half could kick Mr. Foltrigg’s.”

Fink was not agreeing, but he kept nodding for
some reason. Ord slid his chair a few inches away from Fink’s.

“What about it, Ms. Love?” Harry asked.

“Your Honor, our rules of procedure and ethics are quite clear. An attorney trying a case cannot participate in the same trial as a witness. It’s simple.” She sounded bored and frustrated, as if everyone should know this.

“Mr. Fink?”

Fink was regaining himself. “Your Honor, I would like to tell the court, under oath, certain facts regarding Mr. Clifford’s actions prior to the suicide. I apologize for this request, but under the circumstances it cannot be helped.”

There was a knock on the door, and the bailiff opened it slightly. Marcia entered carrying a plate covered with a thick roast beef sandwich and a tall plastic glass of iced tea. She set it before his honor, who thanked her, and she was gone.

It was almost one o’clock, and suddenly everyone was starving. The roast beef and horseradish and pickles, and the side order of onion rings, emitted an appetizing aroma that wafted around the room. All eyes were on the kaiser roll, and as Harry picked it up to take a huge bite, he saw young Mark Sway watching his every move. He stopped the sandwich in midair, and noticed that Fink and Ord, and Reggie, and even the bailiff were staring in helpless anticipation.

Harry placed the sandwich on the plate, and slid it to one side. “Mr. Fink,” he said, jabbing a finger in Fink’s direction, “stay where you are. Do you swear to tell the truth?”

“I do.”

“You’d better. You’re now under oath. You have five minutes to tell me what’s bugging you.”

“Yes, thank you, Your Honor.”

“You’re so welcome.”

“You see, Jerome Clifford and I were in law school together, and we knew each other for many years. We had many cases together, always on opposite sides, of course.”

“Of course.”

“After Barry Muldanno was indicted, the pressure began to mount and Jerome began acting strange. Looking back, I think he was slowly cracking up, but at the time I didn’t think much about it. I mean, you see, Jerome was always a strange one.”

“I see.”

“I was working on the case every day, many hours a day, and I talked to Jerome Clifford several times a week. We had preliminary motions and such, so I saw him in court occasionally. He looked awful. He gained a lot of weight, and was drinking too much. He was always late for meetings. Rarely bathed. Often, he failed to return phone calls, which was unusual for Jerome. About a week before he died he called me at home one night, really drunk, and rambled on for almost an hour. He was crazy. Then he called me at the office first thing the next morning and apologized. But he wouldn’t get off the phone. He kept fishing around as if he were afraid he’d said too much the night before. At least twice he mentioned the Boyette body, and I became convinced Jerome knew where it was.”

Fink paused to allow this to sink in, but Harry was waiting impatiently.

“Well, he called me several times after that, kept talking about the body. I led him on. I implied that
he’d said too much when he was drunk. I told him that we were considering an indictment against him for obstruction of justice.”

“Seems to be one of your favorites,” Harry said dryly.

“Anyway, Jerome was drinking heavily and acting bizarre. I confessed to him that the FBI was trailing him around the clock, which was not altogether true, but he seemed to believe it. He grew very paranoid, and called me several times a day. He’d get drunk and call me late at night. He wanted to talk about the body, but was afraid to tell everything. During our last phone conversation, I suggested that maybe we could cut a deal. If he’d tell us where the body was, then we’d help him bail out with no record, no conviction, nothing. He was terrified of his client, and he never once denied knowing where the body was.”

“Your Honor,” Reggie interrupted, “this, of course, is pure hearsay and quite self-serving. There’s no way to verify any of this.”

“You don’t believe me?” Fink snapped at her.

“No, I don’t.”

“I’m not sure I do either, Mr. Fink,” Harry said. “Nor am I sure why any of this has any relevance to this hearing.”

“My point, Your Honor, is that Jerome Clifford knew about the body and he was talking about it. Plus, he was cracking up.”

“I’ll say he cracked up, Mr. Fink. He put a gun in his mouth. Sounds crazy to me.”

Fink sort of hung in the air with his mouth open, uncertain if he should say anything else.

“Any more witnesses, Mr. Fink?” Harry asked.

“No sir. We do, however, Your Honor, feel that
due to the unusual circumstances of this case, the child should take the stand and testify.”

Harry ripped off the reading glasses again and leaned toward Fink. If he could have reached him, he might have gone for his neck.

“You what!”

“We, uh, feel that—”

“Mr. Fink, have you studied the juvenile laws for this jurisdiction?”

“I have.”

“Great. Will you please tell us, sir, under which code section the petitioner has the right to force the child to testify?”

“I was merely stating our request.”

“That’s great. Under which code section is the petitioner allowed to make such a request?”

Fink dropped his head a few inches and found something on his legal pad to examine.

“This is not a kangaroo court, Mr. Fink. We do not create new rules as we go. The child cannot be forced to testify, same as any other criminal or Juvenile Court proceeding. Surely you understand this.”

Fink studied the legal pad with great intensity.

“Ten-minute recess!” his honor barked. “Everyone out of the courtroom except Ms. Love. Bailiff, take Mark to a witness room.” Harry was standing as he growled these instructions.

Fink, afraid to stand but nonetheless trying, hesitated for a split second too long, and this upset the judge. “Out of here, Mr. Fink,” he said rudely, pointing to the door.

Fink and Ord stumbled over each other as they clawed for the door. The court reporter and clerk followed them. The bailiff escorted Mark away, and when
he closed the door Harry unzipped his robe and threw it on a table. He took his lunch and set it on the table before Reggie.

“Shall we dine?” he said, tearing the sandwich in two and placing half of it on a napkin for her. He slid the onion rings next to her legal pad. She took one and nibbled around the edges.

“Are you going to allow the kid to testify?” he asked with a mouth full of roast beef.

“I don’t know, Harry. What do you think?”

“I think Fink’s a dumbass, that’s what I think.”

Reggie took a small bite of the sandwich and wiped her mouth.

“If you put him on,” Harry said, crunching, “Fink’ll ask him some very pointed questions about what happened in the car with Clifford.”

“I know. That’s what worries me.”

“How will the kid answer the questions?”

“I honestly don’t know. I’ve advised him fully. We’ve talked about it at length. And I have no idea what he’ll do.”

Harry took a deep breath, and realized the iced tea was still on the bench. He took two paper cups from Fink’s table and poured them full of tea.

“It’s obvious, Reggie, that he knows something. Why did he tell so many lies?”

“He’s a kid, Harry. He was scared to death. He heard more than he should have. He saw Clifford blow his brains out. It scared him to death. Look at his poor little brother. It was a terrible thing to witness, and I think Mark initially thought he might get in trouble. So he lied.”

“I don’t really blame him,” Harry said, taking an onion ring. Reggie bit into a pickle.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

He wiped his mouth, and thought about this for a long time. This child was now his, one of Harry’s Kids, and each decision from now on would be based on what was best for Mark Sway.

“If I can assume the child knows something very relevant to the investigation in New Orleans, then several things might happen. First, if you put him on the stand and he gives the information Fink wants, then this matter is closed as far as my jurisdiction is concerned. The kid walks out of here, but he’s in great danger. Second, if you put him on the stand, and he refuses to answer Fink’s questions, then I will be forced to make him answer. If he refuses, he’ll be in contempt. He cannot remain silent if he has crucial information. Either way, if this hearing is concluded here today without satisfactory answers by the child, I strongly suspect Mr. Foltrigg will move quickly. He’ll get a grand jury subpoena for Mark, and away you go to New Orleans. If he refuses to talk to the grand jury, he’ll certainly be held in contempt by the federal judge, and I suspect he’ll be incarcerated.”

Reggie nodded. She was in complete agreement. “So what do we do, Harry?”

“If the kid goes to New Orleans, I lose control of him. I’d rather keep him here. If I were you, I’d put him on the stand and advise him not to answer the crucial questions. At least not for now. He can always do it later. He can do it tomorrow, or the next day. I’d advise him to withstand the pressure from the judge, and keep his mouth shut, at least for now. He’ll go back to our Juvenile Detention Center, which is probably much safer than anything in New Orleans. By doing this, you protect the child from the New Orleans thugs,
who scare even me, until the feds can arrange something better. And you buy yourself some time to see what Mr. Foltrigg will do in New Orleans.”

“You think he’s in great danger?”

“Yes, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t take chances. If he spills his guts now, he could get hurt. I’m not inclined to release him today, under any circumstances.”

“What if Mark refuses to talk, and Foltrigg presents him with a grand jury subpoena?”

“I won’t allow him to go.”

Reggie’s appetite was gone. She sipped her tea from the paper cup and closed her eyes. “This is so unfair to this boy, Harry. He deserves more from the system.”

“I agree. I’m open to suggestions.”

“What if I don’t put him on the stand?”

“I’m not going to release him, Reggie. At least not today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day. This is happening awfully fast, and I suggest we take the safest route and see what happens in New Orleans.”

“You didn’t answer my question. What if I don’t put him on the stand?”

“Well, based on the proof I’ve heard, I’ll have no choice but to find him to be a delinquent, and I’ll send him back to Doreen. Of course, I could reverse myself tomorrow. Or the next day.”

“He’s not a delinquent.”

“Maybe not. But if he knows something, and he refuses to tell, then he’s obstructing justice.” There was a long pause. “How much does he know, Reggie? If you’ll tell me, I’ll be in a better position to help him.”

“I can’t tell you, Harry. It’s privileged.”

“Of course it is,” he said with a smile. “But it’s rather obvious he knows plenty.”

“Yes, I guess it is.”

He leaned forward, and touched her arm. “Listen to me, dear. Our little pal is in a world of trouble. So let’s get him out of it. I say we take it one day at a time, keep him in a safe place where we call the shots, and in the meantime start talking to the feds about their witness protection program. If that falls into place for the kid and his family, then he can tell these awful secrets and be protected.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

     25     

UNDER THE STERN SUPERVISION OF THE BAILIFF, A MAN named Grinder, they were reassembled and directed to their positions. Fink glanced about fearfully, uncertain whether to sit, stand, speak, or crawl under the table. Ord picked at the cuticle on a thumb. Baxter McLemore had moved his chair as far away from Fink as possible.