The Lawyer's Lawyer (26 page)

“Yes.”

“And that includes Chief Jeffries, correct?”

“I don’t know.”

“Weren’t you sent to Jack Tobin’s condo because the assistant chief was concerned that Chief Jeffries might do him harm?”

Merton was on his feet again. “Objection, Your Honor.”

“Sustained!” Judge Holbrook said. “Mr. Wylie, I’ve already ruled on this once.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Tom said, even though the judge had not ruled on the first objection. “Thank you, Your Honor.” Tom turned
back toward the witness.

“Officer Brown, why did you go to Mr. Tobin’s condo?”

Merton was up again—furious. Tom was pushing his buttons—again. “Objection, Your Honor.”

“Sustained. Mr. Wylie, I have already ruled!” the judge shouted. Tom was pushing both their buttons now. Tom remained as cool
and calm as ever.

“That was a different question, Your Honor. The State put this witness on to testify that he went to my client’s residence.
Surely I can ask him why he went there?”

Merton cut in at that point. “He asked that question already, Your Honor. Officer Brown said he didn’t know. Asked and answered.”

Tom had made his point again, or maybe not. You never knew with a jury. In any event, it was time to retreat.

“I’ll withdraw the question, Your Honor, and move on.”

“And don’t revisit this subject again, Mr. Wylie.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Tom turned his attention back to Officer Brown.

“How many officers do you have in the Oakville Police Department, Officer Brown?”

“I don’t know for sure—fifty, fifty-five.”

“So if an order went out, say, directing officers to look for Thomas Felton in a certain location—like the woods behind Danni
Jansen’s house—you would know about it, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you or anyone in the department ever receive such an order?”

“No, sir.”

“Thank you, Officer Brown. No further questions, Your Honor.”

Merton called the coroner, Marie Vicente, next. Merton knew he needed to keep the jury focused since it was late in the day,
so he introduced the coroner’s report into evidence, and got to the important stuff right away, starting from when the coroner
arrived on the scene and finishing with the autopsy itself, although he skipped most of the details of the autopsy.

“Your report is in evidence, Doctor, so we don’t need to discuss all the details. Did you determine a cause of death?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And what was that?”

“Mr. Felton died from a gunshot wound to the chest.”

“And how did you determine that the gunshot wound was the cause of death?”

“Not to get too technical, the bullet, fragments of which we found in the body, nicked the aorta, causing severe internal
bleeding.”

Merton had her identify the bullet fragments, introduced them into evidence, and wrapped it up.

“Thank you, Doctor, I have no further questions.”

“Your witness, Mr. Wylie,” the judge said.

Tom stood and walked toward the witness stand. “Thank you, Your Honor.” He didn’t speak to Doctor Vicente until he was standing
directly in front of her.

“Doctor Vicente, you said the bullet nicked the aorta, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“What does that mean in layman’s terms?”

“It means there was a slight tear of the aorta caused by the bullet.”

“And what is the difference between a slight tear and, say, a full-blown rupture of the aorta?”

“As far as cause of death, there is no difference.”

“How about timing of death? Is it accurate that the smaller the rupture, the longer it takes to die?”

Marie Vicente hesitated for a second and looked at Robert Merton. Jack caught it right away. He didn’t think the jury could
see it, although he was sure Tom had.

“Not necessarily,” she answered.

Tom didn’t let it go. “What does that mean? Let me ask it another way: Is the blood flow greater when the aorta fully ruptures?”

“Yes.”

“So a person dies faster when there is a complete rupture, correct?”

“Not necessarily. And let me explain. We can surmise that the bullet nicked the aorta from the trajectory of the bullet, which
we traced from the entry wound and the path of destruction in the body cavity. Once the aorta is breached and blood begins
to flow, a complete rupture can be instantaneous.”

The doctor’s answer had taken most of the wind out of Tom’s sails but he had some left, so he kept on.

“You said ‘can be’ instantaneous, is that correct?”

“Yes, we’re never sure.”

“Okay, let’s assume there is a complete rupture—how long does it take to die?”

“Approximately ten minutes maximum. It could happen in five or even less.”

“And a partial rupture that does not become a complete rupture?”

“I’d say twenty minutes at the most.”

“Can you tell whether Mr. Felton died ten or twenty minutes after the fatal bullet struck?”

“No.”

Tom walked back to his table and retrieved the copy of the coroner’s report that Robert Merton had just given him minutes
before. He’d already reviewed his own copy in great detail over the past three weeks.

“Your autopsy report also references severe injury to the lower base of the skull, does it not?”

“Yes, it does.”

“How did that happen?”

“I can only surmise based on the facts and the physical evidence.”

“And what did you surmise?”

“That Mr. Felton, when he was shot, fell backward. His head hit a large rock very hard and that rock smashed the base of his
skull.”

“But that was not the cause of death?”

“It was not.”

“Could it have hastened death?”

“Yes.”

Tom looked at the judge. “Your Honor, I’m almost done. May I have a moment to talk to my client before releasing this witness?”

“You may.”

Tom walked over and sat next to Jack.

“You know what I want to ask her, don’t you?”

“I do. You want to ask her if it’s possible that somebody could have come upon Felton still alive, put a rock under his head,
and smashed it until he was dead—is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“Don’t do it.”

“Jack, listen to me for a second. We’ve already got the cops at your door telling you to leave town because they’re worried
Jeffries might be after you. Now if we can at least insinuate that Jeffries might have smashed Felton’s head in for whatever
reason, we are on the road toward establishing a hypothesis that Jeffries took Felton’s gun to frame you. He was as angry
at you at that point as he was at Felton.”

“Two things,” Jack said. “I don’t want to do it because we don’t have any direct evidence to support that theory and I don’t
want to ruin whatever life that man has left. Second, it’s a bad strategy, Tom. It makes us look desperate.”

“Mr. Wylie, are you ready to proceed?” Judge Holbrook asked.

Tom stood up. “Yes, Your Honor. I have no further questions.”

When Tom finished cross-examining the coroner, it was close to five o’clock and the judge adjourned the proceedings for the
day.

The stage was set for the testimony of Sam Jeffries.

T
om went directly from the courthouse to the jail to see Jack. He had to wait while Jack shed his courtroom attire for his
prison attire: a yellow jumpsuit. Jack was lying on his bed with his back propped up against the wall and his hands behind
his head when Tom walked into the cell.

“You look awfully relaxed,” Tom said.

“I’m confident. I’ve got a good lawyer, and besides, worrying gets you nowhere. It was a decent day today.”

“I think so,” Tom said. “The cops didn’t hurt us and neither did the coroner. You were right, by the way, about that last
question. It would have made us look desperate.”

“That’s the benefit of having two lawyers on the case. The one that’s watching can stop the other from going too far.”

Tom sat on the bed opposite Jack.

“I’m with you so far, Jack, but Merton has made Sam Jeffries both the victim and the chief witness in this case. We need to
take a bite out of Jeffries’s hide if you want to walk out of here.”

“I’m not opposed to that. I’m opposed to floating theories that we have no evidence to support. I’m opposed to ruining a good
man’s character.”

“A good man? This guy wants to send you to the death chamber!”

“I know you believe that—and I believe it as well—but we can’t prove it. Besides, Sam Jeffries
is
a good man. His mind is warped because he lost his wife and then his daughter to a man I helped set free.”

“Jesus, Jack, I can fight the prosecutor, but I can’t fight your conscience at the same time.”

“I’m not asking you to. I just want you to play it straight—no intimation that Sam hid the gun or bashed Felton’s head in,
unless we get evidence to support it.”

“All right. It’s your funeral.”

It was overcast and rainy on Thursday morning as Tom walked to the courthouse. The weather didn’t deter the crowds though.
People were everywhere and for the first time, there were signs. Merton had struck a chord when he made Sam Jeffries his victim.
The signs made that clear.

“Let’s Get a Little Justice for Sam,” one read. “Kathleen, You Are Not Forgotten,” read another.

I’ve got to be careful with Jeffries,
Tom thought to himself.
The jurors have the same sentiments as these people.

News stations had set up kiosks across from the courthouse, and the reporters practically stampeded toward Tom as he made
his way to the courthouse steps. This was not a day to linger outside, however.

“No comment,” Tom said as he pushed through the crowd.

“Your boy is going down,” someone in the crowd shouted. Tom didn’t even look up.

Inside the courtroom, the rain added to the cacophony of sounds. The doors had not yet opened for the crowds. The ceiling
fans, the air conditioners, and the rain held court, so to speak. Merton was sitting at his table closest to the jury, writing
on his yellow pad. A pretty brunette female attorney from his office sat next to him looking totally bored. Merton had brought
her along but he hadn’t given her anything to do.

One of the bailiffs saw Tom and immediately exited the room, returning a few minutes later with Jack and two more guards in
tow. Jack wore a charcoal-gray suit. Tom was in navy blue. If looks could win, they were the winners hands down.

“All set?” Tom asked.

“I guess so.”

The crowds started in a few minutes later, chatting away, adding to the symphony of sounds. The bailiffs squeezed them in,
making sure every potential seat was occupied. The first two rows were saved for the press. When everybody was seated, the
bailiff knocked on the door to the judge’s chambers. Moments later Judge Holbrook walked into the room, his black robe flowing.
Everybody stood up.

“Be seated,” he said. They obeyed promptly, like cattle following the lead of their master. Judge Holbrook addressed the gallery
again. “Those of you who are new, let me advise you that your presence here is a privilege. If you make any comments whatsoever
or any gestures of any kind, you will be removed, and you may be held in contempt of court. Do you all understand?”

There was a collective “Yes, sir” as heads nodded in assent.

The judge next turned to the lawyers. “Do we have anything to discuss before I bring the jury in?”

“No, Your Honor,” Merton replied.

“No, Your Honor,” Tom said.

“Bring the jury in,” Judge Holbrook told the bailiff.

After the jurors filed in and were seated, the judge looked at Robert Merton.

“Call your next witness, Counsel.”

“The State calls Phillip Hughes.”

One of the bailiffs left to retrieve the witness. Jack looked at Tom.

“The handwriting expert,” Tom said.

Jack smiled.

Moments later Phillip Hughes entered the room and swore to tell the truth. He then took the stand and gave his name and occupation.
That’s when Tom stood up.

“Your Honor, if I may, it is the defendant’s assumption that Mr. Hughes is here to identify the defendant’s signature on the
contingency fee agreement and the claims bill. In order to save time, we will not only stipulate that the defendant’s signature
is contained on those documents, we will stipulate them into evidence if the prosecution chooses to offer them as evidence.”

The judge immediately looked at Merton, who knew he’d been had.

“Do we need this witness for anything else, Mr. Merton?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Hughes, you may step down. Call your next witness, Counselor.”

Judges loved to move things along.

“The State calls Sam Jeffries.”

It seemed as if everyone in the room shifted position at the sound of Sam Jeffries’s name. There were some low murmurings
as well, but they stopped immediately after Judge Holbrook stared into the crowd.

Sam entered the courtroom wearing a brown suit. Apparently Merton thought the uniform would be a little much. It wasn’t needed
anyway. Everybody knew Sam was the chief of police. The clerk swore Sam in, and he immediately took over the witness chair.
He was so big that the chair just disappeared under him, giving the appearance that he was sitting on air.

Merton started slowly, having Sam tell the jury about his history in law enforcement, but he heated things up rather quickly,
interrupting Sam at the part of his career where he was heading the task force.

“Was there anything wrong with the task force’s investigation of the serial killings?”

Tom stood up. “Objection, Your Honor. Relevancy.”

“Overruled.”

“May we approach, Your Honor?” Tom asked.

“I have ruled, Counselor.”

Tom did not sit down. “Your Honor, I have to make my record for an appellate court, if necessary. This is a very important
point and I need to be heard.”

The judge glared at him. “Your objection is noted.”

“A general objection does not preserve the record, Your Honor.”

The judge knew Tom was right. “Approach.”

He laid into Tom when they reached sidebar. “Counselor, when I have ruled, I don’t want any further discussion.”

“With all due respect, Your Honor, I represent a man who is on trial for his life. I need to make my record, and the court
has an obligation to allow me to do so.”

“Don’t tell me about my obligations, Counselor.”

Tom didn’t answer. He’d made his point and the judge knew it. There were a few moments of silence before Holbrook spoke again.

“Go ahead, make your record.”

“Your Honor, we can’t rehear the appeal of Thomas Felton. The Florida Supreme Court ruled on that case. The question Mr. Merton
asked and the ensuing questions that I anticipate he will ask are an attempt to tell this jury that what the supreme court
ruled concerning the evidence in that case wasn’t true. This court cannot allow that to happen.”

The judge looked at Robert Merton. “Mr. Merton?”

“We’re not trying to overturn anything, Your Honor. You will not hear me mention the supreme court. I’m just asking this witness
about what he did and what he observed. Mr. Wylie is free to cross-examine him as he sees fit. The testimony is relevant because
it goes to Mr. Tobin’s motive.”

Tom interjected without being asked. “He’s about to contradict the findings of the Florida Supreme Court. He can’t do that.”

“I’m going to allow it,” Judge Holbrook said. “But only to a limited extent. Mr. Merton, I don’t want you spending all day
on this stuff and I don’t want to hear anything about the supreme court’s decision.”

“You won’t, Your Honor. I have only a few questions.”

“And Mr. Wylie, I’m giving you a continuing objection as to this subject matter so you don’t have to object to every question.
You have made your record as to this issue, Counselor. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Tom almost spit out the words.

Back at the table, Jack was more than curious. “What did he say?”

“He’s going to let him go into it. This judge is killing us.”

“Actually, he’s only killing one of us,” Jack replied.

Tom looked at him.

“It’s a joke,” Jack said. “A little maudlin, maybe, but I’ve got to keep you loose somehow, Tom.”

Tom didn’t look at Jack. He just smiled.
What client on trial for murder worries about keeping his lawyer loose?
he thought.

Merton continued his questioning of Sam Jeffries.

“I ask you again, Chief Jeffries, was there anything wrong in the task force’s investigation of the serial killings?”

“No.”

“What was the supposed problem that got Mr. Felton released?”

Tom couldn’t help himself. Merton was doing exactly what he had said he wasn’t going to do. He was asking Jeffries why the
supreme court released Felton and in the next question, he would ask Jeffries, without specifically asking, why the supreme
court was wrong. “Objection, Your Honor. This is a specific, blatant collateral attack on the ruling of the Florida Supreme
Court.”

“Sit down, Counselor,” Judge Holbrook shouted. There was no problem hearing him above the din of the ceiling fans, the air
conditioners, and the rain. “One more speaking objection and I will hold you in contempt of court! Your objection is overruled.
Continue, Mr. Merton, but make it quick with this line of questioning. I’m giving you a short leash.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” To the witness: “Do you remember the question, Chief?”

“I do. The murder weapon in the Brock/Diaz murders was a bowie knife. I testified to that and the coroner testified. The coroner’s
report was never introduced into evidence. Ten years later, the coroner was dead and his report was used to show that there
was somehow a discrepancy in the size of the entry wounds that were recorded on the document. It was nothing more than a typing
error.”

Tom was on his feet.

“Sit down, Mr. Wylie!” the judge shouted before Tom could say anything. “And don’t say a word or, so help me, I will hold
you in contempt of court!”

Tom sat down, livid. Merton and the judge were pushing his buttons now, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Jack.

“Stay calm. Stay focused,” Jack whispered to his lawyer.

“So the basis of Mr. Tobin’s legal appeal on behalf of Mr. Felton was what?”

“He argued that the evidence, the bowie knife, was not the real murder weapon. It was planted.”

“And who found the bowie knife?”

“I did.”

“So who was the finger pointed at?”

“Me.”

“And at the time this man”—Merton took the opportunity to point his finger directly at Jack—“At the time this man was pointing
the finger at you, you had already lost your wife at the hands of this serial killer, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And when he was eventually released, what happened?”

Sam could not speak. It took minutes for him to compose himself so he could mouth the words. Everybody saw the struggle. Everybody
felt
the struggle. The eyes turned red and glassy. The massive chest heaved up and down. Sam tried to form the words but they just
wouldn’t come out. Everybody watched this giant of a man fall apart right in front of their eyes and they couldn’t help but
react.

When Sam finally weakly blurted out the words “I lost my daughter,” there wasn’t a dry eye in the courtroom, except for Tom,
who was still livid, and the judge.

Jack Tobin was a pro. He’d represented men accused of murder. He’d represented men on death row, and he had tried hundreds
of cases. He knew more than anybody that the demeanor of the people on trial was so important. Yet with all his knowledge
and experience, Jack could not control his own emotions. He was almost as upset as Sam, knowing his part in this heartbreaking
tragedy. His demeanor did not go unnoticed by the jurors, some of whom were looking directly at him.

Merton had now gotten to Tom Wylie
and
his client. And he wasn’t through.