Missing Justice (33 page)

Shoot. Why didn’t I think of that?

There was only one way to swing this, and it all depended on how badly Billy wanted protection. As it turned out, he was more scared than I thought.

Lisa and I told Prescott’s clerk that we were ready and returned to the courtroom. Thorpe and Gunderson were already there, presumably waiting for Slip to call Gunderson to the stand pursuant to the subpoena.

“We’re back on the record,” Judge Prescott made clear. “Mr. Minkins has chosen to proceed with separate counsel, and he is now present and represented by Lisa Lopez. The motion to quash the subpoenas served upon Larry Gunderson and William Minkins is quashed. Mr. Szlipkowsky, you may proceed to question your witnesses.”

This had happened too quickly. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to Slip. I crossed my fingers and hoped that the fifty-fifty odds would fall my way.

“The defense calls Larry Gunderson to the stand.”

I exhaled a sigh of relief, and Jim Thorpe rose. “Excuse me, your honor. It was my understanding that the purpose of the prosecutor’s conference with Ms. Lopez was to determine whether Mr. Minkins was offering testimony that would warrant an offer of immunity to him. As your honor is well aware, such conferences often invite fabrications, especially where as in Mr. Minkins’s situation the person being questioned is

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on probation and therefore subject to the whim of law enforcement. It only seems fair that my client should know what occurred in that conference before being questioned.”

Somewhere along the road, when I wasn’t looking, Prescott had truly come into her own. Without asking any guidance from the other attorneys, she reached the right conclusion. “Mr. Gunderson is merely a witness in these proceedings, not the accused. He has no standing to request information about other witness’s potential testimony. Please instruct your client to take the witness seat.”

Thorpe whispered some last minute advice in his ear and Gunderson took the stand. Short, round, and balding, he might have appeared jolly under happier circumstances. But here, his expression was stern but concerned as he repeated the same response to each of Slip’s questions: “On the advice of counsel, I decline to answer pursuant to my Fifth Amendment rights.”

Although typically the bane of my existence, today the words were music to my ears. Larry Gunderson, the supposedly disinterested landowner, was invoking his rights. It was better than anything I could have hoped for.

When Slip had finished his list of questions, he called Minkins to the stand. To everyone’s surprise (well, maybe not everyone’s), Minkins also invoked his Fifth Amendment rights. When the questioning was done, I rose.

“Your honor, at this point, I would request that the sheriff’s deputy place Mr. Minkins in custody on a probation detainer pursuant to the request of his probation officer.”

“This is ludicrous, your honor.” I wasn’t surprised at Lisa’s acting skills. Having seen her profess her faith in her clients time and time again in court, I knew she could pull it off. “Ms. Kincaid is obviously penalizing my client for invoking his Fifth Amendment rights.”

“Ms. Lopez is forgetting, your honor, that Mr. Minkins was a defense witness, not a suspect. The State is continuing to pursue its case against the defendant, Melvin Jackson, and is simply informing the court of a decision by the probation department. The probation officer has already faxed a formal detainer to the sheriff’s department. He is concerned about Mr. Thorpe s earlier representation about Mr. Minkins’s whereabouts at the time of the offense. The witness is on supervision for a forgery that arose from an alcohol and gambling addiction.”

Moments later, Minkins was led away in cuffs, where he’d be safe and sound in a relatively clean and comfortable county holding cell until I told his PO it was time for a hearing. It wasn’t the Four Seasons, but it provided the protection Minkins was after.

Larry Gunderson’s head looked like it was about to explode. My guess was that he had been tempted to perjure his way through the questioning, but was smart enough to play it safe once he assumed that Minkins had given him up. It’s nearly impossible to make your way through an interrogation when you don’t know what cards the questioner has already drawn. Any screwups would be under oath and on the record, preventing him from wiggling around at a trial down the road.

Lisa threw me a glance before leaving the courtroom. Other lawyers might have worried about the long-term repercussions of crossing another attorney, especially one as powerful as Jim Thorpe. But Lisa Lopez, ever the true believer, did what was best for Minkins.

“Unless someone has further need of Mr. Thorpe and his client,” Prescott said, “the two of you are free to leave as well.” They almost looked surprised when no one spoke up.

With the witnesses gone, Prescott asked Slip if he had any additional witnesses.

“No, your honor.”

“Rebuttal, Ms. Kincaid.”

“None.”

Slip and I went through the motions on argument. He wove the strongest conspiracy story he could given the information he had. I stood by my case against Jackson, emphasizing that any questions about possible conspiracies must be decided by the jury. If anyone from the office called Prescott to check up on me, it would look like I’d played my proper role in the system. I wasn’t looking for a dismissal against Jackson, just enough of a reaction from the court to get my office’s attention.

When we were done arguing, Judge Prescott gave me what I needed.

“All right, I don’t know what exactly happened in here today, but I’m ready to rule.”

When I got back to my office, I was greeted by a note on my chair. See me ASAP. And, no, that doesn’t mean after a quick run. Russ.

I didn’t go for a run, but I did take a second to check my voice mail: two defense attorneys, a victim, and my father. Since I had changed my outgoing message to say I’d be in court all day, the callbacks could wait.

In Russell’s office, I did my best to look worn out from my crazy morning. “Hey, there. I’m finally out of the Jackson prelim.” I held up the note he’d left for me.

“What the hell’s going on over there? Your gem of an ex-husband called Duncan a couple of hours ago claiming you were sabotaging your own case. Something about you telling the defense attorney to subpoena some clients you called him about over the weekend?”

Russell had been good to me so far, so I almost felt bad about lying to him. Almost. “Roger’s got his head up his ass. The defense subpoenaed the same witnesses I asked him about, because anyone giving a second thought about this case would be asking the same questions. If anyone should be in trouble, it’s him. He’s thinking more about the other clients than he is about Townsend.”

“Sounds like a conflict,” he said.

“I thought so too, but apparently all the clients signed off on it.”

“So what was the end result?” he asked.

“Prescott found probable cause, but not without a fight. She said on the record that the defense had raised serious questions about whether we had the entire story, and that we skated through only because the standard of proof’s so low. Oh, yeah, and the media were in the courtroom.”

“You’re fucking shitting me.”

“I shit you not. After the morning I’ve had, I am in a strictly non shitting mode of communication.” I did my best to sound upset, but now I had the office right where I needed it. No way would Duncan permit the bureau to continue ignoring the evidence pointing to Gunderson.

“I’m almost afraid to ask: Who are these witnesses?”

“Larry Gunderson, who owns the Glenville construction site, and Billy Minkins, who works for him.”

“For the love of God, Kincaid. Not this again. The defendant’s mom says one thing to you ‘my boy ain’t never had a job so good’ and ever since then you can’t let it drop.”

His Mrs. Jackson impersonation wasn’t half bad.

“It’s more than that, Russ.” But before I got a chance to explain it all to him, his phone rang. Checking the caller ID, he decided to answer it.

“Hi, Duncan… Yeah, she’s right here…. No, Prescott found probable cause, but it’s a little more complicated than that…. OK, yeah, we’ll be right down.” Russ hopped out of his chair as he hung up. “I’ll do what I can for you, Samantha, but if I were you I’d hold my nose and pucker up, because you’ve got some serious ass-kissing in front of you.”

In the couple of minutes it took to run down the back stairs to Duncan’s office, I managed to give Russ at least the big picture. I left out the part about my role in steering Slip’s action, but I did tell him about the contents of Clarissa’s safe deposit box and Gunderson’s stake in the urban growth boundary.

“So what’s your theory?”

“I’m not done telling you everything yet.”

“Reader’s Digest version, Kincaid. Duncan’s waiting for us.”

“I think Clarissa had some kind of deal with Gunderson where she agreed to rule in his favor on his appeal. I also think that Gunderson has a lot to lose if the urban growth boundary doesn’t expand in Glenville, and that Clarissa’s affair with Caffrey had something to do with that. For whatever reason, though, Clarissa was thinking about blowing the whistle “

A voice cut me off. “Where the hell are they?” Shit. It was Duncan standing in the hallway, apparently counting the seconds to make sure we weren’t dillydallying.

“I think that’s for us, kid,” Russ said. “Let’s do this.”

My pulse started to accelerate the minute I sat on Duncan Griffith’s leather sofa. If what they say about state-dependent learning is true, his office would eventually begin to trigger an automatic gag reflex in me.

He wasn’t helping to calm my nerves. “Sounds like you’ve had a busy morning, Samantha.”

“Yes, although not nearly as chaotic as Roger Kirkpatrick apparently led you to believe. Russ told me that Roger called you.”

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“Well, he called me, but the bigger problem is Jim Thorpe, who called the chief of police, the mayor, and everyone else who was willing to listen. The way I understand it, Kirkpatrick’s pissed on behalf of Townsend, because he doesn’t want to see the prosecution of his wife’s murderer derailed. And Thorpe’s pissed because his client’s being dragged through a three-ring circus. Do you want to explain to me why you’re sabotaging your own case?”

“I did nothing of the sort. The defense threw us some curve balls today, and I still managed to swing the probable cause finding.” It was hard to keep a straight face with the sports metaphor.

“According to Kirkpatrick, you called him Sunday afternoon asking to talk to this Gunderson fellow. Then, when he said no, lo and behold, the defense attorney ups and subpoenas the guy. You want to explain that to me?”

I gave him the same version I gave Frist the one where Slip and I are equally savvy and wind up on the same track. I also gave him a rundown on what Minkins had confirmed about Gunderson and what I still suspected.

By the time I was finished, Duncan’s eyes were pressed shut, his right palm pressed against his temple. “That’s one a hell of mess, all right,” he said, his eyes still shut. Then, opening them to look at me, he said, “We’ll talk about your role in this in a second, but first things first. Russ, the last time I checked, you were working this case too. What do you think?”

“I don’t like it,” Russ said. “But I think the defense has dug up enough that we have to look into it. If we ignore it, Szlipkowsky will haul it all out in front of a jury, and we’ll look like we’re steamrolling a poor black guy to cover up some white-collar dirty laundry.”

For a second, I thought I’d stroked out and was having delusions. I looked down. Nope, I was still wearing panty hose and my calves were still puffy. This was definitely not heaven. But my supervisor was actually defending me to our boss.

“You guys can’t possibly be telling me that you buy this conspiracy theory shit,” Duncan said. “Planted evidence, for Christ’s sake?”

“I don’t know what to think,” I said, “but I agree with Russ. We can’t ignore it. How many times have I heard in this office that only the guilty lawyer up? You should have seen Gunderson in there. He invoked to every question. He’s definitely hiding something, and if he takes the Fifth in front of a jury, we’re toast. Jackson will walk, and so will any hope we have of trying someone else for the same crime.”

Duncan thought about it, his prosecutorial instincts kicking in. Prosecutors share a belief system resembling a kind of secular faith, and a central tenet of that system is that a witness who invokes is hiding something. Maybe not the thing you’re looking for, but something. In our church of prosecutors, it’s the equivalent of the truth shall set you free.

“Help me think this thing through,” he said. “If it’s all connected, the victim and Gunderson had some kind of arrangement, and Gunderson killed her because she was planning to talk?”

“Right,” I said. “I think it went beyond that one appeal Clarissa heard. I think her affair with Caffrey fits in somehow. He’s a swing vote on whether to expand suburban development, an issue Gunderson stands to profit from. A lot. It would explain the videotape Clarissa had of her and Caffrey coming out of the motel. Maybe she was blackmailing him but couldn’t go through with it.”

“And they set up Melvin Jackson as the bad guy?” Russ asked.

“It certainly wouldn’t be the first time a white criminal took advantage of stereotypes.” We’d all seen the stories before. When that woman sunk her kids in the river, the first thing she said was that some black guy took them and everyone immediately believed her.

Duncan did not look happy. “Well, I guess we’re going to need to look into this guy’s business dealings, but the police aren’t going to like it if it means trashing the case against Jackson. Any possibility the guy had a deal with the victim but didn ‘t set up Jackson?”

“I don’t see it,” I said. “If Gunderson was bribing Clarissa, it’s too much of a coincidence that Jackson winds up working for Gunderson and putting Clarissa’s body there.”

Russ was shaking his head. “No, there is a way. You told me early on, Sam, that you thought Clarissa felt sorry for Jackson, at least initially, right?”