The Lawyer's Lawyer (23 page)

“I’ll pay you seventy,” Jack said.

“Fifty plus expenses, and that’s my final offer—take it or leave it,” Tom replied.

Jack laughed. “I guess I’m going to have to take it, Tom. You drive a hard bargain.”

Tom laughed with him. “I do, indeed. Now let’s call Henry and your friend the bar owner and start mapping out a strategy.”

I
t took Henry and Ron all of ten minutes to drive from The Swamp to the condo. The storm had passed, but The Swamp was still
empty when they left.

“Once people go back to their caves to get out of the weather, they don’t come out again,” Ron told Henry on the drive over.

Ron was the only one who didn’t know Tom Wylie, so Jack made the introduction when the two men arrived.

“I’ve heard of the legendary Swamp,” Tom said as he shook Ron’s hand.

Ron still couldn’t let the bad day go. He was a businessman to his core.

“Yeah, well, today it should be called The Morgue because it’s a dead zone.”

Tom smiled. “I take it the storm killed your business.”

“They fled like rats from a sinking ship.”

“They’ll be back tomorrow when it clears up. While you have some time, though, Jack and I would like to discuss his case with
you and Henry.”

“Are you on board?” Henry asked.

“I am,” Tom replied. “Jack drove a hard bargain, but I wore him down eventually.”

Tom stole a glance at Jack, who was smiling. The four men moved to the dining room table and sat down.

“I still don’t know why I’m here,” Ron said. “I can feed you guys and house you, but that’s about it.”

“Actually, you can be very helpful,” Tom continued. “Jack says you know everything that’s happening in this town. We want
to get this case out of Oakville, and the only way we can do that is if we can produce some evidence to show that he can’t
get a fair trial here. We can look for editorials and letters to the editor and that kind of stuff, but we need to dig deeper.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Ron said.

“This case is going to heat up real fast. The national press and the foreign press are going to be falling all over each other
trying to get stories. The people in this town are going to get caught up in that. They won’t be able to stay out of the way.
We believe the public sentiment is going to be overwhelmingly against Jack. Any time you hear about a group scheduling a protest
or talking to a reporter, any reporter, we need to know about that so we can get the information and present it to the judge.”

“I can definitely do that,” Ron said. “I thought I’d be hearing things already, but I haven’t. It’s almost like people are
being told not to say anything through some underground channel or something.”

“How would that work?” Tom asked.

“This is a small town and it’s run by a small group of people. Unfortunately, I’m not one of them. I can tell you who the
people are, though, and it’s not the mayor and the city council. It’s the people who get them elected. Sam Jeffries is one
of them. You can’t discount Sam’s influence in this community. Ever since his wife was killed ten years ago, he pretty much
walks on water. Then you’ve got people like the state attorney, although this fellow Merton is fairly new, and it looks like
he’s following Sam’s lead. There’s Art Grumman, the editor of the paper, Jim Bentley who runs the chamber of commerce, the
local ministers—people like that who control the money and the flow of information.”

“I’ll bet Jeffries has already met with these people and put the fix in,” Jack said.

Tom agreed. “I think you’re right. And if you are, we’re going to be trying this case right here in Oakville where those same
people control the message inside and outside of the courtroom. Still want to leave Sam Jeffries alone?”

“I do. We need to file the motion anyway if only to make a record for appellate purposes,” Jack said.

“I agree but they probably have Judge Holbrook in their pocket as well. Didn’t you say he was very much influenced by public
opinion?”

“I did. And he’s probably influenced more by the people we’ve been talking about—the people he sees at the golf course and
the country club—than any other group. All of a sudden this case is looking a lot more difficult.

“Last chance, Tom. Do you want out?” Jack asked.

“Not on your life,” Tom replied. “And one way or the other, it will be about your life, Jack.”

T
om and Jack were right about the fix being in. There were no editorials or demonstrations of any kind even though the national
press and the foreign press were everywhere trying to foment outrage so that they could report on it objectively.

Still, after two weeks of watching and waiting in vain, Tom and Jack managed to prepare a pretty good motion for change of
venue.

When Jack had first made an appearance representing Thomas Felton, the
Oakville Sun
had written some brutal editorials about Jack and his motivations for wanting to represent a serial killer. Numerous letters
to the editor had followed, spewing the same vitriol. Not one letter had appeared supporting Jack for taking on the case.
That wasn’t the worst of it, though. The worst came after Kathleen Jeffries was killed. The editorials were harsh, but the
letters to the editor almost uniformly linked Jack and Felton and called for both of their heads—literally.

It was powerful evidence and formed the basis for the motion.

Two days after they filed it, Judge Holbrook set it for hearing along with a status conference.

Tom was staying in a one-bedroom condo right next to Jack’s that Ron also owned.

“We’re paying for this one,” Jack told Ron when he offered the place.

“Sure you are,” Ron said. “I’m going to need you later on in life, Jack. Let me do this and you can pay me down the road.”

Jack had just shaken his head at the time. There was no arguing with Ron.

“What do you make of this?” Tom asked Jack when he received Judge Holbrook’s order.

Jack looked at the order. “I think the judge is sending us a message, Tom. He’s setting the status conference at the time
of the hearing to let us know before we get there that he is denying our motion.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Tom said. “This judge is really going to be a problem. He’s also going to want to know our thoughts
about a trial date when we get there.”

“You’re right. It’s always been my inclination, if I didn’t have a need to do any further investigation or preparation, to
go as soon as possible. The State is always banking on the defendant’s asking for more time and they are never prepared.”

“I agree with you that we should go right away,” Tom said. “But I’ve done some research on this Merton fellow. He’s always
prepared. And he’ll want to go right away, too. I’ll bet he has all his disclosures—names and addresses of witnesses and a
list of the evidence—with him at the hearing. He’ll hand them to us and tell the judge he’s ready to go anytime.”

“And when do you think anytime will be, Tom?”

“With a specially appointed judge it could be as quick as two weeks if we don’t have any depositions.”

“Do we?”

“I don’t think so. I could take Jeffries’s deposition but it won’t get us anywhere and it will make him more relaxed than
I want him to be.”

“So we just tell the judge we’re ready to go?” Jack asked.

“I think we should tell him he can set it three weeks out with the understanding that we may need more time if there’s anything
in the discovery Merton gives us that we haven’t seen before.”

“That’s agreeable to me,” Jack said.

The summer after Thomas Felton’s brutal murder spree, Apache County and the City of Oakville built a spacious new court complex
in downtown Oakville.

The previous courthouse dated back to the Civil War. The courtrooms were old and hot, the floorboards creaked, and the overhead
fans rattled so badly, you thought at any time one of them might take off and power itself right out of the room like a wayward
helicopter, or, even worse, land on some poor, unfortunate victim. There were three courtrooms in the old courthouse. The
main one was enormous with its own balcony where the black folks often used to stand and watch their kinfolk railroaded, but
the other two were very small.

Oakville had grown in population and in criminals, and the old courthouse could no longer handle the volume of traffic coming
and going through its doors, so the county commission and the city council pooled their resources and built a new, modern
complex with ten courtrooms, all similar in size and shape, all with the same bland gray walls and pine veneer tables, benches,
and judges’ dais, so that you could not tell one courtroom from the other. They were small, too, with five or six rows of
benches in each to fit the observers who wanted to come and watch a trial. That was usually enough and, in most cases, more
than enough. On a normal day, the benches in every courtroom would be empty except for criminals waiting to have their cases
called, or loved ones.

The old courthouse was not torn down, however, only because it had become a historic landmark and could not be destroyed.
Although in plain sight, it simply became invisible like an old man who had lived out his usefulness to society and stood
on the corner of the street every day, confident that his presence would go unnoticed.

Judge Holbrook, being from the north end of the county, didn’t have an office in downtown Oakville, nor a courtroom for that
matter. It wasn’t a major problem. There was usually a courtroom empty for hearings, and an office had been located for the
judge and his secretary while he was in town. However, the judge was eventually going to be trying Jack Tobin’s murder charge
and nobody knew how long the trial was going to last. It would be difficult to tie up one of the other judges’ courtrooms
for an indefinite period of time. Besides, none of the new courtrooms were equipped to handle the crowds that were anticipated
for the trial of Jack Tobin.

The hearing on the motion was on a Monday morning in late May. The sweltering heat and humidity of the summer had not yet
arrived but even though it was an overcast day, it was still in the eighties and humid. Tom had received a call late Friday
afternoon advising him that the hearing was going to be in the main courtroom of the old courthouse.

“What do you think that’s about?” he asked Jack. The two men had been through so many trials that they knew every little change
could have some significance.

“I’m not sure,” Jack said. “He’s a visiting judge. Maybe they don’t have a courtroom for him.”

“Maybe. Maybe he’s letting us know this is going to be one of those old-fashioned lynchings with a trial thrown in just to
dress things up, like in the old days.”

“Maybe so,” Jack said. “But they can’t get away with things today that they used to be able to get away with in the old days.”

“You’re right, but it won’t stop them from trying. They’ve gotten this far.”

They found a parking spot close to the courthouse, which was unusual since they arrived only minutes before the hearing was
scheduled to begin.

They weren’t surprised by the legion of reporters and television cameras. Both men knew this was going to be a media circus—a
prominent lawyer on trial for murdering a serial killer. It didn’t get any better than that. However, they were surprised
by the small number of people in attendance and the lack of any signs supporting one position or another.

“No wonder we got a good parking spot,” Jack said.

“Let’s hope that’s just the beginning of our good luck,” Tom replied. “Get ready. We’re going to plow through this slew of
reporters ahead.”

I’ve been in Tom’s position so many times in my life
, Jack thought to himself as they started side by side to push through the crowd of media people shouting questions and snapping
pictures.
Now it’s my turn to be the client, to rely on my lawyer and the system. God help me.

R
obert Merton was already in the courtroom when Tom and Jack arrived. He greeted them both amiably as if they were business
rivals who had just arrived for a negotiation. Anyone looking at the tall, handsome defendant and his even taller elder statesman
lawyer would have thought the State had no chance based on appearances alone. Merton was a short, thick, unattractive man
with olive skin and black, greasy hair. Both Tom and Jack knew, however, that appearances didn’t mean anything in a courtroom
battle. Merton’s reputation preceded him. He was an experienced, efficient, tough prosecutor who had aspirations for higher
office. This was the beginning of a war and they knew it.

As the nine o’clock hour approached, the reporters and spectators filed in. By ten minutes to nine when the bailiffs closed
the doors, the courtroom was more than half full. Jack knew that would change once the trial started.

Judge Holbrook walked in at nine and everybody stood.

“You may be seated,” he said, almost shouting to be heard over the fans and the creaking benches. The courtroom was air conditioned
but with window units. The windows were old and they leaked and the ceiling was thirty feet high, so there was a lot of space
to cover and the antiquated ceiling fans that hung down from long poles to about fifteen feet from the floor had to stay on,
swaying and creaking. Still, even with the courtroom only half full, it was warm. It didn’t take long for people to start
sweating.

“We have a motion for change of venue set for hearing today and then we have some housekeeping issues if we are going to proceed
in this venue,” the judge said. “Mr. Wylie, I have read your motion. Is there anything you would like to add?”

Tom stood up. “Yes, Your Honor. The newspaper articles we have attached to our motion show clearly and consistently that my
client cannot receive a fair trial in Apache County. We have not attached any recent editorials or letters to the editor because,
surprisingly, since Mr. Tobin was arrested for the murder of Thomas Felton, there haven’t been any. Nothing has changed, however,
and there is no reason to conclude that public sentiment has changed.”

“Do you agree with that, Mr. Merton?”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Do you have evidence to disprove it?”

“Yes, Your Honor. May I approach?”

“Come on.”

Merton handed some documents to the judge and immediately gave a copy to Tom. “Judge, this is our response to the defendant’s
motion. I’d like to summarize it if I could.”

“Proceed, Counselor.” The judge seemed irritated with Merton’s formality.

“Your Honor, the State doesn’t take issue with the defendant’s assertions in its motion. Those assertions simply do not tell
the entire story and they don’t accurately reflect public sentiment at present.

“Obviously, public sentiment was against Mr. Tobin’s efforts to free a man who was convicted of terrorizing this town and
killing its citizens ten years ago. I don’t think the record reflects that those sentiments were against Mr. Tobin personally
at that time. Now, after Kathleen Jeffries was killed, emotions were very high and they were personal in the immediate aftermath
of that tragedy. There is no denying that. However, this public emotional sentiment is not static, it has been continuously
changing.

“I would point out to the court—and this evidence is contained in the State’s response—that there were letters to the editor
attacking the State and the undersigned personally for setting Mr. Felton free, so the animosity was on both sides. Now, however,
things have changed again. Jack Tobin killed a man who everybody in this town believes was a serial killer. People are happy
about that. There are no recent editorials or letters to the editor against Tobin because the animosity is no longer there.

“Just two days ago, the
Oakville Sun
published an editorial questioning whether the State should even be spending the money to prosecute Jack Tobin. I submit
to you, Your Honor, that the evidence shows that the worm has turned in Mr. Tobin’s favor. Maybe the State should be asking
for a change of venue.”

“Well, do you want one?” the judge asked.

“No, sir. We’ll take our chances with the good citizens of this county.”

“The guy makes me want to barf,” Jack whispered in Tom’s ear.

“He’s good, though,” Tom said. “He tends toward the dramatic but he’s making his point.”

“Mr. Wylie,” the judge asked. “Do you have a response?”

“I would just comment that it seems a little strange, Your Honor, that since Felton was killed, there have been no editorials
about the killing and my client—none—until two days before this hearing when the
Oakville Sun
suddenly woke up and questioned the wisdom of my client being tried at all. This is a hometown setup all the way.”

“Mr. Wylie,” the judge said, “you can’t base your reasons for a change of venue on the
Oakville Sun
and criticize the paper at the same time. You’ve got to take the good with the bad.”

“I disagree, Your Honor. What’s happening here is pretty clear.”

“Maybe to you, Counselor,” the judge replied, “but not to me. Your motion is denied. I will, however, agree to sequester the
jury because once this trial starts there is going to be all sorts of stuff on the airwaves and in print. Now we need to discuss
logistics.”

It was the ruling both Tom and Jack had expected, but one never gets used to injustice. Tom needed a minute to collect himself,
so he sat down and let Merton take the lead.

“Your Honor, I have my list of witnesses and evidence, which I am giving to the defendant’s counsel this morning in open court.
I believe these documents satisfy the state’s obligation under Rule 3.220 of the Criminal Rules of Procedure. Having said
that, Your Honor, we are ready to proceed to trial at your earliest convenience. This is a case that needs to be disposed
of as soon as possible, respecting the rights of all parties, of course.”

“Have there been any plea bargain discussions?” the judge asked.

“No, sir,” Merton replied, “nor will there be.”

That got the judge’s attention. He looked at Merton as if to say,
Are you sure you want to do this?
You can offer this guy a year, maybe two, save a lot of face and guarantee your reelection.

Jack leaned over and whispered in Tom’s ear, “Cocky bastard, isn’t he?”

“He sure is but we wouldn’t have it any other way, would we?”

“Nope. Makes our decision a lot easier.”

“Changed your mind on Sam yet?” Tom asked.

“Not yet.”

“Mr. Wylie, how do you feel about a trial date?” the judge asked.

“Your Honor, I obviously have not looked at the State’s disclosures yet. My client is not opposed to setting an early trial
date, say three weeks from today, with the caveat that if we decide we need to do further discovery after reading the State’s
disclosures, we can get a new trial date.”

“What do you think, Mr. Merton?”

“That’s fine with me, Your Honor, so long as we set a deadline as to when Mr. Wylie will make his decision.”

“That sounds fair. How much time do you think you need to make your decision, Mr. Wylie?”

“Ten days, Your Honor.”

“How about June sixth?”

“That’s fine, Your Honor,” Tom said.

“That’s agreeable to the State, Your Honor,” Merton said.

The reporters in the front rows were feverishly writing down the dates in their notebooks.

“Okay, if no request is made for a continuance on or before June sixth, we will have a pre-trial on June ninth and the trial
will be set for Monday, June sixteenth. Mr. Tobin, if no continuance is granted, you will turn yourself over to the custody
of the Oakville Police Department on the morning of June sixteenth at seven a.m. Is that understood?”

Jack stood to address the judge. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Okay, gentlemen, if there is nothing further, this hearing is adjourned.” The judge stood up and walked out of the courtroom
as the press moved in unison toward the lawyers and Jack.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Tom said.