“They won’t prosecute you on the scam. No promises on the homicide investigation.”
“You think that’s enough?”
“Let’s be real, okay? You’re never going to get immunity on a homicide charge. You’re the son of a former governor. Prosecutors cut deals with the little guys so they can nail people like you.”
“Then why are you so sure that this letter is the right thing to do?”
“First of all, it’s the truth. Second, even though you weren’t part of Jessie’s scam, you should sleep better at night knowing that the prosecutor has agreed not to try to prove you were involved.”
“That’s something, I guess.”
“Especially when you consider that we’re not giving them anything they haven’t already deduced from your conversation last night. Like I said, they’re assuming there was a scam. This just puts it on record that you knew nothing about it.”
“So, in your view, we’re giving them nothing?”
“Exactly. It serves the same purpose as a press release, only not as tacky. And it may help down the road, too. Worst-case scenario, Jancowitz asks the grand jury to indict you for the murder of Jessie Merrill. Your involvement in her little scam is sure to play some part in your alleged motive. Somehow, he’ll have to explain that from day one of the investigation he had a letter sitting in his file in which you unequivocally denied any involvement.”
“You know as well as I do that a prosecutor doesn’t even have to mention that letter to the grand jury.”
“No, but we can make some hay in the press if he doesn’t.”
“So, why do you really think Jancowitz even wants the letter?”
“My opinion? He doesn’t like you, never did. He can’t wait to use your own words to show the world how stupid you were with your own client.”
Jack cringed.
“Sorry,” she said. “But that’s the way he’s going to play it. Slick defense lawyer gets outslicked.”
“The media will have a feast.”
“Yes, they will. But today’s newspaper is tomorrow’s paper-hat.”
“Gee, thanks. I feel better already.”
She came to him, laid a hand on his shoulder. “Look, my friend. These are salacious facts. Innocent or not, you won’t come out of this smelling like a rose.”
Jack knew she was right. The hardest part about being a criminal defense lawyer was defending the innocent. Even when they won, they lost something-status, reputation, the unconditional trust of friends and peers.
“I suppose it will all come out in the end anyway,” he said. “I might as well lay it all out from the get-go, do what I can to make sure the investigation heads in the right direction.”
“That’s exactly where I came out. Of course, we’re making certain assumptions. One, you didn’t kill her, which goes without saying. And two, she was not your lover.”
“Definitely not.”
“I’m not just talking about getting naked. I don’t want to find some string of flirtatious e-mails down the road somewhere.”
“There’s none of that.”
“Then I say we go public with the scam. Jancowitz is happy because it embarrasses you professionally. We’re happy because the truth focuses the attention where it belongs, on the viatical investors.”
“You don’t think that sounds too simple?”
“I’m not saying we write Jancowitz a letter and then sit on our hands. If they start thinking homicide and definitely not suicide, he might still hound you as a suspect. In that case, we need to be ready to hand them something on a silver platter, something so compelling that it almost forces them to focus their investigation on another suspect. Hopefully, the right suspect.”
“We’ve got two pretty solid theories.”
Rosa started to pace, as if it helped her think. “One, the viatical investors killed Jessie. They put the body in your house to deflect guilt from them to you. Or two, Jessie feared a horrible death. She was convinced they were going to kill her. So she killed herself, but she did it in a way and in a place that, as you say, makes a statement. She wanted to create havoc in your life because you refused to help her.”
“It has to be one of those,” said Jack.
“Lucky for us, there’s a common thread to both of them: The viatical investors threatened to kill Jessie. We need to find out who’s behind that company.”
“Jessie didn’t give me much to go on. She basically just said the company itself was a front. The real money was a bunch of bad operators.”
“You know what I always say. Bad money has a stench. Follow your nose. You up for it?”
“What’s my alternative?”
“You can sit back and hope your love letter to Jancowitz does the trick.”
He shook his head, not so sure that Jancowitz would be satisfied in merely embarrassing him. He looked at Rosa and said, “I’ll take care of the letter. Then it’s time to go fishing.”
“You have any particular investigator you’d like to use?”
“The official answer to that is no.”
She gave him a knowing smile. “You know, it’s really too bad Theo is a convicted felon. I’d use him too, if he could get a license.”
“That’s the beauty of the arrangement. It keeps me from having to pay him.”
“Something tells me you’ll find a way around that.”
Jack nodded, knowing that with all the freebies Theo had given him, someday he’d owe him his car.
Rosa checked her watch. “Gotta run. If you need me, you know where to find me.”
Jack walked her from the conference room to the lobby. They stopped at the double doors. “Rosa. Thank you.”
“No problem. You’d do the same for me. But let’s hope you never have to.”
She was out the door, but Jack answered anyway, for no one’s benefit but his own. “Let’s hope.”
16
•
It was two A.M., and Jack sat alone at the kitchen table wearing the pajamas his mother-in-law had given him for Christmas. They were a grotesque paisley print, the kind of garment that might ordinarily sit in a dresser drawer until old age seized his senses. So long as he and Cindy were in Mrs. Paige’s house, however, he figured he’d be the good son-in-law and wear them.
Since “the incident,” as they’d come to call it, Cindy and Jack had been staying in her old room in her mother’s house in Pinecrest. It was a temporary arrangement until they could find an apartment. Moving back into their house would never be an option, and Jack feared that even a fast-talking realtor would have a tough time selling it. And over here, Mr. and Mrs. Buyer, is a spacious master bathroom, which the owners have quite tastefully painted a very lovely shade of red to disguise the blood splatter on the walls.
The light from under the range hood cast a faint glow across the room. Beads of condensation glistened on the glass of water before him. A seriously flawed segment of Jack’s brain was forcing him to play the half-empty/half-full guessing game, so he raised the water glass and guzzled.
There, damn it. Empty.
Jack’s letter had gone off to the state attorney’s office that afternoon. It recounted his entire conversation with Jessie the night before her death. He’d labored over the wording for several hours before enlisting Rosa’s help to massage the final draft. She was totally sold on the concept. Jack hadn’t realized how unsold he was until after he’d wasted four hours trying to fall asleep. A written acknowledgment to the state attorney that his own client had scammed him would hardly bolster his standing in the Miami legal community.
“Are you okay?”
He turned and saw Cindy standing behind him. He’d tried not to wake her when he’d crawled out of the little bed they were sharing, but he’d obviously failed.
“Can’t sleep,” he said.
“Me neither. I thought I’d check the real estate section for rentals once more.”