"I lost a witness and two plainclothes cops. They disappeared out of Trenton Towers sometime between ten last night and eight this morning. They have not been heard from. They didn't just wander off for ice cream, goddammit."
"Your Honor," Gerry cut in, "the Prosecutor is obviously alleging foul play. If that's the case, then let her say so. Frankly, who the hell knows what happened up there? All I know is, my client was with me all night and I will so testify. He was also with Trevor St. John, Calvin LePont, and Barret Brockingham… all of whom are present and ready to testify." He motioned toward his chorus of attorneys and, like a Motown singing group, they all shuffled their feet and nodded in perfect tempo. "If the Prosecutor wants to bring a charge of kidnapping against my client, she's gonna have to do better than unsubstantiated allegations and sarcasm about trips to the ice-cream parlor."
"Your Honor," Victoria jumped in, "Joseph Rina is a top-drawer mob kingpin. A Godfather."
"I suppose you can prove that?" Gerry protested.
"He sits at the head of the table," she continued. "I had an eyewitness who saw him beat a man almost to death."
"Too bad you don't have the victim," Joe Rina said in his soft, gentle voice. "I always thought that was part of the process. A defendant gets to be confronted by his accuser."
Victoria scowled. She thought Joe Rina had the polished manners of a crown prince, but the sleazy demeanor of a Telemundo game show host. "We don't need the victim," she carried on bravely. "We can certainly substantiate the beating of Frank Lemay, or whoever he was. We have the depositions of the paramedics who picked him up. They will testify to the extent and degree of the injuries. We have the E.R. doctors and trauma nurses at Mercer County Hospital in Trenton. Jesus, the man was in a coma for two days, and we used to have an eyewitness who actually saw the beating. She saw Mr. Rina beat the man unconscious with a golf club. That was going to get Joe Rina convicted. He knew it. Gerry knew it. And you know it, Judge. Now the witness and the two cops are gone, and I'm not supposed to suspect foul play? You bet there was foul play. I'm not alleging it, I'm promising it. Who cares if he's alibied? He wouldn't do this personally. He can pick up the phone and order a hit-man."
"I think Miss Hart needs to calm down. She's beginning to sound irrational," Joe Rina said, turning his movie-star face toward her, smiling through friendly, aqua-green filters that masked inner ruthlessness.
"Let's cut to the bottom line," Judge Goldstone put in. "Do you think you're going to be able to produce your witness and put on your case, Miss Hart?"
"I don't know. I need Carol Sesnick. Without her or the victim, I can't go forward. I need a two-week continuance," she said.
"Two more weeks?!" Gerry Cohen sighed expansively. "Why not two months, or two years? Hey, Gil Green probably needs more time to milk this thing in the press anyway. Maybe we can string it out all the way to the general election in November. Let's not worry about Joe Rina and his constitutionally guaranteed right to a speedy trial. To hell with Joe Rina. Since it's him, let's just make up new rules as we go along. He doesn't count. He has no rights. Let's call him the Godfather, even though he works every day in the food supply business and has never been convicted of anything. Let's just go ahead and slander him without evidence. We've already been dragging along on this thing for almost nine months. What's another half a month…? It's absurd."
"What do you want, Gerry? Get it on the record," Judge Goldstone said.
"We want to finish jury selection this morning and get started. We have a constitutional right to a speedy trial."
"Okay, I agree," the Judge said. "The court would like to get going too. And that brings us to the procedural question… Once that second alternate is seated, jeopardy attaches."
This was the problem that Victoria had been struggling with all morning. The rule in criminal cases is that once the full jury is impaneled, the double-jeopardy rule goes into effect. That meant that if the last juror was selected and the Prosecution didn't put on its case, Joe Rina would walk and could never be tried again for this crime, even if they later turned up the missing Frank Lemay and Carol Sesnick to testify to the beating. Victoria knew that to gain time, she needed to get Judge Goldstone to grant her a continuance before seating the last juror, and not the other way around. She knew it was a long shot, but she had to try.
"Your Honor," she started slowly, "please give us the continuance first. The jurors we have selected, you can send them home for two weeks and then recall them. Once jeopardy attaches, I've got a gun to my head."
"You're the worst time-waster since video games," Gerry sneered. "We've been in pre-trial for three months already. They've been dragging it out, Your Honor. This is wrong. My client has been forced to endure harassment in the media, and our District Attorney has been dancing on Joe's forehead every night on the Evening News. My client's only crime is he was born with an Italian surname. This needs to end. We want to impanel the jury now. If there's a case here, which I doubt, we want to get started."
The dilemma lay before Judge Goldstone like messy road kill. He toyed with the problem in his head while he worked the percentage possibilities of a reversal by the Appellate Court. The old grandfather clock standing in the comer of the Victorian chamber cut slices of time with sharp pendulum ticks until Murray Goldstone finished his silent review and cleared his throat. "I understand your problem, Miss Hart, but we need to get going. The charge against Mr. Rina is attempted murder. If you want to raise kidnapping or Murder One charges with respect to Carol Sesnick and the two police officers, I'll entertain those at a later date."
"I can't prove that yet. The police are just starting their investigation."
"I'm sorry then. We'll continue impaneling the jury this morning, and when that's completed, I'll grant you a seventy-two-hour continuance to get your case back together. Failing that, I'll have to entertain a motion to dismiss."
Victoria was watching Joe Rina very carefully as the Judge said this, trying to gauge his reaction. He was rock-solid. He didn't give anything away. No thought or smile crossed his handsome face. He looked at the Judge with mild sadness, as if he actually cared about the missing witness.
He was good. What a total shit, Victoria thought.
The April sun was bright, but the day was crisp and cold. A light wind ruffled the leaves where the State Courthouse sat.
Victoria's beeper had gone off two minutes ago. She looked at the L.C.D. readout and saw the familiar "911-GG" on the tiny screen, which meant: Get back to the office, quick Gil Green wanted to see her. She knew he must have heard about Judge Goldstone's ruling and was probably about to throw one of his low-key passive-aggressive fits. She had just crossed to her Nissan and put the key in the lock when she felt a presence and smeiled mint cologne. She turned and saw Joe Rina standing right behind her. It startled her and she wondered how he had managed to get that close without her seeing. They were almost exactly the same height and she was looking right into his tropical blue eyes.
"You gave it the old college try. No hard feelings," he said gently, as if they were about to become friends and not lifelong bitter enemies.
"Whatta you mean, no hard feelings? I've got big-time hard feelings. Get away from me, you murdering slimeball."
"In that case," he smiled innocently, "I just wanted you to know that I think it was your fault you lost her and the two cops."
"Really? Are you admitting something here, Joe?"
He smiled and took his time as the breeze ruffled his rich black hair. "I've learned that admissions are very much like theatrical concerts. The quality of the music can often depend on where you're sitting."
"Just get the fuck away from me," she said, resenting him so deeply that she could barely control herself. She knew that he'd had her three friends killed and was now standing there smiling and talking about it like a Trenton theater critic.