Jason didn’t arrive at the office on Saturday morning until nearly 9 a.m. After his meeting with Kelly on Friday night, he had gone to the Virginia Beach General Hospital ER. The emergency-room staff had made him wait for an hour before they X-rayed his ribs and did a CT scan of his head. Though he hadn’t lost consciousness, they wanted to be cautious.
The good news was that there was no discernible brain damage, and the ribs were just bruised, not broken. After a few pain pills, Jason managed to get about five hours of sleep.
The pain was back in full force on Saturday morning, but he needed to think clearly, so he stayed away from the pain medication.
“Sleeping Beauty’s in the house!” Bella announced when Jason came in the door. He smiled and grimaced all at once.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked.
“I got mugged last night in the parking lot,” Jason said. He figured a half-truth would be easier to remember than an outright lie. This elicited lots of sympathy and required about a ten-minute explanation filled with enough small fibs that Jason was sure he’d never be able to tell it the same way again.
Lassiter came out to the reception area about halfway through Jason’s explanation, requiring that Jason repeat it from the beginning. Bella cross-examined Jason for a few minutes and gave unsolicited advice on how to treat his injuries. Eventually, Jason managed to change the subject back to the day’s agenda. Both Lassiter and Bella were anxious to go over feedback from the shadow jury. Proposed jury instructions had to be drafted. And Jason needed to prepare his closing argument.
“How good is Brad Carson?” Jason asked.
The question about her former boss seemed to surprise Bella. “You mean in court?”
“Yeah. Do you think he could come over for a few hours and help me with my closing? I need an outside perspective.”
Bella lit up at the idea. “He’ll come,” she said confidently, “if I have to drag him here myself.”
Before they got down to the day’s business, Bella handed Jason an envelope. “Somebody slid this under the door last night.”
It had Jason’s name on it and it was marked personal and confidential. Jason recognized his dad’s handwriting. “I’ll meet you guys in the conference room in a minute,” Jason said.
He went into his office, closed the door, and ripped the envelope open. His hands shook a little as he read the one-page note. When we get together, it usually doesn’t turn out the way I planned, so I thought I would leave this note instead. I’m sorry about Thursday night. I don’t remember everything I said, but I remember enough to apologize for it. I think I’ve helped about as much as I can. I wish you trusted me enough to tell me what’s really going on. Watching you do your thing this week and getting to know Case has been good.
I want you to know that I’m proud of you. I’m going back to Atlanta and I’m going to get help. Thursday night was the last straw. I thought about staying for the verdict but I realized that I’m a distraction. The best thing I can do for you is get better. Maybe after a few weeks in rehab, you’ll get your old man back. Maybe we could get together then. Good luck. Dad
Jason stared at the note for a long time. He wasn’t really sure how he should react. He knew how it made him feel-thankful, proud, confused. He tried dialing his dad’s number but ended up in voice mail. Later in the day he would call both his sister and Matt Corey. But for now, he just stared at the letter and read a single line over and over and over.
I want you to know that I’m proud of you.
His dad needed help, and today he had finally admitted it. Maybe in a few weeks, they really could get together. Maybe there was hope.
So long as Jason didn’t blow it all up by forcing Luthor’s hand.
Jason thought about how hard it had been to write the intervention letter to his dad a few months ago. For the Noble family men, swallowing your pride and being vulnerable did not come easy. It must have been even harder for his dad to write this letter. But admitting that he had an addiction was the first step toward recovery.
What kind of son would turn on his dad at a time like this?
Part VI: The Verdict
82
On Monday morning, Jason swallowed hard and called Chief Ed Poole as a witness for the defense. Poole was a large and powerfully built man with the sloped shoulders of a football lineman. He moved slowly and methodically to the stand, glancing at the jurors as he did so.
Poole was mostly bald with undersized facial features, gray hair on the sides of his head, and wrinkles that radiated from his eyes and creased his forehead. He was dressed in a gray blazer and white shirt, his tie so tight around his neck that the skin bulged at the top of his collar.
He seemed comfortable and self-assured. He was a former police chief of a large city. He had seen a few things.
Jason began by taking the witness through his impressive list of credentials. Like any good expert, Poole seemed reluctant to mention everything he had done and managed to come off as both highly qualified and charmingly humble. When Jason moved to have Poole qualified as an expert on the issue of gun trafficking, there was no objection.
As Poole testified, he turned periodically to face the jury, throwing in a few wisecracks to keep them amused. He told them that 80 percent of guns used in crimes were purchased by criminals on the street or from their friends and family members. Those sales, of course, were entirely unregulated. Only 11 percent were bought legally at gun stores, and 9 percent of guns used in crimes were purchased illegally at retail stores like Peninsula Arms.
“What about the designs of the guns?” Jason asked. “The jury’s heard a lot about semi-automatic assault weapons like the MD-9. In what percentage of crimes are these types of guns used?”
“Actually, not very often,” explained Poole. He proceeded with a lecture about gun nomenclature and how he didn’t even like the phrase “semi-automatic assault weapon” because it was so misleading. At the end of his lecture, he looked back at Jason. “What was the question again?”
“In how many crimes are these types of guns used as compared to other types of guns?”
“Oh yeah,” said Poole, smiling. “Less than one in ten.”
Jason ended with his payoff question. “Do you have an opinion, to a reasonable degree of certainty, as to whether Larry Jamison could have obtained a gun from the black market even if every gun store in America had refused to sell him one?”
Poole laughed. “Surveys show that nearly 60 percent of high school boys say they can obtain access to a gun if they need to. That’s high school, Mr. Noble. For an adult like Jamison, give him a few hundred bucks and a few hours on the streets of downtown Norfolk, and you can take your pick.”
Jason didn’t return the witness’s self-satisfied smile. “Thank you, Chief Poole. Please answer any questions that Ms. Starling might have.”
Kelly stood quickly, anxious to attack. She was wearing a blue pin-striped matching jacket and skirt, navy blue heels, and a white blouse. She looked even leaner than normal, professional and sophisticated. Unlike Jason, she looked well rested.
How did she sleep at all last night? Jason wondered. In the mirror that morning, his own bloodshot eyes had reflected another sleepless night. He had thrown on a suit that he had worn three times in two weeks without taking it to the dry cleaner and barely made it to the courthouse on time.
“Are your answers, given under oath and under penalty of perjury, all truthful and correct?” Kelly asked.
Poole leaned back a little and grunted, as if Kelly didn’t know whom she was accusing. “Of course.”
“Have you ever lied under oath?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Are you presently in the midst of divorce proceedings?”