Kelly paused, letting the silence underline everything she was saying. “I believe that in those last few seconds of terror, her soul was crying out for rescue, hoping that real justice would somehow prevail. And I believe, as does my client, that she is watching now, crying out for justice again. You are the only ones who can deliver it.
“Don’t let Larry Jamison and the merchants of death who supplied him with firepower win again. Don’t add insult to injury. Despite what Larry Jamison said, that television studio was no court of law. This is where people come to have wrongs made right. This is where people come to plead for justice.
“Do the right thing.
“Yes, we want you to use your head. We’re not afraid of a clearheaded review of the evidence. But we also ask you to unashamedly follow your heart. That’s where justice resides. That’s where you’ll find the truth.”
85
Judge Garrison instructed the jury to select a foreperson before lunch and begin their deliberations as soon as they returned from eating.
Most observers expected the deliberations to last a few days. Some were predicting a hung jury; others thought that the scales had been tipped in favor of the plaintiff by the devastating cross-examination of Chief Poole.
Nobody expected the jury to return with a verdict that same afternoon.
“Just in case,” Garrison told the lawyers, “I want you within reach by cell phone. I’ll give you thirty minutes notice before we reconvene. Govern yourselves accordingly.”
Jason desperately wanted to call his father during the twenty-minute drive to the Courtyard Marriott at the oceanfront but knew he shouldn’t. For starters, he was pretty sure that every call from his BlackBerry was being monitored by the folks at Justice Inc. And even if they hadn’t been, Brad Carson had been adamant about this part of the plan.
“We operate from here on out on a strictly need-to-know basis,” Brad had said. “Trust no one. Not even your own father.”
Two days earlier, on Saturday afternoon when Brad and Jason were alone in a conference room supposedly working on Jason’s closing argument, Jason had hired Brad Carson as his lawyer. Under the protection of attorney-client privilege, Jason had confessed everything.
Brad had agreed to take Jason on as a client, but only after laying out some ground rules. And ground rule number one was, “Follow my advice without question and without exception.”
But the more Jason pictured his dad trying to get sober, and the more he thought about the letter his dad had left on Saturday morning and the pain his dad would feel at being betrayed, Jason couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t say something.
He gnawed on his fingernails as he drove down the highway. Ten years ago he had gotten himself into this mess by going along with other people’s advice-his dad’s and Matt Corey’s to be specific-instead of doing what he knew was right. This time would be different.
He decided to veer by the office.
He pulled into the parking lot and raced upstairs. He assumed nobody would be there-Bella and Andrew were with the shadow jury-but he called out just to be sure. Quickly, he checked each room and then closed the door to his own office.
He dialed his dad’s number from his desk phone. It rang several times and kicked into voice mail. Jason hung up and immediately dialed again. He reached voice mail a second time.
“Dad, it’s Jason. Thanks so much for the letter you wrote this weekend.” He paused. “Um… listen, things have gone pretty crazy here with the case. It’s hard to explain, but somebody found out about me driving the car when LeRon was killed. They’re trying to blackmail me with it, Dad. The only way I can do my job and represent my client is to let the chips fall. If the truth comes out, it comes out. Um, I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to call and let you know this and tell you I’m sorry.”
The message seemed so inadequate, but what else could he say?
“Oh yeah. Don’t try to call on my cell phone. I think it’s bugged. I’ll call you back later this afternoon.”
Jason hung up the phone and took a deep breath. He stared at it for a moment. “I love you, Dad.”
When James Noble heard his son’s message, he played it back twice. His mind was already reeling from his attempts to quit drinking. He had a splitting headache and couldn’t seem to string one thought together with the next.
His first call was to Case McAllister. Voice mail kicked in. He hung up and cursed. He just wanted to get a message through to Jason somehow-tell him to do the right thing.
He tried Jason’s office number. More voice mail.
His third call was to Matt Corey.
He told Matt what little he knew about Jason’s predicament. Matt nearly came unglued. He wanted to talk with Jason. There must be some way out of this. What kind of blackmail? Who? How could he get through to Jason?
James Noble had no answers.
Matt Corey hung up the phone in a state of panic. Never in a million years had he thought Jason Noble would defy the blackmailers. That little twerp had shown some spine.
Six months had passed now since the phone call. It sounded like a man’s voice, though Corey couldn’t be sure; it was digitally altered. The person had called himself Luthor.
He said he had proof that Corey had falsified the accident report for Jason Noble’s accident ten years ago. There were apparently recorded conversations between Jason and his father indicating as much. Luthor intended to use this information to his advantage in the Rachel Crawford case.
Luthor had assured Corey he wouldn’t go public with the information as long as Jason Noble cooperated. Luthor swore he had no interest in ruining the careers of Detectives Matt Corey and James Noble.
“Why are you telling me this?” Corey had asked.
“My guess is that Jason would call you first if he decided to defy me and go to the authorities. If he does, you should try to talk him out of it. And if you can’t, at least give me a heads-up.”
Corey had tried to play it coy. Maybe this person named Luthor was just fishing-trying to get Corey to admit something on a recorded call.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Corey had said.
“I’m sure you don’t,” Luthor responded. “But I have a theory. Once a crooked cop, always a crooked cop. If it appears that your boy Jason is about to divulge your dirty little secret, you might want to let me know so I can have a talk with him before he does anything irrevocable.”
“Get out of my life,” Corey had said, his suspicions of a setup growing. “If Jason comes to me for advice, I’ll tell him to never give in to blackmail.”
“I’m sure you will.” The digital voice was flat, nearly monotone, like a robot. “But if you ever want to talk with me, just leave a comment on the blog at the Kryptonite site. Sign your name. I’ll give you a call.”
That was the last time Corey had heard from Luthor-nearly six months ago. At first, Corey thought about telling Jason. But then he realized that doing so would just entangle him deeper in this nightmare. For a while, he had tried to stay close to Jason. He at least wanted to know if Jason intended to go to the authorities and ruin Corey’s career.
And now, Corey couldn’t believe this was happening. He had tried to help a friend ten years ago, and this was his payback? He thought about the embarrassment, the investigation, the legal issues. His family would be put through hell. His name would be a byword for police misconduct. LeRon Tate’s family would publicly fillet him.
How could Jason Noble, a kid who owed Corey everything, even think about doing this? And if Jason was going to defy Luthor and risk exposure, why didn’t he at least have the decency to call Corey himself? Instead, Corey had to learn secondhand from Jason’s father.