“Excellent. Always happy to clear the calendar. You two take as much time as you need, while I check out the Big Ten games.”
The judge licked his thumb and began turning pages on his tout sheet.
Steve whispered to Victoria: “Two guys jumped me outside.”
“What! Who?”
“Later. What’s this about a plea deal?”
“Ray Pincher suggested it.”
“On his own?”
“No. The U.S. Attorney asked him to do it.”
“Because the feds are investigating the ALM? Or something else? A different investigation?”
“How did you know that?” Victoria demanded.
Steve exhaled a sigh that was almost visible. “Someone’s playing us, Vic.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The shooting’s just the tip of the iceberg. The feds are involved. Pincher, too. Plus a couple guys driving a Lincoln with Hillsborough County plates. It’s a big conspiracy.”
“A conspiracy to do what?”
“I don’t know yet, Vic. Jeez, gimme a break. I was only kidnapped a few minutes ago.”
She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.
“It’s the truth,” he said. “It was a five-minute kidnapping, but still…”
“And I’m sure you reported this vicious crime to the police.”
“Not yet, but…”
She sighed. “I just made a plea offer. Your client’s in a holding cell. Don’t you want to discuss it with him?”
Steve turned toward the bench. “Your Honor, negotiations are over. No plea. We’re gonna try this case.”
The judge sighed and refolded his tout sheet. “You sure, Mr. Solomon? Seems to me your train’s on a shaky trestle.”
“I’m sure, Judge.”
“So be it. Let’s hear your motion.”
“Yes, sir.” Steve whispered to Victoria, “Nice outfit today.”
“Thanks.”
“Where’d you get it? The Librarians’ Boutique?”
“Steve, what are you doing?”
“Warming up. Taking a practice swing.” He winked at her and clucked his tongue. “That belted jacket makes you look very buttoned-up.”
“It’s a court outfit. How am I supposed to look?”
“Not like a Republican senator from Kansas.”
“Mr. Solomon,” the judge prodded.
“Malfeasance!” Steve boomed.
“How’s that, Counselor?”
“Or is it misfeasance? I can never keep them straight. The state must be punished for Ms. Lord’s abuse of the discovery process. We’re talking stonewalling. Cover-up. Shady deals.”
“Can you be more specific, Mr. Solomon?”
“I demanded all records related to the decedent, Charles J. Sanders, Lieutenant Commander, U.S. Navy, retired. And what did opposing counsel give me? A military personnel file completely redacted. Billet-classified. Commanding officer-classified. Missions-classified. His DD-214 retirement papers-missing.”
“Your Honor, we gave Mr. Solomon everything the Department of the Navy gave us. He can take his complaints to Washington.”
“What about the security video?” Steve demanded. “Cetacean Park has cameras on the dock. They could show exactly what happened between Grisby and Sanders. We requested the tapes and got nothing. Zippo. Zilch. Bupkes.”
“Mr. Solomon knows very well that a lightning strike knocked the system out the week before the incident. The camera wasn’t working.”
“Shades of Richard Nixon, Judge. Erased tapes. Missing records. Hiding Brady material.”
Victoria wheeled toward Steve. “Nothing’s been erased. Nothing’s been hidden. If I had anything exculpatory, I’d turn it over in an instant, and you know it. You are so infuriating-”
“Judge, would you ask Ms. Lord to address the bench and refrain from her ad hominem attacks?”
“My attacks?”
“Your face is turning purple. Careful, or you’ll pop that belt.”
“You’re the sleaziest lawyer I’ve ever-”
“Slept with?”
“Damn you, Solomon,” she hissed.
“There she goes again, Judge.”
A shrill whistling noise pierced the courtroom. Interrupted, they wheeled toward the judge. Judge Gridley released a switch that activated a replica of a steam whistle. “Hit the brakes, you two. You’re coming into the station.”
Victoria knew the drill. One bleat of the whistle meant “Pipe down.” Two meant “Not one more word.” Three blasts and you go to the pokey for contempt.
“Any more argument, Mr. Solomon? Legal argument, that is.”
“No, Your Honor. We request-nay, we demand-that the court issue its harshest sanction. Dismiss all charges on account of prosecutorial misconduct.”
Steve sat down, and Victoria turned to the judge. “Your Honor, I hardly know where to begin. I feel like a dozen rats are nibbling at my feet.”
“Your shoes are too tight,” Steve whispered.
“Mr. Solomon hurls accusations that have no basis in fact. He should be reprimanded and-”
“But they’re nice shoes,” he kept at it. “You buy them new?”
“Save your breath, Ms. Lord. Defendant’s motion for sanctions stands denied.” Judge Gridley edged out of his cushioned chair and headed for the private door behind the bench, speaking as he walked. “Now, you two kiss and make up.”
Steve moved to the prosecution table and leaned close. “I always follow a judge’s orders.”
“No you don’t.” Turning away, Victoria began shoving her folders back into her briefcase.
“C’mon, Vic. You know I was just doing my shtick.”
“And it’s always so amusing.”
“We have different styles. Maybe that’s why we get along so well.”
“That must be it.”
“I can tell you’re a little irritated.”
“And who said you were insensitive to a woman’s moods?”
“There’s just one thing I gotta ask.”
“What?”
“Is sex tonight out?”
SOLOMON’S LAWS
6. When the testimony is too damn good, when there are no contradictions and all the potholes are filled with smooth asphalt, chances are the witness is lying.
Twenty-two
Steve wanted to talk to Victoria, but she’d hurried out of the courtroom and disappeared.
Did she look angry?
She’d seen him in court so many times, surely she knew he was just playing a role.
She’s not really pissed off, is she?
They should talk about the case, share information. Even though they were on opposite sides, weren’t they both out for the same thing?
Truth. Justice. All that stuff in the books.
Victoria always railed about how trials should be less adversarial and more concerned with fair results. The criminal justice system should seek the truth, not just convictions or acquittals. Frankly, he never agreed with her, and his goal was always to win. But now, with this shitstorm called State v. Nash, he was willing to try something new.
He wouldn’t offer to share evidence with one of Pincher’s dwarves on the other side. But this was Victoria. His partner. His lover. His best friend. He wanted to think through the case with her.
C’mon, babe. Let’s do some justice.
He figured her first reaction would be to stiff-arm him.
“It would be unethical, blah, blah, blah.”
Now, as he drove home from the Justice Building, fighting the traffic on Dixie Highway, Steve ran through the evidence.
On the face of it, Gerald Nash appeared one hundred percent guilty of felony murder. But there was just too much that didn’t make sense.
The mysterious Chuck Sanders.
Grisby in the park with a shotgun and a fuzzy story about why he shot Sanders.
Two tough guys who snatched Steve off the street and pumped him for information.
Steve remembered something his father, the cagiest trial lawyer Steve ever knew, told him years ago.