Mission Hill (27 page)

“I don't have anything to give,” Blum says. “There are no reports or images. I just plan to ask him some questions.”

“I've warned you that I'm not going to allow this courtroom to be turned into a circus. I want an offer of proof. What's the purpose of his testimony?”

“I expect DA Lombardo to provide an alibi for my client.”

“You're going to have to be more specific.”

“I expect him to say that he saw Orlando Jones on the night of the murder, around the time of the murder, many miles away from where Jasmine Reed and her friends were located.”

“Ms. Endicott, what do you say?”

I look down at my cuticles while I gather my thoughts, resisting the urge to bite a jagged piece of dead skin from my index finger.

“This is an absurd, baseless allegation. It's nothing but a thinly veiled attempt to distract the jury and impugn the integrity of the district attorney's office,” I say.

“I believe that I can place him in the company of Orlando Jones, within minutes of the murder.”

The courtroom door opens, and Josh slips in and squeezes into a seat on the aisle.

“I'll accept your assertion
de bene
. If it doesn't pan out, I'll strike it from the record. We'll take it question by question.”

“Your Honor, I respectfully and strenuously object.”

“Last time I checked the state and federal constitutions and the rules of procedure, the defendant had a right to call witnesses on his own behalf,” Blum says.

“Ms. Endicott, your objection is overruled. Deputy, please summons the district attorney from the corridor.”

Owen trails in after Max and looks around for an empty seat. Sal brings over a wooden folding chair for Owen. As he sits, he looks at me, shakes his head, and twists his mouth in disgust. He's furious that I didn't take the plea.

Max walks up to the clerk, who swears him in. I hope to God he's sober. It's ten in the morning, but you never know with him these days.

“Could you identify yourself for the members of the jury,” Blum says.

“Maxwell Lombardo. That's
L-O-M-B-A-R-D-O
.” Max is nervous, fidgety. “I am the district attorney for Suffolk County.”

Blum sets the pace by asking short, rapid-fire questions.

“You were elected to that office?”

“Yes, for a four-year term.”

“You are up for reelection next year?”

“Yes.”

“Elections are expensive.”

I could object to the form of the question, but I don't want to appear obstructionist.

“Unfortunately, yes, they are.”

“Do you know Orlando Jones's father, Melvin Jones?”

“He was a supporter.”

“By supporter, you mean donor? He gave money to your campaign?”

“Yes.”

“And he was also what's known as a bundler?”

“He was a fund-raiser during the last election cycle.”

“How much money did he raise for you?”

“I don't know the exact dollar amount. I'd have to see the records.”

“Your Honor, may I approach the witness?”

Judge Volpe nods.

“I am placing before you the records from the Office of Campaign and Political Finance—”

That's as far as I can let this go on. “Objection,” I say. “I was informed that there was no discovery in the defendant's possession.”

“It's public record,” Blum says.

“Overruled.”

Blum moves to the witness box and hands over the reports. Max takes out his reading glasses, and there's a slight tremor in his hands.

“It looks like Mr. Jones added about $200,000 to your coffers,” Blum says.

“That sounds about right,” Max says.

“It also says that Melvin's wife raised about $75,000, his brother, $10,000, and his sister-in-law, $5,000.”

I'm not the only lawyer on this case Carl Ostroff has been talking to; he must have been feeding his theory to Blum. I knew he'd turn on me at some point, but it would have been nice if he'd have waited until after the trial was over.

Blum presses on in his mission to taint Max. “That's a lot of money from one family.”

“Objection,” I say. “Argumentative—”

Max raises his hand to stop me from going further. “I'd like to answer,” he says. “It is a lot of money. But if you look at the records in their entirety, instead of cherry-picking what serves your purpose, you will see that it's not unusual. I've raised more than $2 million over the past three years.”

“Which brings me to my point: how many people have offered you bribes?”

I should object, but the question is out there, and I want Max to deny it. I don't want the jury to get the impression that I'm covering anything up. Besides, if Max is guilty, he's on his own.

“None.”

“You didn't take money from people facing potential criminal charges? From lawyers who want favors, help with their cases?”

His face reddens. “No.”

“Are you aware that you're under federal investigation for accepting bribes?”

“I have not been named as a suspect or a target, and I believe the investigation to be politically motivated. The United States attorney and the mayor are close friends, and they both know that many consider me a strong contender in the next mayoral election.”

Max is holding his own, but all this talk about money and politics has wounded his credibility with the jury. By extension, it has wounded mine too, which can be fatal to the case. The jurors need to trust their prosecutor.

I rise from my chair. “Can we get to the point?”

Judge Volpe takes over from Blum and cuts to the chase. “Did you see the defendant on the evening of August 8?”

“No.”

“Anything else, Mr. Blum?” Judge Volpe says.

“No.”

Blum takes a seat. Even though the testimony was completely irrelevant, he managed to do some damage to me and my case.

“Anything from the Commonwealth?” Judge Volpe says.

Max looks at me. I'm tempted to cross-examine him about the timing of the donations, but that would open up a can of worms I'm not prepared to deal with. Josh can follow up on that later.

“You've never been charged with any crime,” I say, rising.

“Correct.”

“And you are not, in fact, able to provide an alibi for Orlando Jones, as promised by Mr. Blum.”

“Correct.”

“And this whole line of questioning has been a complete distraction.”

“Objection.”

“Sustained. We'll let the jury decide if there was evidentiary value in Mr. Lombardo's testimony. Anything else, Ms. Endicott?”

“Nothing further.”

Max gets off the stand. On his way out of the courtroom, he glares at Orlando and then at Melvin.

It's time for Blum to either put up or shut up. He has to do something that will give credence to his alibi theory, like a photograph of Max, Melvin, and Orlando together at the time of the murder or an eyewitness to the crime.

Blum stands. “The defense calls Orlando Jones to the stand.”

 

Chapter Forty-seven

Orlando walks to the witness stand, flanked by two guards. There are no empty seats in the gallery, but a few more people from my office come in from the hallway and manage to squeeze into the pews. Owen and Josh are seated on opposite sides of the door. Since Max became a witness, he's been sequestered and not allowed in for the rest of the trial.

The guards remain within arm's reach as Orlando is sworn in and sits in the witness box. Sal positions himself between Orlando and the jury. A new court officer, the largest of the bunch, stands next to Judge Volpe. The jurors lean away from Orlando, toward the exit signs, clutching their notepads and water bottles.

“Did you know Assistant District Attorney Timothy Mooney?” Blum says.

Orlando leans into the microphone and nods. “Yeah, I knew him.”

“When did you first meet?”

“A while ago, after I got busted on a gun case, Mooney came to see me in the lockup.”

Orlando has done me the favor of impeaching himself with the gun charge, but Blum is too smart to let this play out to my benefit.

“Was ADA Mooney alone when he came to talk to you?”

“No, he was with a guy from the FBI.”

“Special Agent Joshua McNamara?”

“That's the one.”

“Did Agent McNamara and ADA Mooney offer to help you with your firearms case?”

“They said they could help me, but I'd have to help them.”

“What did they want you to do?”

It's encouraging to see that most of the jurors are not looking directly at Orlando; their eyes are on Adele and Jackie, who are seated in the front row.

“They wanted me to talk to my father.”

“About what?”

“The FBI guy, McNamara, said that he thought the DA was dirty. That he was taking bribes.”

“Did Agent McNamara tell you why he thought this?”

“Objection,” I say. “Hearsay.”

“Overruled.”

“He said that some cases were getting dismissed for no reason.”

“And they thought that your father was one of the people who had offered a bribe to District Attorney Lombardo?”

“Objection. Leading.”

“Overruled.”

Orlando looks at me. “They thought my father gave money to the DA so he wouldn't get charged in the Big Dig thing.”

“So they wanted your father to cooperate and tell them what happened, that he had paid a bribe.”

“They said that if my father helped them, and told the truth, then they wouldn't charge him. And they said they would help me with my gun case.”

“Did you do what they asked?”

“Sure, I mean, what the fuck … excuse me … I mean, gun cases get you a year mandatory. I didn't want to do a year if I didn't have to.”

I look back at Kevin and Owen, who are both leaning in, listening. Orlando is convincing.

“Do you know if they wanted your father to do anything, besides subject himself to an interview?” Blum says.

“They wanted him to testify in the grand jury.”

“What happened?”

“I introduced them, like I said I would.”

“And they let you out of jail.”

“Yeah.”

“Did your father cooperate?”

“You'll have to ask him.”

“I'd like to, but he has a Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination, which he will no doubt exercise.”

The jurors are looking at him, writing things down, which is not a good sign. It means they think he's saying something they want to remember.

“Objection,” I say.

“Sustained,” Judge Volpe says. “Move on, Counselor.”

“Sir, did you kill Jasmine Reed?”

“I was nowhere near that place when the shooting went down. I'm innocent.”

“Why do you think you've been charged with a crime you didn't commit?”

“Objection. Calls for speculation.”

“You may answer,” Judge Volpe says.

“Payback,” Orlando says. “The DA, Lombardo, is dirty. The whole office is bad if you ask me. Even this prosecutor, Endicott, she's had it in for me for years.”

I take a sip of water, anxious to know what he's going to say and how I'm going to stop him.

“Because of an accident that happened when I was in middle school,” Orlando says, looking at me.

“There was an incident when you were a juvenile?” Blum says.

I jump up. “Your Honor, please. This is irrelevant and inflammatory.”

“Sit down. Your objection is overruled.”

Orlando tries to look contrite. “Her friend got hit by a car, and she blamed it on me. Now she's out to get me. Aren't DAs supposed to be fair? How can she be fair?”

“Objection! No foundation, irrelevant, prejudicial.”

Judge Volpe gestures me to sit. “You elected to venture into the deep end, Ms. Endicott. I warned you.”

“Your Honor, may we approach sidebar?”

I start to move toward the judge's bench but he stops me.

“No, you may not. Ask your next question, Mr. Blum.”

“But there's no evidence of misconduct.”

“Your objection is overruled. We'll let the jury decide issues of credibility and misconduct.”

I try to establish eye contact with some of the jurors, but no one wants to look at me.

“Your Honor, I see that end of the day is near. This might be an opportune time to recess,” Blum says.

“It's only 4:15, and since we could keep going until 4:30, I'd like to start my cross-examination,” I say.

I don't want to end the day with Orlando scoring all the points, but Judge Volpe is angry that I didn't recuse myself from the case. He bench-slaps me by adjourning for the day.

I trudge back to Bulfinch and find Owen, and we go into Max's office to debrief.

“Blum is leaving people with the impression that I'm on the take,” Max says, between sips of scotch. “That I'm persecuting an innocent man.”

“It's my fault,” I say. “I never should have taken this case. I let my own ego cloud my judgment, and now we're all going to pay for it.”

“You're not going to get an argument from me,” Max says. “This case should have gone to Chris.”

“It should have pled out,” Owen says. “I told you to take the deal.”

I reach for Max's bottle, pour myself two fingers of scotch, and take a long gulp. Orlando has a good shot at being acquitted, something I've risked my career and my life to avoid. Worse, it's on me—I'm responsible for the case, and I have no one to blame but myself.

“We have to do something,” Max says.

“What do you propose?” I say.

“Subpoena Melvin. He's the only person who can corroborate my testimony,” Max says.

“I'd love to, but he'll take the Fifth.”

“Then force him to testify.”