Bum Rap (20 page)

-48-

Caring about Justice

A
ll this time, Lassiter, you’ve been saying you wouldn’t let me lie on the witness stand,” Solomon said. “One of your sissy rules.”

“Hey, don’t diss me for the one thing I do right.”

True confession. My rule against presenting false testimony wasn’t based solely on morals. It’s partially self-preservation. I learned a long time ago that my client is not my friend. Basically, I’m a lifeguard trying to save a drowning man in rough seas. A man who’ll push me under just to stay afloat himself. If they had the chance, ninety-nine out of one hundred clients would flip on me to save themselves. I can picture the scene:

“Honest, Mr. State Attorney. I didn’t want to do it, but Mr. Lassiter told me to lie on the witness stand.”

What prosecutor wouldn’t rather destroy a pain-in-the-ass defense lawyer than your run-of-the-mill criminal defendant?

Notwithstanding what I had told Pincher, I hadn’t yet made up my mind what to do. I was still looking for a way to win without violating my principles or losing my ticket to practice law.

“Until today, I never lied to a judge or let a client perjure himself at trial,” I told Solomon.

We were in the lawyer’s visitation room at the county jail. Just the two of us, facing each other over the steel table. I was glad Victoria wasn’t here. I didn’t want to hear her disapproval.

“And now you just told the State Attorney I’m gonna testify falsely,” Solomon said.

“Not in so many words. I said you were sticking with your original story.”

“My story was false. Is this your new strategy? Falsely pinning the shooting on Nadia?”

“I don’t know. I’m considering it.”

“Victoria thinks Nadia will try to help us.”

“Operative word
try
. What happens if Pincher intimidates her? Or her command of English fails her? Or she simply decides you’re not worth the risk of alienating the government? Or . . .”

“Yeah?”

“Or the jury believes every word she says and still thinks it was manslaughter.”

He pulled at the front of his orange jail smock. The air-conditioning must have been on the blink, because we were both sweating, and the air tasted stale and salty.

“So make up your mind, counselor. What’s our strategy?”

“Nadia tells her story on direct. As limited by Pincher, it’s a simple story. You took the gun from her and shot Gorev. On cross, I force her to admit she had the motive; she stole the diamonds; and she fled the state. I hit hard on her B-girl job, which basically consists of lying, trickery, and thievery. If I destroy her credibility, there’s a chance we create a reasonable doubt that you ever touched the gun.”

“But if you can’t shake her, I go to prison and you go on to your next case.”

“Nope. When the trial’s over—win, lose, or mistrial—I’m quitting.”

“Quitting what, Lassiter?”

“The practice.” I stood and paced in little circles. The room was too small for big circles. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. When Pincher offered you that dirty plea, I thought some more. Then today, after inhaling his cigar fumes, I decided. I’m gonna coach football at this little prep school in Vermont.”

“Holy shit.” Solomon dropped his head into his hands. “I told Victoria hiring you was a mistake. My only hope is a 3.850 motion.”

“Hey, I haven’t lost yet. Too early to be talking about ineffective assistance of counsel.”

“I want a continuance. File the motion tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“So new counsel can get up to speed. You’re fired.”

“Not so fast. Let’s think logically about our chances. Why should the jury believe this conniving Bar girl when she says you pulled the trigger?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because it’s true.”

“Hell, boy! Truth doesn’t matter. Evidence does. Credibility does. I can rip her to shreds.”

“You’ve lost your mind, Lassiter.”

“I want to win, Solomon. For you and for Victoria. But what I really want is to rub Pincher’s face in the mud. And when it’s over, I want the jurors to carry you out of the courtroom on their shoulders while whistling ‘God Bless America.’ ”

“Now you’re delusional.”

I banged my right fist against the concrete wall. And then my left. Hard enough to hurt. My hands, not the wall. Solomon’s eyes bugged. Was I going to clobber him next? He glanced at the door, maybe wanting to yell for a corrections officer.

“A good lawyer is part con man, part priest,” I said.

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“The con man promises riches if you hire him. The priest threatens hell if you don’t.”

“I get it. So what?”

“I’ve lost my religion. Why should I care about justice?”

“Are you asking me, or is this some philosophical debate you’re having with yourself?”

I paced some more. “The state and feds came to us with a filthy deal. If you nailed Benny Cohen for conspiracy to kill Gorev, you’d get leniency.”

“You’ve been practicing law for twenty years, Lassiter, and you just learned the government plays rough?”

“I’m not talking about their everyday overzealousness. Unreliable informants. Entrapment. Overcharging. Deals with scumbags. This was different. This was criminal.”

Solomon was quiet a moment. “Let’s say we do it your way and stick with my story to the cops. At the end of the day, what are the odds the jury will believe Nadia pulled the trigger?”

“They don’t have to believe she killed Gorev. They only need a reasonable doubt that you did.”

He processed that, and his look told me I wasn’t really fired. Not yet. “But after you tear her to shreds, to use your term, you want me to testify she pulled the trigger.”

“That’s what I was getting to. We might create reasonable doubt without ever putting you on the stand.”

“Bullshit! I’m testifying, even if I don’t know yet what I’m gonna say.”

“Just listen a second, Solomon.”

“If I don’t testify, I piss off the jury. And don’t tell me about the judge’s instruction that they’re not to hold it against a defendant who keeps quiet. Jurors will think I’m hiding something.”

“Solomon, how often do you let a defendant testify?”

“Seldom. But that’s because they usually have criminal records that will come out on cross-exam. Or they’re stupid. Or both. Doesn’t apply to me.”

“But there’s another reason to keep you off the stand,” I said. “Pincher has the recording of you being interrogated at the scene. On the tape, you say Nadia brought the gun, which she will have to admit when she testifies. You say she robbed the safe, which she will also admit. You say she shot Gorev, and here’s the beauty of it. Pincher can’t cross-examine a tape recording. What you said to the cops will be preserved for eternity in the jurors’ minds and Pincher can’t impeach it . . .
unless
you take the stand.”

“And you keep your virginity intact by not letting me lie.”

“That, too. But most important, I keep you from being cross-examined and screwing up.”

Solomon rubbed at a three-day growth of whiskers with the knuckles of his right hand, thinking it over. Then he shook his head and said, “I don’t like it. And Victoria will hate it. We should go with the truth. Accident. I’ll take the stand and explain I lied to the cops because I panicked. Nadia’s story will support accident, and your job will be to keep the jury from coming back with a manslaughter conviction.”

I looked at him in silence, fully appreciating the irony. Shyster Solomon insisting on the truth and my semiethical self pushing for a shady defense.

“Are we on the same page, Lassiter?”

I headed for the door. “Not even in the same book, pal.”

-49-

Bending the Law Like a Pretzel

R
a
in pelted the overhead canvas awning. The humidity was roughly a zillion percent. But Gerald Hostetler seemed to be enjoying his grouper sandwich and fried conc
h fritters, Victoria thought. He was not a difficult man to please.

“Freshest fish sandwich I’ve ever had,” Hostetler said, smacking his lips.

Victoria smiled and sipped her iced tea.

They were outdoors at Garcia’s, a fish joint on the Miami River in a seedy part of downtown Miami. Victoria couldn’t get near Nadia, who was in protective custody in a two-bedroom suite at the Hyatt. Gerald and Nadia had one bedroom, two federal marshals had the other. Assistant US Attorney Deborah Scolino left strict orders: no visitors.

Nadia was spending her third day testifying before a federal grand jury. Next week, she’d be the star witness in state court in the case of
State v. Solomon
. Today, while Solomon and Lassiter were meeting in the jail, Victoria was trying to find out just what Nadia would say on the witness stand. It had been Lassiter’s idea.

“Why don’t you just take Nadia’s deposition?” Victoria asked.

“I have my reasons,” Lassiter said.

“But without it, you can’t impeach her with prior statements.”

“And neither can Pincher.”

“She’s Pincher’s witness! Why would he want to impeach her?”

“Maybe he won’t like what she says. Talk to the Pretzel King and see if you can find out whether she’ll try to help us.”

Victoria slipped a tortilla chip into the fish dip and said, “Gerald, I’m very happy it’s working out for Nadia. And that she has you at her side.”

He shrugged. “I’m in love. What else could I do?” Then he looked at the bowl of fish dip. “They should serve pretzels with that.”

“I suppose you know why I asked to see you.”

“Of course. And we’re willing to help. Nadia blames herself for Steve being prosecuted.”

Hostetler began sharing everything he’d observed the last seventy-two hours in a hotel conf
erence room, including the fact that the
morning started with pastries that weren’t up to Pennsylvania Dutch standards. “Marcia Silvers, Nadia’s lawyer, was there every day, of course. She was tenacious. It took most of the first day, but she wouldn’t allow Nadia to speak to the
grand jury until an immunity deal was hammered out. Nadia’s been testifying now for the last day and a half.”

“So it sounds like everything’s fine on the federal charges.” Victoria waited. She didn’t know how forthcoming Gerald would be when they got to Steve’s case. In the river, a freighter loaded with cargo containers steamed east toward open water, doubtless bound for a Caribbean island.

When Hostetler didn’t volunteer, Victoria asked, “And State Attorney Pincher?”

“Oh, of course! I’m sorry. We met yesterday on Solomon’s case. He allowed me in the room but ordered me not to reveal a word. Said it could be obstruction of justice.”

“So you won’t tell me what was said?”

Hostetler shot glances left and right. No one who remotely looked like a cop was nearby. Just a couple of ponytailed river rats, guys in their sixties in baggy shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops, their skin sun-scorched the color of tea with the texture of old leather. The men were slurping down bowls of conch chowder.

“Pincher is a bully,” Hostetler whispered.

“Indeed.”

“He thinks I’m a pushover. Happens a lot. Being misjudged. Especially by city people. Maybe because I was always taught to have manners. ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘No, ma’am.’ A handshake is a contract; a man’s word is gold. It’s the way I was raised.”

“And . . . ?”

“I never shook Pincher’s hand. Never promised to keep quiet. He thought he’d bulldozed me. But he hadn’t.” There was a note of pride in his voice.

“Did he give Nadia immunity for the shooting and robbery of Gorev?”

Hostetler nodded. “As long as she testifies against Solomon. And she has to tell the truth or face perjury charges. That’s the only thing immunity doesn’t cover. Pincher was quite threatening about that. He repeated over and over that Nadia would go to prison if she lied.”

“What else did he say?”

“He did a practice question-and-answer session with Nadia to see how she would respond in court. And he kept interrupting. ‘Never use the word
accident
,’ he told her. ‘Never say he didn’t mean to fire. Not a word about Solomon’s intent. Only tell what you saw. Solomon took the gun and pulled the trigger. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Anything else?”

Hostetler dipped a piece of conch fritter into hot sauce and popped it into his mouth. “One thing I didn’t understand. Pincher asked Nadia whether Steve knew she had a gun, and she said yes.
She had shown it to him. Then he asked if Steve told her not to bring the gun into the meeting with Gorev, and Nadia said no. Pincher seemed happy with that. He said it was consistent with what Steve admitted to the police. Then Pincher looked at Scolino and said, ‘Heads we win. Tails we win.’ ”

Victoria felt as if her heart were gripped in a vice. How would they ever defend the case?

“Do you know what he meant, Victoria?”

She took a breath and said, “Pincher isn’t going after manslaughter, except as a backup. He’s sticking with felony murder. The death of a robbery victim, even the accidental death, is first-degree murder with a mandatory sentence of life in prison without parole.”

“Jesus H. Christ. Pardon my French.”

“Pincher’s theory is that Steve was in on Nadia’s plan to take property from Gorev by force. An armed robbery. Then it doesn’t matter if Steve shot Gorev accidentally or purposely. Or even if Nadia shot him. They’re both guilty of murder. Only Nadia has immunity and Steve takes the fall. That’s the ‘heads we win.’ ”

“And the tails?”

“The judge will instruct the jury on lesser included offenses.”

“Manslaughter?”

“Exactly. If some jurors think it’s murder and some think it’s a pure accident and the verdict should be not guilty, they’re likely to compromise and convict Steve of manslaughter. Jurors don’t know the penalties. The ones who threw in the towel on innocence would probably be shocked to learn Steve could face thirty years for manslaughter.”

“I had no idea,” Hostetler said.

They were quiet a moment. In the river, a lone paddleboarder rode the current toward the open bay.

“Nadia says you love Steve very much,” Hostetler said. “That your relationship has withstood stress and outside pressures, just as ours has. She’ll do everything she can for you.”

“I appreciate that, Gerald.”

“But she can’t risk perjury.”

“I understand.”

Victoria’s mind drifted to Steve in that hellhole. She thought of her life with him and his life—if it could be called that—without freedom. She also thought of Jake, who had risked his life at Club Anastasia and had strapped on a gun to protect her that fateful night with Elena.

With all of this whirling through Victoria’s mind, she considered all those lofty notions engraved on marble pediments.

“Justice the Guardian of Liberty.”

That’s what it says high above one entrance to the Supreme Court building. And then on the opposite side of the building:

“Equal Justice under Law.”

And let’s not forget about those signs above the bench in Miami courtrooms.

“We Who Labor Here Seek Only the Truth.”

Maybe it was time to dispose of the pretty phrases. Maybe it was time to dive headfirst into the murky waters where Steve and Jake swam. She remembered one of “Solomon’s Laws.”

“If the facts don’t fit the law, bend the facts.”

“Gerald, maybe there’s something Nadia could do at trial to help us, but it’s not without risk.”

“Is it legal?”

“It’s not black-and-white.”

“Meaning what, Victoria?”

“What I’m asking Nadia to do is in the shadows. In the gray between light and darkness.”

“I’m really not sure what that means.”

“Sometimes, Gerald, people break the law so clearly you can hear it crack like a tree branch snapped in two. But other times, like a baker twisting a roll of dough into a pretzel, you only bend the law. You don’t tear it. You don’t break it. You end up with something better than the ingredients you started with. And the final result is beautiful to behold.”