The Law of Second Chances (35 page)

“How do you respond to this, Mr. Tobin?”

“I assumed there would be some cost, your honor. But twenty thousand dollars to produce five years of financials and five thousand for some telephone records is a little ridiculous.”

“Your honor,” Sam Mendelsohn responded, “Mr. Robertson was a very rich man with extensive holdings around the world. It’s all there in that summary I gave you. Nothing is inflated.”

“Did you give this summary to Mr. Tobin?”

“Not before this hearing, Judge. We didn’t have time.”

Judge Middleton liked the argument almost as much as
Spencer did. He didn’t have to deny the motion, he just had to require the defendant to pay. Best of all, the trial wouldn’t be delayed.

“I know you’ve come in here late in the game, Mr. Tobin, but this case has been pending for a year. I’m not going to deny your client access to these records, but I believe the cost for expediting their delivery should be borne by him. I’m going to grant your motion, but I’m going to make your client pay the twenty-five thousand dollars requested to expedite production if he still wants the records. And I’m going to make him pay it by the end of business today. The records must be available by a week before trial, gentlemen,” Judge Middleton told the two lawyers for the estate and the telephone company.

Spencer Taylor’s plan seemed to have worked. It had even paid off better than expected. Nobody had thought the judge would require immediate payment.

Jack made one last attempt to get the trial delayed. “Judge, I’ve got to get an expert to look at these documents and I haven’t settled on anyone yet, although I do have somebody in mind.” He was trying not to lie outright. “It’s going to be almost impossible to get someone, have them review the records before trial, notify opposing counsel, and provide counsel with an opportunity to depose that expert in the time frame we have.”

Spencer Taylor had anticipated this argument and was ready for it. “Your honor,” he responded, “the state will waive notice of the expert’s name, and we will also waive any discovery rights.” Spencer was so sure of victory he was eager to erase all Jack’s arguments.

“What about witnesses who might arise from this material?” Jack asked Spencer directly.

“We waive notice of them too, although I doubt there will be any.”

“Anything else, Mr. Tobin?” the judge asked.

“No, your honor.”

“Then my ruling stands.”

Jack gave the three lawyers a moment to cherish their
triumph. Spencer was smiling from ear to ear, enjoying the fact that he had outmaneuvered and outflanked Jack at every turn.

Then Jack took it all away by pulling out his personal checkbook.

“Your honor, let the record reflect that I am providing two checks to counsel here in open court in the amount of twenty thousand dollars and five thousand dollars to satisfy the court’s ruling.”

“The record will so reflect,” the judge replied. The other lawyers were momentarily speechless—a rare event in any courtroom.

“Nice move,” Jack told Spencer as they walked out of the courtroom. “I’m looking forward to seeing what else is in that arsenal of yours.”

Spencer Taylor didn’t reply. Jack noticed, however, that a couple of hairs on his perfectly groomed head had fallen out of place.

51

The fact that a hearing took place made the six o’clock news. The press never understood what it was about, so they simply showed film of the lawyers walking in and out of the courthouse and played snippets of the interviews. Jack watched Spencer Taylor’s interview before leaving to meet Charlie for dinner downtown. Henry was again having dinner with his aunt.

Charlie lived on the north side of Eighty-eighth Street in the middle of the block between Lexington and Park. It was January and bitterly cold. Jack pulled the lapels of his overcoat together to shield himself from the wind as he exited the building and started across the street, stepping between two parked cars. As he did so, something—it wasn’t a voice, more like an intuition—told him to look a second time to his right. A black car with its headlights off tore out of a parking space and headed directly for him. He was almost in the middle of the street now and became acutely conscious of his mind telling his feet to move. He took three steps as fast as he possibly could and dove over the front of a parked Ford Mustang on the south side of the street just a fraction of a second ahead of the speeding black car. He landed with his hands on the ground and his legs still resting on the hood of the Mustang. His heart was banging madly in his chest. When he finally righted himself, the black car was nowhere to be seen.

It had happened so fast that it seemed unreal. Some people on the street had stopped and were looking at him, but nobody came up and asked if he was okay. It took him a few moments to gather himself. Then he walked to the corner of Lexington and hailed a cab.

He didn’t mention the incident to Charlie. They ate in the back room at P. J. Clarke’s, and Jack told her about the hearing and gave her the time line for receipt of the financial and telephone records.

“A guy like that, Jack, could have a ton of financial records, both corporate and personal. I might not be able to make a dent in them in a week.”

“Well, try to concentrate first on the six months before his death and work backwards if necessary. I want you to see if there are any unusual trends or patterns.”

“I’ll give it my best shot.”

“That’s all I can ask for, Charlie.”

Jack told Henry about the attempt on his life on the plane ride to San Francisco the next morning, including his sixth sense.

“Sounds like somebody’s looking out for you—even though you’re having a fling,” Henry said pointedly.

“And you should take your lead from that, Henry. The one who’s looking out for me wants me to go on.”

“All right, all right. I’m only trying to inject a little humor into the situation. Seriously, this attempt on your life probably means that Sal was killed because he found something out. And you may be dangerously close to whatever he discovered.”

“It must have something to do with those records.”

“And it may not have anything to do with Benny’s guilt or innocence.”

“I’ve thought about that,” Jack replied. “Carl Robertson may have been doing some illegal stuff and somebody doesn’t want that to come to light.”

“We’re going to have to take steps to protect you and whoever you get to review those records,” Henry told him.

“I was going to ask Charlie to do it.”

“Maybe you should think about somebody else.”

“I’d have to disclose the danger, and who else would do it?”

“Well, you have to tell Charlie too,” Henry insisted.

“I know. But Charlie’s not going to decline the job.”

“Yeah, you’re right. We’ll just have to figure something out.”

“She’s okay for now, though. I haven’t disclosed my expert yet.”

Donald Wong had his offices in Chinatown. The décor in his waiting room was ostentatious and very Chinese, with near-blinding red the overwhelming color. Dr. Wong himself was very American. He was dressed in a Brooks Brothers suit, and he spoke without an accent.

Dr. Wong was very friendly as he greeted Jack and Henry and then escorted them to a large conference room. At one end was a kind of stage area with a very large easel. An exhibit had already been put in place. The other exhibits were all neatly stacked on the floor nearby, and two Chinese men who worked for the doctor were standing next to them.

“Mr. Tobin, you told me that you would like to see the exhibits that I prepared for the Avrile case. I have them here, and I can quickly go through them for you. However, I am strapped for time. We had to move some things around on my schedule to accommodate your visit.”

“I understand, Doctor.”

Dr. Wong gave them a very fast but professional rundown of the ten exhibits he had prepared. They were all basically artist’s sketches of Carl Robertson’s skull, showing the angle of entry of the bullet that killed him and the damage to the cranium. They were clear and simple, exactly what Jack needed to illustrate his arguments to the jury. As Wong’s men were removing the sixth exhibit and placing the seventh into position, Jack looked at Henry and gave him a nod. Henry excused himself from the room. Dr. Wong looked at Jack.

“You can proceed,” Jack told him. “He’ll be back in a minute.”

Jack had a few questions to ask the doctor when the show was over. While he and the doctor were talking, Henry returned with two other men, who were carrying a large cardboard-and-wood crate. Neither Henry nor the two men said anything. They just started loading the exhibits into the crate.

“What are you men doing?” Dr. Wong yelled.

“Oh, they’re loading the exhibits,” Jack told him. “I forgot to tell you before we started that we couldn’t get the trial continued, so we can’t use you but we can sure use your exhibits.”

“No, you can’t,” Dr. Wong yelled at Jack. “Those exhibits are mine. They are my work product. I’m going to call the police right now. You men stop what you’re doing!”

“Keep going,” Henry told the two men, motioning them to continue.

Dr. Wong shouted something in Chinese, and right away four Chinese men rushed into the room. Dr. Wong said something else, and the men moved toward Henry and his two assistants, who were still loading the exhibits.

“Hold it! Hold it!” Jack yelled and moved between Dr. Wong’s men and Henry. Dr. Wong’s men stopped in their tracks. They seemed to be looking for a reason not to go near Henry.

“Doctor, I have a letter here that I sent you last week confirming that you were paid six thousand dollars for your work.” Jack pulled a letter from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Dr. Wong. “Now, you can call the police and you can set these men on me and my partner, but the bottom line is, those are our exhibits.”

“I never let my exhibits leave this office,” Dr. Wong shouted. But he didn’t tell his men to proceed.

“That may be your practice, Doctor. And you may have gotten away with it up to now. But again, the bottom line is that you were paid for your work by my client. He’s going to trial in a couple of weeks, and he needs these exhibits. I’ll certainly give you credit for them with everybody—the judge, the jury, the press. I guarantee you, however, that if I
walk out this door without them, you will not want to hear what I have to say to every news outlet in the country about you, and you will not want to be in court against me in a civil suit for damages.”

Dr. Wong only needed a few seconds to understand the full import of Jack’s words. If he tried to hang onto his exhibits, the damage to his reputation and his finances could be substantial. It was a no-brainer.

He motioned his men to move back.

“Take them and get out of here,” he barked at Jack.

“That was a pretty convincing speech you delivered just before the fireworks were about to begin,” Henry told Jack on the cab ride to the airport. “Did you practice it beforehand?”

“No. I just operate well under pressure.”

“Nobody knows that better than me, Jack. I just hope you have some magic left for Benny.”

52

The week before Benny’s trial, Luis took a train to the Ossining Correctional Facility, better known as Sing-Sing. He’d heard about the place all his life. It was where prisoners had always been executed in New York.

Luis had called beforehand to make arrangements to see Benny and to make sure somebody told Benny he was coming. He didn’t want to surprise him again; Luis’s heart couldn’t take it. Jack had called the warden as well and asked that the two men be allowed to meet in a private room. This was the second time Jack had spoken with the warden, and they had developed a bit of a rapport. He pointed out that Benny was still presumed to be an innocent man even though he was already a resident in a maximum-security prison. The warden didn’t agree to the request right away; he had to make some calls of his own. He got back to Jack the next day to tell him he’d authorized the private meeting.

Luis was shown in first. The room had windows that looked into the prison hallway. He waited nervously for his son to arrive, not knowing what kind of reception he would receive this time. As he sat, he wondered if it was a good idea to be meeting Benny without some bars between them. Then the door opened and two guards brought Benny into the room. They removed his handcuffs and promptly left. Luis watched them just to make sure they were staying close to the window and could see inside.

“How ya doin?” Benny said pleasantly as he extended his hand.

This simple gesture melted Luis’s heart on the spot. “I’m doing okay. I’m a little nervous.”

“About being in a room alone with me?”

“Oh no, no—about your trial coming up.”

“Oh yeah, that. There’s nothing we can do about that. It is what it is.”

“Yeah,” Luis replied. There was an awkward silence for about thirty seconds.

“Listen,” Benny began, “I want to apologize for the way I acted last time I saw you.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” Luis told him. “You have a right to feel the way you do.”

“That’s just it. I don’t feel that way anymore. I’ve had a lot of time to think in here. And that new lawyer you got for me, Jack Tobin, and his partner, the big black guy, they said some things that made me think a little differently. You had your own shit to go through with the war and losing your best friend—”

“That’s no excuse,” Luis interrupted him.

“Well, I have no excuses either, Pop. I made a mess of my life too. If the war and losing your best friend isn’t an excuse for you, then you not being around isn’t an excuse for me. I’ve gotta take responsibility for my own shit. I’ve been a pimple on the ass of this world for too long.”

Luis wanted to recognize the significance of what Benny was saying—that he was taking ownership of his life. It was the first step toward any type of new beginning. But he couldn’t do it right away. For the moment, he could only focus on one word—
Pop
. Luis would polish that word, put it in his pocket, and take it with him from the prison that day. Over the next week as the pressure mounted, he would take it out and listen to its sweet sound and it would relax him. That one word made him a father again.