“Hello?” I say, since I’m never at a loss for snappy ways to begin conversations.
The voice is Cindy Spodek’s. “Andy, I don’t have much information, but what I’ve got is not good.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Well, I went to our expert on electronic surveillance, and he told me that the tap is either CIA or DIA.”
“What is DIA?”
“Defense Intelligence Agency. It’s run out of the Pentagon. But about six hours later the guy comes back to me and says he was wrong, that it’s just a run-of-the-mill tap, could be used by anybody.”
“You don’t believe him?” I ask.
“No, I don’t. That device wasn’t like any I had ever seen. And he hadn’t taken it; I still had it. I just don’t believe he did any research that changed his mind. I think he was instructed by someone to change his mind.”
“Okay… thanks.”
“I’m not finished,” she says. “I asked around about the Evans case. I wasn’t aware of any Bureau involvement, and the two people above me that I asked didn’t seem to know anything about it.”
“You didn’t believe them, either?”
“Actually, I did. But later in the day one of them called me into his office and grilled me on why I was asking. I told him that you were a friend, and I was curious. He told me that it wasn’t a door I should be opening, that I should not be involved in any way.”
This is stunning news; it seems that the entire United States government is conspiring to keep Richard Evans in jail. “This doesn’t fit with the facts of the case as presented at trial,” I say. “It was supposed to look like a very personal crime-a distraught man kills his fiancée and himself.”
“I don’t know where or how deep this goes, Andy. But I do know it hits a nerve. The mother lode of nerves.”
“Thanks, Cindy. I’m sorry I involved you in this.”
“No problem. Just be careful, Andy. You may be dealing with people even more powerful than Marcus.”
“Now, that is a scary thought.”
We hang up and drive to dinner, though for a moment I’m nervous about starting my car. Laurie and I generally try not to discuss business during dinner, but the phone call from Cindy has pretty much blown that out of the water.
Laurie obviously has no more idea than I do about what is going on or why the whole world seems to have lined up against me. Nevertheless, it’s important for me to come up with a theory, if only to give me something to test, to measure ideas against.
The flip side of that, however, is that once I come up with a theory, I have to guard against being married to it. I can’t look at new information only through a biased prism; I have to let it take me in any direction, not guided by my preconceptions.
The only theory we can come up with is that Richard was the victim of a plot to get him out of the way, for something having to do with his work. I don’t believe that the intent of the plot was to frame Richard for Stacy’s murder; I believe that Richard was supposed to die as a “suicide” victim. The approaching storm was unexpected, and had it not appeared, the Coast Guard would not have boarded the boat in time to resuscitate him.
I can only assume that something was being smuggled into the country, and Richard’s presence was considered a threat to the operation. If the CIA or DIA is involved in the case, then I doubt it was drugs; it was more likely something violent or military in nature. Probably a national security matter rather than a strictly criminal one. Try as I might, I cannot understand how this could still be an issue five years later, but based on the reaction to the reopening of Richard’s case, it must be.
The other thing I want Laurie’s opinion on is whether to turn the hearing into a media event. Up until now, my handling of Richard’s case has received modest coverage, nothing intense, and I’ve had no reason to change that. My involvement, and the fact that Reggie is so central to the case, can attract a great deal of attention, and I must decide if I want to go in that direction.
“There’s no jury pool out there, Andy,” Laurie says. It’s a good point; the judge is going to make the final decision, so there are no potential jurors to influence.
The judge assigned to the case is Nicholas Gordon. The original case was tried in Somerset County, so that’s where the hearing is as well. I don’t know Judge Gordon, or any other judges from that county, since that is not where I usually practice.
“Do you know Judge Gordon?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No, but I don’t know too many judges who like excessive publicity. Or wise-ass lawyers.”
It’s another good point, even if she’s not making it particularly gently. My normal trial tactics tend toward the flamboyant, and while they often work well with a jury, they tend to piss off judges. Pissing off the decision maker, which the judge will be in this case, is not a particularly logical thing to do.
“This hearing isn’t going to be much fun,” I say.
She smiles. “I’m not so sure about that. Watching you question Reggie is going to be a blast.”
* * * * *
IT TURNS OUT that I am not Andy the all-powerful.
I had decided to keep the publicity level down, so as to dampen coverage and not annoy the judge. Unfortunately, it didn’t work; the press is out in force in front of the courthouse when Kevin and I get there. The reporters on the court beat must have gotten a tip from the bailiff or someone else inside the system about what was going on, and the word spread.
Laurie will arrive later with Karen Evans and our star witness, Reggie. I’ll be calling her when I have a better sense of when they will be needed; there’s no sense having Reggie pacing, barking, and maybe even pissing in the witness room as he nervously awaits his appearance.
We’re going to start the day in the judge’s chambers. The prosecutor, Janine Coletti, has filed a motion to prevent Reggie from “testifying.” We’ve certainly expected that and, hopefully, are prepared to defend our position successfully.
I’m not familiar with Coletti, but I’ve checked her out, and the prevailing opinion seems to be that she is tough and smart. Those are traits that I don’t like to find in prosecutors; give me a mushy, dumb one any day of the week. The only slight positive is that she is not the original prosecutor and therefore might have less of a vested interest in protecting the original outcome.
Kevin and I meet Coletti and her team in the reception area outside the judge’s chambers. We exchange pleasantries, but there is no discussion about the case. That will come soon enough.
We are led into Judge Gordon’s chambers after only a five-minute wait. He looks to be in his mid-forties, though his hair is sprinkled with gray. Actually, I think gray hair may be a requirement to take a seat on the bench; prospective judges probably have to walk through some maturity screener that rejects pure black or brown hair as frivolous.
A court stenographer is also present, and Judge Gordon explains that this session will be on the record. He wanted to hold this particular argument in chambers because of “the large media contingent on hand,” and he makes little effort to conceal the fact that he blames me for the turnout. It is particularly frustrating because this time it’s not true.
“The question before us is whether to allow the golden retriever known as Reggie to appear in court,” says the judge before turning to me. “What is the purpose behind the request?”
“We want to demonstrate that he is in fact Mr. Evans’s dog and that he did not die along with Ms. Harriman, as the prosecution claimed at trial.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” he asks.
“Through testimony by his veterinarian and by the actions of the dog as he relates to Mr. Evans. We believe it is vital to establish ownership beyond a doubt.”
The judge turns to the prosecutors. “Ms. Coletti?”
“Your Honor, as stated in our brief, the state feels that such a maneuver is completely out of bounds and likely to turn the proceedings into a circus. There is no precedent for a dog to take on the role of witness, and such testimony would be inherently unreliable.”
I shake my head. “Your Honor, the reliability of canine testimony, as demonstrated through actions, has been amply demonstrated in many court proceedings, including those of Your Honor himself.”
Judge Gordon looks surprised. “Would you care to explain that?”
I nod. “Certainly. In New Jersey v. Grantham you ruled that a search that uncovered drugs was reasonable, when the only fact presented to justify the search was the action of a DEA German shepherd who detected the drugs by his sense of smell.”
“That dog was not a witness in court,” the judge says.