Authors: RANDY SINGER
When Kelly spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. “Using his MD-9, purchased illegally at a gun store that never should have been allowed to sell that gun, Larry Jamison made a mockery of justice. In the final seconds of her life, Rachel Crawford had to bear the indignity of a kangaroo court, run by a madman, a court that declared her guilty of something she didn’t do.”
Kelly paused, letting the silence underline everything she was saying. “I believe that in those last few seconds of terror, her soul was crying out for rescue, hoping that real justice would somehow prevail. And I believe, as does my client, that she is watching now, crying out for justice again.
You
are the only ones who can deliver it.
“Don’t let Larry Jamison and the merchants of death who supplied him with firepower win again. Don’t add insult to injury. Despite what Larry Jamison said, that television studio was no court of law.
This
is where people come to have wrongs made right.
This
is where people come to plead for justice.
“Do the right thing.
“Yes, we want you to use your head. We’re not afraid of a clearheaded review of the evidence. But we also ask you to unashamedly follow your heart. That’s where justice resides. That’s where you’ll find the truth.”
Judge Garrison instructed the jury to select a foreperson before lunch and begin their deliberations as soon as they returned from eating.
Most observers expected the deliberations to last a few days. Some were predicting a hung jury; others thought that the scales had been tipped in favor of the plaintiff by the devastating cross-examination of Chief Poole.
Nobody expected the jury to return with a verdict that same afternoon.
“Just in case,” Garrison told the lawyers, “I want you within reach by cell phone. I’ll give you thirty minutes notice before we reconvene. Govern yourselves accordingly.”
Jason desperately wanted to call his father during the twenty-minute drive to the Courtyard Marriott at the oceanfront but knew he shouldn’t. For starters, he was pretty sure that every call from his BlackBerry was being monitored by the folks at Justice Inc. And even if they hadn’t been, Brad Carson had been adamant about this part of the plan.
“We operate from here on out on a strictly need-to-know basis,” Brad had said. “Trust no one. Not even your own father.”
Two days earlier, on Saturday afternoon when Brad and Jason were alone in a conference room supposedly working on Jason’s closing argument, Jason had hired Brad Carson as his lawyer. Under the protection of attorney-client privilege, Jason had confessed everything.
Brad had agreed to take Jason on as a client, but only after laying out some ground rules. And ground rule number one was, “Follow my advice without question and without exception.”
But the more Jason pictured his dad trying to get sober, and the more he thought about the letter his dad had left on Saturday morning and the pain his dad would feel at being betrayed, Jason couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t say
something.
He gnawed on his fingernails as he drove down the highway. Ten years ago he had gotten himself into this mess by going along with other people’s advice—his dad’s and Matt Corey’s to be specific—instead of doing what he knew was right. This time would be different.
He decided to veer by the office.
He pulled into the parking lot and raced upstairs. He assumed nobody would be there—Bella and Andrew were with the shadow jury—but he called out just to be sure. Quickly, he checked each room and then closed the door to his own office.
He dialed his dad’s number from his desk phone. It rang several times and kicked into voice mail. Jason hung up and immediately dialed again. He reached voice mail a second time.
“Dad, it’s Jason. Thanks so much for the letter you wrote this weekend.” He paused. “Um… listen, things have gone pretty crazy here with the case. It’s hard to explain, but somebody found out about me driving the car when LeRon was killed. They’re trying to blackmail me with it, Dad. The only way I can do my job and represent my client is to let the chips fall. If the truth comes out, it comes out. Um, I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to call and let you know this and tell you I’m sorry.”
The message seemed so inadequate, but what else could he say?
“Oh yeah. Don’t try to call on my cell phone. I think it’s bugged. I’ll call you back later this afternoon.”
Jason hung up the phone and took a deep breath. He stared at it for a moment. “I love you, Dad.”
When James Noble heard his son’s message, he played it back twice. His mind was already reeling from his attempts to quit drinking. He had a splitting headache and couldn’t seem to string one thought together with the next.
His first call was to Case McAllister. Voice mail kicked in. He hung up and cursed. He just wanted to get a message through to Jason somehow—tell him to do the right thing.
He tried Jason’s office number. More voice mail.
His third call was to Matt Corey.
He told Matt what little he knew about Jason’s predicament. Matt nearly came unglued. He wanted to talk with Jason. There must be some way out of this. What kind of blackmail? Who? How could he get through to Jason?
James Noble had no answers.
Matt Corey hung up the phone in a state of panic. Never in a million years had he thought Jason Noble would defy the blackmailers. That little twerp had shown some spine.
Six months had passed now since the phone call. It sounded like a man’s voice, though Corey couldn’t be sure; it was digitally altered. The person had called himself Luthor.
He said he had proof that Corey had falsified the accident report for Jason Noble’s accident ten years ago. There were apparently recorded conversations between Jason and his father indicating as much. Luthor intended to use this information to his advantage in the Rachel Crawford case.
Luthor had assured Corey he wouldn’t go public with the information as long as Jason Noble cooperated. Luthor swore he had no interest in ruining the careers of Detectives Matt Corey and James Noble.
“Why are you telling me this?” Corey had asked.
“My guess is that Jason would call you first if he decided to defy me and go to the authorities. If he does, you should try to talk him out of it. And if you can’t, at least give me a heads-up.”
Corey had tried to play it coy. Maybe this person named Luthor was just fishing—trying to get Corey to admit something on a recorded call.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Corey had said.
“I’m sure you don’t,” Luthor responded. “But I have a theory. Once a crooked cop, always a crooked cop. If it appears that your boy Jason is about to divulge your dirty little secret, you might want to let me know so I can have a talk with him before he does anything irrevocable.”
“Get out of my life,” Corey had said, his suspicions of a setup growing. “If Jason comes to me for advice, I’ll tell him to
never
give in to blackmail.”
“I’m sure you will.” The digital voice was flat, nearly monotone, like a robot. “But if you ever want to talk with me, just leave a comment on the blog at the Kryptonite site. Sign your name. I’ll give you a call.”
That was the last time Corey had heard from Luthor—nearly six months ago. At first, Corey thought about telling Jason. But then he realized that doing so would just entangle him deeper in this nightmare. For a while, he had tried to stay close to Jason. He at least wanted to know if Jason intended to go to the authorities and ruin Corey’s career.
And now, Corey couldn’t believe this was happening. He had tried to help a friend ten years ago, and this was his payback? He thought about the embarrassment, the investigation, the legal issues. His family would be put through hell. His name would be a byword for police misconduct. LeRon Tate’s family would publicly fillet him.
How could Jason Noble, a kid who owed Corey everything, even think about doing this? And if Jason was going to defy Luthor and risk exposure, why didn’t he at least have the decency to call Corey himself? Instead, Corey had to learn secondhand from Jason’s father.
Corey went to his computer and found the Kryptonite site. He left a comment about the latest athlete on steroids and signed his name.
Twenty minutes later the phone rang. By the time Corey hung up, he was sick to his stomach.
An hour ago, he thought he had everything going his way. A great family. A career on the upswing. The respect of his coworkers.
Now, his entire life was in limbo. His fate was in the hands of a blackmailer he had never met and a scared kid he had never really liked.
Jason checked his rearview mirror constantly, though the oceanfront area was humming with tourists and so much traffic it was impossible to tell if he was being followed. Just to be safe, he parked a few blocks from the Courtyard Marriott. He strapped on his gun, threw his suit coat on over it, and half-walked, half-jogged toward the hotel. The temperature was in the nineties, and by the time Jason hit the lobby, he had worked up a good sweat. His ribs were still sore and hurt each time he took a deep breath.
He checked behind him one last time and turned left down a hallway to Conference Room C. He entered without knocking and quickly took inventory. Everyone except Melissa Davids had already arrived. Jason shook hands with Case, Kelly Starling, and Blake Crawford. Andrew Lassiter and Bella were standing behind the others.
“I guess everybody has already met,” Jason said. They nodded and spent time in awkward small talk until Melissa Davids arrived.
The deal had been finalized by phone the night before, shortly after midnight, just twelve short hours ago. On Sunday, in a meeting with Case McAllister, Jason had explained that he had been blackmailed into leaving Jurors 3 and 7 on the panel and calling Chief Poole as an expert. Brad Carson had been in that meeting as well, acting as Jason’s attorney, and would not let Jason share the particulars of the leverage the blackmailer had used. But Jason and Brad had a plan that they proposed to Case.
Case listened carefully and handled the entire situation with a level of grace and understanding that had Jason hoping he could one day be just like the man. “Trust me,” Case said, “when you’ve been in this business as long as I have, you’ve seen it all.”
Case had called Melissa Davids, who was considerably less sanguine about the whole affair. She exploded on the phone, threatening to fire Jason and maybe even Case along with him. “Why don’t we just expose the fraud of our own lawyer and demand a mistrial?” Melissa suggested. “This has the Coalition’s fingerprints all over it.”
But Case wouldn’t let it go. He talked Melissa through her initial anger and helped her see the benefits of Jason’s plan. MD Firearms would still get an unbiased verdict—up or down. The company would be seen as more than fair to Blake Crawford. The media coverage would be unprecedented.
“So what you’re saying is that our little Benedict Arnold has actually done us a favor?” Melissa asked.
“You could look at it that way.”
“I don’t,” snapped Melissa. “But I guess this plan makes the best of a bad situation.” There was a pause on the phone line. “But Case, if I agree to this, we’d darn well better win.”
After the call, Case had relayed the conversation to Jason and Brad, including Melissa Davids’s final warning. “No pressure,” Case said. “But if this thing goes south, I hope one of you will need a law partner.”
Melissa had flown into Norfolk late Sunday evening in no better spirits. She had barely spoken a word to Jason all day Monday. And even now, as she finally arrived at the conference room, Jason could tell she was in no mood for introductions.
Jason grabbed some paper napkins sitting on the conference table and wiped the sweat from his face. His mouth was dry, and he was so tense he could hardly think straight. He hadn’t been half this nervous even during his closing argument.
“Bella and Andrew, I’m sure you’re wondering why everyone’s here. Thanks for getting the shadow jury settled in.”
The night before, Jason had given Bella strict instructions. “Assemble the shadow jury at 11:30. Don’t let them watch Chief Poole’s testimony or the closing arguments until I say so.”
Jason cleared his throat and continued. There was no easy way to say this—he could hardly bear to look at Bella and Andrew. “This weekend, I’ve been in discussions with opposing counsel about some problems in our trial caused by my own misconduct. Those problems were severe enough that they would have justified a mistrial and perhaps my own disbarment. I told Kelly I was ready to make a motion for a mistrial first thing this morning unless we could find some other way to resolve the matter.”
Because everyone in the room except Bella and Andrew had already heard Jason’s confession the night before, he forced himself to focus on them now. Bella looked crestfallen and wounded—the look of a mom who had just found out her son was on drugs. Andrew wouldn’t even return Jason’s eye contact; his face showed the pain of a betrayed friend.
But Kelly nodded her encouragement, and Jason took another deep breath. Melissa Davids pierced him with her intensity as he continued. “The trial has been tainted from day one. Without going into details, let me just say that I have been pressured into putting Chief Poole on the stand and keeping two jurors on the panel who should never have been there in the first place.”
Jason stopped and looked at Andrew. “I’m sorry, Andrew.” His friend looked at him, pursed his lips, and nodded, though he couldn’t hide the disappointment on his face.
“I told Kelly about the shadow jury and about the fact that we’ve been very careful not to let them know which side of the case impaneled them. I suggested that we dismiss the two members of the shadow jury who were chosen to mimic Jurors 3 and 7 on the real panel. I also suggested that we not let this shadow jury hear the testimony of Chief Poole or any comments the lawyers made in their closing arguments about Chief Poole.