The Trials of Max Q, page 26
“Tell me about it,” I say with a sigh. Just like the Chapman’s annulled their relationship with Shep—stripped of any ties that bind, including her name—the same thing happened here with Darby Kelleher.
“What about the tape—could it be floating around somewhere out there?” Shep asks.
PE looks quizzically at her. “What is this, amateur hour? You will never find any evidence that Darby Kelleher ever stepped on this campus, much less a video.”
“Laney wasn’t giving up when she left school, she was retreating to plot her revenge,” I say.
“Revenge is a dish best served cold,” PE adds with a nod.
I wonder aloud about the source of our tickets. Ryan Maxon is sure moving up on the list of possibilities.
“I haven’t seen any of these folks in over ten years.” PE says, and I believe him.
“Pack your bags, PE, you are coming back to New York with us to testify,” I declare. I hope I don’t have to risk my life by threatening him with a subpoena or an IRS audit that will expose his T-shirt business.
Thankfully, he doesn’t put up a fight. If revenge is best served as a cold dish, then he is about to serve up a three-course meal of frozen dinners to his old friend, Max Q.
Chapter 67
Shep and I return to the rental house in Panacea. She remains excited that our guardian angel continues to supply us with helpful evidence. I don’t want to throw cold water on it, but I think we’re getting set up to take a fall.
We retire to our respective rooms. I watch a replay of the eleven o’clock news at one a.m. It’s as if somebody died in Tallahassee. To toss some salt in the wound, quarterback Doug Leach tore a knee ligament on the second-to-last play of the game and will be out for the remainder of the season. I’m once again reminded of how quickly fortunes can change.
Unable to sleep, I lay frozen on my sweat-filled sheets. I can’t help but imagine the look on Kerri’s face when I introduce PE Albertson. I go through a mock testimony in my head. She will be able to make him look like he is a disgruntled former hanger-on with an ax to grind and a bank account to fill. But we have a second witness to back-up his testimony.
I look at the clock—3:52. I decide to end the torturous process. I pull on a pair of shorts and head to the beach, trying not to wake Shep, tiptoeing quietly passed her closed door.
I sit in the sand and stare out at the Gulf of Mexico. Silence fills the dark night, only interrupted by the light splash of waves hitting the sandy shore. Then a voice rises from the night. I look around, my paranoia getting the best of me. I turn to make sure it didn’t come from behind. It’s my turn to get a knife to the neck.
Nobody there.
I hear the voice again, this time a distant yelp. A female voice. I strain to get a better view. I see the silhouette of a woman breezily prancing in the moonlight. She is about fifty yards away, frolicking in the surf. The next sound I hear is a giggle.
Then like a beer commercial, the beautiful creature leaves the water and heads in my direction, wearing only a minuscule bikini. If she is coming to kill me I won’t resist. When I enter her vision, a loud scream leaps from her lungs.
“Shep?” I ask, confused, fighting to see in the darkness.
“Oh my god, Jack—you scared the hell out of me!”
I can’t stop looking at her. She looks like she leaped off the cover of a magazine. Her dark hair hangs down on her mist-covered shoulders.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask.
“I guess I could ask you the same question, Jack.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
A big smile comes over her face. “Me either. Gifford is going to have a cow that we ditched our security guards this weekend.”
I don’t reply.
“What is it, Jack?” she asks, confused by my stare.
“Do you go to the gym every day? You have one of those beer stomachs,” I blurt out.
“I hope you mean a six-pack and not a beer-gut,” she playfully scolds with a laugh. “Actually, before this case I used to go twice a day, but I can only go once since this trial started. I can’t live without my kickboxing class.” She pauses and giggles. “And don’t you make fun of me for being so regimented!”
She lightly practices one of her kickboxing moves on me.
“I tried that Tae-Bo once, but I pulled a muscle in my hip and I couldn’t walk for a week,” I say with a smile.
“Let’s go in the water—it’s so refreshing, Jack!” she continues in her strange childlike state.
I decide against it. “I’m going back to bed—we have an early day tomorrow,” I stutter.
“Suit yourself,” she replies. She then lets me watch her as she strolls toward the Gulf, the moonlight highlighting every curve.
As she arrives at the water’s edge, she turns back toward me. “We are going to bring Max Q down!”
I enjoy a private smile. It’s good to see her let her hair down, both literally and figuratively. It’s also really nice to see her more excited about trying to achieve justice than her climb up the ladder of success.
On Sunday morning, we meet Ashley and Mac at Tallahassee Regional Airport. We bring a large fifth wheel—PE Albertson.
“How did the big surprise go? I ask.
“Nothing special—we are just going to have a baby,” Mac answers in an unsuccessful attempt to act nonchalant.
Hugs abound. Even PE Albertson, who just met them seconds ago, joins the love. The scene reminds me of a picnic we had at Brown when the three of us thought we were going our separate ways. Perfect moments can happen in such imperfect times.
Chapter 68
We arrive at work on Monday morning after a really long weekend. The calendar has flipped to October, and there is an autumn chill in the air, a big contrast from Florida.
We immediately are at a sidebar, where I’m trying to convince Figliomini to introduce PE Albertson to our witness list.
“We object to this,” Kerri loudly dissents.
When we retire to the judge’s chambers, Kerri picks up right where she left off, “Your Honor, the prosecution is just trying to stall. There are only so many degenerates they can get to make false allegations against my client. If they have evidence my client killed Laney Bang … fine. But all they are doing is a character assassination without grounds.”
Figliomini stares sternly at me. “Mr. Lawson?”
“Your Honor, Mr. Albertson came to us during our ongoing investigation. He will testify that Ms. Bang and Mr. Anderson met years ago … in college. His testimony will shed light on an event that led Laney to seek revenge on Anderson, and plan her blackmail scheme.”
Figliomini looks skeptically at me.
I hand the judge copies of Darby Kelleher’s grades from her first and only semester she attended Florida State. A 3.9—she never fails to surprise me. PE was right that there was no official record of her attending the school. But some quick thinking by Shep sparked a side-trip to Pensacola on Sunday morning, prior to meeting up with Mac and Ashley. More specifically, we went to the residence of Marcie and Steve Kelleher. A college doesn’t send grades to the student, but rather, to the parents who pay the bill. I stayed in the car for obvious reasons, while Shep played nice with the Kellehers, and eventually found the report card in a box in the basement.
“I’ll allow the witness,” Figliomini renders.
“We will need time to prepare,” Kerri grumbles.
“Three days—we will reconvene on Thursday, and Prince Edward Albertson will be on the stand.”
Shep suggests that we use the time off to perform an intense mock trial to thoroughly prepare PE for the inevitable Kerri onslaught. Shep’s “hair down” era appears over. But I think it’s more important that he’s relaxed. So I overrule Shep, and decide that PE and I will spend the three days on Otsego Lake.
“Do you fish?” I ask him.
“I’m from Mobile, Alabama,” he responds.
I don’t know what exactly that means, but I think it means he likes to fish.
He also introduces me to something called chili fries, for which I will be eternally grateful. I warn him that Kerri will try to paint him as a disgruntled, jealous ex-friend with his hand out. PE nods his gargantuan head. He seems to understand what he is in for, which is half the battle.
Prince Edward Albertson takes the stand on Thursday. He is at ease, generously flashing his charming smile. I can tell that he’s wanted to tell this story for a long time.
I end the testimony by having him repeat a statement he made to us in Florida. “Maxon loved her, but Drew was one cold dude. He would steal his buddy’s girlfriend just because he could and not loose a wink of sleep over it.”
Kerri takes over and predictably depicts Albertson as a washed up football player who is jealous of Drew’s success, and is looking to make a quick buck. How come nobody else has come forward? If such a tape exists, wouldn’t it have come out? Do you have any proof such a hearing happened with the university—and why is there no record of it?
I redirect. PE needs someone to corroborate his story, and who better than Laney herself.
Keri objects to my reading of Big Bang Theories, but is overruled.
I read her gripping tale about Mr. Perfect. The exact story PE Albertson just told the court about Drew Anderson. Kerri reminds the jury that I’m up to my old fiction tricks, and the idea that Drew is some unnamed character in a book is ludicrous. But when I view the jury, I notice some doubt creeping in regarding their golden boy. I think it’s related to the third prong of our strategy, which is to make sense of this thing. The jury understands revenge, and if we were able to prove that is why Laney Bang came after Drew Anderson, then I think they will open their minds to the possibility that their hero could have committed this crime. An open mind is all I can ask for.
I glance at my watch. It’s Friday at four o’clock—the week has flown by. It’s also the ideal breaking point. We have established all three phases of our case as best we’ll be able to, and I want the jury to spend the weekend mulling over our points before the defense begins their case.
I look over to the defense and they look away. Drew and Marissa remain stone cold. Finally, I look to the jury and confidently bellow, “The people rest.”
This wakes up Figliomini, who announces that the defense will begin putting on their case first thing Monday morning.
Kerri stands and unnecessarily states, “The defense will be ready.”
We return to headquarters. Shep enters my office and surprises me with a huge bear hug. “We did it, Jack!”
I caution her that we are still a long shot to get a conviction.
Gifford Brown pops his head in the door and compliments us as only he can, “I’m just relieved that neither of you two tried to put a dried up, bloody glove on Anderson.”
We laugh.
Gifford heads out to do whatever Gifford Brown does on a weekend, leaving just Shep and me.
“Would you like to go get a drink at Touch ’Em All to celebrate?” I ask her.
“I thought you said it would be premature. That the odds are heavily against us.”
I smile. “I meant celebrate that the weekend is here.”
Her grin fades and she subtly looks away. “Sorry, Jack. I can’t.”
“C’mon, Shep—you can go to the gym three times tomorrow and make up for missing tonight.”
“I have um … I have a date tonight.”
“Oh, well I don’t want to keep you from that,” I say with just enough annoyance for her to tell I’m feeling a little hurt.
When she departs, I barricade myself in my office. I’m still not sure why Shep’s date bothers me so—I was the one who pushed her away. It’s probably for the best, I try to convince myself.
I put in a couple of hours on the cases I’ve been brushing under the rug since July 24. The biggest of which is Andy Kass.
I leave the office at nine o’clock. Main Street is practically deserted. The summer tourist crowd is gone and the media can’t leave fast enough when court breaks for the weekend.
I haven’t been back to Touch ’Em All since we were driven off the road. As I walk in, my mind floods with the bad memory of that night.
The bar is as empty as I’ve ever seen it. Shep is on her date. The Cirillos have taken a weekend trip to Manhattan to shop for maternity wear—poor Mac. George Herman is at one of his Babe Ruth gigs, and Beneke and Opp are probably out butchering a crime scene somewhere.
I sit at the bar and Augie slides a frosty in front of me, on the house. “You’ve done yourself proud, Jack, no matter what happens,” he tells me.
As I finish my third mug, a woman enters the bar. She wears a tan leather jacket over a form-fitting mock-turtleneck, with worn jeans and trendy boots. A large cross hangs around her neck.
I’m fixated on her, but not because of the obvious physical beauty. It is the aura of confidence that surrounds her. It’s hard to explain, but easy to look at.
Chapter 69
“I’ll have what he’s having,” Marissa says, while climbing atop a bar stool beside me.
There is an awkward moment of silence, before I break it, “This is totally unethical. You, of all people, should know better.”
“This is just two lawyers having a beer.”
“One of us needs to leave, and I was here first.”
“You’ve been hanging around your uptight partner too long. Speaking of which, where is the ice queen tonight? She couldn’t be on a date, could she?”
I don’t respond.
Marissa reads my silence. “She is on a date! Wonders never cease.”
I’m tired of her tweaking Shep at every opportunity. “She didn’t do anything to you. It’s not her fault your husband is a murderer.”
I immediately regret my words, but Marissa appears unaffected. “Oh my god, Jack—you have a thing for her. You want to play with the ice-queen’s icicles, don’t you?”
“I don’t have a …” I start, before catching myself. She can push my buttons and she knows it. “You should go.”
Marissa sips on her beer, a clear indication that she’s not going anywhere. “All I wanted to do was congratulate you on a great performance, lawyer to lawyer. They gave you nothing to work with, you had no evidence, and to say your witnesses lacked credibility, would be a great understatement. Not to mention, the cops put you in a bad spot to start with. You have no shot at a conviction, but you fought a valiant fight, Jack, and I respect that.”
She gets my competitive juices flowing, but I hold back. I feel more sorry for her than anything. I think she senses it, and it further fuels her irritation.
“You landed a few good shots, I’ll give you that. The video was quite a coup and pulling the PE Albertson testimony out of your ass was impressive. But you’re using a pellet gun. You know as well as I do, when Drew takes the stand he is a nuclear weapon. Hey, it worked on me and I’m much more skeptical than that jury will ever be.”
While her blind faith toward her husband may be noble, if not delusional, it’s starting to annoy me. “Doesn’t it bother you that he cheated on you like he did? If he lied to you about that, what makes you think he isn’t lying to you about killing Laney?”
“What makes you think he lied to me?”
The answer is unexpected. “I just assumed.”
“Marriage is complicated, Jack. You just don’t throw the baby out with the bath water because someone made a mistake. It really is for better or worse. That kind of stuff doesn’t make your day, but if you truly love each other, you work it out.”
“So you would consider your husband making home movies with an adult film actress just a speed-bump on the road to eternal bliss?”
She shakes her head as if I just don’t get it. “You have a lot of talent, but that’s the kind of stuff holding you back from being truly great.”
“I’m not following you.”
“A great lawyer has vision. Kind of like a quarterback in football. You have to see the whole field. You are going about this with tunnel vision.”
“Still not following.”
“Open yourself up to all possibilities. Why do you assume I’m a victim of my husband’s infidelity? How do you know what Drew did wasn’t in response to something I did in the marriage, and that is how he expressed his pain?
“Well … was it?”
“Nobody’s perfect, and therefore no marriage is.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“All you need to know about our marriage, is that when Drew gets his freedom we will run into each other’s arms and he will twirl me around like a scene from a movie. And even a cynical prosecutor like you won’t be able to doubt our love. I just hope you’re there to watch, Jack.”
I’m tempted to debate her, but I bite my tongue. I can tell my refusal to fight her is pissing her off.
Marissa continues, “We both know that Drew isn’t going to be convicted. So we have two choices. We can put our heads into the sand and pretend you prosecuted the right guy and the jury was ignorant by letting him walk. Or, we can find out who really killed this woman, and why.”
“Why would you care who killed her? You just told me that Drew was going to get off anyway.”
“Someone is trying to frame my husband for murder. If they’re willing to go to such lengths, his life will be in danger when he’s acquitted. You’re the only chance to catch this person before they harm him. Who else is going to do it, Jack—the ice princess? Gifford Brown? That inept police department?”
“That’s an entertaining story, but unfortunately you aren’t a very credible witness on this subject. I remember you telling me that you would do anything to get your husband off.”
“The man whose star witness was a crack-head porn star is debating my credibility?”
