The Trials of Max Q, page 31
“The same guy who ruled admissible the illegal search, the video, PE Albertson’s testimony. I could go on,” Marissa adds.
I’m about to re-argue the legal points on those subjects, but the second photo captures me. The time printed on the bottom says that it was taken twenty minutes after the photo of Drew and the judge. This photo is of Figliomini and Ryan Maxon.
“The same guy who cemented my husband’s fate with the discovery of that knife,” she states the obvious.
Marissa puts the photos back in the safe. “You can’t tell Kerri that I had Drew followed. She tells him everything, and he would go out of his mind if he knew I’d discovered that he might be in danger.”
I nod in agreement, but I have my own reasons not to tell Kerri—mainly that I don’t trust her. I think of the photo I just viewed of Figliomini and Maxon. “You just told me that Ryan Maxon wasn’t involved.”
She looks exasperated. “I said that I believe he didn’t kill her, and I never accused him of doing so. And I didn’t say anything about whether he was involved or not involved. For all I know, these photos might be an innocent business meeting, unrelated to the case. That’s what I need you to figure out.”
She pauses, her eyes growing deathly serious. “Jack, I was honest with you when I told you I’ll do whatever it takes to free my husband—lie, cheat, you name it. But it’s really important that you listen closely when I speak specifically about the facts of this case—because I might be the only one who is speaking the truth to you.”
We return to the living room area and I plop on the couch in exhaustion. Marissa sits next to me, tucking her legs underneath her. I notice a framed picture of the two of them in happier times. They are scuba diving in some exotic locale.
Marissa notices my interest in the photo. “That was taken in Jamaica, three years ago. Drew loves to scuba dive. I think it allows him to temporarily leave this world and enter another. He loves his life, but it comes with a lot of pressure and responsibility. Being a national role model is a 24/7 job.”
“If we don’t convince him to pursue a new trial, he is going to permanently leave this world. And enter one where there is no scuba diving.”
Marissa contends that we need to find a different avenue, since Drew will never agree to a new trial. Especially if he believed it put her in danger. It’s a standoff, and the conversation lapses into a quiet malaise. I am out of ideas.
My grumbling stomach breaks the awful silence. Marissa can’t help but to laugh, breaking the tension. “Have you eaten today, Jack?”
Come to think of it, I haven’t.
Marissa gets up and heads toward the kitchen. “I’ll make you something.”
She grabs a pot from above the stove, before turning to the refrigerator. She begins to open it, and then stops. She stands frozen like a statue. Her back is to me, but I can tell she has begun to cry. Then as if a trap door opened beneath her, she drops to the floor.
I hurry into the kitchen. Marissa is curled in a ball on the floor. “Drew is the one who always does the cooking,” she says and angrily tosses the metal pot across the floor with a clanging sound.
I sit next to her. Marissa’s lip is quivering and I instinctively reach out to touch it. She looks up and our eyes meet. All I can see is Reyanne.
I know I’m too close, but it’s too late. Within seconds our lips meet.
Chapter 82
I awake to the sounds of honking horns, reminding me that I spent the night in the city. It makes me long for my annoying alarm clock.
Marissa is nowhere to be found. I get up and look for her. I find her standing by the hallway window in just a T-shirt, deep in thought and looking utterly despondent.
Without looking at me, she says, “We made a mistake, Jack.”
First I convict a guy for a crime he didn’t commit and then sleep with his wife. Not my best week. I feel regret pound me in the gut.
I step beside her and push her hair out of the way of her sad eyes. She’s right, it was a mistake—and an even worse judgment on my part to think that I could ever fill the void that Reyanne left, even temporarily. But I can still get Marissa back her version of Reyanne. I know I need to do everything in my power to give them a chance.
I must get Drew Anderson out of prison.
The trip back upstate provides time to think. My legal compass had always been impeccable, but it has betrayed me in this case. And I broke my own golden rule—keep an open mind. I lectured Shep about it, but mine was closed throughout the trial, until Marissa re-opened it for me.
I know I’m rationalizing my actions, but I can’t shake the thought that feeling so close to Reyanne last night has knocked my compass back into orbit, and I feel that my instincts have returned.
That doesn’t mean that I’ll be able to bring Laney the justice I promised her, and I will be forced to live with that for the rest of my life. I am resigned to the fact that her killer will likely never be caught. The person or group that manipulated her trial must be a powerful entity, and I’ve seen firsthand how the powerful can make things disappear when they desire.
The possibilities of who was behind her death seem to grow every day. Kerri, Maxon, Amber, Lansdale, the mysterious woman from the helicopter, and those whose possible involvement I don’t even want to contemplate. One of those is Figliomini. I can’t get the photo of him and Drew out of my mind, and it would make sense as to why Drew is refusing a new trial, but my legal idealism won’t allow me to believe that a sitting judge could be involved in such a thing.
I go straight to the office to begin formulating my plan, expecting it to be empty on the weekend. It’s a rainy Saturday afternoon, which matches my mood. I step inside and the quiet is soothing.
An explosive sneeze breaks the silence, causing me to jump. Another sneeze fills the air and I apprehensively call out, “Hello?”
“Jack?” echoes a female voice. It’s coming from Shep’s office. I find her sitting behind a desk piled in paperwork.
“It’s Saturday, Shep, what are you doing here?” I ask. My heart rate returns to normal.
“I guess I could ask you the same question,” she says. She begins examining my clothing, and probably analyzing the smell of perfume.
“I have a lot of cases backing up that I need to get to now that the Anderson case is over,” I lie.
“It’s not over yet,” Shep says, holding up a stack of papers. “The sentencing is less than two weeks away.”
Even though I know this, it still startles me when I hear it from her mouth. There isn’t a moment to waste.
I don’t know exactly what I am going to do, but one thing I do know is that I must keep Shep out of it at all costs.
“Where have you been, Jack?” she asks me. “I called you last night … I was worried about you.”
“I was in the city—had some business to take care of.”
Shep’s expression changes. I can see her putting pieces of a puzzle together. “It’s funny, Jack, I saw some video of Anderson’s wife on the news. The reporters were chasing after her like hungry paparazzi and a guy swooped in on a motorcycle and swept her away.”
I try to remain calm. “It’s terrible how they won’t let her alone. What’s the funny part?”
“That it looked like the same motorcycle you have. Isn’t it a coincidence that you were in the city and …”
Shep gives me the opening I need to begin pushing her as far away from me as possible.
“What are you getting at?” I snap.
She backpedals, not expecting the forceful response. “I’m not getting at anything.”
“That’s the problem with you—you always have an agenda.”
“Jack, I didn’t mean …”
“You got what you wanted, Shep. You’re on the fast-track now. So why don’t you go do your television shows and write your books. While you keep working on the Trial of Max Q, I have work to do on cases that won’t get me on the front page.”
Shep looks mystified. “What are you saying, Jack?”
“I’m saying the case is over. You got what you wanted, now stay out of my life!”
She looks like she is going to cry, but the fighter in her won’t allow it. “Jack, I don’t know what you think I meant, but …”
I walk out of her office in a huff.
“Jack, if this is because I tried to push you into doing those interviews, I’m sorry,” she says, searching for reasons for my unforeseen shift in behavior. “I thought we were partners?”
I stop at the nearest desk and pick up a pile of documents and throw them wildly in anger. Shep looks horrified.
“Partners?” I shout derisively. “Partners trust each other—not make accusations about me and the wife of a murderer I put away. Have you always told me the truth?”
“C’mon, Jack, that’s not fair.”
Marissa’s words stick with me. “If I remember correctly, you never mentioned your annulment to a controlling and powerful man. And you’re quite mysterious when it comes to your boyfriend.”
I march into my office and slam the door, leaving Shep searching for answers.
Chapter 83
I stand frozen, looking at my desk. It is piled with newspapers and magazines.
The first thing to catch my eye is a picture of Shep and me on the cover of Newsweek. It reads: Legal Eagles—the story of two young prosecutors and how they slayed Goliath.
I recognize the Max Q Guilty! headline from the New York Globe that I had seen earlier in Kerri’s car. I sift through more newspapers from the day after the verdict. A sticky-note is lying on top of them. Thought you’d like to see these. You are the best lawyer on the planet, Jack, and it was an honor to work with you … your partner, Shep.
It rips at my insides.
I sift through more paraphernalia. The Democrats, Republicans, and Libertarians all have provided information packets and are urging me to run for office.
I can pick my next job. Everybody wants a piece of the brilliant young lawyer who took down Goliath. I wonder if they still would want me if they knew the truth.
I check my voice-mail messages. More offices to run for, requests for interviews, and products to endorse. Then a familiar voice crackles into my ear.
Ethel Lawson is falling all over herself to praise me. She calls my victory, “The greatest moment in two hundred and fifty years of great moments by the Lawson family,” and closes with, “We need to talk in the next few weeks to discuss your bright future, Jackson. I think ‘youngest partner in the history of the firm’ has a nice ring to it.” I can’t erase the message quick enough.
I clear off my desk with one push and the clutter crashes onto the floor. I sit down with legal pad and pen in hand.
I already took the first step this morning. After leaving Marissa’s place, I headed straight to LB&G. Knowing the sweat shop that it is, I was guaranteed a nice-sized audience when I walked past the gold plated doors, even on a Saturday.
It was a priceless moment. I just hope their medical plan covers dropped jaws. On one hand, I’m a traitor who just publicly humiliated them. But I’m also a Lawson, and not just any old Lawson. I am sure the term “youngest partner in history of the firm” has made the rounds. Do you want to be the person to call security on your future boss?
I wasn’t there to gloat. I had business to attend to. I went directly to Kerri’s office, where she was furiously packing boxes. I’m sure the associates could imagine the fight-of-all-fights when we shut the door.
They actually would have witnessed me pleading with Kerri to convince Drew to change his mind.
Kerri’s eyes were puffy and she looked like she hadn’t slept a wink. “We have to get him out of there—he isn’t safe, Jack!”
I pushed hard, but she wouldn’t budge when it came to why he wasn’t safe, or who she believes the real killer to be, again citing her willingness to protect Drew at any cost. And it’s not as if I can sit down with the judge and discuss the situation, since he might be in on it.
I don’t trust Kerri enough to bring up the Figliomini subject. In fact, having to put my trust in Kerri at all is a nightmare scenario—especially when I consider that she still hasn’t been ruled out as being the killer, or the one who manipulated the trial. But sometimes you have to make a deal with the devil. She is the only one who can get the kind of access to Drew that I need.
I provided Kerri with the key to a P.O. Box in the Bronx that I rented earlier in the morning. From here on out, it will be our only form of communication.
“We have to get him out of there, Jack,” she pleaded once more as I left.
“Get him to accept a new trial,” I bargained back. But something told me that Drew Anderson had made up his mind. As is mine—I won’t be responsible for taking away an innocent person like those subway bombers took Reyanne away from this world. I made this mess and now I’m going to clean it up. No matter the personal cost.
Chapter 84
Half past midnight, I leave the deafening silence of my office and drive the empty streets of Cooperstown. The only visible sign of life is coming from Touch ’Em All, while the rest of the town has seemingly called it a night. Then as if someone upstairs is trying to warn me, the night sky opens and releases a torrential downpour.
I arrive back at the Cirillos’, and run to my apartment and change out of my soaking wet clothing.
The new venue doesn’t improve my formulation abilities. As I listen to the rain violently pounding on the roof, I’m overtaken by hunger. I remember the cold pizza that I left in the refrigerator a few days back. So much has happened in just a few days. The verdict, Maxon’s suicide, Amber’s death, Marissa …
I shake her image out of my mind and head to the main house, hoping to beat Mac to my leftovers.
I tiptoe into the kitchen, but I’m too late. Mac and Ashley are sitting at the kitchen table, eating my desired pizza and drinking glasses of red wine.
“What are you doing up at this hour, Jack?” Ashley greets me.
Mac doesn’t look up from his pizza. Priorities.
“I got a craving. I think I’m pregnant,” I attempt to joke.
I drag a heavy wooden chair over the timber floorboards and fall wearily into it.
“What are you two doing up?” I shift the emphasis.
“Had a craving. I think I’m pregnant, too,” Ashley touchés with a grin.
Mac finally looks up. “If you want some real wine, Jack, I can open a bottle. This is just cranberry juice—if you haven’t heard, my wife is pregnant.”
“We can still pretend,” Ashley adds, holding up her wine goblet to toast me.
Mac raises his glass to match. “To Jack Lawson—the greatest lawyer in the world! We are honored to be in his company!”
“Here-here,” Ashley seconds and they clank glasses.
“We also will be raising his rent,” Mac adds with a snicker.
Ashley’s face turns serious. “I’m sorry that you had to be there when Ryan Maxon …” her words trail off.
“Me too,” I say.
“And I’m also sorry about Amber.”
I nod my thanks. But it’s hard to mourn a fictional character, which is what Amber Jazz was. The true sorrow should be reserved for Courtney Hamilton, who died the moment she got on that bus headed for fame and fortune, even if she didn’t know it at the time.
“Is that what has been troubling you the last few days, Jack?” she asks.
I’m thrown off by the question. “What?”
“The last few days since the verdict, you haven’t been yourself. And your trip to New York. That was you I saw on the news, rescuing Drew Anderson’s wife like a knight in shining armor, wasn’t it?”
I choose not to incriminate myself. I feel like I am on the witness stand and Ashley is cross-examining me in her soft, concerned way.
“You don’t think Drew Anderson is guilty, do you?” she gets right to heart of the matter.
Criminology-101 states that if you are about to engage in illegal activity, you should tell as few people as possible. Friends and loved ones are the last people you should confess your plans to. But I come clean with Mac and Ashley. I’d bet my life that they will carry my secret to their respective graves. I also feel the need to inform them, so I am not putting them in harm’s way. And most of all, I hope they can talk me out of it. So I go through the entire story, leading up to the insane part.
“Why wouldn’t he just go through the legal process?” Mac asks with a quizzical look and mouth full of cheese and pepperoni.
“He believes they will harm his wife if he pursues a new trial, which is why he didn’t take the stand in the first place. I think he’s dealing with really powerful people who can get to them anytime, anywhere. So even if he wins in the courtroom, he loses. He believes this is the only way to keep Marissa safe.”
I leave out the possibility that the judge might be this powerful person.
Silence fills the kitchen, as Mac and Ashley absorb the mind-numbing news. Then Ashley breaks the silence. “I’m in, Jack!”
I’m startled by the response, but probably shouldn’t be. “I didn’t ask for your help, Ash. The best thing you can do is stay out of the way and forget we ever had this conversation.”
I look to Mac for help, but I see that unstoppable look in her eyes.
“Mac’s in too,” she declares.
I furiously shake my head. “You are the most loyal people in the world and I love you for it. But I have to do what I have to do, and putting either of you in danger is not an option.” I try to reason with her and look for backup. “Tell her, Mac.”
I see his mind working. I can visualize him thinking of when Ashley told him the story in Florida. A knife to her neck, and a threat that he knows where they live.
