Bury the Lead

19



JUDGE CALVIN NEWHOUSE is assigned to preside over New Jersey v. Daniel Cummings. A wealthy New Englander by birth and a graduate of Harvard Law, Calvin understands the law inside and out. He’s also quite sophisticated; this is a guy who knows flinty wine when he tastes it. Yet he has always tried to portray himself as a crusty, seat-of-the-pants judge with a disdain for legal procedure but a reverence for “good old country common sense.” He’s even incorporated a trace of a southern accent, which makes him sound like a cross between William Buckley and Willie Nelson.

Calvin’s reputation is as a prosecution judge, which doesn’t exactly put him in select company. I’ve tried one case before him, which I won when he agreed to my motion for an order to dismiss. I found him to be highly intelligent and reasonably evenhanded, so all in all I’m not unhappy with the selection. It could be better, but it could be a hell of a lot worse.

One major plus is that Calvin is unlikely to be swayed by the media coverage and public pressure surrounding the case. He’s sixty-four years old, due to retire anyway, and fiercely proud of his independence. He won’t fold before Tucker, but neither will he do us any great favors.

The hearing today is mostly a formality; a get-acquainted session with the judge, during which he will set the trial date and hear a few ordinary motions. Despite that fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever seen this many members of the press in one place. Clearly, there is nothing else going on in the world.

Vince has gone to Daniel’s house to get him a suit to wear, and when I see him in the suit, I’m glad there’s no jury present. If Calvin were inclined to grant bail, which he won’t be, the value of the suit would cover it. When there is a jury, I will not have Daniel looking so regal. He should look like a man of the people, a little tattered, with no sense of fashion. It’ll be easy to pull off; I’ll just send Vince to my closet instead.

Tucker has three lawyers from his office with him, all of whom I know to be quite competent. As a group they represent considerable overkill for the task at hand, unless Tucker is planning to use them to haul in the boxes of convincing evidence.

Tucker suggests a trial date in the prescribed two months and is shocked when I agree. I would much prefer a longer period of time, but Daniel has insisted we move forward quickly. He seems to have the notion that the trial will result in his being let out of prison, a concept not currently supported by any facts that I am aware of.

Calvin asks us whether discovery is proceeding smoothly, which to a degree it is. Boxes are arriving at my office every day, and they don’t even yet include the DNA tests, which will take a few more weeks. I’m not waiting for them with bated breath; I have no doubt the blood and hair on the scarves found in Daniel’s house will match those of the victims. My task is to convince the jury that Daniel did not put them there.

“Your Honor,” I say, “discovery has to this point been limited to the documents and reports relating to Mr. Cummings as a suspect. They indicate he wasn’t viewed this way until late in the investigation. I would request that the defense be given all reports from the investigation, whether or not they relate to him as a suspect.”

Tucker confers briefly with one of his colleagues, then stands. “Your Honor, the rules of discovery are very clear on this point, and they do not support the defense’s request. All relevant discovery is being turned over. Defense is on a fishing expedition.”

I shake my head. “Your Honor, my client was a conduit between the actual killer and the police. The police used him as such; they directed him in his dealings with the real killer. This all took place before he was a suspect. He was an integral part of their investigation, and as such we should be privy to all aspects of that investigation.”

Tucker objects again; he is on fairly solid legal ground, and it would take a surprise ruling by Calvin for us to prevail. My hope is that he will bend over backward to give us every chance, knowing that if we lose this death penalty case, appeals courts will be scrutinizing his rulings for years.

“I’m inclined to grant the defense motion,” Calvin says as Tucker does a double take. “If there are cases where the prosecution contends that innocent third parties will be injured by these documents being turned over to the defense, then I will review them in camera.”

I never expected to win this motion, so I might as well press my luck. “Thank you, Your Honor. We also request that we be provided with any prior police investigative reports concerning Ms. Linda Padilla, beyond those relating to her murder. We believe they may reveal others with a possible motive to have caused her death.”

This possible linkage of Linda Padilla to unsavory characters gets the press mumbling and Tucker jumping to his feet. His frustration is obvious. “Your Honor, there is no foundation for this. There is nothing in those reports relating to this case.”

Calvin nails him. “You’ve read those reports, have you?” He knows Tucker would have had no reason or occasion to read old, unrelated police investigative reports on Linda Padilla, yet Tucker has just said there’s nothing relevant in them.

“I’m sorry, I misspoke, Your Honor. I actually don’t even know if such reports exist. But unless they contain information about Mr. Cummings, they certainly could have nothing to do with this trial and therefore are not covered by discovery rules in this state.”

Calvin gives us another win, albeit a smaller one. He will look at those reports in camera but only give them to us if there is anything that could be beneficial to our defense.

I once again bring up the question of bail, though I’m aware it’s always a nonstarter in a capital case. “Are you trying to waste the court’s time, Mr. Carpenter?” Calvin asks.

“No, Your Honor, I am trying to prevent a man who has never previously been charged with a crime, who is not a flight risk, and who has always been a distinguished member of the community from sitting in a jail cell while we get around to finding him not guilty.”

Tucker stands. “Your Honor, the state—”

Calvin cuts him off. “Request for bail is denied. What’s next?”

I stand. “Your Honor, we have filed a motion for change of venue with the court. We feel strongly that the already strong public awareness and reaction, which has been further inflamed by Mr. Zachry’s self-serving press conferences, has made it impossible to empanel an impartial jury. We—”

He cuts me off. “I read the motion, as well as the prosecution’s response. It may take a little longer than usual, but we’ll get our jury. Motion denied. We finished here, gentlemen?”

We’re not quite finished, though my last issue is sure to be a loser. “Your Honor, Mr. Zachry has been telling the press that his case is airtight on all four murders, yet he’s held back charging my client for the first three. He’s obviously concerned that his airtight case might spring a leak, and he might need a second chance if he loses this one. I would therefore request that he not be allowed to use evidence from those other murders unless he includes them in the charges for this trial.”

Tucker states his position directly from the statute, which is that the other evidence is “proof of motive, opportunity, intent and preparation.” I know I’m not going to win; I’m simply creating an issue for appeal.

Calvin rules against us, and I head back to the office to brief Kevin and Laurie on my conversation with Randy Clemens. They’re more hopeful about it than I am, probably because they don’t understand Randy’s desperation to find something that will free him.

“So he said it was all about Linda Padilla?” Laurie asks.

“He didn’t mention her name; I think he was afraid we’d be overheard. But he referred to the ‘rich’ victim, and I don’t see how the others qualify.”

Marcus calls from Cleveland to fill us in on his progress, and we put him on the speakerphone. Talking to most people on the phone is not quite the same as talking in person; there are facial expressions and body language that can be almost as important as the spoken words. Marcus is a notable exception. The inanimate phone captures his expression and mannerisms quite well, is just as bald, and contains the same percentage of body fat.

Marcus has talked to the detective that was assigned to the murder of Margaret Cummings, Daniel’s wife. He tells us that the detective is shedding no tears for Daniel’s current plight, since he has always had a hunch that Daniel was behind Margaret’s death.

Daniel was widely considered a solid citizen in Cleveland, and support for him through his ordeal was almost unanimous, the detective being the notable exception.

“Does he think Daniel pulled the trigger?” Laurie asks.

“Unh-unh . . . farmed.” That is Marcus-speak for “No, the detective is of the opinion that our client employed a subcontractor to do the actual deed on his behalf.”

Marcus goes on to grunt that a young man had been arrested for the murder but that the case against him fell apart, and he was no longer a suspect.

Marcus has certainly not found any real evidence implicating Daniel, which is no surprise, since apparently the Cleveland police didn’t either. I ask him to stay in Cleveland and keep digging, though it makes me slightly uncomfortable to do so. The truth is that there is little chance he can uncover anything to help Daniel’s defense against the multiple-murder charges. If I were to be honest with myself, which I try to do as rarely as possible, I would admit that I’m hoping Marcus can help me learn more about who it really is we are defending.

The weekend starts tonight, and I am very much looking forward to it. Laurie is going to spend the entire time at my house, which at first glance seems like an increase in our normal scheduled time, but really isn’t. That’s because it’s a college and pro football weekend, which means that even though we’ll be in the same house, we’ll have almost no daytime interaction.

As we get close to the trial date, we’ll all be working seven-day weeks, but we’re still far enough away that we can have some relaxation. Tonight’s relaxation consists of sitting in my living room and watching Godfather I and II on DVD on my big-screen TV. It’s the one large purchase I’ve made since coming into my money, and it has been worth every penny.

Laurie and I sit on my couch and watch the movies, a bowl of popcorn and Tara between us. Tara positions herself there so she can be petted from both sides, and neither of us minds. It is literally stunning how right these times with Laurie feel, and for the first time it flashes through my mind that maybe we should get married.

The next flash is the realization that Laurie has never brought the subject up, not even once, not even in passing. I’ve always been pleased by that, relieved actually, but now I’m starting to wonder. Shouldn’t she be plotting to win me? Pressuring me to make an honest woman out of her? Telling me her goddamn clock is ticking?

I decide not to bring the subject up, but the next thing I know it’s dribbling out of my mouth. “You never bring up marriage,” I say.

My timing is not great, since just as I’m saying it Jack Woltz is discovering the bloody horse head in bed with him. Laurie screams, as she does every time we watch that scene. Moments later, when she calms down, she asks, “What did you say, Andy?”

“I said, ‘Watch out, I’ve got a feeling there’s a severed horse’s head in that bed with him.’”

We go back to watching the movie, and I successfully keep my mouth shut until just about the time that Michael goes to visit the don in the hospital. He discovers that the guards have been sent away, though I’ve always wondered why they never bothered to inform Sonny about that little fact. Michael goes to the phone and dials, at the exact moment the phone in my house rings.

“I’ll get it,” I say. “It’s probably Michael telling me to get some men down to the hospital to guard the don. Can we spare anybody?”

“No,” she says. “All our button men are out on the street looking for Solozzo.”

I nod and pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“Mr. Carpenter, this is County General Hospital calling.”

For an instant it registers as comical that it actually is the hospital, but I just as quickly realize that getting nighttime calls from hospitals is never a good thing.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

“We have a woman here . . . she’s been shot.”

“Who is she?” I ask worriedly, but glad that Laurie is sitting next to me.

“She hasn’t been able to give us her name; she’s in surgery. But she was carrying your card in her purse.”

I’m not sure how to ask this. “Does she appear to be . . . a lady of the evening?”

“Yes, I believe she does.”

“I’ll be right there.” I hang up and turn to Laurie, who has heard my end of the conversation and is worried herself. “There’s a woman in the hospital . . . a gunshot victim. I think it’s Sondra.”

“Damn,” she says, and without another word walks with me out the door and to the car.