Back in the courtroom, David, Susan, and I take our seats at the defense table. After a good five minutes, Devlin and Christina enter the courtroom. They were arguing outside the judge’s chambers when we left them. The judge takes the bench, and Holleran opens the door for the jurors. They walk fast, with purpose, their heads up, eyes bright. The rest of the courtroom is electrified as well. By now everyone knows that the defense’s first witness is going to be the wife of the lead defense attorney. Sparks of one type or another are going to fly.
Bill Henry looks out at the courtroom, scans the faces of the parties, their counsel, the reporters, the onlookers, his staff, and finally, the jury. He smiles at them, and they smile back. Then, without preamble, he says, “The charges against the defendant are dropped.”
A collective “Huh?” reverberates in the courtroom.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the judge continues, looking at the bewildered jurors, “I thank you for your service. You have been most patient and most attentive. The parties, the Commonwealth, and I personally, are grateful to you.” Then he looks to defense table and says, “Mr. Hanson, you are free to go. Court is adjourned.”
A loud bang of the gavel, and Bill Henry is gone from the bench. And the courtroom falls into mayhem.
I turn away from David to avoid shaking his hand. I nod to Vaughn and Alex Ginsberg, signaling for them to follow me out of the courtroom. The press is on me even before I get to the door. I swat them away. “No comment. No comment.” As I pass the rows of spectators, I cannot help but glance at Jennifer Yamura’s parents and brother. Her mother is weeping openly, her father trying in vain to console her. Brian Yamura glares at me. And one row behind them, I see John Tredesco, his face etched with rage.
I bolt from the courtroom, the floor, and the courthouse. I sprint back to the firm. After a while, Vaughn, Susan, and Alexander Ginsberg arrive and set themselves up in the conference room. By now Susan will have told Ginsberg and Vaughn what went down in Judge Henry’s chambers. I hear them talking as I approach the conference-room door. They all quiet down when I walk into the room. Susan is the first to say what they’re all thinking: “Devlin dropping the charges? What the hell was that?”
I shake my head, take a seat at the table. “Devlin obviously believed Piper’s testimony.”
Vaughn opens his mouth to say something but decides better of it. Anything to be said about Piper is going to have to come from me.
“The important thing,” I continue, “is that it’s over. The client has been completely exonerated and will get on with his life. Chalk up another win for the good guys.” I force a smile, then ask Vaughn and Susan to give me a few minutes with Alexander Ginsberg. As soon as I close the door, the legendary lawyer is on me.
“You knew,” he says. “You knew it was going to go down just like it did.”
“I hoped. I didn’t know.”
Ginsberg studies me like he’s studied a thousand witnesses on the stand. “Give me the backstory,” he says. “Tell me why you wanted to make sure this case never reached a verdict. Why you hired me to sit in court every day just so I could tell your client that his defense was a sinking ship unless he came forward with the alibi.”
I don’t answer.
Ginsberg studies me some more, then says, “What I also don’t get is why Walker dismissed the charges once Piper claimed to be his alibi. Devlin could have crucified her on the stand. Slapped her with her obvious bias as your wife and painted the two of you as conspirators in perjury.”
Again, I don’t answer.
Ginsberg nods his head slowly. He reaches out and shakes my hand, pats me on the shoulder. “Tell me one thing. Was justice done here today?”
The question evokes in my mind the Yamura family sitting, broken, in the courtroom.
“Not even close.”
35
FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 16, CONTINUED
After Ginsberg leaves, I walk to my office and close the door. “No calls,” I tell Angie on the phone. “No visitors.” I flop into my chair, feeling physically and mentally spent. And morally bankrupt. I betrayed every professional principle I hold dear. I misled my legal team every step of the way. I helped blackmail my own client, even engineered his being tossed into prison. I perpetrated a fraud on the court. I worked the system to deal a dreadful injustice to the family of a murdered young woman. And then there’s what I did to my own family: deceiving Tommy and Piper and subjecting Piper to crushing pressure until she broke down and allowed herself to be manipulated into perjury.
I tell myself I did it all to save my family. But there’s no nobility in my deeds. Because everything I did, I also did to save myself from the consequences of my own terrible act. An act that splits my gut every time I think about it. An act for which I will never forgive myself.
I look at the beautifully framed admission certificate to the Pennsylvania Supreme Court hanging on the wall.
How do I face another jury, another judge, after what I’ve done? What right do I have to fight for another man’s freedom?
I sit numbly for a long time. My eyes closing, opening, searching for something to help me go on.
And then I spot the envelope from the Pennsylvania Supreme Court. I lurch forward, grab the envelope, rip it open, and read. It’s the decision in the Justin Bauer case. I skip to the end, and tears begin to trickle down my face. The court is giving Justin a second chance. I take a deep breath and lift the phone.
“Celine, it’s me. Good news. Great news.”
36
SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 24; MONDAY, NOVEMBER 26
Piper, Gabby, and I are wolfing down a big meal at Godmother’s, Gabby’s favorite restaurant in Cape May. We’ve been here a week, and I don’t think any of us have ever had a lovelier time at the shore. Piper and I took Gabby on long morning walks on the beach, which was deserted except for the three of us. We collected shells, chased the gulls, and watched the sandpipers dart back and forth at the water’s edge. We rode bikes along the back roads, visited the pigs at Beach Plum Farm. At night—every night—once Gabby was asleep, Piper and I made love. It was tender and real. The coupling of two people who’d been swept away from each other by an angry tide, then, miraculously, washed ashore a century later on a deserted island. At least that’s how it feels to me.