California Fire and Life (39 page)

“Yes.”

“If Mr. White were found responsible for his wife’s death, her sister stood to gain $250,000, isn’t that right?”

“That would be correct.”

“Did you ever ask her where
she
was the night of the fire?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And what did she tell you?”

“That she was at home. About forty miles away.”

“And did she offer anyone who could corroborate her alibi?”

“No. She was alone.”

“But you believed
her
, right?”

Jack says, “I had no reason to disbelieve her.”

“Right,” Casey says. “By the way, did you ask her these questions when she spent the night at your condo?”

Audible gasp from the jury.

Audible moan in the observation room.

ProCon numbers plunge into the negatives.

VP Claims looks at Goddamn Billy like he wants to kill him.

Peters jumps to her feet.

“Objection! Lacks—”

“I withdraw that question,” Casey says. Then he asks, “Isn’t it true that the sister spent the night with you?”

“On my couch, yes.”

“On your couch,” Casey repeats. “Did you ask anyone else—friends, neighbors—whether Mrs. White was having an affair?”

“No.”

“You never asked Mr. White and he didn’t volunteer, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes.”

“So you didn’t even consider that possibility, did you, Mr. Smith?”

“Yes, I did. I considered it very improbable.”

“Right,” Casey says, “because Mr. White had all that
motive
.”

Casey pauses for a second to let it sink in with the jury. Then he says, “Now, you’ve told us that the security guard at the gate of the complex where Mr. White was living saw him come in at a quarter to five, correct?”

“Yes.”

“He told you that.”

“Yes.”

“But you also saw a sworn affidavit from the guard—Mr. Derochik—affirming that he did
not
see Mr. White come in at 4:45 or any other time, isn’t that right?”

The jurors get busy with the joysticks.

Jack says, “Mr. White presented that statement only
after
we had denied the claim.”

“Oh,” Casey says. “But we only have your word as to what the guard told you, isn’t that right?”

“That’s right.”

“And you disregarded Mr. Derochik’s sworn statement, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t consider it truthful.”

“I see.”

He crosses out the items under
OPPORTUNITY
.

Then he goes for the exit question. And just like with a bullet, it’s the exit wound that sprays the blood and flesh and bits of vital organs all over the wall.

“So,” Casey says, “you didn’t find out about the clean samples, you didn’t find out about the mortgage being paid off, you didn’t find out about the credit cards being up-to-date, you didn’t find out about the bank balance being in excess of $1 million, you didn’t find out about a reconciliation, you didn’t find out about the lover, and you never considered the sister as a potential suspect. Having failed to consider any of these highly relevant facts, do you still think that you did a good job on this investigation?”

And just like the entry question, he doesn’t care if Jack answers yes or no. It doesn’t matter, because either way Jack looks bad.

“Yes, I do,” Jack says.

Except he doesn’t look so bad.

Casey knows it. He can tell without seeing the monitor with its spikes. He can see it just by looking at the jury.

They don’t know what to think. They haven’t made up their minds.

Casey knows he’s fought to a stalemate.

Which just won’t do.

So he has to play a card he really doesn’t want to play.

Letty’s at home when the phone rings.

She picks it up; it’s a teenager’s voice.

“I want to talk with you,” he says.

Slight Asian accent.

It’s Tony Ky, the wiseass from the chop shop.

“What about?” Letty asks.

She’s knows what it’s about, but she has to play the game.

There’s a hesitation, then the kid whispers, “Tranh and Do.”

So, Letty thinks, I guess Uncle Nguyen is feeling the heat.

“Come into the station,” she says, just to set a bargaining position.

The kid almost laughs. “No, someplace …”

“Isolated?” Letty asks, with this edge in her voice that’s like
Go to class
.

“Yeah, isolated.”

“You have a ride?”

“Yeah, I have a ride.”

She tells him about a turnoff on the Ortega. A picnic spot and hiking trail into the Cleveland National Forest. Park your ride under the trees, walk up the trail a ways.

“Be there at seven,” she says.

“In the
morning
?”

“Yeah, learn how to get up,” she says.

She hangs up, brushes her teeth, brushes her hair, does all the cream-and-lotion jazz and gets into bed with a book and an intent to turn the light out soon.

Hard to get to sleep.

A lot on her mind.

Pam.

Pam’s murder.

Natalie and Michael.

And son of a bitch Jack Wade.

Twelve years, Letty thinks. You’d think that you could take what happened twelve years ago and put it away.

But you can’t.

“Have you ever lied under oath?”

Casey plays the card. Takes a drink of water, and the next words out of his mouth are, “Mr. Smith, have you ever lied under oath?”

It’s the old husband joke. It doesn’t matter whether Jack answers yes or no. Either way he’s screwed.

Casey didn’t want to do it. He’d hoped that Jack would have just laid down on direct exam and let his case fade away. Should have gone down for the count but came out swinging instead, so now Casey has to go for the knockout punch and he hates doing it.

Especially when he sees Jack flush.

Jack can feel himself turning red. My goddamn
shame
, he thinks, blazing red under my skin.

The jurors see it. They lean forward to get a better look.

Jack can feel their eyes.

Burning into him.

Peters jumps to her feet.

“Objection, Your Honor! Relevance?”

“Goes to the witness’s credibility, Your Honor.”

“Prejudicial, Your Honor,” Peters says. “More heat than light.”

Mallon looks at the lawyers, then down at Jack.

“Overruled,” he said. “You may proceed.”

Casey asks again, “Mr. Smith, have you ever lied under oath?”

Get it over with, Jack thinks.

Take the hit.

“Yes,” he says.

And leaves it at that.

He and Casey look at each other for a minute. Casey giving him this look like
If you had only stayed on the mat, but …

“That was in connection with an arson trial, wasn’t it?” Casey asks.

“That’s right.”

Casey asks, “You lied about how you obtained a confession, didn’t you.”

“Yes.”

“You swore under
oath
,” Casey says, “that you hadn’t coerced the confession when you had, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“In fact, you beat a confession out of a suspect, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then told the court that you hadn’t.”

“Yes.”

“And that was a lie.”

“That was a lie.”

“You told other lies, didn’t you?” Casey asks. Thinking, Sorry, Jack, but believe it or not, I’m trying to save your ass. And your job. “You told other lies, right?”

“Yes.”

“You lied about evidence, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“You said that you found evidence at the fire scene, correct?”

“Yes.”

“But you hadn’t found it at the scene, had you?”

“No.”

“How did the evidence get to that fire scene?” Casey asks.

Jack says, “I planted it there.”

Jurors shake their heads.

Hands pressing down on the joysticks.

Casey starts to kick the ball downhill. Short questions, rapid fire, all while he looks at the jury, his back to the witness.

“You planted it there,” Casey says.

“That’s correct.”

“You went out and got a gasoline can.”

“Yes.”

“And you forced the suspect to place his fingerprints on the can.”

“Yes.”

“And you took the can to the scene.”

“Yes.”

“And photographed it there.”

“Yes.”

“And then swore that you had found it there during your initial inspection, isn’t that right?”

“That’s what happened.”

Casey says, “You planted phony evidence because you thought the suspect was guilty, you were ‘damn sure,’ but you needed physical evidence to confirm that the fire was of incendiary origin, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

Keeping up the pace, he turns to face Jack.

“Now, you testified earlier that you took debris samples from my client’s home,” Casey says, “and that these samples tested positive for accelerants, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“The fire inspector, Deputy Bentley, found
clean
samples, isn’t that right?” Casey asks.

“That’s what he says.”

“He was at the scene first?”

“Yes.”

“Before you.”

Jack says, “He was there when I arrived.”

“The alleged ‘dirty’ samples only showed up after you got there, isn’t that right?” Casey asks.

“I took the samples from the house.”

“And the holes in the floor,” Casey says. “The fire inspector didn’t see those, did he?”

“He didn’t do a dig-out.”

“There’s no mention of them in his report, is there?”

“No.”

“They only appear after
you
show up, isn’t that true?” Casey asks.

“They ‘show up’ after I did the dig-out,” Jack says.

“It would have been pretty easy to punch out those holes yourself, wouldn’t it?”

“I didn’t do that.”

“Pretty easy to pour a little accelerant into the joists and light a match.”

“That’s ridiculous, counselor.”

“Pretty easy to bring your own contaminated samples to the scene and photograph them there.”

“That didn’t happen.”

“You
swear
?”

“Yes.”

“Just like you swore before, right?” Casey says.

“Objection!”

“Sustained.”

“Same oath, wasn’t it, Mr. Smith?”

“Knock it off, Mr. Casey,” Mallon says.

Casey nods and takes a drink of water. Makes a little show of getting his righteous indignation under control.

Then he ups the ante. To show the corporate mucks behind the mirror that they can’t just dump Jack and walk away from this thing, he ties a tail onto management.

“You were convicted of perjury, isn’t that right?” he asks.

“I pled guilty to several counts of perjury.”

“And you were thrown out of the Sheriff’s Department,” Casey says, “for perjuring yourself, beating up a suspect and planting phony evidence, isn’t that right, Mr. Smith?”

“That’s correct.”

“And shortly after that,” Casey says, “California Fire and Life hired you, right?”

Casey looks right into the mirror to make sure the boys in the back get the point.

They do. They’re looking at a monitor that’s Negative 10 all the way.

“Yes,” Jack says.

“Did they know about your record?”

“The man who hired me was aware of my record.”

“In fact,” Casey says, “he sat through the trial in which you perjured yourself, right?”

“I believe so.”

“He knew you were a liar,” Casey says.

“Yes.”

“A brutal cop.”

“Yes.”

“That you would plant phony evidence to nail an alleged arsonist.”

“He was at the trial.”

“And he hired you anyway.”

“Yes.”

“And he hired you specifically to handle large fire losses for California Fire and Life, isn’t that right?”

“That was one of his reasons.”

“Does this gentleman still work for California Fire and Life?” Casey asks, looking to the jury.

Several of whom are shaking their heads.

“He does.”

“In what capacity?”

“He’s the head of Claims.”

Jury goes nuts. Pushing the hammer down on those joysticks, shaking their heads; one guy says out loud, “Unreal.”

“And he’s your boss now, right?” Casey asks. “Yes.”

“Did he supervise your investigation of my client’s claim?”

“Yes.”

“Have you in any way been punished for what you did in this investigation?” Casey asks.

“No.”

“Suspended?”

“No.”

“Criticized?”

“No.”

Casey looks back into the mirror as he asks, “So this is the way California Fire and Life wants you to handle its claim, right? Strike that question. No further questions. Thank you.”

“You may step down, Mr. Smith.”

Casey says, “I’m sorry, one further question. Mr. Smith, if you had to handle my client’s claim all over again, would you do anything differently?”

It’s the standard cross-exam wrap-up question. Another trap where you don’t care what the guy answers. If he answers that he wouldn’t do anything differently, you get to tell the jury that this arrogant bozo would do the same bad things again if he had the chance. If he says that he would do something different, you get to tell the jury that by the witness’s own account, he screwed up.

Jack knows it’s over. Can see it in the jurors’ eyes. They’re looking at him like he’s a criminal. They’re shocked and pissed off and they’re going to award poor tragedy-stricken Mr. White at least $25 million.

And he knows what’s going on in the back room. The corporate boys are pissing all over themselves, hopping up and down on one foot they’re so eager to lay the Green Poultice on this gaping wound and give Nicky Vale $50 million.

So he says, “Yes, I would. Do something different.”

“What would you do?”

Jack turns to the jury, to make eye contact.

“I’d kill the son of a bitch.”

Then he gets up and walks out.

Casey comes into the observation room, grabs himself a plate of lasagna and says, “For my
next
trick …”

Like he’s made Wade disappear, he’s made their case disappear, now he’s going to make $50 million of the company’s money disappear, and they’d fire the smart-ass wise guy right now, except that he
is
the smartest lawyer in So-Cal and they need him so that the board doesn’t make
them
disappear.