Directed Verdict (40 page)

42

BARNES RESPONDED IMMEDIATELY
to the summons on his cell phone. Within minutes he joined Ahmed in his hotel suite. “She wants to meet tonight at nine,” Ahmed said. “She wants to meet in the bar downstairs, corner table, on the pool room level. She gave me the usual nonsense about coming alone.”

“I’ll personally cover you,” Barnes said. He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the harbor and stared at the driving rain pelting the glass. A ragged bolt of lightning electrified the sky, and the rumbling from the thunder rattled the two-inch-thick pane. “What’s the plan?” he asked, turning to face Ahmed.

Ahmed sat down on the sofa, grabbed the remote, and clicked off the television. Barnes hated it when Ahmed did this—took his sweet time answering—just to show who was in control. “Do we need juror six, or can we get a mistrial without him?” he finally asked.

“I don’t know yet. The plan’s in place to bump Stein. But if the timing’s not right, if Strobel has him dismissed before the jury begins deliberating, then the judge might say that the jury pool was not contaminated. She might just dismiss Stein and still not declare a mistrial. If she does that, then we’ll need the vote of this other juror. Juror six is our insurance policy.”

The Saudi looked up and stared at Barnes, looked right through him, and the silence became almost intolerable. But Barnes never considered breaking it or even moving until he had Ahmed’s implicit permission to do so.

“How sure are we that our friend can deliver juror six?” Ahmed asked.

“She’s delivered everything else.”

Ahmed sneered at the thought. “We have come too far to take any chances now. We may need juror six. You talk to Strobel and make sure he waits until the jury begins deliberations to ask for a mistrial. I’ll meet our friend tonight. When I do, I want you to wire her car . . . and her cell phone if she leaves it behind. I’ll give her the trust agreement she’s demanding, carrying the signature of the minister of public safety. We’ll monitor her after our meeting. If she checks out, she’ll find a hundred million in her little trust account on Monday morning.”

The Muttawa leader slammed the jury consultant’s notebook down on the glass coffee table. He stood and stretched his massive pecs and broad shoulders. He rotated his thick neck and rubbed vigorously at the base of his skull. This was not a man used to having things out of his control.

“We will play this game,” he snarled, “and buy our verdict.” He paused and looked at Barnes through cold gray eyes. “As soon as the jury returns its verdict, she dies.”

“And let a hundred mil pass to Sarah Reed and her family?” Barnes asked incredulously.

Ahmed scoffed. “I said the trust agreement had the signature of the minister of public safety. I did not say the signature was genuine.”

“What good does a forgery do? The money’s still held in trust.”

“If the signature is a forgery, then the terms of the trust agreement fail, and the money in the account reverts back to its original owner—Saudi Arabia.” Ahmed paused. “Our friend is not as clever as she thinks.”

He walked over to the small wet bar in his room, poured himself another soda, and took a long swig. “Nobody blackmails Ahmed Aberijan and lives.”

“What’s your plan for taking her out?” There was a slight tremor in Barnes’s voice. He was trying to act tough, like this was all in a day’s work, but he had never been an accomplice to murder before.

“Not
my
plan,” Ahmed laughed. It was a hollow and mirthless laugh. “I’m leaving the country as soon as the jury starts deliberating. How she dies, that’s up to you. It’s why you get paid so handsomely.”

Ahmed pretended to ignore the stunned look of silent protest on the face of Barnes. In truth, he had no intention of leaving such an important and rewarding matter in the hands of a hired henchman. But the look on Barnes’s face told him everything he needed to know. When push came to shove, the investigator could not be trusted. He simply didn’t have the guts to kill, or worse, he had determined that it was not in his best interest to do so.

Either way, Ahmed would be forced to take matters into his own hands. And with that issue settled, Ahmed receded back into his own little world, deep in thought. He stared out the window for several minutes, soaking in the storm, and did not blink as Barnes left the room, softly shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Barnes arrived fifteen minutes late for his meeting with the brain trust, an unlit stogie tucked firmly in the corner of his mouth. The greetings were cool and guarded, and Barnes got right down to business. He stood at the end of the conference table, his large girth nearly resting on the table itself. The group’s mood matched the weather, and they frowned disapprovingly at this man whom fate had chosen to be their ally.

“Here are some more photographs,” he said, slapping a folder down on the table. “I’ll have the man who took the photos ready to testify in court tomorrow.”

Strobel grabbed the folder and ripped it open. The photos showed the face of juror number four and the back of another man. There were two sets of photos from two different restaurants.

“They have met at least three times in the last few weeks,” Barnes said. “In one of the restaurants, my man was seated close enough to overhear some of their conversation. Stein has promised his vote for one hundred thousand cash, fifty now, fifty later. If you check his bank account at the Bank of Tidewater, you’ll see that fifty has already been deposited. He’s definitely working for Brad Carson.”

“How do you know that?” Teddy asked.

“I can’t say,” Barnes answered smugly. “But I’ll stake my reputation on it.” He paused for a moment and eyed the lawyers, daring any of them to challenge this information.

“Why would a juror take this incredible chance for a mere hundred thousand?” Win asked. “It almost destroys your faith in the system.”

“A hundred thousand is still a lot of money to some people,” Barnes replied. His voice reproached these big-firm lawyers. He looked from one to the next with disdain. He took a small bite of the cigar, spitting the piece to the side. “But that’s beside the point,” he continued. “Our old buddy Zeke Stein happens to be cheating on his wife. So the deal is not just his vote for a hundred thou; it’s his vote for a hundred thou and the silence of the plaintiff’s investigator.

“Here are the pictures to confirm the affair, if you’re interested,” Barnes said, tossing another folder onto the table. Unlike the other folder, nobody snatched this one up. All four men stared at the folder, resisting the urge to grab it, tear it open, and gawk at the contents. Their dignity and status in life required no less . . . at least for now.

“How did you find out about the affair?” Win asked.

“You mean juror four’s affair?” Barnes asked, as he tossed an accusatory look toward Win.

“Of course.”

Barnes smirked. “My man will testify that he heard juror four and Carson’s lackey, the man whose back you see in the pictures, talking about it at the restaurant. That man confronted juror four with pictures of the affair.

“And after the conversation in the restaurant, my man followed Mr. Stein around for a while and—
voilà
—we’ve got our own photo gallery of him and his little mistress. It seems our man just can’t stand to be away from his Internet sweetheart. He’s probably with her right now.”

Win couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the folder, obviously riveted by the thought of what it might contain.

“I’m assuming that you’re planning to take this information to the judge first thing tomorrow morning?” Teddy said to Mack.

It was not so much a question as a command. But Barnes harbored no respect for the old guy and did not realize that Teddy’s suggestions should be treated like they came down from the mount.

“I would still recommend holding it until the jury actually starts deliberating,” Barnes suggested before Mack could reply. “That way you’ve got a surefire mistrial because, by then, this juror will have poisoned the deliberations. If you unveil this stuff first thing Monday morning, the judge could just dismiss juror four and allow the other jurors and substitute alternate to begin deliberations.” Barnes paused, chomping down hard on his cigar. “And, fellas, I don’t want to be the one to break it to you, but you don’t have the most appealing jury case.”

Teddy Kilgore clenched his jaw and stood slowly, using the table to help himself up. He extended a long, bony, trembling finger toward Barnes. “Listen here, sir, you will not come waltzing into these offices and tell us how to try this case. Your suggestions are both unwise and offensive.” His voice was rising, nearly cracking with anger.

“You suggest that this firm should lie to the court for strategic reasons? sacrifice the integrity of this firm and the trust of the bench, which has taken decades to build, just to get a mistrial? If we wait until after the jury begins deliberations to put your man on the stand, the judge will rightfully ask why we didn’t bring this to her earlier. And either your man lies, and he says we just found out about it, or we look like complete fools. Am I right?”

Barnes knew better than to answer the question.

“Then what you are actually suggesting is that your man perjure himself on the stand and that Mr. Strobel should knowingly present perjured testimony to the court,” Teddy continued, the long knobby finger pointing at Barnes’s stubby nose.

It was exactly what Barnes was suggesting, although he may have phrased it somewhat more delicately.

“You obviously do not know this firm very well,” Teddy huffed. He sat down, but his gaze did not leave Barnes. “You’ll have your man in the courtroom, ready to testify, first thing tomorrow morning. Mr. Strobel will keep the photos of the meeting between juror four and Carson’s gopher for evidence. You may take your other sleazy photographs and get out!” With this, Teddy waved his hand in a long arch, dismissing Barnes, the photos, and a guaranteed plan for a mistrial.

Out of the corner of his eye, Barnes saw Win, ever so subtly, cock his head to the side and look at Mack.
Do something,
the look screamed.

But Mack ignored him. Teddy still had a towering presence and great influence in this firm. And it was obvious that he had just levied a nonnegotiable edict.

Even Barnes knew better than to take on the man in this setting. Instead, he stuffed the folder back into his briefcase and stalked out of the conference room, cursing Teddy Kilgore under his breath.

His plans for a mistrial had been dealt an unexpected blow. But for something this important, Barnes believed in redundancy planning. Exploiting juror number four was now a bit more challenging, but Barnes still had a way. And securing the vote of juror six was no longer a luxury. The informant would have to deliver.

He flicked some ashes on the Persian rug as he headed for the elevator.

* * *

She drove like lightning through the downpour. At ten minutes until nine, she was still twenty minutes from downtown Norfolk. Brad had kept everyone late while he reviewed his closing argument. They had videotaped him, then spent several hours critiquing his closing. Listening and critiquing. Listening and critiquing. Afterward, he still wanted to practice it several more times.

As far as she knew, Brad was still pacing around the conference table, cajoling the empty chairs, choreographing every inflection and gesture. And here she was, about to meet with Ahmed Aberijan one last time and render that closing argument moot.

The rain continued to fall in sheets against the windshield, the lines on the interstate becoming a blur. At least the thunder and lightning had stopped. Her wipers beat furiously, but they were no match for this flood from heaven. She hit a pool of standing water, and the car pulled hard to the right, almost ending in a spin. Her heart pumped harder as she realized she had almost lost it. She strained her eyes for more dark pools of water. Her speedometer said eighty-five.

The cell phone rang, and she jumped. She slowed slightly and took one hand off the wheel.

“Hello,” she said tentatively.

“Man, girl, you are bookin’. Slow down a little. Ahmed ain’t goin’ nowhere.” It was O’Malley. She had lost his headlights in her rearview mirror a few minutes earlier.

“Are you sure this’ll work?”

“Look, baby, you’re totally wired. First sign of trouble, I’ll be there,” he promised.

“What if he pulls a gun?”

“I’ll be right outside. Ten seconds, max. You’ve got to relax, hon. Aberijan can smell fear.”

“Easy for you to say.” She hydroplaned on another pool of standing water. “I’ve got to go. . . . Thanks for being here, Patrick.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She made it safely to the hotel but was ten minutes late. She pulled up under the overhang in the front of the building and gave the valet her keys. She walked through the large revolving doors and into the luxurious lobby. She took a deep breath and turned left down the hallway toward the combination deli restaurant and bar. A waiter greeted her with a smile.

“May I help you?” he asked.

“No thanks. I’m just looking for someone.”

She walked a few feet into the restaurant and took stock. Immediately in front of her, a few patrons enjoyed a late dinner and watched a large television. To her right, a few corporate road warriors sat in the sunken bar and talked to the bartender. A flight of stairs to her right led to a dimly lit area with a pool table and a few private dining tables. It overlooked the remainder of the restaurant and was bounded by a black iron railing. Two patrons played pool, but otherwise the upstairs room looked empty.

She headed up and wondered why she had chosen this place. The
Reed
case had received so much publicity that she could no longer meet with Ahmed in public.
But why here?
She had eaten here before—many times. But tonight it felt different. Darker. Musty. She could
feel
the evil.

She walked past the pool players and nodded at them. Then she saw him. Sitting in a booth in the far corner, not even visible from the main floor of the restaurant. He saw her too, and he locked on to her. She could not meet the gaze of his emotionless gray eyes.