One Dog Night (14 page)

The problem with that is the fact that with their enormous extended family, it seemed like some De Luca, somewhere, had an interest in most civil matters that came before the court. Either a De Luca lawyer was representing one of the parties or a De Luca businessman was suing or getting sued.

If you stand in front of the courthouse and throw a dart, you’ll hit a De Luca.

All this meant that Judge Anthony De Luca was constantly having to recuse himself, which on one level fit in with the deficient work ethic that he and I share. But it was getting embarrassing, so he switched to criminal court. There were far fewer De Lucas to be found there.

He still tries to intimidate the lawyers into settling their cases without a trial, but has far less success in criminal court. Most resistant to his strong-arm tactics are cases which are very public and in which there are political considerations.

Both of those things are very prevalent in the Galloway case, so it is unlikely that the hearing he has convened today will have any effect. Of course, Dylan doesn’t know that, and he probably still believes we may cave and avoid a trial.

I bring Hike with me, since for all his personality issues, he’s as smart an attorney as I’ve ever met. Dylan brings four lawyers from his office, all young and fresh-faced and carrying identical briefcases. They represent the cream of the crop from the law school at Cookie Cutter U, but I’d bet Hike could wipe the legal floor with them.

The gallery is empty, because De Luca has dictated that the hearing was to be closed. He is planning to cajole or intimidate, whatever is necessary, and he wants to do it in private.

There are a lot of press gathered outside, which is very unusual for a pretrial hearing with a defendant not named Simpson. It’s a sign of what will be intense interest in the actual trial.

Once we’re all seated, Judge De Luca asks, “Where are we, gentlemen?”

Dylan just about jumps to his feet. “The state is ready to proceed at whatever trial date Your Honor sets.” He’s acting like he’s hoping for a positive report on “parent-teacher night.”

De Luca turns to me. “Mr. Carpenter?”

“We’re ready as well, Your Honor,” I lie. “The sooner the better.”

I can see a flash of surprise in Dylan’s face, which quickly turns into a confident smile.

In any event, Judge De Luca is not smiling. “Have you had settlement discussions?”

“We’ve talked,” Dylan says. “I was waiting to hear whether the defense wanted to proceed to trial.”

“Well, now you’ve heard,” I say. “Your Honor, an innocent man is sitting in prison, waiting for his vindication. The sooner the truth comes out in this case, the better.”

“It sounds like you’re playing to the jury, Mr. Carpenter, but I don’t see one here.”

I smile. “I’m practicing, Your Honor.”

“Do it on your own time.”

“Yes, Your Honor. But there is no chance that we will accept any arrangement that leaves Mr. Galloway incarcerated. We would, however, support a motion by Mr. Campbell to dismiss the charges, provided it were accompanied with a gracious apology.”

De Luca pushes and prods a bit more, but even he can see there is no room for compromise here. Dylan has no intention of making a deal, and with his evidence, he shouldn’t. I won’t make a deal because there’s no way I’m going to allow a client to plead guilty when I don’t believe it to be the case. Noah would have to find another lawyer for that, and right now he doesn’t want to.

Dylan must be surprised that I’ve exercised our right to a speedy trial. It’s counterintuitive; the defense usually seeks as many delays as possible. But Noah’s deal with me is that we move quickly, due to a probably misguided belief that it would be easier on Becky. What would actually be best for Becky is for Noah to be acquitted.

De Luca asks if there’s anything else to discuss, and I refer to the brief that we have submitted requesting a change of venue. Hike wrote it, and it was a solid presentation that should prevail on the merits, but in the real world doesn’t have a chance. Dylan has submitted an opposing brief, no doubt written by one of his devoted minions.

“I’ve read the briefs,” De Luca says. “I’ll issue a ruling shortly.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. We believe it effectively points out the dangers inherent in conducting the trial in this jurisdiction.” I believe what I am saying; this was a heinous crime, one of the most notorious in local history. The press coverage was overwhelming then, and shows signs of being so now. There is no doubt in my mind that it would be easier to impanel an unbiased jury, if there is such a thing, elsewhere.

Dylan quickly and confidently sums up his opposition. My goal in the trial will be to wipe that confident look off his face, and I’ll goad him to do so. Dylan has a thin skin, and is prone to mistakes when angry. As Laurie would be the first to say, I can irritate anyone.

But Dylan is going to emerge from today’s hearing a winner, and De Luca revealingly says, “Perhaps I have more faith in our judicial system than you do, Mr. Carpenter.”

“With respect, Your Honor, a change of venue is not a violation of that system.” I’m going down in flames, and annoyed by it.

De Luca is dismissive. “As I said, I will issue a ruling shortly. But I would suggest you not purchase plane tickets just yet. Now, is there anything else?”

I object to the state’s decision to charge Noah with four counts of murder. Technically, if Noah was acquitted, they could come back and charge him with the other twenty-two deaths, without violating his double-jeopardy rights. It’s a chickenshit thing for Dylan to do, but I don’t have a legal leg to stand on, and De Luca points that out.

When Hike and I leave the courtroom, we opt to walk right out the front door, into the waiting questions of the press that are camped out there. Our client is accused of being a mass murderer, a killer who burned twenty-six victims to death. People like that, even people alleged to be like that, are not usually favorites of the general public. The same general public from which we will choose our jury. The same general public we therefore need to suck up to.

I mouth platitudes about how anxious we are to get to trial and clear Noah’s good name, and how confident we are that justice will prevail.

“No chance of a plea bargain, Andy?” The questioner is Dina Janikowski, a reporter who works for Vince at the
Bergen News
. Vince must like her, because when someone mentions her name in his presence, he doesn’t snarl or spit.

I look shocked, as if it was absurd to consider such a thing. “Would you admit to killing twenty-six people if you had nothing to do with it?”

She smiles, knowing better than to get drawn into this kind of back-and-forth. “No one has accused me, Andy.”

“Then you’re very, very lucky. Because innocent people can be victimized by overzealous prosecutors. The fact that Noah Galloway is sitting in jail is proof positive of that.”

It’s a parting shot at Dylan that will anger him when he sees it on the news. There’s even a chance he’ll take me off his Christmas card list.

Sam Willis is getting frustrated.

When I give him an assignment to research something on the computer, he takes definite pride in giving me a complete, accurate report on a timely basis.

He couldn’t do that, at least not to his satisfaction, when it came to learning who was killed in the fire. The information was vague, and three people are still unidentified. Sam also had trouble identifying surviving family members for some of the victims.

The problem is that the only information you can get from the Internet is information that has been entered into it. While that encompasses almost everything in recorded history, there are exceptions, and Sam has just hit on another one.

Sam comes to the office to report on the phone that Marcus took from the dead body in the motel. “It’s registered to Buster Douglas,” he says.

“The fighter that beat Mike Tyson?” I ask.

“No, this guy couldn’t beat Mike Tyson. He couldn’t beat you.”

“Because he’s dead?”

Sam shakes his head. “No, because he doesn’t exist, never did. Fake address, fake driver’s license number, fake Social Security number, fake everything.”

“Not a major surprise,” I say. “Do we know who he called, and who called him?”

“Partially. He only made seventeen calls in the last month. Six were to a landline number in Missoula, Montana, and the other eleven were to a New York City cell number. He only received four calls in that time, all from the same New York number as the one he called.”

“Why did you say ‘partially’?”

“The number in Montana is to a Doris Camby; I’ve got the address. But the New York number is registered to Trevor Berbick.”

“That’s another guy that fought Tyson,” I say.

Sam nods. “And he doesn’t exist either. And both Berbick and Douglas paid their phone bills in cash, so there’s no way to trace them back.”

What Sam is saying is disappointing, but not necessarily without promise. “You up for some more work?” I ask.

“Of course.”

“Good. Then check out this Doris Camby; find out what she does, and whether she has any family. If she has any close male relatives, maybe a husband or son, try and find out where they are.”

“I’m on it. Anything else?”

“Check out her phone bill; see who she’s called. But most importantly, check out the phone bill listed in Berbick’s name; let’s find out who he called. If he’s using a fake name, then he’s likely somebody we’ll be interested in.”

“If I find out where he lives, you want me and Marcus to pay him a visit?”

“That’s about as bad an idea as any I’ve ever heard,” I say.

“Come on, Andy. I’m ready for some real detective work.”

I nod. “Maybe you and Hike can work the streets as a team.”

“Me and Hike?” he asks, panic in his voice. “I think I’d work better alone.”

“He’s really a laugh a minute when you get to know him.”

“I know him.”

“Sam, all kidding aside, what you’re doing on the computer is really important. Believe it or not, it’s the best thing we have to go on at this point.”

He nods, resigned. “Okay, I hear you.”

Sam leaves, and Mr. Barrel of Laughs himself comes in a few minutes later. I brief him on what Sam has found out, and Hike says, “Time to start focusing on the defensive side of the ball.”

I know what he means. The investigation, the effort to find the real killer, represents the offensive side of the game plan. But we are defense lawyers, and we need to spend time refuting the prosecution’s version of events. That is the defensive side of the ball, and almost always the most important side. We don’t have to reveal the real killer, all we have to do is raise a reasonable doubt that it was Noah.

The first step in doing that is to become totally familiar with every single fact in the case. There can be no hesitation in court, no surprises. We must know everything Dylan and his witnesses are going to say and do before they say and do it. Stretching the football analogy a bit, it’s like I am the quarterback, and when I get to the line of scrimmage, I have to be completely familiar with whatever formation the defensive team presents to me.

The only way to do that is to review the discovery evidence repeatedly, until we know every nuance. By definition, there are dangers for us on every page; we must know them and counter them.

The preparation for a murder trial is intense and all-consuming, but there is no substitute for it, so Hike and I settle down for the long haul.

Fun time is over.

For Judge Walter Holland, the trial seemed surreal.

On the surface, it seemed to be business as usual. Two sets of lawyers arguing over minutiae that absolutely no one, other than themselves and the people they represent, cared about.

Both sides had positions that they repeatedly affirmed to be correct beyond question. Should their firms happen to have been employed by the other side, they would have taken equally passionate stands a hundred eighty degrees from where they were in this trial.

But for Judge Holland, things were anything but normal. He was trying to act impartial, to pepper each side with the same intensity and amount of difficult, probing questions. He was the “trier of fact,” and personal bias or other considerations could have no part of his process.

Of course, he ordinarily didn’t have to “act” impartial, since he had always been impartial. It was something he’d prided himself on, something he always took for granted. It’s not that he hadn’t had personal biases, everyone does, but until this trial he’d been able to check them at the courthouse door.

The irony was that he had no idea why he was being called on, why the marker was finally being cashed. The stakes in the trial were potentially significant, but certainly no more so than many other cases he’d presided over, and probably less than most. But he’d waited six long years for this to happen, and the hammer was being dropped for a very significant reason, even if he didn’t know what that reason was.

He could only hope that this was the last time that hammer would be dropped. For that he was relying on the honor of people with absolutely no honor at all.

It was a terrible position to be in, and it was entirely his own fault.

After the lunch break that day, one of the lawyers reported that their next witness had taken ill, and they were requesting an adjournment for the day. In the morning, if that witness was still unavailable, they would have another witness there to take his place.

Judge Holland was happy to grant the request; he would have been happy to grant a year’s adjournment. Every day in court was terribly painful for him, the culmination of six years of pain. This delay would give him time to get home and be with Alice and Benji.

Work had always consumed a great deal of his time, and more of his mind, but lately it had been even worse. Alice had been characteristically understanding, possibly because he had never confided the truth to her. Benji had been preoccupied with wondering what he would be getting for Christmas, and making out lists of possibilities.

It was on his way home that Judge Holland got the call on his cell phone. Somehow the man known as Loney only called when he was available to take it; it was as if he was watching him. Holland wouldn’t put it past him.