The Alligator Man (27 page)

K
evin went back to Billy’s cell that afternoon to explain what happened in the courtroom in case Billy was confused. Billy was lying on his cot in his prison skivvies looking a whole lot more relaxed than he did in the courtroom dressed in a suit every day. Kevin decided not to share his thoughts on that subject with Billy, though.

“How’s it going?” Billy asked.

“How do you think it’s going, Billy?”

“I don’t know, Kev. I think you did a good job with Winters today but I don’t really know.”

“Well, I think we established that Winters was lying about Roy Johnson’s involvement in the drug operation. The jury will probably believe the FBI guy, Bothwell, over him,” Kevin said, sitting down on the cot with Billy. “The question is whether they think there is a possibility Winters killed Roy Johnson.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know, Billy. I don’t know.”

Kevin called his dad early in the evening and told him about the day’s testimony and the appearance of Franklin Rutledge.

“Well, I don’t think you are going to get anything out of Bernie at this point,” Tom said. “You’re going to the jury with the evidence you have in right now. You’ve done a fine job, Kevin. You’ve given Billy a chance. You’ve put your heart and soul into this case. Nobody could ask more of you.”

“I don’t know if it is enough, though.”

“It will have to be, Kevin. It will have to be.”

A few minutes after he hung up with his dad, Kevin received another phone call. It was his old client, Sal Trivigno. His first thought was not to answer, but he changed his mind.

“Hello.”

“How’s it going, Kev? It’s me, Sal.”

“It’s going fine, Sal. What’s up?”

“Listen, I got a problem and I need to see you right away.”

“Impossible. I’m in a trial in Verona.”

“I’m not sure, Kev, but what I got to see you about may have something to do with that trial.”

“What do you mean?”

“I found some files in the back of my truck with the names Sellers and Winters on them. I think they’re criminal files.”

The files David Lefter took from Bernie’s warehouse,
Kevin thought.
How the hell did Sal get them?

“Have you mentioned this to anybody else?”

“Hell, no. I don’t do anything without talking to my lawyer first.”

“Sal, can you meet me in my hotel room in Verona tonight?”

“I’m already on my way. Just tell me the hotel and your room number.”

Kevin gave him directions before hanging up the phone. This could be the breakthrough he needed. He didn’t want to get too excited until he saw the files, although there had to be something damaging in there. These were the files that precipitated David Lefter’s murder and probably the planned attempt on his own life.

Sal arrived at seven thirty. Kevin was pacing the room when finally there was a knock on the door.

“Sorry I’m late,” Sal said when Kevin opened the door.

Kevin rushed Sal into the room and practically grabbed the files out of his hands. Without saying a word, he started going through the documents. It didn’t take him long to find the reason Bernie would have killed to get them back. There was a memorandum in there evidencing a meeting between Bernie, Roy Johnson, Bobby Joe Sellers, and Randy Winters a month before the drug bust in 1982. Everybody had signed the document except Roy Johnson. Evidently they knew the feds were closing in. Bernie recommended ceasing all operations. Roy Johnson was with him, but Bobby Joe and Randy wanted to complete their last big score. It was agreed that Roy would take his share and leave. Bernie would put Bobby Joe’s and Randy’s money in a joint account requiring two signatures in the Cayman Islands.

Why would Bernie prepare and sign a document incriminating his clients and himself? Maybe he needed something to remind these guys of the deal in case they did go to prison. Maybe he needed some leverage to ensure that they didn’t kill him down the
road. Sellers and Winters would have insisted he sign it as well as themselves and Bernie probably felt the document was safe in his storage facility. Roy Johnson almost certainly refused to put his name on the paper.

It was all speculation, but it was the best Kevin could come up with. The reasons for the memorandum didn’t matter, though. The only thing that mattered was its existence.

So Bernie was a part of the operation all along. No big surprise there.

“Sal, how did you get these files?” Kevin asked.

“Nice of you to finally notice I was in the room,” Sal replied.

“I’m sorry, Sal. I’ve just got a lot on my mind. Where did you get these files?”

“Yesterday I picked up the tarp in the back of my truck and found them lying under it.”

“Do you have any idea how they got there?”

“Not really, but I’ve been thinking about it nonstop. The day David was killed I left Bernie’s office early. David’s car was parked next to mine. I remembered that the next day when I read about him being killed and all. I never went back to Bernie’s office after that. He wasn’t paying me anyway. So when I found those files in my truck, I figured David must have put them there. It’s the only thing I can think of. That’s why I called you.”

“You did good, Sal. And David probably put the files in your truck because he didn’t want anybody to know he had them. Listen, I’ve got to go through this stuff in great detail before tomorrow morning, so I’ve got to cut this short. I want you to go home and forget you ever saw these files. Understand?”

“Don’t worry about that. I don’t want to end up like David.”

Kevin walked him to the door. “How’s the wife and kids? Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a job with a steady paycheck. Things are good.”

“Good. I’ll give you a call when this is all over.”

“Good luck, Kev.”

“Thanks, Sal.”

After Sal left, Kevin pored over the files.

As he thought about how he was going to present this new evidence the next day, his euphoria started to turn to despair. The files that he had were copies. He had told David to take the originals and put the copies back, but David, not being a trial lawyer and not understanding the all-important evidentiary difference between originals and copies, kept the copies and put the originals back.

I won’t get this memo into evidence,
he told himself.
Bernie will deny ever seeing it and deny the event ever happened. Sellers and Winters will do the same if given the chance. The judge knows how false documents can be made: You snip signatures, paste them on a piece of paper, cover the lines with Wite-Out, copy the manufactured document, and you’ve got what looks like a perfect copy.
No, without corroboration, he wasn’t getting this memo admitted into evidence no matter how hard he tried.

On the other hand, Bernie had killed David Lefter over these files. Bernie had sent someone to try to kill him.
Bernie thinks that I have the original files!

What do I do with all this?

There was more.

While the memo was incriminating for other reasons, if produced, it would eliminate the last defense that they had—that Sellers and Winters killed Roy Johnson because he took their money. This memo established that Roy Johnson took
his
money and everybody agreed to it.

After running everything over and over in his head, he knew there was only one decision to make. He couldn’t use the memo at trial. If he tried, he would fail and Bernie would destroy the original. After the trial, he could turn the document over to the State and they could get a search warrant for Bernie’s warehouse and get the original, but it wasn’t going to help Billy.

Another person’s image was floating around in his brain as well—David Lefter. David had lost his life getting the documents.
I can’t let David’s efforts amount to nothing,
Kevin told himself.
I have to get the original of this memo.

I
t was always nice out on the water. Sure, it was still hot but not as muggy. The air had room to circulate. There was a breeze at night. Rainy days were a delightful change. Summer storms were great. Watching the lightning wake up the sky, hearing the crack of thunder, revealing the sea in all its glory, was a sight no human being should miss. But a steady diet of anything could get boring. He had a woman with him now. He’d had somebody pay her for a week. She’d been good for him and he’d decided to keep her on for another week. She loved the boat, loved all the toys. They made her happy and then she made him happy. It was a sixty footer and it was loaded. He could have afforded better but he didn’t want to get too ostentatious, didn’t want to stand out.

He’d be bored with her in another week, though, and he’d have to get another woman. Or maybe he could find some other amusement. Money let you do anything you wanted.

They’d just had sex and she was sleeping down below while he walked the deck. It was his evening ritual: walk the deck, drink a little wine, gaze at the stars, and contemplate the vastness of the universe. This night was clear but it was moonless. The stars, the vast painted ceiling of the heavens, were there to behold, but the ocean, dark and foreboding, could only be heard, not seen.

He especially liked these moonless nights when he could only see a few feet beyond the boat. He liked to imagine what was lurking in the blackness—creatures of the sea, maybe, that only came out on nights like this. The thought made his walk more interesting, although he didn’t believe any of it. He was a practical man at his core.

On his second tour around the deck, while stealing a glance up at the Big Dipper, something or maybe someone—he couldn’t be sure—grabbed his neck and shoulder and pulled hard. He felt his feet slip out from under him as he plunged over the side into the black sea. It happened so fast he had no time to react yet it seemed like it was all occurring in slow motion. He was in the air for what felt like minutes before he abruptly hit the water.

There was a loud splash but nobody heard it. His girl was fast asleep. He descended quickly before his instincts kicked in and he righted himself and headed for the surface. Whatever it was, human or animal, grabbed him again, though, and held him under. He struggled mightily for a time but the force was too strong. Eventually he was calm. He could feel nothing.

S
heriff Cousins had just finished his breakfast and was about to leave the house to go to the office. His wife, Marge, walked him to the door as she always did. It was their little ritual. He would kiss her good-bye at the doorstep and she would watch him walk to his car and then she would wave as he drove off.

“Have a good day, honey. Hurry home,” Marge said after she kissed him good-bye.

“I’ll be home for lunch,” he told her before he turned and headed for the car.

“What’s that behind you?” she asked.

“Where?”

“Right side sticking out of the bushes. It looks blue.”

It was blue. It was a long blue duffel bag. Sheriff Cousins pulled it from the bushes. It was heavy and there were holes cut in the sides. He unzipped it as Marge watched from a safe distance.

What she saw made her scream and run back into the house.

Frank Cousins was inclined to follow her to make sure she was okay but his duty came first. There was a man’s body in the blue bag, his wrists and feet bound with rope. The face looked vaguely familiar. Sheriff Cousins put his two fingers on the carotid artery to check for a pulse. To his surprise, the man was still alive. He called 911.

“This is Sheriff Frank Cousins. I need an ambulance at my house immediately—2217 Corona Boulevard.”

After the ambulance and a squad car had arrived, when he had done everything he needed to do, Sheriff Cousins went back in the house to make sure Marge was okay.

I
t was overcast on Tuesday morning and it seemed to set a tone outside the courthouse. The crowds weren’t there. There were people milling about, but the afternoon off and the weather seemed to have curbed the enthusiasm. Even the kiosks were silent, the bright lights off. As he walked up the steps, Kevin knew that all would change once the verdict was in. People would gather again for an hour or so and the news would carry the story all night long. However, by ten o’clock the next morning after the morning shows, no matter what the verdict, the saga of Billy and his kids would be forgotten, replaced by some new tragedy.

When the lawyers were at their stations and the clock struck nine, the bailiff announced, “All rise,” and Judge Thorpe limped into the courtroom. There was still a full gallery of spectators.

“Are we ready to proceed?” he asked. Both lawyers assured him that they were. Franklin Rutledge was there as well, standing behind Jeanette. “Okay, it is my understanding that we have one witness, Mr. Bernie Stang; then the prosecution is going to rest. Is that accurate, Ms. Truluc?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“And Mr. Wylie, you are not putting on any witnesses, is that correct?”

“That’s correct, Your Honor.”

“All right, here is my ruling about what you can ask Mr. Stang and what is off-limits. I’ve read all the memos. I believe the testimony should be limited.

“Ms. Truluc, you can ask if Mr. Stang represented Winters and Sellers in 1982. You can also ask if he represented Mr. Johnson back then. You can ask if Mr. Johnson, to Mr. Stang’s knowledge, was part of that criminal investigation back then. You can ask if Mr. Stang was aware that Mr. Johnson took any money belonging to Winters and Sellers when he left Gladestown in 1982. And you can obviously ask if Mr. Stang represented Mr. Johnson when he was being investigated for criminal activity related to his company Dynatron and when that representation began.

“I believe this inquiry covers the defenses raised by Mr. Wylie on behalf of his client while protecting the attorney-client privilege of all parties. Any questions?”

Nobody had any questions. Kevin stole a glance at Franklin Rutledge. He was smiling triumphantly.

“Bring in the jury.”

When the jurors were seated, Judge Thorpe addressed Jeanette: “Call your next witness, Ms. Truluc.”

“The State calls Bernie Stang.”

Bernie looked regal as he walked into the courtroom in his tailor-made black suit and black tie. He had that air of confidence about him that bordered on arrogance. Jeanette first took him through his credentials as a lawyer, establishing that he had been a criminal lawyer for approximately thirty years.

“Did you represent Robert Sellers for trafficking in marijuana back in 1982?”

“Yes.”

“Did you represent Randall Winters for the same offense?”

“Yes.”

“Did you represent Roy Johnson back in 1982?”

“No.”

“Did you know Roy Johnson back then?”

“No.”

“To your knowledge, did Roy Johnson ever take any money belonging to Winters or Sellers back in 1982?”

“To my knowledge, no.”

“Would you have been in a position to know?”

“I believe so.”

“And you represented Roy Johnson in 2004 regarding a criminal investigation of his company Dynatron, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell the jury the dates of that representation?”

“I really can’t without my files. I believe it was a period of about six months. And Mr. Johnson was never indicted for anything.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Wylie, cross?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

Kevin walked to the podium. He just stood there for a moment watching Bernie, who was squirming. It was subtle, but Kevin could see the fear. After Franklin Rutledge’s best efforts and the judge’s ruling, Bernie knew that Kevin could still spring that memorandum on him. He could call it rebuttal evidence.

Kevin was tempted. He could abandon his rational analysis and try for the dramatic finish by producing the memo and attempting to wrap it around Bernie’s neck, or he could let Bernie have this little victory and retreat to fight again another day.

Kevin smiled and winked at Bernie with his right eye so the jury couldn’t see. Bernie took that as a message and relaxed. Kevin finished the charade.

“Mr. Stang, you said that you were in a position to know back in 1982 whether Roy Johnson took any money belonging to Mr. Sellers or Mr. Winters, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Were you taking care of their money back then?”

“Absolutely not.”

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

Bernie had a smile on his face as he walked out of the courtroom.

The judge looked at Jeanette. “Ms. Truluc?”

“The State rests, Your Honor.”

The judge directed his attention toward Kevin, who stood. “The defense rests, Your Honor.”

“Okay, we’ll take a half-hour break. I’ll hear any motions the parties have to make. Then we’ll come back for closing arguments. Court is adjourned.”

When the jury left, Kevin made his perfunctory motion for acquittal, which the judge denied.

Jeanette’s closing argument was pretty much the same as her opening. She took the jurors back.

“You’ve heard a lot of testimony in recent days about what happened twenty-three years ago. This case is about what happened on April tenth, 2005. The evidence presented in this courtroom has shown that on that date, William Fuller intentionally killed Roy Johnson.”

She started with Roy’s wife reporting the event to Carlisle and Carlisle roaming the swamp and finding pieces of Roy Johnson’s clothing and his wallet. Then she took them through Freddie Jenkins’s testimony, taking the photos Freddie identified and putting each one on an easel before the jurors. George Russo was next, followed by Maria Perez, the chambermaid who identified Billy as having stayed at the Verona Inn for a week.

“After George Russo and Ms. Perez came forth, Detective Vern Fleming did the police work. He went through the guest registrations and compared them to the license numbers of cars in the parking lot of the Verona Inn. A Mr. Tom Jones, an obvious alias, stayed at the inn and paid cash the same days and nights that Mr. Fuller was identified there by two eyewitnesses. An old gray Toyota registered to William Fuller was identified in the parking lot on those days as well, leaving no doubt that William Fuller stayed in the Verona Inn for a week before the murder. He went to the Last Stop bar on the night of the murder saying he was ‘going to kill him tonight’ and drove to Gladestown and ran Roy Johnson down.”

Jeanette then shifted gears to talk about Billy’s motive. “William Fuller lost everything because of Roy Johnson: his job, his retirement savings worth three-quarters of a million dollars, his health insurance, his best friend who committed suicide, and ultimately, his wife, who died of leukemia. The straw that broke the camel’s back occurred on April first when Mr. Fuller and his children were forced to move out of the family home. Six days later, Mr. Fuller was in Verona plotting Roy Johnson’s murder.

“Motive and opportunity, ladies and gentlemen, it is all right there for you as plain as day beyond the shadow of any reasonable doubt. Yes, it is a sad case. Yes, Roy Johnson was not a good man. However, that is not something you or I can consider. This is a country of laws. The rule of law is our foundation. If you find that the facts I have just discussed with you are true—and I do not believe you can find otherwise—then your obligation under the law as jurors is to come back with a verdict of guilty.”

It was a very effective closing. All Kevin needed to do was look into the eyes of the jurors to see that.

“Mr. Wylie?”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Kevin walked to the podium that was now facing the jurors.

“I told you at the start of this trial that the State was going to attempt to condense this case into a narrow set of facts that seemed to fit nicely together. And I asked you, every one of you, if you would indeed follow the law and keep your minds open until all the evidence was in and all the arguments were concluded—and you assured me that you would. And then I asked you if you would hold the State to its burden under the law to prove guilt to the exclusion of every reasonable doubt—and you told me you would. And I told you that, under the law, I did not have to put on any evidence on behalf of my client—and you told me you understood.

“So let’s look at the evidence with that law in mind and let’s start first with the very simple set of facts that the State wants to limit this case to. The State’s whole case rests on the testimony of a seventeen-year-old boy named Freddie Jenkins. There is no dispute that if William Fuller chose to go to the Verona Inn on his own, away from his family and friends for a week, he had the absolute right to do so. Freddie Jenkins is the glue that binds the State’s case together.

“Freddie Jenkins could not identify the man walking on Gladestown Road the night of April tenth. He could not identify the man driving the old gray car that night. He didn’t know if the car was a Honda or a Toyota or some other model of car. And he didn’t even know if it was gray. You may recall my asking him if every car doesn’t look gray under a yellow streetlight.

“There were other problems with Freddie Jenkins and his testimony: He admitted he lied to his friends and told them that his girlfriend, Becky Yates, was with him that night. He admitted that he initially denied being on Gladestown Road the night of April tenth when Carlisle Buchanan first asked the question. He also said he was at the Chamber of Commerce parking lot that night because Becky called him. Becky testified that she never called him. That’s three lies by this young man. Are you going to base a murder conviction on his testimony?

“Now the State describes April first, the date William Fuller and his children moved out of the family home, as the ‘straw that broke the camel’s back.’ Why? Obviously because of the date—the close proximity in time to the murder. Let’s hold that thought for the moment.

“You will recall the testimony of Richard Bothwell, a retired FBI agent called by the State. Mr. Bothwell ran the criminal investigation that culminated with the arrests of Bobby Joe Sellers and Randy Winters in 1982. He testified under oath that he believed that Roy Johnson was a principal in that drug operation, that Johnson left a month before the drug bust, and that he believed Johnson used drug money to start his company, Dynatron. One of the reasons he believed that is because neither Winters nor Sellers had any money on their person or anywhere else when they were busted.

“You also heard from Harvey Booth, another FBI agent, that Roy Johnson was under criminal investigation for his role as CEO of Dynatron. You all remember what he did there—he left before the company went under
and he took all the money
.

“Here is where we get to another date—April fourth, 2005. That’s the day Randy Winters got out of prison after twenty-two years. If Roy Johnson was part of the drug operation back in 1982 and if he left a month before the drug busts and took the money
as he did with Dynatron
, nobody had a greater motive to kill him than Randy Winters.

“You saw Randy Winters in this courtroom. He was the man who ran the drug-smuggling operation. He had both motive and opportunity since he lived in Gladestown. So Winters got out of prison”—Kevin paused for a moment—“on April fourth, 2005, and then he killed Roy Johnson.

“I don’t have to prove anything to you. I simply have to point out to you that there is a reasonable doubt. You heard one of the State’s witnesses, Anne Lyons, Mr. Fuller’s neighbor, tell you a little bit about him—how he cried when his wife died and yet how stoic he was for his children the day they moved out of the family home. He was one of twenty thousand people who lost everything at the hands of Roy Johnson. Can you find that he was Roy Johnson’s murderer because of this flimsy motive shared by so many and the fact that he was in Verona some sixty miles away from Gladestown for a week—when you have this homegrown criminal with both a greater motive and a greater opportunity?

“I can’t answer that question for you, but I trust that you will make the right decision.”