To Save a Son (47 page)

Franks looked toward the fat man and remembered what Schultz had told him in the London hotel room.

Ronan said, “I still don't think they are going to get away.”

“I'm not sure, not anymore,” said Waldo.

“What could we have done that we haven't?” asked the district attorney. “Nothing's been overlooked in the evidence we've got. And it's
still
a good case. We anticipated what happened today; let's not talk ourselves into believing that it's worse than it is.”

Franks felt physically sick after the prosecutor and the FBI men left the room, certainly with no wish to eat. He drank, instead. He called Maria, who had already seen a report on television, and agreed with her that it was as bad as the accounts were making it. She tried to talk him out of his depression and Franks became annoyed at some of the things she said, at her ignorance, at not really knowing or understanding what was happening. He snapped dismissively at her efforts and Maria stopped talking, not arguing back. Franks became irritated at the whole conversation and so he cut it short, but having done so stared around the empty suite and wondered what to do. Impulsively he called Rosenberg at home. The lawyer had also seen the newscasts. He said criminal prosecutions went that way, for and against, and that Franks shouldn't imagine everything was lost simply on the basis of one seemingly bad day.

“Ronan should have done more to protect me,” said Franks petulantly.

“There are court limits to what he's able to do,” said Rosenberg. “You're up against some very clever defense counsel who know precisely what those limits are and can remain just safely inside them.”

“I need you there,” said Franks, petulant still.

“To do what?” asked the lawyer, “I can't intervene; take any part. Not publicly at least. I certainly couldn't leap up and down in court, making protests.”

“I feel utterly alone out there,” complained Franks. “Like I'm naked.”

“Then you'd better stop,” advised Rosenberg. “That's how they want you to feel. How they intend to get you to make mistakes.”

“Can I call, to talk things through?”

“Any time,” said Rosenberg. “You know that.”

“Anything to talk about from England?”

“No,” said Rosenberg. “I'd have mentioned it if there was.”

Franks made himself another drink after he finished the conversation with Rosenberg and was in the process of mixing still another one, actually thinking of Tina, when she called him, the telephone ring making him jump.

“It wasn't easy getting through to you,” said Tina. “They intercept everything. Did you know that?”

“I guess they would,” said Franks. “I'm glad you did.”

“I saw the television news. It sounded terrible.”

“It was.”

“They're not going to get off, are they?”

“They could.”

“But that's—” Tina broke off, searching for the words. “It'll mean it's all been for nothing,” she said. “Wasted.”

“I haven't worked out what it'll mean,” said Franks wearily.

“After our talk I thought you might have called,” she said.

“I was going to,” said Franks. He didn't want to get into this sort of conversation, not tonight.

“Have you thought about it? What I said, I mean.”

“Of course I have,” he said. “Let's get the hearing over first. Please.”

“I warned you I was going to push.”

“Not tonight.”

“You sound pretty low.”

“I am.”

“I could come down. I guess it wouldn't be easy, but I could get Tomkiss or somebody to fix it.”

He'd enjoyed the evenings with her in the suite, Franks remembered. But it wouldn't just be an evening if she came down, would it? There would be the night as well. He said, “No. It would be too difficult to arrange and I don't think it would be a good idea anyway.”

“You sure?”

“Quite sure.” To move the conversation on, he said, “How are the children?”

“Okay,” said Tina. “I didn't let them watch the newscasts. Gabby hasn't wet the bed for a week.”

“That's good,” said Franks. He'd wanted to talk to her, just like he'd wanted to talk to Maria, earlier, but now that they were speaking Franks was anxious for the conversation to end. Lying, he said, “I've got a conference, with Ronan. Preparation for tomorrow.”

“Of course,” she said at once. “You will call?”

“When I get the chance.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“Maybe tomorrow will be better,” she said.

It was, but only marginally. Collington was as overeager as Waldo had predicted, but he still succeeded with the inferences and innuendo. Dukes' lawyer concentrated upon the Las Vegas visit, and without any documentary evidence the impression again was that Franks initiated the approach to Greenberg, using Dukes as the intermediary.

“You asked Mr. Dukes to arrange meetings for you in Las Vegas, knowing of his existing business involvement in a casino there?”

“It was Dukes' suggestion, not mine.”

“It is my intention to call Mr. Greenberg to the stand at some time,” disclosed the urgent Collington. “Mr. Greenberg will tell this court that he agreed to meet you when Mr. Dukes asked him as a personal favor. And that personal favor was to provide some advice for someone who wanted to set up an offshore gambling operation.”

“The casino idea was Dukes',” insisted Franks.

“Greenberg will testify that it was clear, from all the conversations he had with you, that it was your proposal.”

“It was the proposal of the company I was representing.”

“The company of which you have already told this court you insisted upon maintaining rigid and personal control,” seized Collington. “If it was the proposal of the company, then it had to be
your
proposal, didn't it?”

“I was acting for the others.”

“All the inquiries were made to Mr. Greenberg and other casino operators by yourself. Never Mr. Dukes, who was with you. Or Mr. Flamini or Mr. Pascara.”

“Of course that was the way it was!” said Franks. “They were setting me up as the front man, weren't they!”

“I suggest that you were setting them up, Mr. Franks,” said Collington. “Eager for their finance and, in Mr. Dukes' case, some peripheral contacts, you tricked my client into a criminal enterprise.”

“You know—everyone in this court knows—that that wasn't the case,” said Franks. He felt tired. Weary and disinterested in the whole thing.

“No, they don't,” said Collington. “There's a great deal that people in this court don't yet know,” said the lawyer aggressively. “Didn't Snarsbrook make it clear to you in the discussions about a casino—discussions which you and nobody else initiated—that any approval from the island government would reflect their confidence in you personally?”

How he'd responded to and been sucked up by the flattery, Franks remembered bitterly. “He was bribed, too, wasn't he!” he demanded. “The whole thing was a charade, from the beginning to end. Snarsbrook had been approached about a casino before I ever got there.”

“Oh, Mr. Franks!” said Collington, stretching the words to heighten his supposed incredulity. “There has to be a limit to the number of different ways in which you try to distort the truth.
You
approached Snarsbrook, nobody else. Every record of every discussion, which has been obtained from the Bahamian government and which will be introduced into this court when the time comes, shows that Snarsbrook was acting very much on your behalf, the behalf of his paymaster.”

“I did not bribe William Snarsbrook.”

Collington took up a slip of paper from his desk, appeared to study it, and then quoted, “‘Thanks for all your help and assistance, Eddie.'”

“That is not me.”

“Who is it, then, Mr. Franks? What other person called Eddie wanted a casino in the Bahamas badly enough to pay a three-hundred-thousand-dollar bribe?”

“Dukes and Flamini and Pascara!” shouted Franks carelessly, his control slipping.

“Are you aware that the given name of my client, Mr. Dukes, is David? And that of Mr. Flamini is Roland? And that of Mr. Pascara is Roberto?”

Collington had run too fast, and Franks saw the opportunity. “I am further aware that Mr. Dukes is also known by the aliases Tony Alberi and Georgio Alcante, and that Flamini is also Frederick Dialcano and Emanuel Calvo, and that Pascara also uses the aliases of Arno Pellacio and Roberto Longurno and Luigi del Angelo. All appear very adept, in fact, at creating names just like that created to make it appear that I bribed Snarsbrook,” he said.

Collington's face tightened angrily at the aliases and his awareness of the effect they would have on the jury. Beyond the defense lawyer Franks saw Ronan nodding his head in satisfaction and actually smiling in Waldo's direction.

Collington was still questioning at the recess and occupied most of the afternoon trying to make Franks appear the perpetrator of any crime, but Franks didn't think the man succeeded. Ronan confirmed the failure during their evening conference. Franks spoke to both Maria and Tina but again cut the conversations short, feeling he had nothing to say to either and using the already completed meeting with the district attorney as the reason for hanging up.

Franks remained in the witness box for another full three days, recovering sufficiently during Ronan's reexamination for them to have a restrained celebratory dinner toward the end of the week, but then becoming doubtful again at some renewed questioning from Tripodi. After the completion of his testimony, Franks remained, protected by Waldo and Schultz, in the well of the court, intent upon the evidence. Knap and the other Internal Revenue Investigators were the most impressive, their evidence of bank accounts and credit transfers seemingly dull and pendantic but in reality difficult for any of the defense counsel to contest.

The defense lasted as long as the prosecution, another fortnight. Snarsbrook was called to say he negotiated on behalf of Franks and believed the three-hundred-thousand dollars came from him, and the Bermudan and Bahamian officials whom he'd bribed were paraded and identified him as the man who had arranged their payments. Ronan was unable to shake Snarsbrook, and the facts involving the other government officials were incontestable. Franks' anxiety worsened. It lifted only slightly when all three defense lawyers refused to put their clients on the stand to give evidence. In his closing speech Ronan indicated that they were frightened to undergo any cross-examination; the defense counsel insisted it was because the prosecution had no case to answer anyway.

The jury retired at midday on Tuesday of the fifth week. They made it clear by early evening that they could not reach a verdict and so they were moved, under escort, to a hotel. There they remained for another two days.

Both Maria and Tina offered to come into Manhattan, to be with him, but Franks refused both, pleading the personal danger to both but not sure in his own mind if that was the reason.

The jury indicated verdicts on Friday, and the court was reconvened at eleven in the morning. Franks sat tense and hollow-stomached between Waldo and Schultz, leaning forward.

“Members of the jury, have you reached your verdict?” asked the court official.

“We have,” replied the chairman, a stooped, bookish-looking man.

“How do you find on all the charges against Roberto Pascara?”

“Guilty,” announced the chairman.

A numbness of relief spread throughout Franks; he was conscious of some sort of whimper or shout forming at the back of his throat and bit against it, hands gripped whitely on the court bench beneath his legs.

“How do you find on all the charges against David Dukes?”

“Guilty,” said the chairman.

Franks was aware of the shifting movement of excitement from either side, from Waldo and Schultz, but he didn't trust himself to look at either, directly ahead Ronan was having difficulty in remaining still at the victory.

“How do you find on the charges against Roland Flamini?”

“Not guilty,” said the stooped man.

There was a moment of complete silence in the court, a shocked suspension of movement from everyone around him. Then, from his left, Franks heard Waldo say, “Son of a bitch!”

29

Florida was Maria's suggestion. Franks said it really didn't matter because he didn't intend remaining there anyway, although he was careful, despite the confusion of the crowded days, not to let Ronan or Waldo or any of the marshals think he was doing anything but fully entering the program. They were provided with a suburban house near St. Petersburg, on the Gulf Coast. It had a screened pool and an inlet from the back canal for a boat if they wanted one. Franks formally adopted the name David Isaacs and obtained a Social Security number and a bank account listed under it; the bank provided the reference when he made credit card applications in the new name. Waldo gave him telephone numbers, both office and home, for any contact, any time, but their protection became the responsibility specifically of the Marshals Service. Myer Berenson, the marshal who'd tried to reassure Tina that day in Ronan's office, traveled personally to Florida to inspect the protection arrangements. His officers were housed in a separate bungalow, linked by a closed circuit television system that covered every approach to the main house, and Berenson assured them it would be monitored twenty-four hours a day. The angular southerner expressed no surprise at finding Franks with a woman different from the one he'd met in the district attorney's office, and Franks guessed the man had been warned; enough people knew, after all. Berenson provided telephone numbers, like Waldo, and there were alarm bleepers for Franks and Maria linking them to the guards' bungalow, in addition to the television protection. Thank God, thought Franks, mat it was only temporary.