False Witness Read online

  “Ms. Brock and Mr. Haywood!” Snead’s voiced boomed over the bustling classroom. “I would like to speak with you for a moment before you leave.”

  Jamie looked at Isaiah, who gave her an I-don’t-know shrug. They both sauntered down to the front of the classroom and waited patiently as the other students asked Snead their questions and acted interested in his answers. Well, at least Jamie waited patiently. Isaiah made a big show of looking at his watch and, after a few minutes, asked Jamie if she knew when they might be done because he had another class to study for.

  Not to be rushed, Snead waited until he had answered every question and then waited a while longer as the other students left the classroom. By then, Isaiah was a bundle of nerves and energy, shifting from one foot to the other, checking his watch, even text-messaging a few of his friends.

  “Thank you for waiting,” Snead said in his normal monotone drone. The students nodded. “I’ve decided that your idea of petitioning the court for injunctive relief in the Hoffman case might have some merit. I will act as your supervising attorney. As our clients are in danger and time is therefore of the essence, I will expect you to have a motion for preliminary injunction ready to file tomorrow. We should ask that a hearing be scheduled for Monday. Mr. Haywood, I will leave it to you to obtain the clients’ permission.”

  Jamie couldn’t believe what she was hearing! This same man, just hours earlier, had pooh-poohed this idea. Now here he was—not only acquiescing to the case, but affirmatively directing it.

  What happened?

  “There is, however, one condition.” Snead looked directly at Isaiah. “I want Mr. Farnsworth to work the case with you.”

  “Wellington Farnsworth?” Isaiah was incredulous.

  “Do you know another Mr. Farnsworth?” Snead asked.

  “Why do we need him?”

  Snead placed his books under his arm and started toward the steps. He stopped and turned long enough to get the final word. “Mr. Farnsworth is the best writer I have in any of my classes this year. He has matriculated at Southeastern for two years and received only one B, the rest As. He graduated from Old Dominion with a perfect 4.0 as a math major. If the nature of this algorithm becomes an issue—for example, the government claims that national security is at risk, a student like Mr. Farnsworth could prove invaluable. Of course, since he is not yet a third-year, I would expect the two of you to handle all courtroom proceedings.”

  Snead turned and started limping up the steps. “Good day.”

  Isaiah and Jamie returned to their seats and packed up their backpacks. Neither spoke until Snead left the room.

  “What was that all about?” Jamie asked.

  “I don’t know,” Isaiah answered. “But the law firm of Haywood and Brock is open for business.”

  “I think you mean Brock, Haywood, and Farnsworth.”

  Isaiah snorted. “Snead said that Farnsworth had to be on the team. He didn’t say we actually had to give him anything to do.”

  Later that afternoon, in another small library conference room, Jamie met with Isaiah and Wellington to lay out a game plan for their case. Wellington showed up in blue dress shorts, sandals, and a button-down Hawaiian shirt that should have been a size or two bigger. He had on thick reading glasses and hadn’t bothered to comb his blond hair all day, as far as Jamie could tell.

  Isaiah took it upon himself to dish out assignments. “I’ll handle the witnesses. Jamie, you can handle the legal arguments and closing statement. Wellington, why don’t you draft the complaint and motion for preliminary injunction?”

  With only twenty-four hours to get the initial pleadings filed, Isaiah had apparently reconsidered whether Wellington should be given any assignments, at least insofar as grunt work was concerned. Maybe his new plan was to make Wellington work all night.

  Jamie was ready to argue—after all, why should Isaiah examine all the witnesses?—but Wellington spoke first. “That sounds good,” he said. He started making notes about the types of pleadings Isaiah wanted, basically doing everything short of saluting.

  “Looks like the boys have got this all figured out,” Jamie said.

  “I just thought—” Isaiah started.

  “No. It’s fine. Really.” Jamie waited, seeing if Isaiah would read the tone in her voice.

  No chance. He and Wellington started discussing what they needed in the pleadings. It soon became obvious that the case also demanded a supporting memorandum of law. When Wellington broke the uncomfortable silence by volunteering to write that as well, Jamie felt sorry for the kid.

  “I’ll help on the memorandum,” she said. “That’s too much work for one person to do in just one night.”

  “Thanks,” Wellington said, glancing up from his notes. “I’ve already done a little research on what we need to prove.” He checked the screen on his laptop. “We’ll need an affidavit from our clients. To get the court-supervised injunction, we’ll have to prove a likelihood of success on the merits and that irreparable harm would occur if the government were not required to relocate the Hoffmans and give them new identities. Plus, according to Section 9-21.990 of the Federal Witness Security Act, we have to prove that the Hoffmans are in jeopardy through no fault on their part.”

  “Impressive,” Jamie said, drawing a shy and fleeting smile from Wellington. The kid had a round and smooth baby face. And he was only what? Nineteen? He looked like he shaved only once a week.

  They discussed some of the procedural issues they were up against. The first problem would be getting a hearing as soon as possible, hopefully Monday. The second problem was that Stacie and David Hoffman had agreed that Isaiah and the team, including Snead, could proceed with the case only if the Hoffmans didn’t have to appear in court. They couldn’t risk showing their faces. The third problem was making sure the case stayed confidential.

  “Confidentiality should be no problem,” Wellington said. “We can file all our pleadings under seal to be opened and viewed only by the judge. We can ask for a closed hearing on Monday as well.”

  For every procedural question Isaiah and Jamie surfaced, Wellington seemed to have the answer. He had a soft-spoken and disarming way of talking that was beginning to put even Isaiah at ease.

  “How do you know so much about this stuff?” Isaiah asked. “You’re only a second-year.”

  Wellington’s face went from pasty white to a shade of light pink. “I got the book award in civil procedure,” he said quietly. “And last summer, I clerked for the U.S. attorney’s office.”

  “You clerked for the U.S. attorney’s office?” Isaiah gaped as if the opposing quarterback had just thrown an interception right into Isaiah’s hands. “You’re the man, Casper.”

  “They needed someone to help on some patent cases that involved a lot of mathematical formulas. I was one of fourteen clerks from around the nation working on various specialties in the patent office. They called us the Geek Squad.”

  That comment, and the unassuming way Wellington said it, made Isaiah smile broadly.

  “The Geek Squad,” he repeated, shaking his head. “We’ve got our own charter member of the Geek Squad.”

  48

  Monday, April 7

  “The lady in black.” Those were Isaiah’s first words when he laid eyes on Jamie in Federal Courtroom 4 in downtown Atlanta on Monday morning. She was wearing a black skirt and jacket, a white blouse, heels, and understated silver earrings with a matching necklace. She had pulled her dark hair away from her face. She wanted her appearance to be classy and conservative. Isaiah certainly approved. “I hope we get a male judge,” he said.

  Jamie ignored him.

  But an undeterred Isaiah, who had shockingly arrived ten minutes before court, didn’t know when to let something go. He revised her nickname to “The Black Widow” and Jamie was afraid the moniker might stick. It seemed that every law school class had at least one designated person in charge of nicknames, and Isaiah was that person for the 3Ls. Much to her delight, Jamie
had avoided a nickname until now, probably because she came across as serious and intense. But when Isaiah tried it out as they waited, it rolled off his tongue.

  “The Black Widow and Casper,” he said. “What a team.”

  “So what’s your nickname?” Jamie challenged.

  Isaiah spread his hands. “Don’t need one.”

  “How ’bout GQ?” Jamie suggested, though she knew it was lame as soon as it left her mouth.

  Isaiah wore a shimmering black suit with a thin, red windowpane pattern—a five-button job that hung low on his body. He wore cuff links, a brilliant red tie, and a pocket handkerchief to match. For Isaiah, he had gone light on the bling—just a small, gleaming gold earring in his left ear. He would have looked great as an ESPN announcer, but he apparently hadn’t read the same studies Jamie read on dressing for courtroom success.

  And then there was Wellington. He had on a beige sports coat, baggy khaki pants, a frayed white shirt, and a yellow tie with a faded stain. In planning the seating chart, Isaiah had relegated Wellington to the front row of the spectator section, claiming they couldn’t have too many lawyers at the defense table.

  A few minutes later, two confident men wearing standard dark blue suits entered the courtroom. “The one on the right is Agent Parcelli,” Isaiah whispered. Introductions were made all the way around. The U.S. attorney assigned to the case was short and gregarious, midfifties if Jamie had to guess, with an easy smile and a reassuring way about him. He had a full head of short blond hair gelled neatly into place. Wrinkle lines radiated from the corners of his eyes—the downside to a constant smile and sunny disposition. He introduced himself as Allan Carzak, the United States Attorney for the Northern District of Georgia. The big gun, in other words—no assistant sent to do this job.

  After shaking hands with the law students, Carzak greeted everyone in the courtroom by first name—the clerk, the federal marshal, the court reporter: “How was your weekend, Marsha? Fred, how’s that golf game? Amanda, is your daughter still playing softball?”

  By nine o’clock, all the players were in place except two. The federal judge selected at random to hear the case had not yet appeared. According to the clerk, that judge would be Christina Torriano, the court’s youngest female member. Wellington, who had a small manila folder of research on each of the eight potential judges, said Torriano was sharp, ran a tightly controlled courtroom, and had a good-size chip on her shoulder. “A Bush appointee,” he added.

  The other missing player was Professor Walter Snead. And none of the students had his cell phone number . . . if he even carried one.

  To Jamie’s horror, the judge arrived first. She was short and well-fed, with dark, curly, shoulder-length hair. The marshal called the session to order, and Torriano surveyed her courtroom. “This hearing is closed to the public and will remain so until further notice. All pleadings in this case shall be filed under seal, and the file itself will remain in my chambers.

  “Are Counsel ready to proceed?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Carzak said.

  Isaiah stood at the defense table. “Ready, Your Honor.”

  Torriano stared at him. “Where are your clients, Counsel?”

  “They will not be appearing today, Your Honor. They were concerned that word of this hearing might leak out and that by appearing they might be endangering their lives. They’re in hiding right now.”

  “You expect to obtain a preliminary injunction without your clients even showing up?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Good luck.” Her tone indicated he would definitely need it.

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” Isaiah said.

  The judge then turned her attention to Wellington and raised her eyebrows. “Are you Professor Snead?”

  He stood. “Oh no, ma’am.” His voice trembled a little. “I’m a second-year student helping with research. Professor Snead isn’t here yet.”

  “He’s not here?” If tones were objects, Torriano’s would have been a stiletto.

  “Not yet, Your Honor,” Isaiah said when it became obvious that no words were coming out of Wellington’s mouth. “We expect him any second.”

  Carzak stood and tried to help. “There was an accident on the connector this morning, Your Honor. Traffic’s worse than usual.”

  “Yet somehow, magically, everyone else managed to make it on time.” Her Honor turned toward Jamie and Isaiah again, her drawn face reflecting her annoyance. “This is no example for you to follow,” she said. “Court will stand adjourned until your professor graces us with his presence.”

  She banged the gavel, the lawyers stood, and she exited the courtroom.

  Ten minutes later, Snead came limping down the middle aisle of the courtroom, leaning heavily on a cane. He shook hands with Carzak before hobbling over to the defense counsel table. While waiting, Jamie had become so mad at the man she could have spit on him, but now, seeing him with the cane, she regretted the fact she had jumped to conclusions.

  As Snead settled into his seat at the end of counsel table, right next to Jamie, she decided not to bring it up. Snead had always limped. Maybe he was dealing with a chronic thing that had suddenly taken a turn for the worse.

  “What’s with the cane?” Isaiah whispered, speaking past Jamie to the professor.

  Snead looked at the cane, propped against the table, as if he were just as surprised as Isaiah to see it there. “Oh, this,” he said. “I always take it with me to court.”

  Five minutes later, Judge Torriano called court to session, delivered a blistering rebuke to Snead for being late, then asked if the professor had anything to say. Jamie expected Snead to stand and mumble some vague apology.

  He did stand. He leaned on his cane. “I thought full professors were entitled to an extra fifteen minutes,” he quipped. “That’s the way it is at Southeastern.”

  “Well, that’s not the way it is in my courtroom,” Torriano snapped. “You would do well to make sure you are on time for all future proceedings.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Your Honor.”

  The judge stared at Snead for a long second, making it obvious that this was not the response she wanted. She gave him another few beats to apologize. Then she let it pass.

  “Call your first witness,” she said to Isaiah.

  49

  Jamie was struck by the supersized majesty of federal court. She had represented legal aid clients in the stuffy and crowded confines of state court—small rooms with hard wooden benches filled to overflowing. But here, in the United States District Court for the Northern District of Georgia, they were surrounded by outlandishly high ceilings, hardwood trim, thick rugs, and heavy satin drapes. The lawyers and court personnel were swallowed up by the immensity of the place—everything about it said that Jamie had just hit the big time.

  Except that her client was nowhere to be found, and the judge was scowling at them.

  Isaiah explained to Judge Torriano that he would be relying on the affidavits of Stacie and David Hoffman filed with the motion for preliminary injunction. For his first witness, he would like to call Agent Samuel Parcelli to the stand as a hostile witness.

  “Objection!” Carzak said cheerfully. “I can’t cross-examine the Hoffmans’ affidavits, and I object to them coming into evidence.” He said it with a tone of condescension that made Jamie fume. “As for Parcelli, I can’t stop them from calling him as a witness, but he’s not necessarily a hostile witness as that term is used in a court of law.”

  Wellington had researched these points over the weekend, and Isaiah immediately started citing the list of cases Wellington had uncovered. The affidavit could be considered as evidence at a preliminary injunction hearing because the matter would be decided by a judge, not a jury. The court could give it whatever weight she saw fit. Furthermore, Parcelli was employed by the government, the very party that the Hoffmans accused of violating the contract. If anybody qualified as a hostile witness, Parcelli did.

  Isaiah and
Carzak went back and forth for a few minutes before Torriano banged her gavel and ruled in favor of Isaiah on both points. Jamie’s exultation was short-lived, however, when Professor Snead leaned over and whispered, “That’s a bad omen. If the court rules in our favor on evidentiary issues, it’s a sure sign she’s going to rule against us on the overall case. That way, on appeal, we won’t have any evidentiary rulings to complain about.”

  Talk about perverse logic, Jamie thought. But in a way, it made sense.

  Parcelli took the stand and fostered the impression of a serious and dedicated, if somewhat brooding, federal agent. He testified in succinct and no-nonsense sound bites, never giving Isaiah any more information than absolutely necessary. Isaiah held his own, stalking the courtroom and firing one question after another without the aid of notes. He got Parcelli to admit that the Hoffmans had testified truthfully both in front of the grand jury and at trial. That their testimony had helped put four members of the Chinese mafia behind bars. And that the memorandum of understanding required the Hoffmans to testify truthfully but did not require them to turn over the particulars of any algorithms they might later come to acquire.

  “Assuming Mr. Hoffman even has such an algorithm, Mr. Parcelli, you wouldn’t know for sure when he obtained it, would you?”

  “He must have acquired it before Professor Kumari died. Yet the very day that Kumari died, we took a recorded statement from Mr. Hoffman where he claimed he did not possess the algorithm or any copies of it. He said he didn’t really even know what it was.”

  Isaiah stopped pacing and turned toward the witness. “How do you know that Hoffman obtained the algorithm before Kumari died, as opposed to after?”