The Justice Game Page 22

  “That dude Jamison called me,” Beeson said, not waiting for a prompt. “He said he tried to buy a gun at Peninsula Arms but didn’t pass the background check. Said the clerk at the gun store gave him my number.”

  “Move to strike,” Jason said. “Hearsay.”

  Kelly shot him a look.

  “Did he say which clerk sent him to you?” Kelly asked.

  “Objection. Hearsay again.”

  Give it a rest!

  “Nah,” Beeson said. “It didn’t matter.”

  “Had this happened before? Ineligible gun buyers calling you and saying they were referred by the store?”

  This time Jason snorted at the question. “Let’s see,” he said. “Hearsay—actually double hearsay—leading the witness, relevance… Am I missing anything?”

  “You mean other than that class in law school where they teach you to reserve your objections until trial?” Kelly asked.

  “Tell you what,” Jason said, his tone friendly. “You stop asking objectionable questions, and I’ll stop objecting.”

  Kelly shook her head. In the past five years, she had learned her deposition lessons the hard way—don’t let the men push you around. Always get the last word. “It’s a shame,” she said, “that the rookie has to learn how to practice law on my case.”

  Beeson chuckled. “Man, I wouldn’t mess with her,” he said to Jason.

  The squabbling continued for several more questions until Kelly got back on solid ground. The phone conversation was only one way of showing that the clerks at Peninsula Arms knew this was a straw purchase. The other was the transaction itself.

  According to Beeson, he and Larry Jamison had entered the store together. Jamison had talked with the clerk and inspected the firearms while Beeson looked on. Once Jamison selected the gun, Beeson and Jamison went outside the store, and the money changed hands—the cost of the gun and a 50 percent “handling fee.” Beeson went back inside on his own and purchased the gun, gave it to Jamison in the parking lot, and never saw the man again.

  It was, Kelly thought, as good a place as any to end the testimony. Beeson wasn’t the best witness, but Kelly didn’t get to pick them. She already knew how she would explain it in her closing argument.

  “Boy Scouts don’t participate in the gunrunning business. The other people who know how this transaction occurred are either dead or taking the Fifth. We don’t pick the witnesses, ladies and gentlemen, we just put them on the stand.

  “But is he telling the truth? Consider this—Beeson’s confession earned him a twelve-month prison sentence. What human being lies so that he can spend a year of his life behind bars?”

  48

  Jason was in full acting mode now. He was so nervous he could feel his heart pounding against his chest. Nevertheless, he pushed his nerves aside and adopted a condescending air, an acerbic tone.

  Jarrod Beeson was scum. It was important that every part of Jason’s cross-examination deliver that message.

  “You seem to be mighty friendly with Ms. Starling,” Jason said. “Have you rehearsed your testimony?”

  “Objection,” Kelly snapped. “That question completely mischaracterizes the witness’s demeanor.”

  “I thought we were saving our objections for trial,” Jason said.

  “Just ask your questions.”

  “Well,” Jason said thoughtfully, “let’s probe it a little bit. Have you been sued by Ms. Starling?”

  “Maybe. I dunno.”

  Jason smiled. When witnesses tried to play it coy, it only hurt their credibility. “Okay, let me help you. Have you been served with any official-looking legal documents while you’ve been sitting in jail—documents that demand you pay Rachel Crawford’s husband a lot of money?”

  “No.”

  “Then let’s assume you haven’t been sued.”

  “I’ll save you the trouble,” Kelly said, her voice curt. “I didn’t sue him because he’s penniless. It would be a waste of time.”

  Jason pondered this for a minute. He could tell he was getting under Kelly’s skin. She was a good lawyer, but she took everything personally. Maybe he could exploit that. “Will you also stipulate that you didn’t sue the gun store because they’re in bankruptcy?”

  “That’s got nothing to do with this deposition,” Kelly said.

  “Or how about the fact that you sued my client because they seem to be the only ones that do have money?”

  Kelly turned to the court reporter. “Strike that from the record,” she said. Then back to Jason. “Are you going to ask this witness questions, or do you just want to pick a fight?”

  “All right.” Jason turned back to Beeson. “Do you know Melissa Davids?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever talked to anybody who works at my client’s company, MD Firearms?”

  “You mean other than the gun store clerks?”

  “Nice try. But they don’t work for us. I mean anybody actually employed by MD Firearms?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “And when you illegally buy these guns for criminals, you don’t always buy guns manufactured by MD Firearms, do you?”

  Even Beeson knew he couldn’t deny this one. The records were clear. “No. Though most felons seem to like that MD-9.”

  Nice touch. Jason gave Beeson a quick smile and reminded himself not to get sloppy. “In fact, some of your straw purchases were at stores other than Peninsula Arms, correct?”

  “If you say so.”

  “Do you need to see the receipts?”

  “Nah. I believe you.”

  Jason paused. He knew that periods of silence could sometimes help refocus the attention of the jury. “Then let me ask you this question: If for some reason MD Firearms had decided to no longer sell guns to Peninsula Arms, you could have bought a different gun for Jamison, or you could have gone to a different store and bought the MD-9 there—right?”

  Kelly let out a frustrated sigh. “That calls for speculation.”

  “And so does your lawsuit,” countered Jason. He honed in on Beeson. “You need to answer the question. The judge will rule later as to whether the jury will hear it.”

  “Can you repeat it again?” Beeson asked. It seemed to Jason like he was trying to buy time.

  Jason had the court reporter read back the question and Beeson’s face went from concern to triumph—a dull math student finally understanding the formula.

  “Maybe,” Beeson said. “But I would have never known that Jamison existed if Peninsula Arms hadn’t sent him to me.”

  “Which is all hearsay,” Jason said. “The only person who told you that Peninsula Arms was involved in referring Jamison to you was Jamison himself; isn’t that right?”

  “Objection. Asked and answered.”

  “Do I answer again anyway?” Beeson asked, looking at Kelly.

  She nodded.

  “That’s right,” Beeson said. “Jamison told me. And it might be a little hard to cross-examine him.”

  * * *

  As Kelly was leaving the prison, Jason held the door for her. After two hours of fighting tooth and nail, she wanted to tell him he could dispense with the Southern gentleman charade. Instead, she found herself saying thanks. But when he tried to civilly discuss scheduling dates for other depositions and discovery matters, she blew him off. “Call me at the office,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

  Kelly stopped and looked at him. The audacity. “No, thanks.” She knew she should probably let it go at that. Jason was young. He was good at depositions, but he obviously had a few things to learn about life. “This isn’t Ralph Wolf and Sam Sheepdog,” Kelly said. “Try to kill each other all day, punch a clock, wish each other a pleasant evening.”

  Jason looked a little stunned, but Kelly was just getting started. “Your client pumps useless semi-automatic assault weapons into the black market and turns its back while people die. My client has to live the rest of his l
ife without a soul mate. I know you’re just doing your job, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  Jason stood there for a second, taking it all in. “Okay,” he said. “All right, I get that. But did I mention the coffee’s on me?”

  Kelly sighed. It was hard to stay mad when he wouldn’t fight back. “Call me at the office,” she said. She turned and headed toward her car, hiding the faintest hint of a smile.

  “Drive safe,” Jason called out.

  Was he playing mind games with her, or was he really that clueless?

  49

  Bella Harper, it turned out, had an opinion on everything. Between smoking breaks, lecturing Jason on how to run a law office, and organizing everything in sight, she also tried to get Jason’s spiritual life squared away. She talked about her own dramatic conversion to Christianity just a few short years ago and how much it had changed her. “Maybe not in the smoking department,” she admitted. “But everything else.”

  Jason must have given her a sideways look, because she immediately read his mind. “You think I’m bossy now? You should have seen me before.”

  Jason had a hard time imagining how it could have been any worse. Bella was overbearing, but he would tolerate it because she got the job done.

  The last week or so, they had been in an unspoken who-can-get-to-work-first race. Jason came in at 8:30 on Monday. Instead of welcoming him to the office, Bella said she had been worried that maybe he was taking the day off and forgot to tell her. On Tuesday, he arrived at 8:00 to find Bella at her desk with the coffee made. Wednesday, it was 7:45. When he arrived at 6:30 on Friday only to find Bella on her first smoke break, Jason threw in the towel.

  “Are you sleeping here?” he asked. “Let’s talk about setting some reasonable office hours.”

  They were out on the front stoop. It was dark, cold, and windy.

  Bella took a puff on her cigarette and blew the smoke away from Jason. “You’re the one sending out e-mails at one in the morning. Pot, meet kettle.”

  Jason smiled. “Maybe we’re not exactly good for each other’s workaholism,” he admitted. “Maybe we should both take a day off once in a while.”

  “Yeah, like maybe Sunday. Go to church together.”

  “Nice try,” Jason said. The invitation had become a running gag. Jason was careful not to disrespect Bella’s faith but made it clear that he really wasn’t interested. Bella had nevertheless declared her intention to drag him to church with her someday, kicking and screaming if necessary. She had already tried every angle, including telling Jason about all the single young women who attended.

  “Okay, I might need a little assistance in the religion department,” Jason had said. “But I definitely don’t need your help in the dating department.”

  “Right,” Bella said. “I forgot about that steady stream of bachelorettes beating down your door. Hard to know how you keep them all straight.”

  Jason gave her his best I’m-the-boss-and-I’m-not-happy look.

  She threw up her palms. “I get it. I mean, not really, but I hear ya.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Jason thought the conversation was over and started walking away. But something about Bella’s facial expression stopped him. She looked sheepish, a look he hadn’t seen from her before.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Bella grimaced. It was obvious she was holding out on him.

  “Bella?”

  “If you get a call from Beach Weekly about their ten most eligible bachelors edition…” She stopped and braced for the reaction. “I sent that in before we had this conversation. So don’t get all huffy on me.”

  * * *

  The call came when Kelly was waiting in line for lunch at the small deli on the ground floor of her building. Judge Shaver’s cell phone.

  “Hey, Judge,” Kelly said. She tried to sound natural, but her heart was in her throat. Shaver wouldn’t call unless it was very important. “Can I call you right back?”

  “How long?” Shaver asked.

  “A minute. Literally.”

  “Okay.”

  Kelly paid for her lunch, carried her tray to a table, and left it there. She looked for a private spot in the lobby. There were people milling around, and the granite floors created an echo. She decided to step outside, even without her winter coat, in the middle of February. She figured the call wouldn’t take long.

  Shaver answered on the first ring. “Just wanted to follow up on our meeting the other day,” he said blithely. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  His tone, Kelly knew, was intended to send its own message: Be careful what you say; someone might be listening.

  “Thanks for asking about the confirmation hearings,” he continued. “And for asking my advice about settlement.”

  Kelly had not, of course, sought any such advice. The man was sending her some kind of signal, being careful so that his choice of words wouldn’t haunt him later.

  “The politicians are working on a compromise for judicial nominations. They say my hearings could start as early as next month, or it could be as long as three or four months.”

  “That’s a pretty big window,” Kelly responded, running the timetables in her head. Either way, it would probably happen before the start of her trial.

  “Yeah. Quite a system,” Shaver said. “I’m so frustrated with the whole process, I’m thinking about just withdrawing my name.”

  Kelly had been walking down the sidewalk, trying to keep warm. She was drawing a fair number of looks. The tension and the frigid air made her voice tremble a little. “Hang in there, Judge. You’ve come this far; don’t back out now.”

  Kelly had thought this through from every angle. If Shaver withdrew his name, it wouldn’t solve many of her problems. Luthor would still have his blackmail threats, though the story about the affair wouldn’t have quite the same national appeal. Still, Kelly’s friends and family would all find out about it.

  “Yes, well, for the time being I’m content to see where it heads. But I like being a trial judge. I do wonder sometimes whether this whole process is worth it.”

  There was a momentary silence, as if Shaver was waiting for some type of coded message in response. It would have been easier just to meet with the man, but Kelly could understand why he didn’t want to take that risk.

  “Changing subjects,” Shaver said, “I’ve been thinking about that gun case you mentioned and the advice I gave you about settlement. One thing I’ve been asking myself is who would benefit if you went to trial. It seems to me that two very different groups benefit. The Handgun Violence Coalition, the group that referred you the case, would benefit because this case will generate a lot of donations.

  “The second group that would benefit is the NRA and its allies. Think about it. What they need is a villain to help them raise cash, a boogeyman that threatens to disarm all of America. Trial lawyers in general—and you in particular—fit that role very nicely. So these advocacy groups benefit handsomely if the case goes to trial. But Kelly…”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Your role is to ignore them. Your only role is to do what’s best for your client.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kelly said.

  There were no settlement discussions on the table, so from that perspective, the judge’s comments were all nonsense. But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to decode the message. Shaver thought Kelly was being blackmailed by the Handgun Violence Coalition or one of the NRA’s allies. Both groups certainly had financial incentives to see this case tried, but how would either of them have learned about the affair?

  “In any event, how’s the case going?” Judge Shaver asked.

  Kelly kept it short and sweet; after all, it was freezing outside. She headed back toward the warmth of the building lobby, explaining her frustrations with the deposition of Jarrod Beeson and other aspects of the case. Shaver listened politely but was careful not to give her any legal advice.

  After they hung up, Kelly hustl
ed back inside the lobby of her building. She took a deep breath, rubbed her freezing arms, and ran through the conversation in her mind.

  The whole phone call felt strangely off-kilter. She’d heard paranoia in Shaver’s voice. He’d even made a second offer to pull his name from nomination in hopes that all this might somehow go away.

  But it wouldn’t.

  His references to settlement made Kelly even more leery. Shaver had made it clear that Kelly should do what was best for her client. Yes, he had been sending signals about who he thought might be the blackmailers, but this phone call, if it had been recorded, would be Shaver’s Exhibit A to show that he had urged Kelly not to give in to the blackmailer. If it’s in the best interest of your client you should settle—or words to that effect.

  He didn’t need to say that. Kelly had already told him she was not going to let Luthor dictate what she should do on this case. But now Judge Shaver had made a special phone call to go on record distancing himself from Kelly’s decision.

  It felt vaguely like a setup, as if Shaver was trying to keep her mollified yet at the same time separate himself from her decisions. If Kelly tried to say that the judge had urged her not to settle in order to keep their affair a secret, he would just trot out this phone call as evidence to the contrary.

  It was clever and subtle, but she saw right through it. Judge Shaver didn’t trust her. He was trying to erect a wall of separation between her decisions on the case and their adulterous relationship.

  In the world of D.C. politics, it was, as usual, every man for himself.

  50

  For Jason Noble and Andrew Lassiter, it was almost like old times.

  But not quite.

  The air between them was noticeably chillier now—not quite see-your-breath chilly but not exactly warm bayou nights either—as they sat together in Jason’s conference room and watched the videotaped depositions of Melissa Davids and Jarrod Beeson. There was an unspoken acknowledgment that Jason had not stepped up for Andrew when Justice Inc. had done Andrew wrong. That pall hung over their meeting, though both men were too reserved or stubborn to talk about it.