The Trials of Max Q, page 4
As the lake becomes painted with darkness, I retreat inside to work on the Andy Kass case. But thoughts of Reyanne keep flooding my mind. It’s going to be another long night.
The Investigation
Chapter 9
My alarm jolts my eyes open. The 1980s pop song “Manic Monday” fills my room.
The alarm was a gift from Reyanne. It plays day of the week themed music. For example, tomorrow will be “Ruby Tuesday” by the Stones. Most of my Reyanne memories are either filled with unfathomable joy or the deep sorrow of loss. The alarm clock is just annoying. But I try to hold onto every piece of her that I can, even though I know she wouldn’t approve.
I drag myself out of bed and step out onto the porch. I spot the Ashley’s Errands van erratically backing out of the driveway.
“Have a great day, Jack!” she yells up to me.
I wave back and hold my breath, hoping she won’t back into a fast-moving truck on Route-80.
“Take it easy on that Kass kid—he didn’t mean anyone any harm.”
I agree with Ashley, but it’s complicated. For starters, he did commit a crime of epic proportions, so to give him leniency will encourage every picked-on kid to take matters into their own hands. Secondly, the community wants to make an example of Andy.
I don’t really care about the latter. If I ever start consulting lynch mobs on my cases, that’ll be the day I walk out of the courtroom and never return. The bigger problem is Andy’s delusion of grandeur. He wants the courtroom to be his pulpit to speak out for all the bullied kids in the world, and his public defender has given him the rope to hang himself.
The day is shaping up as a typical triple-H July day, so I toss on a pair of black biker shorts and a T-shirt, then strap my plastic bike helmet over my greasy hair.
Shep would normally pick me up in her flashy 7-Series BMW. Another notch in her meaningless pursuit of the approval of others that she could never afford on a county salary—supposedly she comes from a well-to-do Boston family. She treks in from Albany, which is a forty-five minute commute on a good day.
Our meeting with Kass is scheduled for ten. I wanted to arrange it for first thing in the morning before any of our co-workers arrived, but Shep hit me with the last minute information on Friday that she had an appointment of a personal nature this morning that couldn’t be adjusted. So I have some extra time on my hands, which allows me to do a few errands around town in preparation for the meeting, including a trip to the bank.
My commute normally takes about ten to fifteen minutes with my full-suspension, lightweight aluminum mountain-bike, which is more my speed than the motorcycle. I soak in the soothing sounds of chirping birds and all of a sudden Monday morning isn’t so Monday morning anymore.
I think of Andy Kass, and try to decide if my strategy for today’s meeting is too radical. He’s a tough nut to crack, and I need to scare him out of his comfort zone before he gets himself locked up for the next thirty years. So I feel I have no choice.
Our building is located right next to the old courthouse. It’s a rare modern structure in Cooperstown that we share with numerous civic related agencies such as the Clean Water Agency and the Department of Transportation and Tourism.
I arrive just before ten, carrying my bike into our first floor office. Nobody greets me, which isn’t unusual—my co-workers view me as the big city pedigree who swooped into town to steal the job they were all destined for. But this morning I notice a heightened buzz of excitement in the office. Because Andy Kass has arrived? The six o’clock-news type stuff rarely happens in Otsego County.
Jana, who is one of two administrative secretaries for the office, informs me that Andy has indeed arrived. At LB&G I had six admins assigned just to me, and if I was working on a case for a high priority client, there were often more.
A group of ADAs are huddled, eating doughnuts, gossiping, and complaining, probably about me.
I move past the peanut gallery, but I’m close enough to catch the term “crime of the century.” Since the Kass case is about the biggest crime seen in Otsego County, and I don’t think it would qualify, this century or any other, I can only surmise they are referring to my outfit.
The one ADA not present is Shep. Even with her previous engagement I thought she’d beat me here—she might be the most punctual person I’ve ever met.
As if hearing my thoughts, she bursts through the front door, almost tripping over her expensive heels, looking out of both breath and sorts. She is sporting glasses today, a change of pace, but her hair is in its usual conservative bun. She’s wearing a button down Oxford with pinstriped slacks, and carrying a navy blazer.
She’s an impeccable dresser, in her typical obsessive way. Designer of course, because it’s most important what others think. Shoes, bag, and nail polish are always a match. She definitely buys into the theory that you should dress for the job you want, not the one you have.
She originally came from the New York State Prosecutors’ Training Institute in Albany. She made an immediate impression with her intelligence and ambition, and now is here full time. Or at least until a better offer comes along. I know somewhere inside her is someone who wants to be a great lawyer. At the moment she wants to be a great success, which is different.
I don’t receive the good-morning smile from her that I’ve grown accustomed to. She has a great smile. Not the Julia Roberts megawatt type, but a more understated one that shows off a softer side that she tries so hard to cover up—it’s like finding a rare treasure.
I motion her to my office, where we can speak about our upcoming meeting in peace. I casually lean my bike against a bookshelf and try to act as if I don’t notice the awkwardness between us.
Without a word, Shep hands me a list of questions and goals she prepared for the Andy Kass meeting. I immediately crumple it and toss it toward the garbage can. I know this will irritate her, but sometimes you have to throw out the book and write your own script. They never taught Andy Kass in law school.
She glares at me with her big brown eyes. “Andy and his lawyer are here. Should I tell them you are too busy preparing for the Tour de France?”
“I’ll just be a minute,” I say and grab a change of clothing that is hanging in a small closet. I carefully maneuver through gossip central and down a musty stairwell to the shower, located in the men’s bathroom on the basement level.
I finish in world-record time, dress in a dark suit, and expertly tie my tie. I run a comb through my wet hair. I’ve had the same parted-to-the-side hairstyle since the sixth grade, except for my time with Reyanne when I was forced into five different hairstyles in fourteen months.
I meet back up with Shep, who is making no secret about looking at her watch.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
“Are you?”
I grab my bag and we head down the hallway toward the conference room.
“So what did you end up doing this weekend?” I try to make small talk.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but a friend invited me out on his boat.”
“Is that what this late Monday was about?”
“You made it clear that we should keep our relationship professional, so how about keeping up your end of the bargain.”
Her icy stare ends the conversation. We pass the other ADAs, still munching and chatting, and I again catch the term “crime of the century.”
“I’m guessing that they’re talking about my outfit and not yours?” I say with an olive-branch smile.
Shep remains stoic. “My sources tell me that a woman was found dead at Drew Anderson’s estate this morning. I think that’s what has everyone buzzing. Rumor is that it might have been one of the cleaning staff who committed suicide, but nobody’s really sure at this point.”
The news catches me by surprise, but I play it off. “How come everybody has sources but me?” I ask, and then break into laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“I think the peanut gallery thinks Anderson might have something to do with the woman’s death. A suicide wouldn’t exactly qualify as a crime of the century.”
“Anderson a killer? Doesn’t sound likely.”
“Plus, I know he wasn’t in town last night.”
“I thought you didn’t have sources?”
“I don’t. I ran into him at Saratoga yesterday. Said he was returning to Manhattan that night to attend a party with his wife.”
Chapter 10
Andy Kass sits with Susan Pinnick, his assigned public defender. Showing either great nerve or unprecedented stupidity, he wears a T-shirt dedicated to his graduating class at Otsego High. I shake hands with Susan, but Andy remains seated in protest.
Andy is short with a portly build and a ruddy complexion. His eyes are of someone much older, but not necessarily wiser. His sense of humor is dry as the Sahara, leaving most people unsure as to when he is being serious.
“Jaaack,” he greets me with a goofy grin, and saying my name in the long drawn-out style that has become his custom.
He then returns to the same book he’s been reading the last three times we’ve met. It’s about the enslavement of workers in the diamond-mining business in Africa. The kid is not shallow, I’ll give him that.
“Mr. Lawson, I think it is time to talk deal,” Andy’s lawyer begins the meeting, as I take a seat across from them at the conference table. “This game of chicken we’re on is going to end with my client being made an example for the sins of others. If we just stick to the law and not public sentiment, I’m sure we can hammer out a deal that benefits all parties.”
Shep responds, “Any deal would require a few things. First of all, we need your client to fully cooperate with us. Second, he must be prepared for prison time. You do understand that complete leniency in this case would create open season for those who feel being picked on gives them the right to resort to violence, correct?”
“A property was destroyed. Nothing more, nothing less. This is a case of vandalism at the highest level. Not an act of terrorism. Some of these statutes with life sentences that Andy is being charged with are ridiculous. They need to be taken off the table for us to cooperate.”
Andy looks up from his book, showing unexpected interest. “I will not accept any deal. This matter should be decided in a court of law. I told her this, but she won’t listen. You’re fired, Ms. Pinnick!”
Normally such a rift between lawyer and client would be heavily in our favor, but I don’t have the time or patience for it. “I want to talk to Andy alone,” I interrupt their bickering.
Susan refuses my request, to which Andy reminds her that she’s no longer his lawyer.
“Okay—five minutes” Susan says and reluctantly leaves the room, seemingly not taking her firing seriously. I get the feeling that it’s not the first time it’s happened.
“You too, Shep,” I say.
When she grasps that I’m serious, her face turns rigid. She stands, performs a half-pirouette and stomps toward the door. She slams the door on her way out.
Point taken.
It’s just Andy Kass and me, one-on-one. Something I’ve craved for weeks. I’m going to get justice, whether Andy likes it or not.
We sit in a macho-staring contest for a minute, before his eyes return to his book. My impulse is to rip it out of his hand and throw it against the wall, but I know that he’ll shut down completely—like a turtle retreating into his shell. Especially since I think the book represents some sort of brotherhood of the downtrodden.
“So how did it feel?” I break the ice.
Andy glances up at me, gauging my purpose for this alone time. It’s a chess match.
“Wow, Jack, you are both a shrink and a lawyer. That’s like having cancer and heart disease at the same time.”
“So how did it feel?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. You went through months of planning to blow up that school, yet you haven’t been able to talk about it. You’re already screwed—the explosives match the ones found in your parents’ garage, and we found piles of Internet printouts in your bedroom on how to make the exact type of bomb used in the explosion.
“You told a few classmates before graduation that something ‘huge and explosive’ was going to happen. I haven’t heard one denial on your part, and your lawyer, besides having a difficult client, is begging me for a deal because she knows I have enough evidence to put you away for a long time. So tell me how it felt when that school fell to the ground. The place that tortured you five days a week for years. How did it feel, Andy!?”
He explodes with emotion., “It was perfect! Like the forces of the universe came together in unison. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”
I say nothing.
Andy’s body is pulsating. “Are you happy now?”
I should be—confessions tend to be helpful in my line of work—but not in this case. “My girlfriend died in an explosion. I don’t think they are beautiful at all.”
Andy looks dismayed. It’s the first time I’ve seen him drop his aloof facade. “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean …”
I stand, cutting him off. “Now there’s a term we can work with … I’m sorry. I think we’re making progress, Andy.”
“I said I was sorry about your girlfriend, not what happened to that school—stop putting words in my mouth.”
“How come you didn’t kill anyone?” I press on.
Andy remains silent, pulling the book closer to his face. He made sure nobody was present when it went down. I don’t think it’s a coincidence the night janitor had his tires slashed on his truck so he couldn’t go to work that night.
“I have five witnesses who saw someone matching your description at the scene. Logic says they saw you setting up the explosives for your performance of Oklahoma City the sequel, but I think you were doing a final sweep to make sure nobody was in the building.”
“So what if I did?”
“Andy, I wouldn’t have had as big of a problem with those subway bombers if they got everyone out before igniting the explosives. It would still be off-the-charts wrong, but my job is to work with levels of wrong.”
“What’s your point?”
“Despite what most people in this community think, I know you didn’t want to harm anyone. You’re not the devil. In fact, you’re quite the opposite. And if you apply yourself in the right way, you can become a leader for the downtrodden. God help us all, maybe one day you can even run for president.”
“You have to be rich to be president, Jack. Where did you go to school, Naïve University?”
“All I’m trying to say is that the world will be a better place with Andy Kass fighting for the people who can’t fight for themselves. But the only way for that to happen is for you to step up to the plate with a big fat ‘I’m sorry,’ and then we’ll work out a deal that punishes what you did, and not what people want to hang you for. It’s your choice, Andy, but if you go to jail, then who’s going to fight for the diamond miners?”
He nervously fidgets, digesting my words. “I’m going to trial—it’s my constitutional right, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
It’s the expected answer, but I feel I’m starting to wear him down. I reach into my bag and pull out a large mailing envelope. I hand it to him, and he looks apprehensively at it. My eyes encourage him to open it and he follows my cue. “If so, then you’re going to need this,” I say.
He pulls out bricks of money.
“It’s ten thousand dollars. I want you to fire Susan for real this time. She has talent, but like most public defenders, is overworked, underpaid, and inexperienced. I included a list of defense attorneys who I think are good.”
“I can’t take this.”
“You have no choice. I’m the best prosecutor in the area. I will crush you in court if you choose to go there. You don’t only need money to be president, you need it to have a fair shake at justice.”
Andy sits quietly, staring blankly at the money.
“I’m just doing what you do, Andy—helping those who can’t help themselves.”
I’m still baffled by the “walk on water” confidence I have in situations like this, compared to my self-esteem-challenged non-law life. But I’m convinced it’s the only way that justice will be achieved in this case.
Andy shoves the money back in the envelope, and pushes it at me as if it’s unstable uranium. His response is predictable. Or at least that’s what I was betting on. Not sure what I would’ve done if he had actually taken it.
I give him a “suit yourself” shrug, and stand. “I enjoyed our conversation,” I say and head for the door.
“You’re different, Jack,” he calls to me.
“I’m not much different from you, Andy,” I reply, and leave the room.
Chapter 11
I step outside the conference room, and nod to Susan Pinnick, who immediately goes to see if I harmed her client. I wonder if she’s secretly hoping that I did.
Jana approaches with urgency in her step, and informs me that Gifford Brown is demanding my presence in his office ASAP. She adds that she’s never seen him quite so mad.
He couldn’t know what I just did, could he? Although, with his paranoia, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he’d bugged the conference room.
I give two quick knocks on the heavy elm door and enter. Gifford terminates another cigarette. Smoking is banned in our office, which is why his door is usually shut. By the look of things, there are at least ten extinguished cigarettes in the ashtray. A sign that I’m in trouble.
Gifford removes his coke-bottle glasses from his balding dome and cleans them with a baby-wipe. His nervous energy is really concerning me. He stands, making me feel small, blocking the sign that sits behind his desk, which reads, Give ’em a fair trial & then hang ’em. He is abnormally thin and six-foot-four. He played basketball for Syracuse University back in the ’60s, which is hard to picture looking at him now.
