48

Jack watched the six-o’clock evening news from the couch in his living room. Cindy was right beside him, their fingers interlaced. She was squeezing so hard it almost hurt, and Jack wasn’t sure if it was a sign of support or anger.

Rumors of an impending indictment had been flying all afternoon, and in a competitive news market where a story just wasn’t a story unless “You heard it here first,” the media was all over it.

A silver-haired anchorman looked straight at him as the obligatory graphic of the scales of justice appeared behind him on the screen. “A former girlfriend is dead, and a questionable million-and-a-half-dollar deal is under scrutiny by a Florida grand jury. Jack Swyteck, son of Florida’s former governor Harold Swyteck, may be in trouble with the law again.”

“Why do they have to do that?” said Cindy.

“They always have.” His entire life, any time he’d gotten into trouble, he was always “Jack Swyteck, son of Harold Swyteck.”

Trumpets blared and drums beat, the usual fanfare for the Action News opening.

“Good evening,” the newsman continued. “We first brought you this exclusive story several weeks ago, when the body of thirty-one-year-old Jessie Merrill was found dead in the home of prominent Miami attorney Jack Swyteck. At first blush her death appeared to be suicide, but now prosecutors aren’t so sure. Action News reporter Heather Brown is live outside the Metro-Dade Justice Center. Heather, what’s the latest?”

The screen flashed to a perfectly put-together young woman standing in a parking lot at dusk. The Justice Center was visible in the distant background, and a half-dozen teenage boys wearing bulky gang clothing, thick gold chains, and backward Nike caps, were gyrating behind her, as if that added credibility to her live report. Long strands of black hair slapped at her face like a bullwhip. She’d obviously committed the cardinal rookie mistake of positioning her roving camera crew downwind.

“Steve, sources close to this investigation have told Action News that a grand jury has been looking into the death of Jessie Merrill for some time now. Information obtained exclusively by Action News indicates that Miami-Dade prosecutor Benno Jancowitz has presented to the grand jury something that one source calls substantial evidence that Ms. Merrill’s death was not suicide but homicide. This source went on to tell us that indictments could come down at any time now.”

The anchorman jumped in. “Is there any indication who may be charged and what the charges may be?”

“That information has yet to be released. But again, the operative word here is ‘indictments,’ plural, not just the indictment of a single suspect. Sources tell us that this could turn into a case of alleged murder-for-hire. Right now, the spotlight is on Jack Swyteck and his former client, Theo Knight. Mr. Knight has a long criminal record and even spent four years on Florida’s death row for the murder of a nineteen-year-old convenience store clerk before being released on a legal technicality.”

“Technicality?” said Jack, groaning. “The man was innocent.”

Cindy gave him a soulful look, as if she fully understood the telling nature of the media’s negative spin on Theo’s belated vindication. It would probably be the same for Jack. In the court of public opinion, it didn’t matter what happened from here on out. The stigma would always be there.

Jack switched stations and caught the tail end of the anchorwoman’s report on Eyewitness News: “Repeated calls to Mr. Swyteck this afternoon went unanswered, but I understand that Eyewitness News reporter Peter Rollings has just managed to catch up with his famous father, former Florida governor Harold Swyteck, on Ajax Mountain in Aspen, Colorado, where he and the former first lady are enjoying a ski vacation.”

“What the heck?” said Jack.

The screen flashed to a snow-covered man on the side of a steep mountain. It was a blizzard, nearly white-out conditions. Jack watched his father stumble off the chair lift, practically assaulted by some guy in a ski mask who was chasing him with a microphone.

“Governor! Governor Swyteck!”

Harry Swyteck looked back, obviously confused, one ski in the air in a momentary loss of balance, poles flailing like a broken windmill. He finally caught his balance, and momentum carried him down the slope.

The shivering reporter looked back toward the camera and said, “Well, looks like the former governor won’t speak to us, either.”

Jack hit the off button. “I can’t watch this.”

The phone rang. For an instant, Jack was sure that his father was calling from deep in some snow bank to ask “What the hell did you do this time, son?” The Caller ID display told him otherwise. Jack hadn’t been answering all afternoon, but this time it was Rosa.

“Well, the wolves are out,” she said.

“I saw.”

“Your old man should take up hot-dog skiing. He must have skidded at least fifty yards on one ski before sailing down that mountain.”

“That’s not funny.”

“None of this is. That’s why I called. I want to meet with both you and Theo. Tonight.”

“Where?”

“I’m home already, so let’s do it here.”

“How soon?”

“As soon as you can get your buddy over here. We need to get to Theo before the prosecutor does.”

“You don’t seriously think that Theo would cut a deal with Jancowitz, do you?”

“You just heard the news as plainly as I did. Theo is targeted as the gunman in a murder-for-hire scheme. It’s standard operating procedure for a prosecutor in a case like this: You get the gunman to flip in order to nail the guy who hired him.”

“I agree that we should meet, but you need to understand. I didn’t hire Theo to do anything. And even if I had, Theo would never testify against me. I’m the guy who got him off death row.”

“Let me ask you something, Jack. How many years did Theo spend on death row?”

“Four.”

“Now answer me this: You think he wants to go back?”

Jack paused, and he didn’t like the direction his thoughts were taking him. “I’ll see you in an hour. Theo and I both will be there. Together. I guarantee it.”

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