Flesh and bones

34

Judge Myron Stanger shed his black robe and tossed it across the sofa. He loosened his tie, opened a door of leaded glass on his credenza, and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel's.

"Let the record reflect that we have reconvened in chambers," he said. "Counsel for the state and defense are present, as well as the defendant."

And the court stenographer. She never gets mentioned, but there she was, banging away at her little machine. I could hear the commotion on the other side of the door, the judge's secretary fending off reporters like a blocker picking up the blitz. Britt Montero's angry voice came through the door, something about the First Amendment and access to the courts. Chrissy and I sat next to each other in chairs facing the judge's desk. She looked confused and frightened. I patted her hand and winked at her.

"Let's go off the record, Margie," the judge said, and the stenographer straightened up and cracked her knuckles. "God-damnedest thing I've ever seen in a courtroom, and I've tried more cases than the two of you put together. What the hell do we do now, boys?"

The judge hadn't opened the bottle, wouldn't until the hearing was over. He pulled a Cuban cigar out of his desk drawer, a stubby four-inch Entreacto that would have looked good on Edward G. Robinson.

"I'd like to make a motion," I said.

The judge simultaneously lit his cigar and nodded to Margie, whose fingers were poised over her keys the next instant.

"But first, the defense rests," I said.

The judge exhaled a pungent puff of white smoke and turned to Socolow. "Any rebuttal?"

Socolow said, "The state waives rebuttal."

"The defense moves for a judgment of acquittal," I said, opening the rule book. "Under 3.380, no view which the jury may take of the evidence favorable to the state can lawfully support a conviction. The undisputed evidence is that my client simply did not kill her father. A third party did, and hence…"

Did I really say "hence"?

"… there is no basis on which a jury could find her guilty of murder of any degree or of manslaughter."

"What about aggravated assault, Jake?" the judge interrupted, while studying the red-hot tip of his cigar. "If Abe here asked for it, I could charge the jury on ag assault or maybe attempted murder."

"Respectfully not, Your Honor," I said. "She hasn't been charged with aggravated assault, and under Perry v. State, the charging document can't be amended now because of a variance in proof. Additionally, attempted murder is not a lesser included offense, because it's possible to commit each offense without committing the other, and each contains elements the other does not. Therefore, under the rule, the court has no choice but to render a judgment of acquittal."

There are occasions-not many, I grant you-when I almost sound like a lawyer.

The judge puffed on his stogie, if a thirty-dollar cigar can be called a stogie. "Abe, sounds like your buddy's done his research. You got anything to say?"

"Jake's wrong about one thing," Abe said, looking at me with a tight smile. "The evidence isn't undisputed. The medical examiner testified that the cardiac arrest stemmed from the shooting. Dr. Schein seems to think he killed Harry Bernhardt. Technically, therefore, it's a jury question. It's-"

"Judge, the EKG and the electrolyte test make it clear what killed-"

"Jake, don't interrupt me!" Socolow stood and paced to a window overlooking the Miami River. "I said, technically it's a jury question. That doesn't mean the state wants it to go to a jury. We'll be in front of the grand jury this afternoon and we'll have an indictment for first-degree murder against Lawrence Schein by dinnertime, maybe another against Guy Bernhardt for conspiracy. It'd be pretty damn embarrassing if we charged a man with murder the same day a jury convicted someone else of the crime. I'm not sure what killed Harry Bernhardt. Maybe your client did it; maybe Schein did it; maybe God said it was time. But I know this. There's a difference between moral culpability and legal culpability. This young woman's been victimized by her brother and her doctor. I'm not going to add to it."

Socolow turned back to us. I thought he was looking at me, but he gave Chrissy a rueful smile. "The state does not oppose the entry of a judgment of acquittal."

"Motion granted," Judge Stanger said, happy to close another case. "The defendant is forthwith discharged. Bond is released. Ms. Bernhardt, the clerk will return any possessions that may have been seized by the state." The judge looked at me and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. "Anything further? I think I see a special setting on my calendar with a Mr. Daniel."

"Judge, I'd just like to say one thing," I told His Honor- lawyer-speak for intending to say several things. "I've known Abe Socolow for a lot of years, and he's busted my chops more times than I can remember, but he's always been honorable, and today… well, today, it just reaffirms my faith in Abe the man. The system doesn't always work. Hell, it doesn't usually work. But Abe is living proof that if you care more about justice than merely winning-"

"Shove it, Jake!" Socolow was turning red, embarrassed to be considered a human being instead of a coldhearted prosecutor. "Next time you come in here with one of your typical lowlifes, I'll kick your ass from here to Sopchoppy."

"I love you, too, Abe."

Charlie Riggs was cutting the heads off a mess of mullet, slicing down the backbone and through the ribs. He removed the gizzard and liver, scraped away the gray membrane of the stomach cavity, then used a garden hose to rinse away the blood. He moved quickly and efficiently. No wasted motions with the knife.

"You've done this before," I said.

"Twenty thousand autopsies is pretty good practice for cleaning fish," he replied.

He laid open half a dozen corpses and slid them into the bottom tray of Granny's smoker, a homemade contraption that looked like a little shingled house on top of a fifty-five-gallon steel drum.

"Aren't you going to scale them?" I asked.

"Not for smoking, Jake. The scales and skin insulate against the heat."

Charlie asked me to get the melted butter and a paintbrush, so I headed into the kitchen where Granny was making a strawberry pie. As usual, Kip was watching TV in the Florida room. Ferris Bueller's Day Off, about a smart-ass kid playing hooky. I could hear Kip talking back to the tube, saying Matthew Broderick's lines. " 'They bought it. Incredible. One of the worst performances of my career and they never doubted it for a second. How could I possibly be expected to handle school on a day like today?'"

I made a mental note to check on Kip's number of sick days.

"So where is she?" Granny asked. "Can't have a celebration without the guest of honor."

"Said she had a stop to make and would be along later, Granny."

"That poor child. She's not healthy, Jake. Dark circles under her eyes, looking so sad today, even after you won. And I swear, she's skinnier every day. Just skin and bones."

"Flesh and bones," I said, absentmindedly.

"What's that?"

The phone rang before I could answer her. I walked into the front hallway. The phone was an old black model with a rotary dial. When Kip first saw it, he laughed and asked if Granny had stolen the props from Dial M for Murder. But it wasn't Grace Kelly on the phone. It was Abe Socolow.

"Where's your client, Jake?"

"Right about now, I'd say she's on Useless One, headed down here. Granny's throwing a party. You want to come?"

"That would be inappropriate."

Inappropriate. A perfect Socolow word. Though it was after six P.M., I knew old Abe still had his suit coat on, his tie knotted snugly at the neck.

"Jake, I think you ought to keep a close watch on her for a few days."

"I intend to. Maybe for more than that." There was an uncomfortable silence. "What is it, Abe?"

"Maybe nothing. People get strung out in trial, I can understand that. But your client caused a big stir in the clerk's office when she got her stuff back. I wasn't there, but the head clerk said she was pretty near hysterical when they couldn't find the evidence file. It was still up in the courtroom, so it took a few minutes, and your client cussed up a blue streak, started crying and shaking, that sort of thing. Finally, they gave her the box, and she was rooting around in it, frantic like. She tore through all the exhibits, the medical records, her papers, the dress she wore the night of the shooting, the purse, everything. Then she ran out of there with just one thing."

"What, Abe?"

"Exhibit three, Jake. She took the gun."