The Pardon

Chapter 44

At twenty minutes past nine, Judge Tate’s cavernous courtroom was packed with thirty rows of spectators, yet quiet enough to hear the scratch of a reporter’s pencil on his pad. Trial had been scheduled to begin at nine, but the jury had yet to be seated. Judge Tate presided on the bench with hands folded, her dour expression making it clear she was infuriated by the delay. The prosecutor sat erect and confident at the table closest to the empty jury box, pleased that the judge’s wrath would soon befall his opponent Jack was seated at the other side of the courtroom-nervous, confused, and alone.

“Mr. Swyteck,” Judge Tate demanded from the bench, her tone more threatening than inquisitive, “just where is your lawyer?”

Jack rose slowly. Manny had phoned him a few minutes before nine and told him to stall until he got there. That made Jack the sacrificial lamb, for he knew the one thing that absolutely incensed Judge Tate was a lawyer who kept her waiting. “Your Honor,” he said apprehensively, “I’m sure there’s an excellent explanation for Mr. Cardenal’s tardiness.”

Judge Tate scowled, but before she could tell Jack just how excellent his lawyer’s explanation had better be, the double mahogany doors in the back of the courtroom flew open and Manny walked down the center aisle. The steady tap of his heels echoed over the quiet murmur of the crowd.

“You’re late, counselor,” the judge said severely.

“I apologize, Your Honor,” Manny said as he passed through the swinging gate on the rail, “but there was a last-minute development-”

“Two-hundred-dollar fine, Mr. Cardenal! Bailiff, call in the jury!”

“Your Honor,” he pleaded, “could I please have a word with my client? Just a couple minutes is all I need.”

“All rise!” came the bailiff’s announcement, and with it Manny’s plea was drowned out by the shuffle of six hundred spectators rising to their feet. The jurors filed in and took their seats. The bailiff called the court to session, proclaiming “God save this honorable court.” The judge bid a pleasant “good morning” to everyone, then turned to the defense.

“Mr. Cardenal,” she said with an unfriendly smile, “will you be putting on a defense?”

Manny swallowed hard. He’d been meeting with his witness all morning, but Jack still knew nothing about it. It was Manny’s duty to inform his client what was going on. “Your Honor, if I could have just a brief recess.”

“Obviously you didn’t hear me,” she interrupted. “I asked you a question, Mr. Cardenal: Will there be a defense?”

He nodded. “I may have one witness, Your Honor, but-”

“Call your witness, or rest your case. And I mean it. You’ve kept us waiting long enough.”

Manny took a deep breath. He wanted Jack’s approval, but there was no time for discussion.

“Mr. Cardenal,” the judge pressed, “we’re waiting.”

Manny paused, his eyes locking with Jack’s for a moment. Jack gave a quick nod, as if he instinctively sensed that whatever Manny had planned was the right thing to do. Manny smiled briefly, then looked up at the judge. “If it please the court,” he announced in a resounding voice, “the defense calls Governor Harold Swyteck.”

A wave of surprise hit the courtroom like a huge breaker on the beach. The heavy wood doors in the rear of the courtroom swung open, and in walked a tall, handsome man whose gold cuff links and graying around the temples added color and distinction to a dark suit and crisp white shirt. Harold Swyteck never just appeared. He was the kind of man who made an appearance. Being governor amplified that trait. Being both governor and the surprise witness in his own son’s murder trial made this the appearance of a lifetime.

The courtroom was electric yet silent as the governor came down the aisle. As he passed, heads turned in row after row like a wheat field bending in the breeze. Everyone knew who he was, but no one knew what he would say-not even Jack. A strange sensation filled the courtroom as he stepped to the witness stand and swore the oath. It was as if the bailiff had stood up and officially announced that the young man on trial was indeed the governor’s son. The prosecutor’s gut wrenched. The jurors stared in anticipation. Jack’s heart filled with hope and with something else, too-something pleasant, if unfamiliar: genuine pride.

“Good morning,” Manny greeted the distinguished witness from behind the lectern. “If you would, sir, please introduce yourself to the jury.”

The governor swiveled in his chair and faced the jurors. “I’m Harold Swyteck,” he said cordially. “Most people call me Harry.”

A few jurors showed faint smiles of familiarity. If it were possible for one man to look at twelve people simultaneously and make each one of them feel like the only person on the planet who mattered, Harold Swyteck was doing it. He responded directly to them after each of Manny’s introductory questions, as if the jurors, not the lawyer, were eliciting the testimony.

“Now, Governor,” said Manny, marking the transition from introductory questions to more substantive testimony, “I want to focus on the events that took place immediately after the trial of Eddy Goss. Did anything out of the ordinary happen to you?”

The governor took a deep breath, glanced at Jack, and then looked back at the jury. “Yes,” he replied solemnly. “I was attacked.”

“You were what?” the judge asked. The stunned reaction was the same throughout the courtroom.

Jack watched with concern as his father explained not just the attack, but also the reason for it. Harry admitted that his attacker had blackmailed him and that he had paid the man thousands of dollars.

And then he explained why.

“The man threatened to reveal that I’d executed an innocent man,” he said. His voice was low and subdued. His eyes filled with remorse. “A man named Raul Fernandez.”

A buzz of whispers filled the courtroom. Reporters scribbled down the new name, some of them recalling it from the outburst at the governor’s press conference. Every word was another nail in the governor’s political coffin.

“Order,” said the judge, banging her gavel.

Jack went cold. Long ago, he’d come to the conclusion that he and his father would never discuss Fernandez again, not even privately. His public confession was overwhelming-and a bit confusing, really, until Manny’s next line of questioning brought it all into focus.

“Did you come to any conclusion, Governor, about the identity of the man who was threatening you?”

“Yes,” he said with conviction. “I firmly believed it was Eddy Goss.”

The whispering throughout the courtroom became a quiet rumble. Jurors exchanged glances. No one seemed quite sure whether to feel sympathy or suspicion.

“Order!” the judge intoned, more loudly this time, and with a few more cracks of the gavel.

Manny waited for the courtroom to settle, then proceeded, still standing behind the lectern. “Governor,” he asked gently, though pointedly, “why did you think it was Eddy Goss who was blackmailing you?”

Harry took a deep breath. “I first thought it was Goss when one of the messages I received was accompanied by a bouquet of chrysanthemums. I’m sure you recall that Goss was known as the Chrysanthemum Killer. But what really convinced me was when I learned that the address the blackmailer had told me to deliver the ten thousand dollars to-four-oh-nine East Adams Street-was where Goss lived.”

“And did you in fact go to Goss’s address?”

“Yes, I did-at four o’clock in the morning, on the second of August.”

The courtroom exploded once again in a torrent of whispers-followed immediately by the rapping of Judge Tate’s gavel. “Order!”

“Judge,” the prosecutor croaked. “I move to strike all of this testimony. It’s-it’s,” he stammered, searching desperately for some way to stop this assault on his ironclad case. “It’s prejudicial!”

The judge frowned. “I don’t doubt it’s prejudicial, Mr. McCue. I hardly think Mr. Cardenal would call a witness to help your case. Overruled.”

McCue grimaced as he lowered himself into his chair.

Manny smiled briefly, then continued. “Just a few more questions,” he told his witness. “Governor, is there any way you can prove you were at Eddy Goss’s apartment on the night he was murdered?”

“Yes,” he nodded, “because on the night I went there I was wearing the same kind of shoes I’m wearing now. The same kind of shoes I’ve worn for twenty-five years. I was wearing-”

“Hold it!” McCue shouted, seemingly out of breath as he shot to his feet. “Just one second, Your Honor.”

“Is that an objection?” the judge groused.

“Uh, yes,” McCue fumbled. “I just don’t see the relevance of any of this. Governor Swyteck is not on trial. His son is.”

“Your Honor,” Manny countered, “this testimony is highly relevant, and for a very simple reason. We now have not just one, not just two-but three people with the means and motive to kill Eddy Goss. We have Detective Stafford. We have Governor Swyteck. And we have the defendant. Ironically, it’s the man with the weakest motive of all who’s been charged with the crime. We submit, Your Honor, that under the evidence presented in this case, it is impossible for any reasonable juror to decide which, if any, of these three men might have acted on his motive and killed Eddy Goss. If it could have been any one of them, then it might not have been my client. And if it might not have been my client, then there is reasonable doubt. And if there is reasonable doubt,” Manny said as he canvassed the jurors, “then my client must be found not guilty.”

The judge leaned back in her chair and pursed her lips. “Very nice closing argument, Mr. Cardenal,” she said sarcastically, though in truth she was more impressed than annoyed by Manny’s speech. “The objection is overruled.”

The prosecutor’s round face flushed red with anger. He felt manipulated, and he feared that clever lawyering was stealing his case from under him. “But, Judge!”

“Overruled,” she rebuked him. “Mr. Cardenal, repeat your question, please.”

Manny nodded, then turned toward the governor. “My question, Governor, was whether you can prove you were at Eddy Goss’s apartment on the night he was murdered.”

“Yes, because I was wearing my Wiggins wing tips.”

Manny stepped toward the bench, waving an exhibit as he walked. “At this time, Your Honor, we offer into evidence as defendant’s exhibit two a copy of the footprint that was left outside Mr. Goss’s apartment on the night of the murder. This document was prepared by the police. It is an imprint from a Wiggins wing tip.”

The judge inspected the exhibit, then looked up and asked, “Any objection, Mr. McCue?”

‘Well, no. I mean-yes. I object to this whole presentation. I-”

“Enough,” she groaned. “Overruled. Do you have any further questions, Mr. Cardenal?”

Manny considered. He was sure the governor’s testimony had planted the seed of doubt, but with Jack’s life hanging in the balance, he owed it to his client to pursue every avenue of inquiry-even if it cast further suspicion on the governor. “Just one more question, Judge.” He turned back to Harry.

“Tell me, Governor, how did your life of public service get its start-have you always been a politician?”

McCue rolled his eyes. Where was Cardenal heading now?

Harry smiled. “Well, my mother would say I’ve been a politician since birth.” A few of the spectators tittered. “But no, my first years of public service were as a police officer. I spent ten years on the force,” he said proudly.

“And do you still have your patrolman’s uniform?”

“I do,” the governor conceded.

Over a loud murmur, Manny called out to the judge, “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

Jack felt a lump in his throat. He was nearly overcome by his father’s selfless act. The governor was a destroyer on the witness stand. He was destroying the prosecution’s case against Jack-as well as his own chances for reelection.

“Mr. McCue,” the judge queried, “any cross-examination?”

McCue sprung from his chair. “Oh, most definitely,” he said. He marched to within a few feet of the witness, his stance and expression confrontational, if not hostile. “Governor Swyteck,” he jabbed, “Jack Swyteck is your only son. Your only child, is he not?”

“That’s true,” the governor replied.

“And you love your son.”

There was a pause-not because the governor didn’t know the answer, but because it had been so long since he’d said it. “Yes,” he answered, looking at Jack. “I do.”

“You love him,” McCue persisted, “and if you had to tell a lie to keep him from going to the electric chair, you would do it, wouldn’t you!”

A heavy silence lingered in the courtroom. The governor leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he spoke from the heart. “Mr. McCue,” he said in a low, steady voice that nearly toppled the prosecutor, “if there’s one thing I always taught my son, it’s that we’re all responsible for our own actions. Jack even reminded me of that once,” he added, glancing over at the defense table. “My son didn’t kill Eddy Goss,” he said, looking each of the jurors right in the eye. “Jack Swyteck is innocent. That’s the truth. And that’s why I’m here.”

“All right, then,” McCue said angrily. “If you’re here to tell the truth, then let’s hear it: Are you telling us that you killed Eddy Goss?”

The governor looked squarely at the jurors. “I’m not here to talk about me. I’m here to tell you that Jack did not kill Goss. And I’m telling you that l know he did not.”

“Maybe you didn’t hear my question,” McCue’s voice boomed. “I am asking you, sir-yes or no: Did you kill Eddy Goss?”

“It’s like you said earlier, Mr. McCue. I’m not the one on trial here. My son is.”

McCue waved his arms furiously. “Your Honor! I demand that the witness be instructed to answer the question!”

The judge leaned over from the bench. “With all due respect, Governor,” she said gravely, “the question calls for a yes or no answer. I feel compelled to remind you, however, of your fifth amendment right against self-incrimination. You need not answer the question if you invoke the fifth amendment. But those are your only options, sir. Either invoke the privilege, or answer the question. Did you or did you not kill Eddy Goss?”

Time seemed to stand still for a moment. It was as if everyone in the courtroom suddenly realized that everything boiled down to this one simple question.

Harold Swyteck sat erect in the witness stand, calm and composed for a man facing a life-and-death decision. If he answered yes, he’d be lying, and he’d be hauled off in shackles. If he answered no, he’d be telling the truth-but he’d remove himself as a suspect. Invoking the privilege, however, raised all kinds of possibilities: His political career would probably be over and he might well be indicted for Goss’s murder. And, of course, there was the one possibility that truly mattered: Jack might go free. For the governor, the choice was obvious.

“I refuse to answer the question,” he announced, “on the grounds that I might incriminate myself.”

The words rocked the courtroom. “Order!” the judge shouted, gaveling down the outburst.

The prosecutor stared at the witness, but the fire was gone. He knew it was over. He knew there was reasonable doubt. This witness had created it “Under the circumstances,” he said with disdain, “I have no further questions.”

“The witness may step down,” announced the judge.

Governor Swyteck rose from his chair, looking first at the jurors and then at his son. He wasn’t sure what he saw in the eyes of the jurors. But he knew what he saw in Jack’s eyes. It was something he’d wanted to see all his life. And only because he’d finally seen it did he have the strength to hold his head high as he walked the longest two hundred feet of his life, back down the aisle from the witness stand to the courtroom exit.

“Anything further from the defense?” the judge asked.

Manny rose slowly, feeling the familiar twinge that all defense lawyers feel when it’s time to either put their client on the stand or rest their case. But the specter of Gina Terisi gave Jack and Manny no choice, really-and, more important, the governor had given Jack all the defense he needed. “Your Honor,” Manny announced, “the defense rests.”

The judge looked to the prosecutor. “Any rebuttal, Mr. McCue?”

McCue sighed as he checked the clock. “Judge, it’s almost one o’clock, and the governor has shocked everyone-including me. I’m simply not prepared to rebut something as unforeseeable as this. I would like a recess until tomorrow morning.”

The judge grimaced, but this was a rather extraordinary development. “All right,” she reluctantly agreed. “Both sides, however, should be ready to deliver closing arguments tomorrow. There will be no further delays. We’re in recess until nine A.M.,” she announced, then banged the gavel.

“All rise!” cried the bailiff. His words had the same effect as “There’s a fire in the house!” Spectators flooded the aisles and exits, jabbering about what they’d just seen and heard. Journalists rushed in every direction, some to report what had happened, others to pump the lawyers for what it all meant, still others to catch up with the governor. A few friends-Mike Mannon and Neal Goderich among them-shook Jack’s hand, as if the case were over.

But Jack knew it wasn’t over. Manny knew it, too. And one other man in the courtroom knew it better than anyone. He lingered in the back, concealing his shiny bald head and diamond-stud earring beneath a dark wig and broad-brimmed hat.

He glared at Jack through an irritated eye.

“Should have been Raul,” he muttered to himself, “not you, Swyteck.” He took one last look, imagining Jack telling his pretty girlfriend the good news. Then he stormed from the courtroom, determined to give the Swyteck family something else to think about.