The Pardon

Chapter 47

Jack had wanted to see his father before returning to the courtroom on Friday morning, but Manny insisted that father and son have absolutely no communication until the trial was over. Since McCue had reserved the right to call rebuttal witnesses, the possibility remained that he’d recall the governor, and anything Jack and his father discussed would be fair game for cross-examination.

As it turned out, McCue called no further witnesses, and closing arguments were finished by one o’clock. Manny was brilliant, expanding on the speech he’d delivered during the governor’s testimony. He reminded the jurors that the law did not require Jack to prove he was innocent-that it was the government’s heavy burden to prove him guilty “beyond a reasonable doubt.”

McCue did the best he could, then retreated to his office. Jack and Manny waited in the attorneys’ lounge, down the hall from Judge Tate’s courtroom. At five-fifteen, the courtroom deputy stuck her head into the lounge and gave them the news.

“The jury has reached a verdict,” she told them.

In a split second they were out the door, walking side-by-side as quickly as they could without breaking into a dead run down the hall and into the courtroom. The news of a verdict had traveled fast, and the expectant crowd filed in behind them. Wilson McCue was already in position. Manny and Jack took their places at the defense table. Jack glanced behind him, toward the public seating. Ten rows back, Neil Goderich gave him a reassuring wink. On the opposite side of the aisle, Mike Mannon looked worried but gave him a thumbs up. Cindy, Jack realized with a pang, wasn’t in the courtroom. Not even the flowers had worked.

“All rise!” cried the bailiff.

Judge Tate proceeded to the bench, but Jack gave her only a passing glance. He was focused on the twelve jurors who were taking their seats for the final time. He was trying to remember those indicators jury psychologists relied on to predict verdicts. Who had they selected as foreman? Did they look at the defendant, or at the prosecutor? At that moment, however, he couldn’t think clearly enough to apply any of those tests. He was consumed by the feeling of being on trial-of having twelve strangers hold his life in their hands.

“Has the jury reached a verdict?” Judge Tate asked.

“We have,” responded the foreman.

‘Please give it to the clerk.”

The written verdict was passed from the foreman to the clerk, then from the clerk to the judge. The judge inspected it, then returned it to the clerk for public disclosure. The ritual seemed to pull everyone to the edge of his seat. Yet the courtroom was so deathly quiet that Jack could hear the fluorescent lights humming thirty feet overhead.

This is it, he thought. Life or death. He struggled to bring his emotions under control. Everything had seemed so encouraging moments ago, when he and Manny had assessed his chances. But odds were deceiving. Like a year ago, when Cindy’s mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer. They’d all taken comfort in the doctor’s assurance that her chances of survival were 80 percent. Those odds sounded pretty good until Jack had started thinking of the last hundred people he’d laid eyes on-and then imagined twenty of them dead.

“The defendant shall rise,” announced the judge.

Jack glanced at Manny as they rose in unison. He clenched his fists tightly in anticipation.

“In the matter of State versus Swyteck, on the charge of murder in the first degree,” the clerk read from the verdict form, “we, the jury, find the defendant: not guilty.”

A roar filled the courtroom. On impulse, Jack turned and embraced Manny. Never had he hugged a man so tightly-not even his father. But had the governor been there, Jack would have cracked his ribs.

“Order!” said the judge, postponing the celebration. The rumble in the courtroom quieted. Manny and Jack returned to their seats, smiling apologetically.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” the judge intoned, “thank you for your service. You are discharged. A judgment of acquittal shall be entered. Mr. Swyteck,” she said, peering over the bench, “you are free to go. This court is adjourned,” she declared, ending it all with one last crack of the gavel.

Happy cries of congratulation flew across the courtroom. Neil and Mike and the other friends who’d never stopped believing hurried forward and leaned across the rail that separated players from spectators, slapping Jack’s back and shaking the hand of an innocent man. Jack was elated but dazed. He canvassed the buzzing crowd, still hoping for a glimpse of Cindy. Then he thought of the other person who was missing.

“Where’s my father?” Jack asked Manny. His voice was barely audible in the thundering commotion of the crowded courtroom.

Manny smiled. “We’ve got a special celebration planned,” he said with a wink. “Back at my office.”

Jack was overcome with a sense of euphoria. He felt like a death-row prisoner released into the bright light of day. He’d never been so eager to see his father. As he and Manny started toward the gate, they were stopped abruptly by Wilson McCue.

“I’d lose the smiles if I were you,” the prosecutor said bitterly. He spoke in a low, threatening voice that couldn’t be overheard by the noisy crowd on the other side of the rail. “This is only round one, boys, and round two is about to begin. It’s just a matter of how fast I can assemble the grand jury and draft the indictment, that’s all. I warned you, Swyteck. I said I’d come after you for the murder of Gina Terisi, and I meant it. Right now the only question is whether I’ll do it before or after I indict your old man for the murder of Eddy Goss.”

Jack’s eyes flared with contempt. “You just won’t take those blinders off, will you, McCue?”

“Jack,” Manny stopped him. “Say nothing.”

“That’s right,” McCue countered. “Say nothing. Take the fifth. It runs in the family.” He shook his head with disgust, then turned and stepped through the swinging gate, into the rabble of reporters clamoring at the rail.

Jack desperately wanted to rush after McCue and set him straight, but Manny held him back. “Just take it easy, Jack,” he said, pulling him toward the bench, away from the media frenzy. “McCue can afford to talk out of anger, but you can’t. So for now, just let me handle the press. The best thing you can do is to say nothing and go back to my office. We need to regroup and talk with your father.”

“My father. .” Jack said slowly, as if tapping into a source of strength. Then he nodded. “All right, I’ll meet you there.” Then he opened the gate and pushed his way into the swarming press. He kept his head lowered, ignoring all questions until he reached the elevators. Less than three minutes later, he was behind the steering wheel of his Mustang, ready to pull out of the courthouse parking lot.

He’d just put the car into gear when he heard the ringing of his car phone. Cindy, he hoped. But why would she use this number? Could she have already heard the verdict? It didn’t seem possible.

He moved the shift back into park and picked up the phone.

“Jack,” he heard her voice. “It’s me, Cindy.”

He started to say something, but words wouldn’t come. “Cindy,” he said finally, just wanting to say her name. “Where are you?”

“Balcony scene’s over, Romeo,” came the ugly reply. It wasn’t Cindy’s voice anymore. It was the same voice he’d heard while on his belly in the bus. “She’s with me.”

Jack’s hand shook as he pressed the phone to his ear. Some part of his brain that wasn’t absolutely terrified directed his other hand to turn off the ignition. He moved slightly forward in his seat. “What have you done with her!”

“Nothing,” the caller said coolly. “Yet.”

“It’s me you want, you bastard! Just leave her out of it.”

“Shut up, Swyteck! I’m through fooling around. Your legal system has fucked everything up again. This time we’ll play on my turf. And this time I want real money. I want a quarter million. Cash. Unmarked fifties.”

Jack’s head was spinning. He tried to focus. “Look, I’ll do whatever you want. But that’s a lot of money. It’ll take time to-”

“Your girlfriend doesn’t have time. Talk to your father, asshole. He’s so eager to help you.”

“Okay. Please, just don’t hurt her? Just tell me how to get you the money.”

“Take it to Key West. Just the two of you.”

“The two of us?”

“You and your father.”

“I can do it myself-”

“You’ll do it the way I tell you to do it!” the caller snapped. “I need to know where everybody is who knows anything about this. I’m not gonna be ambushed. No police, no FBI, no National Guard-not even a meter maid. Any sign of law enforcement and your pretty girlfriend’s dead. If I see any roadblocks on U.S. 1, any choppers in the air, any news reports on television, anything that even looks like you called in the cavalry-she’s dead, immediately. It’s me against the Swytecks. End of story. You got it?”

“I got it,” Jack said, though he could barely speak. “When do you want us there?”

“Saturday night, October twenty-ninth.”

“That’s tomorrow,” Jack protested.

“That’s right. It’s the Key West Fantasy Fest weekend. Nice, big Halloween street party. Like the Mardi Gras in New Orleans. Everyone’s going to be in costume. And so will I. No one could possibly find me in that mess, Swyteck. So don’t even try.”

“How will we contact you?”

“I’ll contact you. Just check into any one of the big resort hotels. Use your name. I’ll find you. Any questions?”

Jack took a deep breath. “No,” he replied.

“Good. Very good. Oh-one other thing, Swyteck.”

“What?”

“Trick or treat,” he taunted, then hung up the phone.

It should have been a night of celebration, beginning with him and his father sipping Dom Perignon, then blossoming into a fairy-tale reunion with Cindy. Instead, the nightmare was continuing.

Jack went to Manny’s office as planned, where he met up with his father. They sat alone in Manny’s conference room, considering their options.

“Agnes and I can certainly come up with the money,” the governor assured his son. “That’s not a problem. And, naturally, I’m in a position to bring in the best law enforcement available. All I have to do is make a phone call. I can do it right now.”

Jack shook his head. “We can’t,” he said emphatically. “He’ll kill Cindy, I know it. He’ll spot anything we try to do.”

The governor sighed. “You’re probably right. He may be crazy, but he’s brilliant-crazy. I’m sure he’s monitoring a police radio even as we speak. And if there’s anything I learned in my ten years on the force, it’s that police departments are sieves.”

Father and son sat staring at each other. “All right,” the governor finally said, “we don’t bring in the police. But I have lots of friends in the private sector-retired FBI agents, retired Secret Service. They can help. They can at least give advice.”

Jack wrestled with it. “That makes sense, I guess. But any advisers have to be just that-advisers. Ultimately, it comes down to me.”

“No,” the governor corrected him. “You and me.”

Jack looked at his father across the table. The governor gave him a reassuring smile that was meant to remove any doubt that he could count on his old man.

“Let’s do it, then,” said Jack. “We’ll nail this bastard. Together.”