Jack didn’t argue. He lowered his head and left the way he had come, down the hall, down the stairs, and out the front door.
It was nearly dark outside when he stepped out of the building, but the streetlights hadn’t yet come on. From the top of the steps he saw someone on the sidewalk across the street, standing in the shadows of what little daylight remained. Jack looked at him carefully, and the man glared back. He felt a chill of recognition: It’s him.
Suddenly the man bolted, running at an easy pace back toward the courthouse. Jack instinctively gave chase, sprinting across the street and down the sidewalk as fast as he could in his business suit and black-soled shoes. The man didn’t seem to be trying to pull away. He was taunting Jack, as if he wanted him to catch up. Jack came within fifteen feet, and then the man pulled away, effortlessly disappearing into the Greyhound parking lot two blocks down the street. Jack tried to follow, stopping and starting again and again, catching a glimpse of him every second or two as he weaved between coaches bound for New York, Chicago, and Atlanta. Revving engines filled the air with window-rattling noise and thick exhaust. Thoroughly winded, Jack stopped between two coaches and looked frantically for his target. He scanned in one direction, then the other. Nothing. The door to the empty bus beside him was open. Cautiously, he stepped inside and peered down the aisle.
“I know you’re in here,” Jack called out, though he was far from certain. There was only silence. He took one step down the dark aisle, then thought better of it. If his man were crouched down between the seats, he had to come out sometime. Jack decided he’d wait for him outside.
He turned to leave, but suddenly the door slammed shut. He wheeled around to see that someone was standing behind him, but a quick blow to his head and then another to the gut doubled him over in pain. Another blow to the back of the head and he was facedown on the floor. His attacker threw himself on top of him from behind and pressed a knife to his throat.
“Don’t even think of moving.”
Jack froze as the blade pinched at his neck.
“I’d really hate to have to slit your throat, Swyteck-after all the trouble I’ve gone to.”
Jack clenched his fist tightly. “Who are you?”
“Think back. Two years ago. The night before Raul Fernandez was executed.”
Jack felt a chill as the voice came back to him. “What do you want from me?”
“I want justice. I want you to die like Raul died-in the chair for a murder you didn’t commit.”
“That’s not justice,” he struggled to say. “This is sick. And it won’t work.”
“It’ll work,” the man said, laughing as he drew a little blood with a slight twist of the knife. “Remember: You’re alive only because I let you live. You might think you’re safe. The locks on your doors. The alarm on your car. All that’s just bullshit. It’s like that warm, safe feeling people get by closing the drapes in their house at night, when for all they know there’s a guy with an axe outside their window with his face up against the glass. There’s no protection from that, Swyteck. All you can do is play by the rules. My rules.”
“Such as?”
“There’s only one. This trial is me against you, one-on-one. You try to turn it into anything else, and I promise you, innocent people are gonna get hurt.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re smart. Figure it out, asshole.”
“Why-”
“Why must you die?” The man leaned forward until Jack felt his breath on the back of his neck. “Because there’s a killer on the loose,” he said in a cold whisper. “And the killer is you.”
Jack gasped as he felt the knife press harder against his throat. Then his attacker sprung to his feet and vanished into the night. Jack just lay there, his face resting on the gritty floor, feeling like he did when he was five years old. Like he was all alone.
Chapter 33
Ten weeks had passed since Harry Swyteck followed his blackmailer’s instructions and left the final payoff at Memorial Cemetery. Thankfully, the dark forebodings that had plagued him that night turned out to be false apprehensions. The journey to the cemetery passed without incident-though the governor did experience profound discomfort as he looked down at Raul Fernandez’s final resting place.
Harry had not been in the courtroom today for opening statements. But he’d received a full report from one of the young lawyers who served as governor’s counsel. The purpose of opening statements was for each side to give the jury a road map identifying the evidence that they intended to present during trial. After analyzing the direction the defense seemed to be taking, it struck Harry as odd that Manny hadn’t made a reference to the 911 caller’s report of a man in a police uniform leaving the scene of the crime.
The governor had promised Manny that, although he was paying the bills, the legal strategy would be up to Manny and Jack. Therefore, he was reluctant to second-guess Manny’s opening statement. But he feared the lawyer might have gotten the wrong idea. Perhaps Manny hadn’t brought up the 911 call because Harry had once been a police officer. If that was the case, Harry needed to set Manny straight. He caught the next flight from Tallahassee, and by eight o’clock that evening he was sitting across from his son’s attorney.
“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice,” Harry said as he studied the exotic decor of Manny’s office.
“My pleasure,” Manny replied. “You mentioned on the phone that you had some concerns about my strategy.”
“Yes,” Harry said, “Well, not concerns really, just areas that I needed clarified.”
“Such as?”
“Well, the nine-one-one call, for one. I’m told that you didn’t mention it in your opening statement today.” The governor looked at him appraisingly. “I don’t mean to insult you, Manny, or question your integrity. But I want to make it clear that I hired you to represent Jack for one reason only: because you’re the best in the business, and because I think that if anyone can get my son acquitted, you can. How you go about it is up to you and Jack. If that means making the police look bad-well, so be it. I’m a former cop. But I’m a father first.”
Manny nodded slowly, seeming to measure his response. “I understand what you’re saying. And I’m not insulted. You’re not the first concerned parent who’s walked into my office. You are, however, the first concerned parent to leave a footprint outside the door of the murder victim’s apartment.”
The governor went rigid. All expression ran from his face. “What are you talking about?”
Manny was a master at reading reactions. He was testing Harry, and Harry had flunked. “Please, don’t say anything. Let’s just say I know you didn’t come here because I decided not to mention the nine-one-one call. You’re here because I didn’t mention the footprint.”
“What footprint?” Harry was genuinely confused-and concerned.
Manny frowned, sat up straighter in his chair. “I honestly don’t think we should discuss this any further, Governor. Rest assured, I’ll use the footprint at trial, if it’s necessary to win Jack’s case. That I didn’t mention it as a matter of argument doesn’t mean that I won’t offer it later as a matter of evidence.”
“But Manny, I honestly have no idea what footprint you’re talking about.”
“And that’s precisely the response I would expect from you. Like I said. I don’t think you and I should discuss this any further. I’m Jack’s lawyer, not yours. And you should have a lawyer.”