I should have seen it coming — Danny’s visit to his mother at the jail that day, the last time I saw him, coming as it did on the heels of my refusal to help her. I suspect that it was there that Danny got his marching orders from Mom.
‘State your name for the record, please?’
‘Paul Madriani.’
We go through the basics. Westaby establishes my relationship to Laurel, family and legal; that I was married to her sister and represent Laurel in a murder case. He draws the details of this out, quotable items of presumed bias for the press, who Westaby has invited, a half dozen reporters, getting color and background for the murder trial. If nothing else, Jack knows this may poison the jury pool a little more. If he keeps it up we may be pushing for a change of venue, though I have my reasons for avoiding this.
‘You’re aware, are you not, that the legal custody of these children has been granted to their father, Jack Vega?’
‘I wasn’t served with a copy of the order, but I’m aware of it.’
‘You do not represent Laurel Vega in the child-custody proceedings, is that correct?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Have you ever represented her in those proceedings?’
Westaby’s skirting the question of attorney-client privilege.
‘No.’
He smiles. Closing the net.
‘Mr. Madriani, do you know where Danny and Julie Vega are?’
‘I do not.’
‘You have no idea?’
‘I don’t know where they are.’ I don’t give him a direct reply to his question. Instead I dodge it with another answer. Perjury is a crime constructed around specific words. The games lawyers play. Westaby thinking for a moment, should he follow through?
Harry waiting, primed with an objection that the question calls for speculation.
Westaby thinks better of it.
‘Have you discussed the matter with Laurel Vega?’
‘What matter is that?’
‘Where the children are?’
‘No.’
And I don’t intend to. But I don’t say this.
‘You’re not interested? This is your niece and nephew we’re talking about. You’re not concerned for their welfare?’
Hemming me in. Damned if I do. Damned if I don’t.
‘Objection. Irrelevant. The issue is whether the witness knows where the children are. He’s answered that.’ Harry and his sand machine.
‘I’ll allow the question.’ Hastings is worried about the kids. A good judge.
‘Certainly I’m concerned about them,’ I say.
‘But you won’t tell us where they are?’
‘Objection. Argumentative. Assumes facts not in evidence. The witness has already stated that he doesn’t know where they are.’
‘Sustained.’
‘Have you ever had conversations with Laurel Vega concerning these custody proceedings and the children?’
‘Ever is a long time.’ Harry is getting into the spirit of things, figuring out that Family Law is, after all, a lot like crime. In the end it all comes down to kicking ass in a courtroom.
‘Maybe counsel could put his objections in a proper form,’ says Westaby.
‘Fine. The question is overly vague as to time.’ Harry would rather put the point of his shoe up Westaby’s ass. ‘Why don’t you try at least limiting it to a specific century,’ he says.
Westaby and Harry are into it.
‘Hold on.’ Hastings from the bench. He repeats this two more times without effect and finally hammers his gavel on wood.
Harry wants to know what Westaby was doing during Evidence in law school. ‘Obviously it was over your head,’ he says. The parting shot.
This draws furrowed eyebrows from the judge, like two furry mice kissing on his forehead. Hastings is a gentlemen’s judge, not someone used to the likes of Harry in court. For the moment the two are quiet, looking up at the bench.
‘Mr. Hinds, if you have an objection you will address it to the bench. Do you understand?’
Harry nods.
‘I don’t want to see your head, I want to hear your voice,’ says Hastings.
‘Yes, your honor.’
‘And you, Mr. Westaby — you will allow the court to rule on any objection. That includes any questions as to form. Is that understood?’
‘Absolutely, your honor.’
A lot of nodding from the lawyers. Harry does something that looks like a curtsy to the bench. Hinds has an attitude when it comes to judges. Always on a thin edge.
‘Now, is there an objection?’
‘Vague as to time,’ says Harry.
‘I’ve forgotten what the question was,’ says Hastings. He has the court reporter read it back.
‘Sustained. Would you like to restate the question, counsel?’
Westaby regroups.
‘During the last month,’ he says, ‘have you discussed with Laurel Vega any matters, any matters at all, pertaining to this custody proceeding?’
‘I’m going to object to that, your honor.’ Harry’s up again.
‘On what grounds?’ Westaby’s into him before the judge can move.
‘Mr. Westaby — ’ Hastings has his gavel halfway off the bench.
‘On grounds that any conversations regarding these custody proceedings are now intimately connected with the criminal case involving Mrs. Vega. As such we would contend that communications between Mr. Madriani and Mrs. Vega are protected by the attorney-client privilege.’
There’s stirring in the press rows.
‘That’s garbage,’ says Westaby. ‘There’s no attorney-client relationship. How are they connected?’
‘We don’t have to disclose that,’ says Harry. ‘To compel an answer to the question would be to force the defense in a capital case to disclose vital information concerning its strategy.’
‘And we’re just supposed to take your word for it?’ says Westaby.
‘I’d appreciate it,’ says Harry.
‘Well I’m not prepared — ’
Hastings cuts him off. ‘You’re telling this court that issues regarding these proceedings, the custody of the Vega children, bear directly on Laurel Vega’s criminal defense?’
‘I am, your honor.’
‘I’d like to hear it from Mr. Madriani,’ says Hastings.
‘That’s correct, your honor.’
Harry and I are talking about the theory that Jack cooked up the custody petition as part of a scheme, coupled with Melanie’s murder, when he found out she was having an affair with another man. And now he is using his children and the demise of his wife to dodge doing time on the federal corruption sting, a conviction that Hastings knows nothing about. I wonder what he would say if he knew that Jack could be headed for a federal penitentiary. No doubt the kids would be wards of the court.
‘I don’t believe this, your honor. A smokescreen,’ says Westaby. He’s in Jack’s ear at the counsel table. We clearly have Vega’s attention. He’s looking at me, eager eyes, wondering where we’re headed, what I know.
‘I used a chartered gamblers’ special,’ she says, ‘and a bus to get them there.’
This is Laurel’s explanation of what she was doing in Reno the night Melanie Vega was murdered.
‘I had to get them away.’ She’s talking about the children, Danny and Julie. ‘They couldn’t deal with that house any longer, or with their father.’
I think she is coloring it, in shades of her hatred for Jack.
‘And don’t try looking for the kids. You’ll never find them.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of it.’
This morning Laurel is a new woman, bright-eyed and intense when I visit her in the glass-walled cubicle of the county jail.
Harry has carried out his threat made some weeks ago: the news article about the sale of the Justice Department computers and the compromised federal witnesses. He has given copies of this thing to one of his clients downstairs. It has made its way like some political tract onto the bulletin board of the dayroom on each floor of the jail, a kind of cryptic warning to those who would trust the state and might be tempted to snitch on their compatriots. As Harry says, ‘If necessity is the mother of invention, government is the father of fuckups.’