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Authors: Steve Cavanagh
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find another expert to challenge Goldstein’s evidence. Every single lawyer that Volchek retained had told him that Goldstein was watertight.
I had no choice. If Dr. Goldstein was as good a witness as Miriam hoped, Volchek could have his bail terminated within a few hours, and Amy would pay for that with her life. I had to destroy Goldstein’s evidence. If I could do that, I accomplished two things. One, I would get my remaining twenty-eight hours to figure my way out of this, and two, the Russians would begin to trust me. If Volchek thought I was busting a gut to keep him out of jail long enough to kill Benny, then he wouldn’t notice me cramming that bomb up his ass first chance I got. But before the con, I needed to gain his trust.
In the confidence game, we called it a persuader .
Miriam wrapped up her speech. “And, ladies and gentlemen, if you consider this simple proposition to be correct, then you must find the defendant guilty. We will show you his guilt and you must convict him.”
Miriam sat down. The jury looked tired.
Judge Pike said, “Mr. Flynn, will you be addressing the jury now or at the conclusion of the prosecution’s evidence?” I slowly rose from my chair and said, “Your Honor, the jury will want time to absorb Ms. Sullivan’s speech. Might it be preferable to give them a break and allow them some time for refreshments? I will need to take some instructions from my client before I address the jury.”
This was my usual tactic and one that most defense attorneys employed. I always liked to speak to my client after I’d heard the prosecutor’s opening. It was usually only then that the defense got to hear what kind of spin the prosecution was putting on the evidence. That meant checking with the defendant again, to see if any of what the prosecutor said was true. I also wanted the jury to like me. They’d sat for almost two hours listening to Miriam. I wanted to be the savior. I wanted them to see me stand up, say something quick, and get them coffee and pastries. I’m concerned they might need a break; I’m caring, connecting, and listening to them. Pretty soon I would be the only show in town.
Miriam saw my shot at wrestling the jury from her spell and tried to take back their favor. “Your Honor, I fear I may have gone on too long this morning. Perhaps instead of coffee, we could break for lunch?”
“Back here in one hour,” said Judge Pike.
The courtroom began to empty, and I felt a strong hand on my shoulder. Arturas said, “We’ll go upstairs to talk.”
I didn’t have time to talk. I had one hour to read eight thousand pages and prepare the greatest opening speech and the greatest cross-examination of my life. I shifted around in my seat and looked at him straight. “We can talk later. I have to work. And I need your help.”
CHAPTER NINE
Victor closed and locked the door of the reception room that we’d occupied earlier, up on the nineteenth floor. Arturas stood with his arms folded and tapped his foot. He was nervous and angry. His boss simply folded himself into the couch and watched.
“I need a laptop or a smartphone with Internet access,” I said.
“What for?” asked Arturas.
I ignored Arturas and spoke directly to Volchek—he was the client; he needed the answers, and he called the shots. “Your other lawyers tried to get expert testimony to challenge Dr. Goldstein directly. They wanted another handwriting expert to say that the murder note couldn’t have been written by you. I saw the bundle of reports in the case file; they couldn’t get anyone to offer that opinion. That’s because that opinion doesn’t exist. Not legitimately, anyway. You could probably get an expert to say that the handwriting may not be yours, but those guys don’t have Goldstein’s credentials, and when it comes to a Mexican standoff with expert witnesses, the one with the best résumé usually wins.”
Volchek nodded. He seemed to be buying it, but Arturas
I had no choice. If Dr. Goldstein was as good a witness as Miriam hoped, Volchek could have his bail terminated within a few hours, and Amy would pay for that with her life. I had to destroy Goldstein’s evidence. If I could do that, I accomplished two things. One, I would get my remaining twenty-eight hours to figure my way out of this, and two, the Russians would begin to trust me. If Volchek thought I was busting a gut to keep him out of jail long enough to kill Benny, then he wouldn’t notice me cramming that bomb up his ass first chance I got. But before the con, I needed to gain his trust.
In the confidence game, we called it a persuader .
Miriam wrapped up her speech. “And, ladies and gentlemen, if you consider this simple proposition to be correct, then you must find the defendant guilty. We will show you his guilt and you must convict him.”
Miriam sat down. The jury looked tired.
Judge Pike said, “Mr. Flynn, will you be addressing the jury now or at the conclusion of the prosecution’s evidence?” I slowly rose from my chair and said, “Your Honor, the jury will want time to absorb Ms. Sullivan’s speech. Might it be preferable to give them a break and allow them some time for refreshments? I will need to take some instructions from my client before I address the jury.”
This was my usual tactic and one that most defense attorneys employed. I always liked to speak to my client after I’d heard the prosecutor’s opening. It was usually only then that the defense got to hear what kind of spin the prosecution was putting on the evidence. That meant checking with the defendant again, to see if any of what the prosecutor said was true. I also wanted the jury to like me. They’d sat for almost two hours listening to Miriam. I wanted to be the savior. I wanted them to see me stand up, say something quick, and get them coffee and pastries. I’m concerned they might need a break; I’m caring, connecting, and listening to them. Pretty soon I would be the only show in town.
Miriam saw my shot at wrestling the jury from her spell and tried to take back their favor. “Your Honor, I fear I may have gone on too long this morning. Perhaps instead of coffee, we could break for lunch?”
“Back here in one hour,” said Judge Pike.
The courtroom began to empty, and I felt a strong hand on my shoulder. Arturas said, “We’ll go upstairs to talk.”
I didn’t have time to talk. I had one hour to read eight thousand pages and prepare the greatest opening speech and the greatest cross-examination of my life. I shifted around in my seat and looked at him straight. “We can talk later. I have to work. And I need your help.”
CHAPTER NINE
Victor closed and locked the door of the reception room that we’d occupied earlier, up on the nineteenth floor. Arturas stood with his arms folded and tapped his foot. He was nervous and angry. His boss simply folded himself into the couch and watched.
“I need a laptop or a smartphone with Internet access,” I said.
“What for?” asked Arturas.
I ignored Arturas and spoke directly to Volchek—he was the client; he needed the answers, and he called the shots. “Your other lawyers tried to get expert testimony to challenge Dr. Goldstein directly. They wanted another handwriting expert to say that the murder note couldn’t have been written by you. I saw the bundle of reports in the case file; they couldn’t get anyone to offer that opinion. That’s because that opinion doesn’t exist. Not legitimately, anyway. You could probably get an expert to say that the handwriting may not be yours, but those guys don’t have Goldstein’s credentials, and when it comes to a Mexican standoff with expert witnesses, the one with the best résumé usually wins.”
Volchek nodded. He seemed to be buying it, but Arturas
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