Page 118 of The Right to Remain

“Today was no waste of time,” said Jack. “Your Honor, ask yourself this question: If C. J. Vandermeer offered you a reconstructed pistol with no serial number on it, would you take it? Would you carry it with you at all times as a concealed weapon? Would you ‘forget’ to tell the police and this court that your gun suddenly went missing on the night of your husband’s violent death? Judge, it’s time for some answers.”

“Your Honor, enough is enough,” said the prosecutor.

Judge Garrison closed his eyes and massaged between his eyebrows, as if a massive headache were coming.

“This case is troubling on so many levels,” the judge said, thinking aloud.

Jack couldn’t read the judicial tea leaves. He might only dig himself into a deeper hole by speaking, but he felt the need to explain.

“Your Honor, I want you to know that this was not a choreographed stunt. I had no idea the witness was going to dress the way he did or show such disrespect for the court.”

Finally, the judge opened his eyes, and he looked straight at Jack.

“Mr. Swyteck, I’m the oldest judge in Miami. I knew your father long before he was Governor Harry Swyteck. Knew him before you were even born. Knew your mother too, God rest her soul. I don’t know you, but I know this muchaboutyou: It isn’t in your DNA to do something this stupid on purpose.”

“Thank you,” said Jack.I think.

“Let me say this,” the judge continued. “If that lunatic was Mr. Pollard’s business partner, then by all means, I want to hear more from thewidow. This hearing shall resume tomorrow morning. Mr. Swyteck, we will begin with your examination of Helena Pollard. Ms. Weller, you may cross-examine. We are in recess until nine a.m.”

The crack of the gavel was like a pistol shot in the night. Jack and his client rose on the bailiff’s command.

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Jack said quietly, speaking more to himself than his client, expecting nothing but Elliott’s silence in return.

Chapter 43

Judge Garrison called the crowded courtroom to order. With the media section at capacity, just a handful of open seats remained in the public gallery. Even though Jack had done nothing to cultivate publicity, word had traveled fast that the victim’s widow would return to the witness stand.

“Mr. Swyteck, you may proceed,” the judge said.

Jack rose. “At this time, the defense calls—”

“Your Honor, if I may,” said the prosecutor. “The State of Florida has a request.”

The judge seemed annoyed. “Ms. Weller, I will not reconsider my decision to allow the defense to further question Helena Pollard.”

“Judge, Ms. Pollard testified at the first hearing as a witness for the prosecution, and then she was cross-examined by Mr. Swyteck. My request is simply that we proceed in the same fashion today. The prosecution should go first.”

“That sequence has some logic to it,” the judge said. “Mr. Swyteck, do you intend to treat Ms. Pollard as an adverse witness?”

Labeling a witness “adverse” or “hostile” had legal significance. If Helena proved uncooperative, Jack could use leading questions and other tactics to control the witness, as in cross-examination, even though Jack was calling her as a witness for the defense.

“Your Honor, I reserve the right to treat Ms. Pollard as hostile.”

“In that case, the prosecution’s request is granted. Ms. Weller, you may examine the witness first.”

The bailiff brought in the witness through the double doors at the rear of the courtroom. Helena’s gaze was locked on to the witness standas she walked down the center aisle, but Jack noticed that she made brief eye contact with her lawyer, Patricia Dubrow, who was seated in the first row of public seating. Helena raised her right hand, the bailiff administered the oath, and the witness settled into the chair.

“Thank you for being here, Ms. Pollard,” the prosecutor said in a polite tone. “Again, I wish to convey my condolences for the loss of your husband.”

“Thank you.”

“A lot has happened since the last time you were in this courtroom. I want to ask about one thing, in particular. The handgun recovered from your yard, a twenty-two-caliber Beretta Bobcat.”

“Okay,” said Helena.

“According to the police report, that firearm has no serial number and no registered owner. My question for you is this: Whose gun is it?”

“Objection,” said Jack, but the witness answered anyway.