Page 25 of The Right to Remain

Another pause, and Jack paid close attention to the words that followed.

“I want you to have a deep conversation with your client,” she said. “I meanreallydeep. Deeper than you’ve ever had with any client you’ve ever represented. Then we can talk again, if you like. Sound fair, Jack?”

Jack studied her expression. They weren’t “friends,” but he knew her well enough to understand that she had said all she was going to say about the matter.

“Fair enough,” said Jack.

Patricia tossed her cup into the trash, said goodbye, and started back across the street to the courthouse.

Jack stayed at the table and picked at his pastry, thinking. Patricia had said plenty and implied even more, and the bottom line was clear.Patricia was treating this as a homicide investigation. The widow and the victim’s business partner were joined at the hip. Elliott was on the outside with no way to look in. It wasn’t a race, but time was of the essence. Jack had to make a move.

He reached for his phone and dialed Abe Beckham.

Jack didn’t consider the Miami-Dade County state attorney a “friend,” but they had faced each other in trial a dozen times over the years and shared a mutual respect. It also wasn’t lost on Jack that the office of the state attorney was an elected position, and anyone with Beckham’s political ambition knew better than to ignore the son of a former governor.

“Jack Swyteck, what can I do for you?” he said, using a tone that made them sound more friendly than they were.

“I represent an employee of VanPoll Enterprises. He’s been subpoenaed by the grand jury.”

“I’m familiar with that investigation.”

“My client wants to make a proffer. Can I count on you to cut through the red tape so we can make that happen?”

A “proffer” was the first step toward immunity—a preview of how the witness might help the prosecutor nail someone else.

“How soon?”

“Today, if possible.”

“That’s fast.”

“It will be worth the effort on your side.”

Beckham paused, but Jack sensed it was a good pause—the several-second delay he always got from a prosecutor who didn’t want to appear too eager to make a deal.

“All right,” said Beckham. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Jack thanked him, and the call ended. Jack belted back the last of his coffee and started down the sidewalk, heading in the opposite direction than Patricia Dubrow had just headed.

Chapter 8

Jack arrived on time for his 3 p.m. appointment. Abe Beckham had kept his promise and arranged a same-day meeting with the prosecutor overseeing the grand jury investigation.

The main office of the state attorney for Miami-Dade County was the Graham Building, a massive, two-winged structure that overlooks the criminal courthouse. Jack had never met the architect, but it seemed by design that the wings were angled such that the building’s footprint resembled an American eagle in flight. It also seemed like no accident that, as long as the sun continued to rise in the east, this five-story hub for some three hundred prosecutors would cast an ominous shadow over the pretrial detention center on the west side of the street.

“I’m here to see Abe Beckham and Julianna Weller,” Jack told the receptionist.

A prosecutor serves as legal advisor to the grand jury, and Weller was filling that role in the investigation into Owen Pollard’s death. Weller was a felony division chief, which meant that she personally managed about forty homicide cases while supervising three prosecutors and their combined four hundred to six hundred felony cases. Jack was among the first to admit that Miami’s prosecutors more than earned their pay.

“Right this way,” the receptionist said.

Jack followed her down the hallway. The state attorney’s office was on the top floor, a corner office with views of the courthouse and, to the south, the glistening Miami River. Beckham invited Jack in, closed the door, and showed him to the armchair facing his desk.Weller took the other armchair, closer to the American flag, making hers the position of power in the room. Weller got straight to business.

“Is your client here?” she asked.

“Just us lawyers today,” said Jack.

Defense attorneys could proffer their clients’ testimony in two ways. The more formal method was a face-to-face meeting that included the client, at which the prosecutor was free to ask questions and drill down on facts. On Jack’s advice, Elliott had opted for the informal method, at which the defense lawyer appeared without his client and spoke in hypotheticals: “If my client were to testify that it was Colonel Mustard in the library with the candlestick...”