Page 43 of The Right to Remain

“I’m just saying. Owen passes from a gunshot wound. Then somebody takes a shot at your actual sheepdog. Even if the two are unrelated, I need to report an act of animal cruelty.”

Dr. Swan appeared determined to report it with or without Helena’s consent.

“All right,” said Helena. “We’ll call the police.”

Chapter 15

The start time on Elliott’s subpoena said 9 a.m. Jack and his client reached the courthouse on time, both dressed in courtroom attire, even if they weren’t technically entering a courtroom. They waited on the wooden bench in the hallway outside the closed door markedgrand jury room.

“Are you nervous?” asked Elliott.

The question caught Jack off guard. Usually it was the lawyer asking his client that question, but he gave an honest answer.

“I’d have no nerves at all if you had taken my advice and agreed to take the Fifth. As it is, I’d say I have a touch of potted-plant syndrome.”

“A touch of what?”

Jack explained quickly. “Years ago, a prominent criminal defense lawyer represented a witness from President Reagan’s National Security Council at the congressional hearings on the Iran-Contra Affair. The lawyer was already well-known, but he became a legal icon when the committee chairman basically told him to shut up, stop objecting to questions, and let the witness object if he wants to. ‘Sir, I’m not a potted plant,’ he said. ‘I’m here as the lawyer. That’s my job.’”

“Good line. So, what’s potted-plant syndrome?”

“The state attorney is allowing me to go inside the room with you, but there’s very little I can do once I’m in there. I’m damn close to being a ‘potted plant.’”

“Then why go in?”

“Look at me,” said Jack.

Elliott did, and Jack continued in a serious tone.

“I want you to do that if any question from the prosecutor gives you concern—beforeyou answer.”

“Do what?”

“Lookat me. If it’s time to assert your Fifth Amendment right, you’ll see it all over my face. If you don’t get my message, I’ll tell the prosecutor I want to consult with my client, take you outside, and talk sense into you. Do you understand me?”

“Completely,” said Elliott.

The door opened. A junior assistant state attorney stepped into the hallway.

“We’re ready for you,” she said. “Please, come in.”

Jack entered first, with Elliott close behind him, and the junior prosecutor closed the door. The grand jurors watched attentively, in silence, as she led Elliott to the witness table. Jack and the lead prosecutor, Julianna Weller, exchanged a purely professional acknowledgment from afar, without words, as Jack took his seat on the opposite side of the room. Jack noticed that there were no empty chairs in the grand jury seating area. Perfect attendance was neither a requirement nor the norm in grand jury proceedings. Jack could only infer that Weller had told them not to miss today’s events—that this witness was important.

The junior prosecutor swore in the witness, and Weller approached.

“Good morning, Mr. Stafford. Would you please state your full name for the record?”

“Elliott Stafford.”

“Have you ever been known by any other names?”

It was one of the questions Jack and his client had covered in their prep session.

“Yes.”

“What is your current address?”

Jack was taken aback. He’d expected the prosecutor to ask the logical next question:What names have you formerly used?But Weller had skated right past it, her focus for the next few minutes on Elliott’seducation, employment, and other background—seemingly everything but Elliott’s dead name and former identity. Jack knew that the lack of follow-up wasn’t due to incompetence. A strategy was at work, which only exacerbated his “potted-plant syndrome.”