'What Seconal?' Burke asked.
'Somebody phoned in a phony prescription a week or so before Barry's death. It was supposed to be for Samara, but she never knew anything about it. She found it among her spices and called me to come see it. Think about that for a minute. If it was hers, and if she'd used it to drug Barry before stabbing him, why would she bring it to my attention? Why wouldn't she just throw it away? What's more, the doctor who prescribed it doesn't exist. I was going to ask her about it at trial, but like a jerk, I decided against it. I was afraid that the name of the phantom doctor sounded too much like Samara Moss, her maiden name.
'Now get this,' Jaywalker continued. 'When Samara fled Indiana, she left the rape and the stabbing behind her. In the fourteen years since, she's never told a soul about it, or that her true name was Samantha Musgrove. Not even I knew about it. Nobody did. With one exception.'
'Barry,' said the chorus.
'Right. Now see if you can guess what the name of the phantom doctor was on the Seconal bottle.'
When there were no takers, Jaywalker produced the bottle from the other pocket of Barry's coat and handed it to Burke.
'Samuel Musgrove, M.D.,' read Burke.
'Bingo,' said Jaywalker.
'Okay,' said Burke, 'so Barry could have done that, planted the Seconal. I'll give you that much. But let's get back to the eighth knife. Want to tell us where it is?'
'My guess is it's got to be right here, in the kitchen.' He proceeded to divide the room into three, assigning them each a section to search. Jaywalker took the third that included the refrigerator and freezer, and the microwave. He gave Burke most of the cabinets. Bonfiglio ended up with the sink, the trash can, and the dishwasher, grumbling that they'd already been done, 'with negative results.'
They searched in silence for fifteen minutes.
Jaywalker came up dry.
So did Burke.
But sometimes one out of three can be good enough. When it happened, it happened quietly, with no fanfare. When Bonfiglio went to open the dishwasher, he found it was in the locked position, as though ready to run a load of dishes. But when he lifted the handle and opened it, it became clear that that wasn't the case.
Bonfiglio looked carefully. What he saw was a fairly full load of dishes, all of them clean. And there, down on the lower rack, inside the utensil holder among the spoons, forks and table knives, was the eighth steak knife. Barry Tannenbaum had done just as Jaywalker had figured. For tified on alcohol and Seconal, he'd found the soft spot between his ribs, plunged the knife into his chest and pulled it out. Then he'd placed it in the loaded, soaped and readyto-run dishwasher. All he had to do at that point was to close it and push the start button. Then he collapsed on the floor and bled to death.
'Nice work, detective,' said Jaywalker, taking care to keep his voice free of sarcasm or irony. In the end, he knew, he'd be needing Bonfiglio on his side.
'Thanks,' said the detective, the first suggestion of a hero's smile beginning to spread across his face.
'Absofuckinglutely unbelievable,' said Burke.
'Don't say I didn't warn you,' said Jaywalker.
The best part, of course, had been leaving it to Bonfi glio to find the knife. Having tried cases for two decades now, Jaywalker had come to learn a valuable lesson. Some times the very smartest thing you could do was to let the jurors solve the final piece of the puzzle themselves. So once Jaywalker had put it all together-with a slight assist from his wife, returning to him in a dream to nag him about unloading the dishwasher-he'd tucked it away and saved the moment of triumph for the detective.
31
It was quite a morning in Part 51.
The jurors, having arrived earlier only to be told to suspend their deliberations, were led into the courtroom and seated in the jury box. The media filled the first three benches of the spectator section, on both sides of the center aisle. The rest of the rows were packed, leaving a good fifty people standing along the back and side walls.
Word gets around fast in a courthouse.
With Samara and Jaywalker sitting at the defense table, Tom Burke rose slowly to his feet. 'Pursuant to our earlier conversation, with respect to the case of The People versus Samara Moss Tannenbaum, true name Samantha Musgrove, The People hereby move for a mistrial.'
'You understand the full implications of that,' said Judge Sobel. 'As I'm sure you know, when the defense ob tains a mistrial, the case can be retried in front of another jury. But when a mistrial is granted on the prosecution's motion, jeopardy attaches, and the case is over forever.'
'Yes,' said Burke.
'And I understand your office will be filing a written statement setting forth the reasons for your motion.'
'That's correct.'
'Mr. Jaywalker?'
'I don't believe we have any objection.' 'The motion is granted,' said Judge Sobel. Just like that.
The media went absolutely nuts. Broadcasts were inter rupted, specials were hastily put together, and headlines were reset. Before he could get out of the courthouse, Jay walker was besieged for interviews with Oprah, Katie Couric, Larry King, Court TV and all the late-night hosts. Characteristically, he turned them all down, although he was thinking about Jon Stewart's offer when he caught somebody referring to him as the new 'celebrity lawyer.' At that point, he broke into a run and disappeared from view.
Samara was only a little less bashful. She faced the lights and microphones for about twelve seconds, just long enough to say how happy she was, and to thank Burke, Bonfiglio, the judge, the jury and Jaywalker. If there happened to be any future Oscar winners or Miss Americas within earshot, they might have learned a thing or two. Though probably not.
It turned out that the jurors had indeed stood at elevento-one for conviction. But the holdout had been neither Carmelita Rosado, the kindergarten teacher, nor Angelina Olivetti, the actress and waitress. It had been Juror Number 12, George Stetson, the ramrod-straight retired marine colonel Jaywalker had been unable to knock off because he'd run out of challenges. 'They would have had to carry me out in a body bag,' Stetson was quoted as saying later, 'before I'd have surrendered.' Several of his fellow jurors shared a somewhat different recollection, that Stetson had in fact been prepared to change his vote to guilty earlier that morning, which would have made it unanimous, when they'd suddenly been directed to cease their deliberations.
That Friday afternoon Jaywalker was officially sus pended from the practice of law for three years, effective immediately. A petition started making the rounds, asking the disciplinary committee judges to reconsider their sen tence in light of Jaywalker's latest success, but he quickly put an end to it. Three years was actually sounding pretty damn good to him at that point. Not too long ago, in fact, a client of his, a career burglar facing twelve-and-a-half to twenty-five, had heard about the suspension.
'Three years?' he'd said incredulously. 'They wanna give you a trey? Muthafucka, I wish they'd offa that kinda time to me. Sheeet, I could do me a trey standin' on my dick.'
After the previous night, Jaywalker wouldn't have been able to do much of anything standing on his dick. Still, he figured he could do the three years, one way or another.
Jaywalker's love affair with Samara lasted longer than he thought it would. They went out for the better part of six months, if you were willing to adopt Samara's trialtestimony definition of going out as having sex on a regular basis. Indeed, with a little luck, their relationship might have turned out to be one of those rarest things of all, a
