thank the judge after beingadmonished, as if to pretend that they had scored something. Counsel, you’reout of order, that question is entirely inappropriate. Thank you, Judge! What,the jurors are a bunch of idiots? And here, where there’s no jury, only a judgeas the finder of fact, it’s even more moronic.
Ron McGaffrey leafs through his notepad, brings a fist tohis mouth and clears his throat, before continuing.
“Did you call Sam Dillon on Tuesday, February third, Mr.Benjamin?”
“I refuse to answer.”
“Did he call you, on that day?”
“I refuse to answer.”
“Did that conversation concern the fact that three statesenators were bribed to pass the Divalpro legislation?”
“Objection,” says Roger Ogren, just as Walter Benjaminrepeats his line: “I refuse to answer.”
“The objection is sustained,” says the judge. “Are we almostdone here, Counsel?”
McGaffrey takes a moment, presumably to review his notes,but he undoubtedly wants these final questions to resonate with the court.
“That’s all I have, Your Honor.”
“No questions,” says Roger Ogren.
“We’ll recess for lunch,” the judge says. “I have somemotions at one. Let’s reconvene at two. Two o’clock.”
“All rise.”
McCoy breathes out, stretches her arms. Walter Benjamin’stestimony was fine, almost comical, really, especially the discussion of thesteps that led to the passage of the Divalpro legislation. Dancing around theSenate like it hardly existed, mentioning the single most important fact-thesudden switch of three votes in the Senate-only as an afterthought. Nary amention of the fact that Mateo Pagone was the one lobbying the Senate on thebill, the one who spent time with each of the three senators over the summerrecess during which they discovered their changes of heart and switched theirvotes to aye.
She wonders how Ronald McGaffrey must feel about all ofthis, what steps Allison had to take to keep him reined in, how in the hellAllison Pagone managed to prevent her lawyer from even mentioning the name ofthe person with the single greatest incentive to make sure Sam Dillon nevertestified before that federal grand jury probing bribery in the statelegislature.
She sees Allison now, touching her lawyer’s arm, probablycomplimenting him. McGaffrey seems resistant to the gesture, which confirms forMcCoy the tension that must exist between the two.
She allows herself a brief smile, hoping the physical effortwill unwind the anxiety percolating in her stomach. Today went as expected,Benjamin’s testimony, but things are far from over. She hasn’t decided if shelikes Allison, but she knows one thing.
She needs Allison Pagone alive.
That was good,” Allison says, under her breath, to RonMcGaffrey when they return from lunch.
“As good as it could be.” McGaffrey pops a lemon drop intohis mouth.
As good as you would let it be, he means. He has felthog-tied by Allison, she knows, since the day she hired him six weeks ago.Constrained by the lack of time to prepare. Constrained by what he perceived asAllison’s unwillingness to fully assist in the defense, if not her outrightlies to him. She would feel sorry for him, under other circumstances, butRonald McGaffrey has a hundred-thousand-dollar retainer resting in his lawfirm’s client fund, and he’s first-chairing one of the biggest criminal trialsto come along in years. The old saying is, they don’t remember whether you won,they just remember you were the lawyer, and McGaffrey’s representation ofAllison has elevated him a notch in the legal community.
Not that he would ever admit that. He must have feltunbelievably stroked when she dumped her old lawyer, Paul Riley, and came tohim. Paul Riley, by all accounts, was the go-to guy these days, at least in theopinions of those who didn’t have a personal stake in such things. Yes, Paul wasa former prosecutor, and some said that former prosecutors are too chummy withtheir old colleagues, fall in love with the plea bargain, but Paul showed noaversion to a fight. No, the truth that nobody knows is that Paul dumpedAllison, not the other way around. He refused to participate in her defense,said that he couldn’t be a part of-what had he called it?
A fraud on the court.
The judge reenters the courtroom and everyone rises. RonMcGaffrey calls his next witness. “Call Richard Cook.”
Richard Cook-Richie, apparently, everyone calls him-is ajunior at Mansbury College in town here, who worked as an intern at Sam’slobbying firm, Dillon amp; Becker. He’s twenty, supposedly, but he looksyounger, tight skin, flyaway hair, long sideburns, and skinny neck. He doesn’tseem nervous. This is probably exciting for him.
“I ran errands for Mr. Dillon and Mr. Becker. Deliveredthings. I helped them out with computers, too, when they needed somethingquick.”
“How long did you work there?”
“I worked there about a year. Pretty much three days a week,afternoons.”
“You knew Sam Dillon?”
“Yeah. Definitely.”
“Let me-let me take you to February third of this year. Doyou recall that date?”
This is the same date that McGaffrey raised with the lastwitness, Walter Benjamin. Benjamin looked like he was going to vomit at thetime, as he refused to answer whether he and Sam had had a phone conversationabout the bribery of three state senators. Allison wonders how thatconversation went. She wonders how much Walter Benjamin knows. She wonders ifhe blames himself for ever hiring Sam, who was an old friend of his.
“Yeah.” The young man nods compliantly. “I remember thatdate.”
He remembers that date because he was working at Sam’soffice that afternoon, organizing files in drawers right outside Sam’s office.Allison knows this because, after Sam’s murder, this kid and his father went tothe police and reported the very thing about which Richie Cook will nowtestify, and the prosecutor, Roger Ogren, was duty- bound to disclose this informationto the defense.
“All right, son,” McGaffrey says, standing at the lectern.“While you were organizing these files, where was Mr. Dillon?”
“In his office. Real close by me. On the phone.”
“Do you happen to know who he was talking to?”
Richard Cook shakes his head.
“You have to answer out loud, son.”
“No, I didn’t know. I was just-I wasn’t meaning to listen inor anything. But I heard him. I heard him talking.”
“What did you hear him say, son? What did Mr. Dillon say?”
“He says, well-he, like”-the young man works his hands-“hestarted kind of shouting, like he was reacting to someone. He was like, ‘No!Listen! Don’t-’ Then he got quiet all of a sudden, then he was talking quieter.Like he knew he was shouting and he wanted to be quieter.”
“Sure. And Richard, what did Mr. Dillon then say? When hequieted down?”
“He was all, like-he said, ‘No one can tie this toFlanagan-Maxx. No one could prove that. Just take the Fifth, if you’re soworried.’ That was pretty much it.”
McGaffrey nods and looks at the judge. His Honor is takingnotes here, and McGaffrey doesn’t want to get ahead of him.
“Now, Richard,” he says, “when Sam Dillon said, ‘No one cantie this to Flanagan-Maxx,’ did he explain what he was talking about?”
An old lawyer’s tactic, repeat helpful testimony in thequestion.
“No. He didn’t.”
“When he said, ‘No one could prove that,’ did he explainthat?”
“No.”
“When he said, ‘Just take the Fifth,’ did he explain that?”
“Nope. I told you all I heard.”
“But you heard him say ‘Flanagan-Maxx,’ Richard?”
