I hate to end the cross-examination, because I like being called “sir.” It doesn’t happen that often. But other than asking Ms. Alvarez her favorite color, there’s nothing more for me to get from her, so I let her off the stand.
When court finally adjourns, I check my cell phone and listen to a message from Agent Corvallis agreeing to participate in my plan as it relates to Charles Robinson, and telling me that I should call him.
I call him immediately, and he says that I need to give them twenty-four hours’ notice before any meeting, so as to give them time to set things up. We also talk about possible locations for the meeting, and how I should position things with Robinson.
Corvallis, now that he is on board, comes off as helpful and smart, qualities I am going to need to call on before this is over.
CHARLES ROBINSON TAKES MY CALL, but he doesn’t seem his old jovial self. “You decide to give up the dog? Because otherwise you’re going to jail,” is the first thing out of his mouth.
“The dog is what I wanted to talk to you about,” I say.
“So talk.”
“I think we should meet in person.”
“Why? You can say what you’ve got to say now.”
“What I’ve got to say concerns not only the dog, but also Walter Timmerman, and synthetic DNA.”
There is silence for a few moments from Robinson. If the first words out of his mouth aren’t
Those are not his first words. His actual first words are, “You think you can keep screwing around with me?” I can see him snarling through the phone.
“I think we can help each other,” I say. “I think we can help each other a lot.”
“You don’t know what you’re messing with,” he says.
“If you don’t meet with me, I’ll be messing with the FBI by this time tomorrow.”
He tells me to come over to his house in Closter, a town about half an hour from me, tonight. Corvallis had anticipated that, and told me it was fine, that the FBI could comfortably set up there. My guess is that means they’ve had previous surveillance on Robinson’s house, but it’s only a guess.
However, there is no way I’m going there tonight. I tell him I’ll meet him at eight tomorrow night, and he reluctantly agrees. He has gone from surly and confrontational to nervous and anxious to meet me. It’s a transformation that certainly works in my favor.
Once I’m off the phone, I call Corvallis and tell him what transpired. He’s fine with it, and we pick a place to meet two hours before I’m to be at Robinson’s. At that point I’ll be fitted with the wire, and we’ll go over final arrangements.
It is terrific for me to have Laurie here to discuss these things with, and she and I spend a few hours kicking around exactly what I should say to Robinson. I’m nervous about it, though of course I would never admit it to her.
“Andy,” she says, “I know you realize this could be dangerous. Robinson could have been the one to hire Jimmy Childs, and he could see you as a danger to be eliminated.”
“You just trying to cheer me up?”
“No, I’m trying to make you aware. Your safety is far and away the most important thing. If at any point your instincts tell you that you are in the slightest jeopardy, you get out of there immediately. Okay?”
I agree, though I neglect to mention that I have absolutely no faith in my instincts, at least not in this situation. In a courtroom, yes. When it comes to physical danger, no. If I bailed out of every situation in which I was physically fearful, I’d never leave the house.
Laurie points out another negative when she says, “I’m afraid there’s no place for Marcus in this.”
I nod. “I know. The FBI wouldn’t let him within half a mile of the place. It’s their show; I hope they know what they’re doing.”
“I’ll be there with them,” she says.
“Then I hope you know what you’re doing,” I say with a nervous smile. “You know, we could go down to city hall tomorrow at lunchtime, and if anything goes wrong tomorrow night, you could be the rich Widow Carpenter.”
“You’re an incorrigible idiot,” she says.
“I’m aware of that,” I say, and then turn serious for what I hope will be a brief moment. I tell her that she needs to know that she is the beneficiary of my will, and that Kevin drew it up and has the document itself. “You get everything, including and especially Tara.”
“Andy, nothing is going to happen. I only brought it up because I want you to be careful.”
“I know. I’ve been meaning to tell you about the will since I did it.”
“When did you do it?”
“About three years ago,” I say.
“Before I went to Wisconsin?”
I nod. “Yup.”
“Did you take me out of the will when we were apart and not seeing each other?”
“Nope.”
“We weren’t even talking, and I was the beneficiary of your will?”
“Yup.”
“You’re a lunatic, you know that?”
“Yup.”
TODAY IS CHARACTER DAY AT THE TRIAL. It is standard procedure; the prosecutor calls a series of witnesses for basically no other reason than to testify as to what a terrific person the victim was. In this case it will take twice as long, because there are two victims.
I barely cross-examine most of these witnesses, for two reasons. First of all, I have basically nothing to get from them, and by not questioning them I hope to decrease their importance. Second, I don’t want to look as if I’m attacking the victims and their memory; juries don’t look very fondly on that.
The only witness I spend any time at all with is Robert Jacoby, the head of the DNA lab. Richard has called him as a friend of Walter’s, and he mouths every platitude there is on behalf of his dear friend’s memory.
When I get to examine him, I ask, “Mr. Jacoby, did you receive an unusual request from Walter Timmerman a couple of months ago?”
“Yes. He sent me a DNA sample to test, and it turned out to be his own DNA.”
“Did you ask him why he did that?”
“Yes, but he never responded.”
I then get Jacoby to admit that Walter had been secretive about his research in recent months, and I let him off the stand. Maybe his answers will come in handy later, or maybe not.
I’m glad that today is such an insignificant court day, because my mind is very much focused on my meeting with Robinson tonight. It sure as hell is much more important than any of these witnesses.
All of this takes the entire morning, and after lunch Richard embarks on phase two, which involves calling witnesses to testify that Steven and the victims did not get along. The first witness he calls is an uncomfortable- looking Martha Wyndham.
“Ms. Wyndham, you worked for the Timmermans, did you not?” Richard asks.
“I did.”
“In what capacity?”
“I was Walter Timmerman’s executive assistant for six months until he died, at which point I began working for Diana Timmerman.”
Since two bosses died on her within six months, Martha Timmerman is not exactly a good-luck charm, but
