The Pardon

Harry sighed. You’d think so, unless that father were a pigheaded fool.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” Harry said firmly.

“And just who’s gonna stop me, Governor?”

“I am.”

“You can’t. Not unless you want to turn the case of State versus Swyteck into State versus Harold Swyteck. And not unless you want the whole world to know you’ve been paying off a blackmailer to cover up the execution of an innocent man. Didn’t you get the point of my poetry, my man? You’re as powerless to save your son as I was to save Raul.”

The governor’s hands began trembling. “You bastard. You despicable bastard.”

“Sticks and stones-well, I think now you get the point. Gotta go, my man. Big day ahead of me. Should be a guilty verdict coming down in the Swyteck case.”

“You listen to me! I won’t allow my son-” he said before stopping mid-sentence. The caller had hung up.

“Damn you!” He pitched the phone aside. He was boiling mad, but he was feeling much more than that. He was scared. Not for himself, but for Jack.

He turned and saw his wife standing in the doorway.

“It was him again, wasn’t it?” she asked.

Sensing her fear, he took her in his arms and held her close. “Agnes,” he asked with a sigh, still holding her, “would you still love me if I weren’t the governor of Florida?”

“Of course I would, Harry,” she replied without hesitation. “Why would you ask such a silly question?”

He broke their embrace and stepped back, pondering his next move. “Because I think I’ve made a decision.”

Chapter 44

At twenty minutes past nine, Judge Tate’s cavernous courtroom was packed with thirty rows of spectators, yet quiet enough to hear the scratch of a reporter’s pencil on his pad. Trial had been scheduled to begin at nine, but the jury had yet to be seated. Judge Tate presided on the bench with hands folded, her dour expression making it clear she was infuriated by the delay. The prosecutor sat erect and confident at the table closest to the empty jury box, pleased that the judge’s wrath would soon befall his opponent Jack was seated at the other side of the courtroom-nervous, confused, and alone.

“Mr. Swyteck,” Judge Tate demanded from the bench, her tone more threatening than inquisitive, “just where is your lawyer?”

Jack rose slowly. Manny had phoned him a few minutes before nine and told him to stall until he got there. That made Jack the sacrificial lamb, for he knew the one thing that absolutely incensed Judge Tate was a lawyer who kept her waiting. “Your Honor,” he said apprehensively, “I’m sure there’s an excellent explanation for Mr. Cardenal’s tardiness.”

Judge Tate scowled, but before she could tell Jack just how excellent his lawyer’s explanation had better be, the double mahogany doors in the back of the courtroom flew open and Manny walked down the center aisle. The steady tap of his heels echoed over the quiet murmur of the crowd.

“You’re late, counselor,” the judge said severely.

“I apologize, Your Honor,” Manny said as he passed through the swinging gate on the rail, “but there was a last-minute development-”

“Two-hundred-dollar fine, Mr. Cardenal! Bailiff, call in the jury!”

“Your Honor,” he pleaded, “could I please have a word with my client? Just a couple minutes is all I need.”

“All rise!” came the bailiff’s announcement, and with it Manny’s plea was drowned out by the shuffle of six hundred spectators rising to their feet. The jurors filed in and took their seats. The bailiff called the court to session, proclaiming “God save this honorable court.” The judge bid a pleasant “good morning” to everyone, then turned to the defense.

“Mr. Cardenal,” she said with an unfriendly smile, “will you be putting on a defense?”

Manny swallowed hard. He’d been meeting with his witness all morning, but Jack still knew nothing about it. It was Manny’s duty to inform his client what was going on. “Your Honor, if I could have just a brief recess.”

“Obviously you didn’t hear me,” she interrupted. “I asked you a question, Mr. Cardenal: Will there be a defense?”

He nodded. “I may have one witness, Your Honor, but-”

“Call your witness, or rest your case. And I mean it. You’ve kept us waiting long enough.”

Manny took a deep breath. He wanted Jack’s approval, but there was no time for discussion.

“Mr. Cardenal,” the judge pressed, “we’re waiting.”

Manny paused, his eyes locking with Jack’s for a moment. Jack gave a quick nod, as if he instinctively sensed that whatever Manny had planned was the right thing to do. Manny smiled briefly, then looked up at the judge. “If it please the court,” he announced in a resounding voice, “the defense calls Governor Harold Swyteck.”

A wave of surprise hit the courtroom like a huge breaker on the beach. The heavy wood doors in the rear of the courtroom swung open, and in walked a tall, handsome man whose gold cuff links and graying around the temples added color and distinction to a dark suit and crisp white shirt. Harold Swyteck never just appeared. He was the kind of man who made an appearance. Being governor amplified that trait. Being both governor and the surprise witness in his own son’s murder trial made this the appearance of a lifetime.

The courtroom was electric yet silent as the governor came down the aisle. As he passed, heads turned in row after row like a wheat field bending in the breeze. Everyone knew who he was, but no one knew what he would say-not even Jack. A strange sensation filled the courtroom as he stepped to the witness stand and swore the oath. It was as if the bailiff had stood up and officially announced that the young man on trial was indeed the governor’s son. The prosecutor’s gut wrenched. The jurors stared in anticipation. Jack’s heart filled with hope and with something else, too-something pleasant, if unfamiliar: genuine pride.

“Good morning,” Manny greeted the distinguished witness from behind the lectern. “If you would, sir, please introduce yourself to the jury.”

The governor swiveled in his chair and faced the jurors. “I’m Harold Swyteck,” he said cordially. “Most people call me Harry.”

A few jurors showed faint smiles of familiarity. If it were possible for one man to look at twelve people simultaneously and make each one of them feel like the only person on the planet who mattered, Harold Swyteck was doing it. He responded directly to them after each of Manny’s introductory questions, as if the jurors, not the lawyer, were eliciting the testimony.

“Now, Governor,” said Manny, marking the transition from introductory questions to more substantive testimony, “I want to focus on the events that took place immediately after the trial of Eddy Goss. Did anything out of the ordinary happen to you?”

The governor took a deep breath, glanced at Jack, and then looked back at the jury. “Yes,” he replied solemnly. “I was attacked.”

“You were what?” the judge asked. The stunned reaction was the same throughout the courtroom.

Jack watched with concern as his father explained not just the attack, but also the reason for it. Harry admitted that his attacker had blackmailed him and that he had paid the man thousands of dollars.

And then he explained why.

“The man threatened to reveal that I’d executed an innocent man,” he said. His voice was low and subdued. His eyes filled with remorse. “A man named Raul Fernandez.”

A buzz of whispers filled the courtroom. Reporters scribbled down the new name, some of them recalling it from the outburst at the governor’s press conference. Every word was another nail in the governor’s political