Blood Money

“Yes. Mr. Hewitt’s attorney is here this morning to answer any questions the court may have.” Her gaze drifted toward the gallery, where a man rose-and Jack’s jaw nearly dropped.

“May it please the court, I’m Ted Gaines, counsel for Brian Hewitt.”

The judge invited him forward. Gaines walked to the end of the row of bench seating, stepped through the swinging gate, and joined the prosecutor at the podium. He shot a quick glance in Jack’s direction, which Jack could only interpret to mean, You’re fucked.

“Is this true, Mr. Gaines?”

“It is, Your Honor. We have a signed plea agreement with the U.S. attorney, under which my client will enter a plea of guilty this afternoon.”

“This seems like an unorthodox way to present it,” said the judge.

“Unusual circumstances, yes,” said Gaines. “But an important part of the plea arrangement is Mr. Hewitt’s agreement to testify in connection with the state of Florida’s motion to set aside the verdict entered in this case.”

“Interesting,” said the judge. “I must say, that’s an impressive display of expedited coordination between state and federal prosecutors.”

Crawford said, “It was a late night, Your Honor.”

Jack rose. “And I guess I must have left the phone off the hook, because this is the first I’ve heard any of this.”

The judge raised a hand, stopping him. “The defense will have its opportunity to respond. Ms. Crawford, I presume you would like to present this testimony.”

“Yes, I would.”

“Objection,” said Jack.

“On what grounds?” asked the judge.

“No notice was given that this would be an evidentiary hearing with testimony from witnesses. My client isn’t even here. The Sixth Amendment guarantees her the right to be present and confront witnesses against her.”

It was lame, but it was the best Jack could do. The judge seized on it, offering up his BNN sound bite for the day. “Consider this your notice: Men in black robes sometimes hear evidence. Ms. Crawford, proceed with your witness.”

“The state calls Mr. Brian Hewitt.”

The double doors in the back of the courtroom opened, and the deputy brought Hewitt down the center aisle. Jack watched him all the way, but Hewitt never made eye contact. The witness cast his gaze at the floor as he swore the oath, and when he finally took a seat and looked at the prosecutor, whereupon everyone could see his face, it was obvious to Jack-as it must have been to all-that Hewitt hadn’t slept a wink last night.

“Please state your name,” said the prosecutor.

The preliminaries were familiar to Jack. It was his practice to commit to memory the basic personal information for every juror, and the recent flood of news coverage about Hewitt had more than refreshed his recollection. Jack was less interested in the litany of background information and more interested in Hewitt’s demeanor. The guy had the fidgets-as Jack’s late friend and mentor at the Freedom Institute would have said, “nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” The deeper the prosecutor led him into the proverbial room, the longer his tail grew.

“Mr. Hewitt,” said the prosecutor, “please describe for the court the first communication you had about the payment of money to you in exchange for a not-guilty verdict.”

Jack listened and took notes as the prosecutor walked Hewitt through two different phone calls and finally a face-to-face meeting. Five minutes, ten minutes, almost twenty minutes of testimony. Jack expected at each turn for the prosecutor to pause for dramatic effect and ask the witness if the man who had offered to pay him six figures for a verdict of not guilty was in the courtroom, at which time all eyes would follow the accusatory finger that was pointing straight at Jack. But that moment didn’t come.

And the judge seemed bothered by it.

“Ms. Crawford, as powerful and disturbing as this testimony is,” the judge said, “I’m concerned by what I’m not hearing. The prosecution is asking the court to set aside a verdict of not guilty and order Sydney Bennett to stand trial again on the same charges. I’m willing to hear your evidence, but let me say this unequivocally. There is no way I’m going to order another trial if you can’t show me that it was the defendant or her counsel, or someone acting under their direction, who bribed this juror. In other words, if you can’t show me that the defendant tainted this verdict, it’s my view that a retrial would constitute double jeopardy.”

Jack rose. “That’s our view as well, Your Honor.”

Crawford glanced across the courtroom at Ted Gaines, then back at the judge. “No worries, Your Honor. We can link the bribe to the defendant.”

With the court’s permission, a projection screen lowered from the ceiling, Crawford’s assistant went to the computer and brought an image onto it. Jack couldn’t tell what it was, but his finger was on the OBJECT button, figuratively speaking. Crawford walked over to Jack, gave him a copy of an affidavit, and then handed up the original to the judge.

“Your Honor, this is an affidavit from Petty Officer Charles Cook, United States Coast Guard,” said Crawford. “Officer Cook is stationed at Opa-locka Executive Airport in Hialeah, Florida.”

The image on the screen suddenly became clearer to Jack.

Crawford continued, “Officer Cook was on duty the night of July eleven. As set forth in the affidavit, Officer Cook shot two minutes of video on his iPhone from two forty A.M. until two forty-two A.M. For the record-and this is not a matter of dispute-Sydney Bennett was released from the Miami-Dade Women’s Detention Center at two twelve A.M.”

Jack was on his feet. “Your Honor, if the prosecution intends to offer this video into evidence, I object on numerous grounds, not the least of which is that this affidavit is no assurance of the authenticity of this recording.”

“Fine,” said Crawford, “if that’s the way Mr. Swyteck wants it. Judge, as I mentioned, Officer Cook is on active duty in the Coast Guard. We’d be happy to bring him in live when he’s not in a helicopter flying over the Gulf Stream.”

“That seems fair to me,” the judge said. “This isn’t a jury trial. We’re all here. Let’s see the video, and if the defense still has authenticity concerns, we can bring in Officer Cook for cross-examination. Roll it.”

The lights dimmed, and on Crawford’s cue, the grainy, still image on the screen came to life. It was a man and a woman standing by a chain-link fence.

“Stop it right there,” said Crawford. “Judge, I should add that since it was dark, our tech expert has enhanced this video to make the people in it more visible.”

“Your Honor, that’s yet another reason to exclude this video,” said Jack.

“I understand the defense’s position. In addition to the Coast Guard officer who shot this video, the prosecution will make their tech expert available for cross-examination. But right now we are going to see this video. Ms. Crawford, proceed.”

“Thank you,” said the prosecutor, and then she turned to the witness. “Mr. Hewitt, do you recognize the two people in this frame?”

“Yeah, the man looks like-”

“Objection,” said Jack. “The witness is clearly speculating.”

“Really?” said the judge. “It looks like you, Mr. Swyteck, which is what I believe the witness was going to say. Are you telling me that it’s not you?”

“With all due respect, I’m not on the witness stand.”

“We can put you there,” the judge snapped.

A chorus of chuckles washed over the courtroom.

“That objection is withdrawn,” said Jack.

“Good decision,” said the judge. “The witness may answer the question.”

Hewitt leaned forward, speaking into the microphone. “That appears to be Mr. Swyteck.”

“And the woman who he is with,” said Crawford, “do you recognize her?”

Hewitt nodded once, firmly. “I spent a month in this courtroom looking at Sydney Bennett. I’d swear that’s