watershed moments, a little thing that triggered much more of a reaction than it should have. Cumulatively, he’d had enough. Jack pulled the first one from the ground, yanked a second, then another. He gathered up about a dozen of them and walked back to the car, muttering under his breath.
“Jack, it’s no big deal,” said Hannah.
Jack opened the door, threw them into the backseat, and then slammed the door shut. Hannah parked the car and followed him up the steps and into the office. The screen door slapped shut behind them. Bonnie was at the reception desk, working the phone. She had the frazzled expression on her face that Jack was seeing far too much of lately. She slammed down the phone as he entered.
“I need that air horn,” she said.
“Not again,” he said.
“Nastier than ever,” said Bonnie. “All this ‘justice for sale’ nonsense. They’re picking that up from Faith Corso. That’s the running subtitle of her show. And you don’t even want to know what her fans are saying online about you.”
“Bloggers are back?”
“Oh, my Lord,” said Bonnie. “It’s insane. It’s ugly. It’s-”
“It’s thinkism,” said Hannah.
“It’s what?” said Jack.
“That’s the name Dad gave it. Thinkism.”
“And what exactly did Neil mean by that?”
“It’s the new ‘ism,’ said Hannah, “born of the Internet. Race and gender are less important in the virtual world. It’s more about what you think. But the way Dad saw it, some people will always need a reason to hate. If they can’t see you and hate you for how you look, all their hatred is aimed at what you say. Racists and sexists just aren’t cool anymore. But they can all be thinkists, spread the same kind of emotional and irrational hatred, and not only will they get away with it, but people will actually follow their Tweets. Before you know it, there’s a virtual lynch mob outside your door trying to hang you from a tree for thinking differently than they do. Thinkism.”
“Neil came up with that?” asked Jack.
“Yup.”
“One smart guy,” said Jack.
“He was definitely no thinkist.”
Hannah’s cell phone rang. She stepped into the hallway to take it. Jack followed up with Bonnie on the Internet postings.
“Is there anything that you think I should be concerned about?”
“Yeah, all of it.”
Hannah stepped back into the room, her face ashen.
“What’s wrong?” said Jack.
“It was him,” she said in a flat, serious tone. “The same voice I played in the courtroom today.”
Bonnie said, “Now he’s calling
Jack said, “He probably figured out that my cell is monitored by the FBI. It’s the same reason Sydney has been calling me on Theo’s phone. What did he say?”
“It was short,” said Hannah. “I didn’t even have time to think. I should have recorded it.”
“It’s okay,” said Jack. “What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Tell your boss I watch BNN. Tell him I heard him say Sydney Bennett is afraid to come to court. Tell him if he mentions one word about me to the judge, it’s someone he loves all over again.”
She paused, and the reference to “someone you love” gave Jack chills.
“Did he say anything else?” asked Jack.
“Yeah,” said Hannah. “He said to check the signs.”
“The signs?” said Bonnie.
Jack knew immediately. “The For Sale signs.”
Jack hurried out the door and down the steps, his footfalls crunching in the pea-gravel driveway as he raced to the car and yanked open the door. The signs were piled loosely in the backseat where he had left them. He grabbed the one on top and checked it more carefully, but there was nothing of note-just the message, JUSTICE FOR SALE. He did the same with the second, the third, and three more. Finally, he checked the backside of the seventh sign and froze.
There was simply an address: 1800 Davis Road, Apartment 406.
“What is it?” asked Hannah.
Jack showed her and said, “My great-uncle’s address.”
“Your great-uncle?”
Jack’s throat tightened. “
Chapter Forty-Three
At one P.M. Jack and Hannah were in chambers. Judge Matthews was seated in a tall leather chair behind his oversize desk. The American flag was draped on a pole behind him and to his right, and the flag of the state of Florida was to his left. A rectangular table extended forward from the front of his desk to create a T-shaped seating arrangement, the defense on one side of the table and the prosecution on the opposite side. At the narrow end of the table, directly facing the judge, was FBI Agent Andie Henning. With her was an assistant U.S. attorney, who looked to be at most three or four years senior to Hannah.
“Mr. Swyteck, the floor is yours,” said the judge.
The AUSA spoke up. “Before we begin,” she said, “I wanted to make sure the court is aware of the relationship between Mr. Swyteck and FBI Agent Henning.”
“I’m aware. Mr. Swyteck, proceed.”
Jack spoke while seated, as was customary in chambers. “Judge, I want to begin by saying that although this is an unusual way for me to oppose the government’s motion to set aside the not-guilty verdict, the chain of evidence that I am about to proffer does, in fact, confirm that Sydney Bennett had nothing to do with the bribe paid to juror number five in her criminal trial.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” the judge said.
“First, we do not dispute the testimony of Mr. Hewitt that the man who offered him the bribe is the same man who met Sydney Bennett at Opa-locka Airport on the night of her release.”
“Excuse me,” said the prosecutor, “you mean the man who
“Ms. Crawford, you will have your say,” said the judge. “Continue, Mr. Swyteck.”
“We would also ask the court to accept Mr. Hewitt’s testimony on cross-examination that the man who offered him the bribe is the same man who made the anonymous call to the FBI that led to Mr. Hewitt’s arrest.”
“We don’t dispute that,” said the prosecutor.
“Good,” said Jack. “The evidence I would proffer is that this same man has done the following things. First, he attacked me about a block away from my office and demanded to know where Sydney Bennett was. We have a hospital record and a police report to substantiate that attack. Second, that same man murdered Dr. Rene Fenning.”
“What?” said the prosecutor.
“Excuse me, Ms. Crawford. I’ll ask the questions. But Mr. Swyteck, I think her question is a good one:
“This is the sensitive part of the criminal investigation that I mentioned in the courtroom this morning. The killer’s ‘signature,’ so to speak, has not been released to the public. That is to avoid the possibility of copycats or other compromising factors.”
“What is the signature?”
