don’t want to hear anything about the supreme court’s decision.”
“You won’t, Your Honor. I have only a few questions.”
“And Mr. Wylie, I’m giving you a continuing objection as to this subject matter so you don’t have to object to every question. You have made your record as to this issue, Counselor. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Tom almost spit out the words.
Back at the table, Jack was more than curious. “What did he say?”
“He’s going to let him go into it. This judge is killing us.”
“Actually, he’s only killing one of us,” Jack replied.
Tom looked at him.
“It’s a joke,” Jack said. “A little maudlin, maybe, but I’ve got to keep you loose somehow, Tom.”
Tom didn’t look at Jack. He just smiled. What client on trial for murder worries about keeping his lawyer loose? he thought.
Merton continued his questioning of Sam Jeffries.
“I ask you again, Chief Jeffries, was there anything wrong in the task force’s investigation of the serial killings?”
“No.”
“What was the supposed problem that got Mr. Felton released?”
Tom couldn’t help himself. Merton was doing exactly what he had said he wasn’t going to do. He was asking Jeffries why the supreme court released Felton and in the next question, he would ask Jeffries, without specifically asking, why the supreme court was wrong. “Objection, Your Honor. This is a specific, blatant collateral attack on the ruling of the Florida Supreme Court.”
“Sit down, Counselor,” Judge Holbrook shouted. There was no problem hearing him above the din of the ceiling fans, the air conditioners, and the rain. “One more speaking objection and I will hold you in contempt of court! Your objection is overruled. Continue, Mr. Merton, but make it quick with this line of questioning. I’m giving you a short leash.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” To the witness: “Do you remember the question, Chief?”
“I do. The murder weapon in the Brock/Diaz murders was a bowie knife. I testified to that and the coroner testified. The coroner’s report was never introduced into evidence. Ten years later, the coroner was dead and his report was used to show that there was somehow a discrepancy in the size of the entry wounds that were recorded on the document. It was nothing more than a typing error.”
Tom was on his feet.
“Sit down, Mr. Wylie!” the judge shouted before Tom could say anything. “And don’t say a word or, so help me, I will hold you in contempt of court!”
Tom sat down, livid. Merton and the judge were pushing his buttons now, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Jack.
“Stay calm. Stay focused,” Jack whispered to his lawyer.
“So the basis of Mr. Tobin’s legal appeal on behalf of Mr. Felton was what?”
“He argued that the evidence, the bowie knife, was not the real murder weapon. It was planted.”
“And who found the bowie knife?”
“I did.”
“So who was the finger pointed at?”
“Me.”
“And at the time this man”—Merton took the opportunity to point his finger directly at Jack—“At the time this man was pointing the finger at you, you had already lost your wife at the hands of this serial killer, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And when he was eventually released, what happened?”
Sam could not speak. It took minutes for him to compose himself so he could mouth the words. Everybody saw the struggle. Everybody felt the struggle. The eyes turned red and glassy. The massive chest heaved up and down. Sam tried to form the words but they just wouldn’t come out. Everybody watched this giant of a man fall apart right in front of their eyes and they couldn’t help but react.
When Sam finally weakly blurted out the words “I lost my daughter,” there wasn’t a dry eye in the courtroom, except for Tom, who was still livid, and the judge.
Jack Tobin was a pro. He’d represented men accused of murder. He’d represented men on death row, and he had tried hundreds of cases. He knew more than anybody that the demeanor of the people on trial was so important. Yet with all his knowledge and experience, Jack could not control his own emotions. He was almost as upset as Sam, knowing his part in this heartbreaking tragedy. His demeanor did not go unnoticed by the jurors, some of whom were looking directly at him.
Merton had now gotten to Tom Wylie and his client. And he wasn’t through.
Chapter Sixty-One
Sam Jeffries took the jurors with him on his imaginary tale about finding the body of the killer of his wife and daughter. He left out the fact that he had bashed the