Dez Calderon just looked at Jack for what seemed like the longest time.
“I know you’re famous for your death penalty stuff,” he said finally, “but I also know you’re not a criminal lawyer, so let me be brief. Whatever case they have against you right now, it’s because of what you’ve already said. They’re going to get an indictment, you and I both know that. It’s just the way this world works. If they are out to get you, talking some more will just lock you into your story and give them more information to twist into a coherent case against you. I know you’re no boy scout, Jack, even though the newspapers make you out to be one. You know what I’m talking about. Bottom line—if I’m representing you, you’re not testifying. Got it?”
“All right.”
Calderon opened his briefcase, which was lying on the dining room table, and took out a piece of paper. “This is a written assertion of your Fifth Amendment right against self-incrimination. I want you to sign it and I’ll sign it and then I’ll call the state attorney.”
Jack read the document quickly and signed it while Calderon called Robert Merton on his cell phone. By the time Jack had finished writing his name, Calderon was done.
“It’s all settled. Merton said they’ll probably be done today, which means you will be formally indicted probably tomorrow. Be prepared to be arrested in the next day or so. Are you with me?”
“Yeah.”
All the time Calderon was talking, he was packing his briefcase. By the time Jack gave his brief answer, Calderon was headed for the door.
“I’ve gotta run. I’ll be in touch with you in the next couple of days. Don’t worry about a thing.”
Jack was worried though. He followed Calderon and his silk suit out to the waiting limousine.
“Did he say what they were charging me with?”
“He did,” Calderon said as the driver opened the limo door and he got in.
“What is it?”
Calderon lowered the backseat window.
“First-degree murder.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. I gotta go.”
The limo driver took off for the airport and Dez Calderon’s private jet, leaving Jack standing dumbfounded in the parking lot.
PART FOUR
April 21, 2003
St. Albans, Florida
Chapter Fifty-One
Henry drove his own car, a Ford Explorer, to St. Albans, a city about an hour northwest of Tallahassee. It was a quiet, comfortable ride, a far cry from his last trip to Tallahassee in Jack’s pickup.
He’d decided to go to St. Albans after his last conversation with Jack. When Dez Calderon left the condo, Henry was just pulling into the parking lot. He found Jack standing outside about as upset as he’d ever seen him, and that was saying something considering all the things that had occurred recently.
“What happened?” Henry asked after he’d parked his car and approached Jack, who hadn’t moved.
“Nothing. I’m just pissed.”
“At who?”
“Myself mostly.”
“For what?”
“I’ve just abdicated making my own decisions since Felton’s latest and last murder. I wanted to testify before the grand jury and then I listened to you and Calderon. That son of a bitch was in and out of here in about fifteen minutes and when he left, I was getting indicted for first-degree murder. I’ll bet I get a bill for ten grand for that little visit.”
“First-degree murder! I can’t believe that.”
“Well, believe it, Henry, because it’s true.”
“You can’t blame Calderon for that, Jack. That’s the prosecutor and Sam Jeffries. They’ve got it in for you. Calderon gave you good advice not to testify. You can’t control what happens with the grand jury.”
“Henry, you’re my best friend and I love you, but I disagree with your assessment. Everybody says the grand jury is controlled by the state attorney but that’s because there’s no other lawyer in the room. It’s just the state attorney presenting the state’s case.
“If Calderon ever thought outside the box, he would have understood that if I testified, there would be two lawyers in the room and that the possibility existed that I could persuade those jurors by my testimony that there was no crime. I can be pretty convincing when I need to be.”
“I know that, my friend. There’s nobody better in a courtroom than you and there’s nobody I’d ever want representing me but you. You can’t represent yourself, though. You’re too close to this. You need somebody dealing for you.”
“Maybe so, Henry, but I’ve got to be part of the process even if I’m the client. That’s not going to work with prima donnas like Calderon.”