Bury the Lead - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,34
the DA, and your client is in the clear.”
“They’re going to want a preview before they meet.”
He shakes his head firmly. “Andy, I can’t now. Okay? I’ve heard things . . . please trust me, and please get this done. I swear on my daughter’s life . . . this is real.”
I’m not going to get any more; he’s calling the shots. And I do trust that he believes what he is saying, though I have strong doubts that he can deliver what he hopes. “Okay. I’ll get right on it.”
His relief is so powerful it seems to be seeping through the glass. “Thank you,” he says, and walks off. He looks around, seems to pause for a moment, and then hurries out of the room.
By the time I reach my car, I’ve decided what to do with Randy’s request. The DA’s office is the obvious place to go, but I’m not about to trust Tucker with it. There is too much chance he would bury the information, even if it turns out that the information does not deserve to be buried.
Instead, I call Richard Wallace. Richard originally prosecuted Randy’s case, but that is not why I choose him. Richard has always demonstrated total integrity. It’s a cliché, but in his case true: He is more interested in justice than victory.
I’m lucky enough to get Richard on the phone. I tell him I need to see him about something important, but I don’t overplay it. My belief is that this will turn out to be unsubstantiated jailhouse chatter and ultimately not amount to anything. He agrees to see me right away, and I ask that we meet at a nearby coffee shop. I don’t want to run into Tucker.
Richard is already at a table waiting for me when I arrive. We exchange small talk, after which I lay out what Randy told me at the prison.
“This should go to Tucker,” he says.
“I can’t, Richard, he’d never follow up. It would be detrimental to both my clients.”
Richard nods; he knows I’m right, and he’s trying to find another way. “I assume everything you’ve just said to me is unofficial? Off the record?”
I don’t know what he’s getting at, but he’s nodding his head, prompting me, so I nod right back. “Right,” I say, going along. “Totally unofficial and way off the record.”
“Suppose you officially come to me and tell me Clemens has something important to say, that it could involve the perpetrators of some serious crimes. But you don’t mention which crimes, or any other clients of yours that might be involved.”
I immediately see where he’s going with this. “Then you would have no reason to talk to Tucker. It’s the kind of thing you could and should handle on your own.”
He nods. “At least until I hear what Clemens has to say.”
I lean forward. “Richard, there’s something I want to officially talk to you about.” Feeling a little silly, I lay out the new version, and he agrees to arrange for Randy to tell his story. We schedule it for Monday morning, and Richard promises to set it up with the prison authorities.
Just before he gets up to leave, he says, “You know, the evidence was there, and I believe he was guilty, but the Clemens conviction never felt completely right. You know?”
“I know. Believe me, I know.”
• • • • •
JUDGE CALVIN NEWHOUSE is assigned to preside over New Jersey v. Daniel Cummings. A wealthy New Englander by birth and a graduate of Harvard Law, Calvin understands the law inside and out. He’s also quite sophisticated; this is a guy who knows flinty wine when he tastes it. Yet he has always tried to portray himself as a crusty, seat-of-the-pants judge with a disdain for legal procedure but a reverence for “good old country common sense.” He’s even incorporated a trace of a southern accent, which makes him sound like a cross between William Buckley and Willie Nelson.
Calvin’s reputation is as a prosecution judge, which doesn’t exactly put him in select company. I’ve tried one case before him, which I won when he agreed to my motion for an order to dismiss. I found him to be highly intelligent and reasonably evenhanded, so all in all I’m not unhappy with the selection. It could be better, but it could be a hell of a lot worse.
One major plus is that Calvin is unlikely to be swayed by the media coverage and public pressure surrounding the case. He’s sixty-four years