Chapter 20
Thursday began with a surprise. Jack found himself in Judge Garrison’s courtroom on short notice. The hearing was at the prosecution’s
request. Jack wasn’t just defending Elliott. He was also defending himself.
“Counsel, I have fifteen minutes before the start of my next jury trial,” the judge said from the bench. “Make this quick.”
Jack rose. He was at the defense table, but the chair beside him was empty. “Judge, I’m still waiting for my client. The morning
bus has not yet arrived from TGK.”
“Then take good notes, Mr. Swyteck, because this bus is leaving the station right now. Ms. Weller, it’s your motion. Please, proceed.”
Weller rose and went to the podium. “Thank you, Your Honor. This is an unusual motion, but it is made necessary by the very
unusual conduct the defendant has engaged in since his arrest.”
“Unusual in what way?” the judge asked.
“For lack of a better term, Mr. Stafford appears to have gone on a speech strike. He won’t talk to anyone.”
“Well, that’s a new one,” the judge said. “But why is that any concern of yours? If the defendant wishes to remain silent,
in or out of the courtroom, that’s his constitutional right.”
“I understand,” said Weller. “But Mr. Swyteck informed the staff physician at TGK that Mr. Stafford also refuses to speak
to him—his lawyer in this case.”
The judge turned his gaze toward Jack. “Is that true, Mr. Swyteck? Your client refuses to speak to you?”
“Judge, again, I fail to see how this is the prosecution’s concern.”
“I asked you a question, Mr. Swyteck, which makes it my concern.”
“Yes, Your Honor. My client invoked his Fifth Amendment right during his testimony to the grand jury. We spoke for a short
time in a meeting after he testified. Since then, he has unfortunately not spoken to me.”
“Does he refuse to meet with you?” the judge asked.
“He meets with me in person. He sits and listens while I talk. But he does not respond.”
“Does he shake his head or nod? Write down his answer on a piece of paper?”
“There’s no response, verbal or nonverbal. It’s a one-way conversation that ends when I’m finished talking.”
The judge’s expression soured, and then he addressed the prosecutor.
“It sounds like Mr. Swyteck has a pain-in-the-you-know-what for a client. But he also has a point: Why is this your problem,
Ms. Weller?”
“Here’s why,” she said. “This is not a client being a pain. It’s a clever strategic move by a defendant who knows he is going
to be convicted by a jury. He’s already setting up his appeal.”
“An appeal on what grounds?” the judge asked.
“The U.S. Supreme Court has held that the constitutional right to counsel means a right to effective assistance of counsel. I can already hear Mr. Stafford’s appellate lawyer arguing that Mr. Swyteck was unable to provide
‘effective assistance’ because of a lack of communication with his client.”
The judge scratched his head. “I don’t think that argument holds water where the lack of communication is the defendant’s
own doing. But even if it did, what do you want this court to do at this juncture?”
“I want a clear statement on the record from Mr. Swyteck confirming that he believes he can provide effective assistance to
his client even though his client refuses to speak to him.”
“Judge, I object,” said Jack.
“Hold on,” said the judge. “Ms. Weller, if he won’t make such a statement? What then?”
“Then the State of Florida asks that the court order replacement counsel.”
“Do you have someone in mind?” asked the judge.
“We have very talented public defenders right in this building. Every day, they meet their clients for the first time out
in the hallway, have a ten-minute conversation, and then strike a plea bargain with prosecutors from my office. The law does
not require a ‘meaningful relationship’ between defense counsel and their clients. It requires only that the attorney explain
vital rights and the meaning of the most important decisions. If Mr. Swyteck isn’t comfortable working under these circumstances,
let him say so now. And let’s get a PD assigned to this case who can do an effective job.”
Judge Garrison checked the clock on the wall. “Mr. Swyteck, you’ve got sixty seconds. I don’t necessarily agree with Ms. Weller
that your client is dumb like a fox—pun intended—and is already setting up his grounds for an appeal. But it does seem that
he’s playing games. So, let’s hear from you, yes or no: Can you provide effective assistance of counsel under these circumstances?”
Jack had represented men on death row with IQs below 50, clients so strung-out on drugs they couldn’t remember their own name,
and gangbangers who would have sooner stabbed him than followed his advice.
“Judge, the short answer is yes, I can be an effective advocate for my client. However, I disagree with the suggestion that
my client is playing games. My investigation is just getting underway, but I have a good-faith basis to believe that my client
has been intimidated into silence.”
The prosecutor threw him a nasty look. “Intimidated by whom?”
Technically, all Jack had to go on was his own instincts, triggered by Elliott’s barely discernible reaction to his mention of a threat at the end of their last meeting, and a gun destruction business that seemed to be about something other than the destruction of guns—none of which would have sounded like much to Judge Garrison.
“I’m not prepared to make specific accusations at this time,” said Jack.
“And we’re out of time anyway,” said the judge. “Ms. Weller, you got what you asked for, and a little extra something you
didn’t want. That’s the way these things go. Maybe you’ll do better at the Arthur hearing. For now, this court is adjourned.”
With a bang of the gavel, and on the bailiff’s command, everyone rose. As the judge exited through the side door to his chambers,
Jack made his way to the prosecutor’s table.
“We really don’t have to do things this way, Julianna,” he said in a conciliatory tone.
“What way?” she asked, as she packed up her trial bag.
“Ambushing each other with pointless motions.”
She slung the bag over her shoulder and looked Jack in the eye. “Your client murdered a retired FBI agent. This vow-of-silence
malarky that the two of you cooked up isn’t going to get you anywhere.”
“We didn’t cook anything up.”
“Please, spare me,” she said. “I don’t care if your client chooses to answer you or not, but here’s my advice. Next time the
two of you meet, tell her to put on her big-girl pants and prepare for war. See you at the Arthur hearing.”
The swipe at Elliott’s gender seemed unnecessary, even malicious.
Jack chose not to walk out with the prosecutor, waiting behind at the table until she pushed through the swinging gate and was out the door in the back of the courtroom.
He walked alone to the exit, took the escalator down to the main floor, and left the building.
His car was parked in the lot across the street.
Yesterday’s cold front was a distant meteorological memory, and if January had started like “the new July,” it was ending like “the new August.” Jack was sweating by the time he reached his car, and his morning didn’t improve any when he saw what looked like a parking ticket under his windshield wiper.
He reached for it and quickly saw that it wasn’t a ticket.
It was a handwritten note. Jack read it to himself:
She’s a liar. She’s guilty. The killer is as plain as the bump on your throat.
Jack’s gaze swept the parking lot, looking, but he saw no one around. Then he tried to make sense of the note. If “she” was
Elliott, it was written by someone who was less than accepting of his trans status. The “bump on your throat” was an apparent
reference to the Adam’s apple, which Elliott lacked, as yet. For Jack, however, the note was not so much about the words.
It was about the handwriting.
There was something about it—the slant and certain letters—that reminded him of Owen’s “suicide” list of “things stressing
me out.”
Jack carefully placed the note back where he’d found it. Then he dialed the prosecutor on his cell phone, and she answered.
“It’s Jack Swyteck,” he said into his phone. “Thanks for picking up. I’ve found something I’d like MDPD to bag and tag as
evidence in our case.”