Chapter 38 #2
were friends, weren’t you?”
Serena simply couldn’t hide that smirk. It was “interesting,” Jack thought, the way rubbing elbows with rich people could
make some people feel so important.
“You might call us friends,” she said.
“So, when you demanded two hundred fifty thousand dollars from the Pollards you were really extorting your friend, C. J. Vandermeer. Right?”
“Objection. Her testimony was ‘might call us friends.’”
Jack ignored it. “You and CJ were friends in what way, Ms. Carpenter?”
“Again, I object. I don’t see how any of this is relevant to the charges against Elliott Stafford.”
The prosecutor was clearly uncomfortable with Jack’s delving into Serena’s relationship with CJ. Either she knew where this
line of questioning was leading—or she feared it. Either way, Jack wanted to get to the bottom of it.
“You can answer,” Jack told the witness.
“If you remember,” said the prosecutor.
The old “if you remember” trick. It was enough to make Jack blow his stack. Lawyers did it all the time, but it was witness-coaching,
plain and simple, and it always prompted the same response.
“I really don’t remember,” said Serena.
“Seriously?” said Jack. “You can’t tell me the nature of your friendship with C. J. Vandermeer?”
“The witness just told you she doesn’t remember,” said the prosecutor.
“That’s right,” said Serena. “I don’t remember.”
Jack could have continued to hammer away, but rather than answer his question, the witness was more likely to retract what
she’d already given him. And she’d given him plenty for follow-up after the deposition.
Jack leaned forward, rested his forearms on the table, and looked the witness in the eye. “I have just one more question for
you, Ms. Carpenter. Do you love your son?”
Her eyes were like lasers. “My son? You want to know if I love my son? What kind of a question is that?”
“A pretty simple one,” said Jack. “If you can remember the answer.”
The prosecutor grumbled. “Objection. Now you’re just badgering the witness. Ma’am, you don’t have to answer that question.”
Jack settled back in his chair. “I think she already has,” he said.
“Are we done here?” asked Serena’s lawyer.
“Yes,” said Jack, and the prosecutor agreed.
They called for the guards, the door opened, and Serena left with her attorney. The prosecutor walked with Jack down the hallway
to the visitor’s reception area.
“We have preliminary results in the fingerprint analysis,” said the prosecutor, walking. “Helena’s prints are on the gun that
was dug up in her yard. Which is no surprise. It’s her gun.”
“Which she may have used to shoot her husband before burying it in the yard. Sounds to me like I have reasonable doubt, and
you have yourself another suspect.”
“She’s not a suspect. She passed a polygraph.”
“A polygraph is not admissible evidence,” said Jack. “And I don’t believe in them anyway, unless it’s my client who passes.”
“Just hold your horses before you start pointing the finger at Helena. There’s a reason the analysis is ‘preliminary.’ There
may be a print on the gun that doesn’t belong to Helena.”
“What do you mean may be another print?”
“It’s low quality. Our analysts are working to enhance the image before making a conclusive determination. If it belongs to
your client, I’m open to considering a plea.”
“If it doesn’t belong to Elliott, I’m open to a dismissal of the indictment,” said Jack.
They stopped at the reception desk, where the guard had their cell phones waiting for them.
“I guess we’ll see,” said the prosecutor. She took her device and headed for the exit.
Jack powered on his phone, stepped to a far corner of the lobby, and dialed his assistant. Bonnie “the Roadrunner” was as
fast on the phone as she was on her feet. She answered on the first ring.
“Bonnie, I need you to call your nephew, the tech wizard from MIT.”
“What about?”
Jack had more than a hunch about “what kind of friend” CJ was to Serena. “Tell him to go back six years on the internet. I
want every photo posted on social media by Elliott’s mother, Serena Carpenter, before Austen Pollard was born.”
“That should be no problem. Pity the fools who think anything in cyberspace ever really disappears. What are you looking for?”
“Pay dirt,” said Jack, and the call ended.
Jack returned to the guard at the reception desk. The relationship between CJ and Serena was just one point of follow-up from
the deposition, and Bonnie’s nephew was the right geek for the job. But Jack had other questions that only one person could
answer.
“I’d like to meet with my client, Elliott Stafford,” Jack told the guard.
“Do you have a meeting room reserved?”
“No, but I just came from one.”
“That one’s booked the rest of the morning. So are the others. This could take a while.”
“I can wait as long as it takes. And while I’m waiting, please deliver Elliott this message: His attorney is not leaving this
building until he comes down here and we talk, man to man.”
Jack stepped away from the desk and took a seat in the lobby.