The Client (Page 47)
The law was quite simple: Every citizen owes to society the duty of giving testimony to aid in the enforcement of the law. And, a witness is not excused from testifying because of his fear of reprisal threatening his and/or his family’s lives. It was black letter law, as they say, carved in stone over the years by hundreds of judges and justices. No exceptions. No exemptions. No loopholes for scared little boys. Roy and Wally had read dozens of cases. Many were copied and highlighted and thrown about on the table. The kid would have to talk. If the Juvenile Court approach in Memphis fell through, Foltrigg planned to issue a subpoena for Mark Sway to appear before the grand jury in New Orleans. It would scare the little punk to death, and loosen his tongue.
Trumann walked through the door and said, "You guys are working late." Wally Boxx pushed away from the table and stretched his arms mightily above his head. "Yeah, a lot of stuff to cover," he said, exhausted, waving his hand proudly at the piles of books and notes.
"Have a seat," Foltrigg said, pointing at a chair. "We’re finishing up." He stretched too, then cracked his knuckles. He loved his reputation as a workaholic, a man of importance unafraid of painful hours, a family man whose calling went beyond wife and kids. The job meant everything. His client was the United States of America.
Trumann had heard this eighteen-hour-a-day crap for seven years now. It was Foltrigg’s favorite subjecttalking about himself and the hours at the office and the body that needed no sleep. Lawyers wear their loss of sleep like a badge of honor. Real macho machines grinding it out around the clock.
"I’ve got an idea," Trumann said, sitting across the table. "You told me earlier about the hearing in Memphis tomorrow. In Juvenile Court." "We’re filing a petition," Roy corrected him. "I don’t know when the hearing will take place. But we’ll ask for a quick one." "Yeah, well, what about this? Just before I left the office this afternoon, I talked to K. O. Lewis, Voyles’s number-one deputy." "I know K. O.," Foltrigg interrupted. Trumann knew this was coming. In fact, he paused just a split second so Foltrigg could interrupt and set him straight about how close he was to K. O., not Mr. Lewis, but simply K. O.
"Right. Well, he’s in St. Louis attending a conference, and he asked about the Boyette case and Jerome Clifford and the kid. I told him what we knew. He said feel free to call if he could do anything. Said Mr. Voyles wants daily reports." "I know all this." "Right. Well, I was just thinking. St. Louis is an hour’s flight from Memphis, right. What if Mr. Lewis presented himself to the Juvenile Court judge in Memphis first thing in the morning when the petition is filed, and what if Mr. Lewis has a little chat with the judge and leans on him? We’re talking about the number-two man in the FBI. He tells the judge what we think this kid knows." Foltrigg began nodding his approval, and when Wally saw this he began nodding too, only faster.
Trumann continued. "And there’s something else. We know Gronke is in Memphis, and it’s safe to assume he’s not there to visit Elvis’s grave. Right? He’s been sent there by Muldanno. So I was thinking, what if we assume the kid is in danger, and Mr. Lewis explains to the Juvenile Court judge that it’s in the best interests of the kid for us to take him into custody? You know, for his own protection?" "I like this," Foltrigg said softly. Wally liked it too.
"The kid’ll crack under the pressure. First, he’s taken into custody by order of the Juvenile Court, same as any other case, and that’ll scare the hell out of him. Might also wake up his lawyer. Hopefully the judge orders the kid to talk. At that point, the kid’ll crack, I believe. If not, he’s in contempt, maybe. Don’t you think?" "Yeah, he’s in contempt, but we can’t predict what the judge will do at that point." "Right. So Mr. Lewis tells the judge about Gronke and his connections with the mob, and that we believe he’s in Memphis to harm the kid. Either way, we get the kid in custody, away from his lawyer. The bitch." Foltrigg was wired now. He scribbled something on a legal pad. Wally stood and began pacing thoughtfully around the library, deep in thought as if things were conspiring to force him to make a significant decision.
Trumann could call her a bitch here in the privacy of an office in New Orleans. But he remembered the tape. And he would be happy to remain in New Orleans, far away from her. Let McThune deal with Reggie in Memphis.
"Can you get K. O. on the phone?" Foltrigg asked.
"I think so." Trumann pulled a scrap of paper from a pocket and began punching numbers on the phone.
Foltrigg met Wally in the corner, away from the agent. "It’s a great idea," Wally said. I’m sure the Juvenile Court judge is just some local yokel who’ll listen to K. O. and do whatever he wants, don’t you think?" Trumann had Mr. Lewis on the phone. Foltrigg watched him while listening to Wally. "Maybe, but regardless, we get the kid in court quickly and I think he’ll fold. If not, he’s in custody, under our control and away from his lawyer. I like it." They whispered for a while as Trumann talked to K. O. Lewis. Trumann nodded at them, gave the okay sign with a big smile, and hung up. "He’ll do it," he said proudly. "He’ll catch an early morning flight to Memphis and meet with Fink. Then they’ll get with George Ord and descend on the judge." Trumann was walking toward them, very proud of himself. "Think about it. The U. S. attorney on one side, K. O. Lewis on the other, and Fink in the middle, first thing in the morning when the judge gets to the office. They’ll have the kid talking in no time." Foltrigg flashed a wicked smile. He loved those moments when the power of the federal government shifted into high gear and landed hard on small, unsuspecting people. Just like that, with one phone call, the second in command of the FBI had entered the picture. "It just might work," he said to his boys. "It just might work."
IN ONE CORNER OF THE SMALL DEN ABOVE THE GARAGE, Reggie flipped through a thick book under a lamp. It was midnight, but she couldn’t sleep, so she curled under a quilt and sipped tea while reading a book Glint had found titled Reluctant Witnesses. As far as law books go, it was quite tmii.?]UL me iaw w[ts yunc ^icai. o,wiy witness has a duty to come forth and assist those authorities investigating a crime. A witness cannot refuse to testify on the grounds that he or she feels threatened. The vast majority of the cases cited in the book dealt with organized crime. Seems the Mafia has historically frowned on its people schmoozing with the cops, and has often threatened wives and children. The Supreme Court has said more than once that wives and children be damned. A witness must talk.
At some point in the very near future, Mark would be forced to talk. Foltrigg could issue a subpoena and compel his attendance before a grand jury in New Orleans. She, of course, would be able to attend. If Mark refused to testify before the grand jury, a quick hearing would be held before the trial judge, who would undoubtedly order him to answer Foltrigg’s questions. If he refused, the wrath of the court would be severe. No judge tolerates being disobeyed, but federal judges can be especially nasty when their orders fall on deaf ears.
There are places to put eleven-year-old kids who find themselves in disfavor with the system. At the moment, she had no less than twenty clients scattered about in various training schools in Tennessee. The oldest was sixteen. All were secured behind fences with guards pacing about. They were called reform schools not long ago. Now they’re training schools.
When ordered to talk, Mark would undoubtedly look to her. And this was why she couldn’t sleep. To advise him to disclose the location of the senator’s body would be to jeopardize his safety. His mother and brother would be at risk. These were not people who could become instantly mobile. Ricky might be hospitalized for weeks. Any type of witness protection program would be postponed until he was healthy again. Dianne would be a sitting duck if Muldanno were so inclined.