Surprise Witness: A. Stein & Associates Thriller Read online

  Surprise Witness

  Marian K. Riedy

  © Copyright Marian K. Riedy 2022

  Black Rose Writing | Texas

  © 2022 by Marian K. Riedy

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.

  First digital version

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Print ISBN: 978-1-68433-966-2

  PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING

  www.blackrosewriting.com

  Print edition produced in the United States of America

  To my siblings, a refuge in any storm,

  and not bad company when the sun shines, either.

  – M.K.R.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1 - A Disastrous Position

  Chapter 2 - Fake ID

  Chapter 3 - The Artist

  Chapter 4 - Undocumented

  Chapter 5 - Take the Fifth

  Chapter 6 - An Unpleasant Surprise

  Chapter 7 - Pro Bono

  Chapter 8 - A Red Flag

  Chapter 9 - A DNA Match

  Chapter 10 - A Complex Man

  Chapter 11 - Missing in Action

  Chapter 12 - A Familiar Name

  Chapter 13 - The Alternate Juror

  Chapter 14 - A Long Shot

  Chapter 15 - The Replacement

  Chapter 16 - Don’t Mention His Name

  Chapter 17 - A Missing Father

  Chapter 18 - The Juror’s Son

  Chapter 19 - Exhumed

  Chapter 20 - Encoded

  Chapter 21 - An Old Buddy

  Chapter 22 - A Generous Gesture

  Chapter 23 - If the Boot Fits

  Chapter 24 - The Unknown Soldier

  Chapter 25 - Unexcused Absence

  Chapter 26 - No Match

  Chapter 27 - An Open Window

  Chapter 28 - Return from the Dead

  Chapter 29 - The Other Candidate

  Chapter 30 - Confession

  Chapter 31 - The Threat

  Chapter 32 - Lunge and Parry

  Chapter 33 - Disappeared

  Chapter 34 - A Character Witness

  Chapter 35 - Surprise Witness

  Chapter 36 - The Right Path

  Chapter 37 - Without Fear or Favor

  Chapter 38 - Camouflage

  Chapter 39 - All In

  Chapter 40 - Brothers in Arms

  About the Author

  Note from the Author

  Rosevine

  Vietnam - 1973

  He stops at the sound. A footfall. Charlie, or some animal? His buddy, Moose, had sworn he found tiger tracks while on post last week. He shivers in the cold dark of an enveloping fog, looking up for the slight comfort of the weak light of the predawn sky. Silence again.

  A second later, the jungle erupts with blasting AK-47s. He drops to the ground, heart hammering. He fumbles for his radio, but the M-16s are already responding. A grenade explodes far to his right, and the clatter of the rifles to his rear subsides. He rises and heads down the well-trodden track between the elephant grass. Shots ring sporadically in the near distance.

  About twenty yards ahead, on a slight rise just off the path, he sees three other soldiers, backs against a towering tree.

  A single shot from an AK-47 explodes nearby. The second before he dives, he sees one of the men under the tree drop to the ground. He counts to ten before he cautiously rises to one knee. The two soldiers left standing take off at a brisk trot. One of them is carrying a medic’s bag. Before they get more than a few yards from the tree and the downed soldier, an illumination shell explodes overhead. He glimpses a flash of silver.

  He would never have found it in the grass, but in the increasing light of the approaching dawn, he spots a chain lying on the path. He wonders briefly how the poor guy’s dog tags ended up over here. He shrugs, snags the tags off the ground, and walks back to the body. He stands staring at the downed soldier for a moment, then kneels and rummages through the guy’s pockets. Empty.

  A harebrained idea flashes through his mind. Crazy, yet it seems fated to happen. He reaches up to feel for the carotid. The medic surely checked, but he needs to be sure. Dead. No doubt. He kneels a moment longer, palm on the dead man’s chest. He carefully drapes a chain, dog tags dangling, around the neck of the corpse, rises, and runs off the way he had come.

  Chapter 1

  A Disastrous Position

  Trial Day 1

  Washington, D.C., 2019

  Standing in the well of the courtroom, Will surveyed his domain for the next two weeks. The public gallery opened in front of him. The rows of wooden, pew-like benches, separated from the well by a low, wooden rail, seated one hundred twenty-eight persons, according to a plaque on the wall.

  The prospect of all those spectators would daunt the uninitiated. Will, however, had tried dozens of cases here and knew that he would be performing for only a handful of people. These larger courtrooms filled only for trials in which a well-known politico or business titan was on display, accused of some sex offense, corruption, or obstruction of justice.

  Mind elsewhere, Will fiddled with the knot of his tie. His nervous tic would disappear once the trial started. Will’s strategy, and strength as a trial lawyer, was to avoid becoming a distraction. He purposefully blended into the background. The jury’s attention should be on the witness, not the attorney.

  Will crafted his appearance to suit his chosen role. He wore an off-the-rack, charcoal-gray suit, white shirt, and maroon tie. He’d had his hair cut a week ago, instructing his barber to trim it neatly above the ears and off the neck. His natural features needed no camouflage. Of medium height and weight, with a round face, narrow chin, regular features, light brown eyes, and sandy brown hair, Will invited no attention.

  He turned and looked up at the raised dais from which the judge would preside. To Will’s left loomed the jury box, a platform enclosed by a four-foot, polished brass railing. Inside the box sat twelve, wooden, straight-backed chairs arranged in two rows. The furniture had been selected to keep jurors awake, not for comfort. Voir dire, or the jury selection process, had taken place the prior Friday. When the case was called, the six jurors would walk right into the box. The witnesses would stand and be sworn in the boxy enclosure between the jury and the judge before taking their seats to give their testimony.

  In front of the jury, two rectangular tables, each with two chairs, faced the judge. The one closest to the jury, reserved for defense counsel, was unoccupied. T
aylor Baylie, the attorney for the defendants, had not yet arrived. The other table would be Will’s station. Between counsel tables stood a podium equipped with a microphone for direct and cross-examination. Will preferred to stand closer to his witnesses and rarely took refuge behind the podium.

  The doors at the back of the courtroom swung open. Cassandra Robins, Will’s colleague at Stein & Associates and second chair for the trial, marched in. She strode up the aisle, seemingly unburdened by the heavy litigation bags she carried. Her navy-blue skirt suit snugly fit her ample curves. A white silk blouse accentuated her caramel complexion. With her widely spaced brown eyes, prominent cheekbones, and shiny, coal-black hair, professionally coiffed, Cassandra looked every inch the successful D.C. native that she was. Watching her approach, Will, as always, silently admired Cassandra’s casual beauty.

  Cassandra smiled at Will as she took her place at counsel table. Will grinned as he sat in the chair beside her. “Loaded for bear, I see,” he said.

  “Always,” Cassandra responded, eyes sparkling.

  Will turned when Jim Kresge, the firm’s administrative assistant, escorting their client, tapped him on the back. José Marquez lowered himself carefully onto the wooden chair, in the style of those in the jury box, directly behind Will. Unlike the jurors, José perched on the stuffed, beige throw-pillow that Jim had carefully placed on the seat.

  José was dressed much like his attorney, in a dark suit, white shirt, glossy silk tie, and polished black loafers. To the practiced eye, it was evident that José wore a designer label tailored, at one time, to fit. Now, his suit jacket strained tightly over an uneven lump high in the center of his back. He sat stiffly, elbows tucked against his sides, as though it would hurt him if he moved.

  Which it would. José had only last week been released from the hospital after his third back surgery since the accident. José’s orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Moraski, had to fuse two more thoracic vertebrae. Unfortunately, contrary to an early, hopeful prognosis, José’s spine continued to deteriorate.

  José would have to be in attendance during the entire trial. The jury expected as much. The ordeal of being judged for days on end by total strangers was grueling for every plaintiff. José had to bear the additional discomfort of seventy-two fresh surgical sutures under the heavy bandages covering them. He had to discontinue his pain killers, too, at least for today. José would be called to testify, and his mind had to be sharp.

  Will had considered filing for a postponement of the trial. But this close to the scheduled trial date, the judge’s calendar would be booked for a year, if not more. José could not wait that long.

  Will caught José’s eye. “Almost time now,” Will said, smiling.

  José nodded.

  “Ah, great, right on time,” Will said, looking into the courtroom behind José. “It’s your dad and Benjy.”

  Good, Will thought, as the Marquez family walked hesitantly up the central aisle to take seats in the front row of the otherwise empty public gallery. José’s face, sad in repose, brightened when he twisted around and saw his father and son.

  Will would not allow José’s young son, Benjamin, to spend much time in the courtroom. The experience would not be good for the boy, and the jury would not approve. On this opening day, however, José needed the comfort of his son’s presence.

  The door to the well behind the judge’s dais opened. The judge’s clerk walked in, followed by the bailiff. Will swung around and bid them both “good morning.” Will knew the clerk’s name was Susan. The bailiff was a new guy Will had not previously seen. Baylie and a younger attorney bustled into the well and sat at their table. A few minutes later, a knock sounded on the door behind the judge’s dais. The bailiff cried: “All rise.”

  Showtime, Will thought, as everyone in the courtroom rose. José stood as well, slowly and shakily, with Jim’s hand planted under José’s elbow. Will glanced back and grimaced. He would get José excused from that ritual before the first break.

  “Good morning, Your Honor,” came the chorus.

  “Good morning, everyone,” Judge Nancy Storer replied. She gathered the long skirt of her black robes with a practiced sweep and sat in her high-backed, black leather swivel chair. “Call the case, Susan, then, counsel, identify yourselves for the record.”

  Three hours later, almost to the minute, Will paused, looked up from the yellow legal pad he was holding, and asked, “Could I have a moment, Your Honor?”

  “Of course,” came Judge Storer’s prompt reply.

  Will scanned his notes, reviewing the testimony he had elicited from José after counsel’s opening statements. Had Will succeeded in giving the jury a glimpse of the man Will had grown to admire and respect? Would the jurors empathize with José?

  José was raised in Gaithersburg, Maryland, an only child. José’s father, Mauricio, worked as a temporary, seasonal construction worker. His mother, Berta, cleaned house for a family in Bethesda. Money was tight. When José was in eighth grade, Mauricio landed a full-time, permanent job with one of the largest general contractors in the D.C. Metro area, TRJ Construction. Life improved for the Marquez family.

  José did well in high school and was offered a full scholarship to attend the University of Maryland. He turned it down after a lengthy discussion with his parents. Instead, he took a job working alongside his father at TRJ. Seven years later, José met his bride-to-be, Alicia Hoffman, while delivering work orders to corporate headquarters in Reston, Virginia, where Alicia worked as a secretary.

  José dreamed of one day owning his own business in the construction industry. Alicia convinced her husband to return to school to obtain his associate degree, to bolster his chances of doing so.

  Degree in hand, José, with his father’s help, launched his contracting company, just days after José turned thirty. José served as the president and public face of J&A Builders. Mauricio managed the crew. The company began with modest, single-family homes, but J&A thrived and expanded into apartment and office building construction.

  And then, finally, after years of trying, Alicia got pregnant. The Marquez family joyously welcomed baby Benjamin into the world.

  Two years ago, the Marquezes’ good fortune abruptly evaporated. Alicia was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. She was dead in four months, leaving José with their three-year-old son, Benjy. Shortly after he buried his wife, José stepped on a sheet of plywood covering a heating duct while inspecting the site of a four-story office building under construction. The wood splintered, sending José tumbling helplessly down the open shaft. Three stories below, he crashed flat on his back, shattering his cervical spine.

  Will did not dwell on the details of José’s injuries and subsequent treatments during José’s testimony. Instead, José’s surgeon, Dr. Moraski, would walk the jury through the medicine. Will had José focus on how the accident affected his day-to-day life.

  José spoke of his pain and disabilities. He spent far more time, however, describing the effects of his accident on his son. Benjy cried when José left home, again, for surgery or rehab. Before José’s fall, Benjy shouted with joy as José ran behind Benjy’s wobbling bike, hand steady on the boy’s shoulder. Now, Benjy’s lip trembled as he watched his father walk slowly and stiffly to the table for dinner.

  José worried about his family’s future and that of his business and his employees. Several construction sites had already shut down, and a dozen workers let go. José was responsible for client development. He had not been able to do that job since his accident, and no one else was qualified to step into his shoes.

  Will conferred with Cassandra, then glanced over at the jury. The six women sat attentively, but impassively. Not a hint of emotion showed on any of their faces. A pang of uncertainty swept Will, but he pushed it as
ide. Too soon to tell what they thought of his client. And too many other things to deal with right now.

  He stepped away from the jury box and nodded to Taylor Baylie, first chair of the team representing the defendants. Stein & Associates had sued the manufacturer and distributor of the plywood José purchased to use as a protective cover for the open duct. The complaint alleged negligence and strict product liability as the primary claims.

  “Your witness,” Will said, taking his seat.

  Baylie nodded. Before rising, Baylie conferred with his associate in low tones and wrote a few notes on his legal pad. While Baylie prepared, Will worried.

  The cross-examination by opposing counsel was always fraught, particularly when the client was on the stand. Will was sure that he knew the facts of the case inside and out. He and his colleagues had collected and studied every document they could get their hands on that was conceivably relevant to any issue in the case. They had exhausted the witnesses, asking question after question about what had happened and why. But still. Will could have missed something damaging, and Baylie might have found it. If so, it would be coming out momentarily, in cross.

  Baylie knew what he was doing, Will could tell right away. He began by asking if José was comfortable or if he needed a break. José confirmed he was ready to continue. Baylie said he was sorry about what had happened to José and wished him a full recovery. Then, having proven to the jury that he was a good person, just doing his job, Baylie started swinging.

  The first attack came from a line of questions emphasizing José’s lack of experience in construction management. José was only a “carry and pound” guy, in Baylie’s words, before he founded J&A. Even after that, José had to “learn while doing,” as Baylie would have it. Will thought José was holding up fine, answering politely but pushing back on Baylie’s insinuations.

  Then, Baylie turned to the day of the accident, trying hard to expose some fault on the part of José or his company. The experts on both sides had agreed that the use of the plywood panel to cover the open duct was appropriate. No stronger material was required. The experts disagreed about why this specific panel failed to hold José’s weight.