When We Were Married Ch. 05D

"No matter what, Bill, it's only one charge. It will be forgotten. No one will care by next year."

"You're a reader, Austin. I know you've read John D. McDonald, the Travis McGee writer. There's one...I think it's "A Flash of Green", although I might be wrong. You remember that one. It's about a guy who's a big big fish in a little pond and he thinks he can get away with anything. But an enemy manages to publicize a scandal he's involved in.

"The big fish walks away from the scandal, but he's going to be stuck in that little pond for the rest of his life. A line has been drawn around the Little Pond and as long as he stays in it, he'll be safe. But if he ever steps outside it, the scandal he's been tarred with will be brought up. He'll never win higher political office or move to a higher level in business. Because no one will want to have the scandal tar them.

"How does this apply to you, Austin? Well, there will be a well publicized scandal about you betraying the public good to curry favor with cops and miniorities in the archives of most major newspapers and organizations around the country.

"When you go for governor next Fall, how many negative ads will be run quoting a prominent prosecutor about how you can't be trusted to protect the public good?"

He was leaning forward on his desk and I noticed the knuckles were turning white as he pressed down.

"Doesn't matter if the charges prove out or not. All a lot of long suffering white voters will see is another politician currying favor with blacks and minorities, and a lot of minorities who don't trust cops will just see another politician who lets cops go around killing people and getting away with it.

"You run for Governor and you're going to get screwed from both ends. It's hard enough to win any elective office without those kind of lead weights around you.

"You fire me and I go public, you might as well learn to love being the State Attorney here, or maybe run for Mayor. Because you're never going to rise any higher, and all those dreams you had of doing good for the state can be put into a drawer somewhere."

Finally he eased his grip on his desk and sat back down. Taking a deep breath, he said, "That French woman you're banging has one hell of a body."

I know my mouth dropped open.

"That change of subject just gave me whiplash. Where did that come from?"

"Just a comment, Bill. I had no idea when I called the Captain of the Bonne Chance and asked him to give you a babysitter that you'd wind up banging her. And not only that, but that she would follow you home. You think her husband knows what she's up to?"

"Austin, I knew you could be cold blooded when you wanted to be, but you honestly think that threatening the marriage of a woman I'm seeing is going to make me back off?"

He shrugged.

"Of course not, unless you care about her and her marriage. Of course if you did, you wouldn't be banging her, would you?"

"Is there any point to this conversation? And how do you even know about her? Do you spy on all your employees?"

"No, only the ones that are important. Actually, Harry, you know him, he's one of our investigators, was having an anniversary supper at the restaurant where you and your family showed up last weekend. He recognized you, and, naturally, knowing about your divorce, he spotted the good looking brunette sitting with you. He took a picture. It's second nature with him.

"Well, since you've already had one breakdown and you're vital to this office, I had her checked out. We employ a lot of investigators, you know. And I talked to the Captain of the Bonne Chance.

"So I know what happened on the Bonne Chance between you and Aline des-Jardins. I know she's currently married, with one son. And I know her husband knows you from that investigation four years ago in Paris.

"That one kind of surprised me. You're the guy who does the right thing, and you got a married woman to cheat on a man who took you under his wing and was your friend. You seduced a friend's wife. Somehow, after that experience with Doug Baker, I wouldn't have expected that of you."

I should have just walked away, but I was curious to see where he was going.

"That's a fucking low blow, Austin, and you know it."

"About as low as what you've done to Philippe Archambault."

"I repeat, what is the point?"

He smiled. Despite his nice guy image, he could be a bastard when he wanted to be. He wanted to be now.

"You know she's never going to stay with you, don't you?"

"So now you not only snoop, but you tell the future?"

"She's been married for ten years. She's had a few shipboard flings, but she always goes back to Philippe. She has a son to tie her to him. If they split she knows she'll never get her son. Philippe is too high in the French government. He'll get the boy. And so when her two weeks here is up, she's gone. No matter what she tells you."

I already knew that, but it sounded different coming from him.

"Again, so? What do you care about my love life?"

He pointed to a photograph in a frame on his wall. It had been taken at a party the year after I was appointed lead prosecutor. He was there with his wife, the three other Chief Assistants and their wives and at the end myself and...

I looked away from it, determined I wouldn't let him read anything in my eyes or on my face about how the photo hit me.

"Aline is a passing fancy. You're still in love with your ex. I saw it just then. Anybody that's around you when she's anywhere close can see it. You can lie through your teeth, but why bother. You can bang all the women you want around the courthouse, but there's a hole in you and you've never going to fill it with anybody but her."

"You're so full of shit, but again, what does this have to do with me and Shawn Smith?"

"If you let Shawn Smith slide, I'll run for Governor next year and get it. Even if I don't get it, I'll step down and I can arrange it so you're appointed to follow me. That gives you four years to prepare for another run. With a four-year track record, my backing and that 'Angel of Death' reputation you can probably have the job as long as you want it."

"And....?"

"This job takes time, but not like yours. You'll politic and handle a few cases, but this is only a 9-5, maybe a 9-6 Monday through Friday job. Being a prosecutor cost you your marriage. Being the boss will let you take back your life."

"I don't have a life, as you well know if you're keeping tabs on me that closely."

"You could, Bill. Your ex is seeing another instructor at UNF, a writer type named Clint Abbott. Seems like a decent guy but they're just friends with benefits according to all we can tell.

"In the meantime, she's buzzing around the courthouse in her new job and, according to some of our female staff, she manages to find reasons to come up to this floor many more times than she needs to. Almost as if she was trying to see, or be seen, by somebody."

"If this was a Harlequin romance, I'd say you might have something. But there is nothing left between us, never will be."

"You're not the man you were six or seven months ago. And whatever she did is in the past. If you wanted her back, I'm betting you could get her."

He turned the photo that sat on his desk next to his phone around so I could see it. It was a photo of himself, his wife in a low cut black gown and their two daughters since married and mothers in their own right.

"Greta and I have been married for 30 years next February. It was the best thing I ever did. I was pretty wild in my younger days, but I've never regretted marrying. I'm proud of what I've done in public life. I'm proud of the job I've done here, not least of which was picking you. But there's nothing in my life that matters as much as she does.

"I know you love this job. I know you've made sacrifices for it. But you can't take the damned job to bed with you at night. You can't hold the fucking job in your arms when life kicks you in the teeth and you need human contact. Aline won't be in your life. You can't fill it with temporary stand-ins."

He turned the photo back toward him.

"You're not just giving up this job if you go forward with the grand jury on Shawn Smith. You're giving up any hope of ever putting your life back together, of winning Debbie back."

I was determined that the puppet master wouldn't know that he had just kicked me in the guts with his words.

"We playing a scene from Faust now, Boss? You're Mephistopheles offering to grant me my fondest wish if I'll only surrender my soul?"

"Just think about it, Bill. You said you won't do anything for a couple of weeks. I gather you're waiting to see what happens with Aline. All I ask if that you think about what we've talked about before you make a final decision. You've waited this long. Give it a couple of weeks."

"I won't change my mind."

"I'm hoping you will."

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WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 2005 -- 2 p.m.

Judge Leonard Pizaro looked first at Lew Walters and then at me.

"You gentlemen ready to proceed?"

Judy Johansen sat in an orange jail jumpsuit at Walters' side. He had railed and pissed and moaned about the prejudicial impact of his client having to wear prison garb. When Pizaro mentioned that there was no jury to prejudice and that it was he, Pizaro, who had ordered her to wear the jumpsuit, all Lew could do was grin and throw his hands up.

"I had to try, your honor," he said.

Pizaro smiled back. A long, long, long time ago, I knew that he had been a legal hotshot. He had a grudging admiration for Lew's showboating he'd done his best to hide during the trial.

' "I understand your concerns, Mr. Walters, but Ms. Johansen has been convicted of premeditated first degree murder. There is no bail because with the money she has at her disposal she would be too great a flight risk. That means she has to be housed in the Duval County Jail and there is no rationale for allowing her to possess different clothing. Do you disagree?"

"No sir, your honor."

"Are you ready to proceed with your arguments and witnesses?"

"Yes, your honor," he said humbly.

As he turned to speak to his client I mouthed "asskisser" and grinned at him.

When he just gave me a weak smile and bent over to talk to Judy I got a bad feeling. It wasn't like him not to give me shit about something like that. I'd talk with him after we finished.

Jessica Stephens had come up from behind me with a file I'd requested thirty minutes before. It wasn't like her to be late to hearings. Strange things.

"Is everything alright, Jessica?" I asked, looking at her curiously. She swept a few strands of her hair back. I noted that a button at the top of her blouse was unbuttoned. And she was wearing hose, but one leg showed a flesh of flesh at the top. I really couldn't believe what I was seeing.

"Jessica?" I said. She caught my eye and I slowly looked up and down. She noticed the unbuttoned button as my gaze dropped she looked down and spotted the errant pantyhose. Her face turned an attractive shade of crimson.

"Anything we need to talk about?"

She looked up toward the front row of seats behind the defense. It was the reporters' row. I spotted the dark hair and barrel chest of TU reporter Carl Cameron. He was smiling at Jessica, the kind of goofy, loopy expression a man has after really good sex. I glanced at him, then back at Jessica.

"Where?"

She blushed deeper, if that was possible.

"The bailiff's room behind Judge Pizaro's chambers."

I broke into a smile.

"You slut, you."

She held her left hand out. There was a diamond ring on the second finger. A respectable diamond in a white gold setting.

"Carl?"

She nodded.

"When?"

"We got married Sunday. No time for a honeymoon so we're..."

"Doing it everywhere you can. Well, congratulations, Jessica. You let him make an honest woman out of you. I'm happy for both of you."

'It took me a long time, but I finally realized that I didn't want to live without him. No matter what it cost me."

I knew what it had cost her.

"You did the right thing, Jessica. Being married is a good thing. And if anybody catches you, at least you've got a marriage license."

"Mr. Maitland?"

Pizarro's voice cut through our conversation and I looked up to see one of Judy's sons approaching the witness stand.

"Sorry, your honor."

We sat down and I heard Judy's two sons talk about what a loving mother she had been and a good wife to her first husband. I heard them tell Pizaro what a son of a bitch Clark Carroll, the husband she had murdered by messing around with his heart medicine, had been to their mother.

Of course, it had been mental abuse, simply because there weren't any confirmed medical records of physical abuse and she had never complained of it during their marriage.

Judy followed and told the judge how she has fallen in love with a forceful millionair and been swept off her feet by him. But, she said, after they'd married he had changed, at least in part because his children hated her and wanted to keep her from inheriting any of his fortune.

He had been insanely jealous and bitter because he was unable to function sexually and made her life a living hell. But he had been clever and kept his torments hidden from the outside world.

She smiled at the judge, a sad smile, as she said, "I'm not proud of what I did, your honor. I cheated on Clark. But I'm not dead yet. I'm a woman with a woman's urges. I wanted to be with Carroll, but it wasn't just that he couldn't physically satisfy me. He was so bitter, so jealous while I was still faithful to him, that we couldn't even cuddle, couldn't do the non-sexual things a loving couple can enjoy.

"I turned to another man because I was lonely. I needed a man's touch. I'm sorry, but I did.:

Then she stared at me, a stare that should have turned water to ice.

"But I did not kill my husband deliberately. Mr. Maitland was able to fool the jury into believing that a mistake was murder. But I didn't mean to kill him. He made my life a living hell at th end, but I never wanted him dead. I knew he was in pain and he knew I was cheating on him. I was hurting him and I felt guilty about that. But as God is my judge, I did not kill him purposefully."

Lew had done a good job of preparing her. She actually sounded believable and if she had been testifying before a jury, I might have worried. But she was testifying before a man who had been hearing such statements for 30 years. And he had long ago learned to distinguish truth from bullshit.

When Pizaro called on me I stood up and walked toward Lew's table.

"Ms. Johansen did a very good job in her testimony. I congratulate Mr. Walters on his preparation. I'm not going to introduce any witnesses and my comments will be short and, I hope, to the point."

I turned away from Judy and Lew and walked to the center of the courtroom facing Pizaro.

"Your honor, the jury, the triers of fact, have determined that Ms. Johansen with premeditation deliberately gave her husband medication that she knew would kill him. They convicted her of first degree murder. Therefore, her denial of her role in his death simply is of no consequence. It's moot. The jury said otherwise.

"Ms. Johansen herself admitted on the witness stand that she had ample motive to kill her husband. She took a lover, who testified that she told him she was going to kill Clark Carroll. Even if you believe Ms. Johansen about Mr. Caroll's alleged abuse, that merely strengthens the argument that she had reason to kill him.

"And finally, it is clear that Ms. Johansen could have easily escaped Mr. Carroll's abusive ways, simply by divorcing him. But, if she had done that, she would not have been in line to inherit his millions. Thus she had another reason to murder him."

I looked back at Judy. She had tried so hard. And it was all for nothing.

"That will conclude the state's arguments, your honor."

Pizaro took a slow and deliberate drink of water from a glass in front of him and then spoke to Judy.

"Ms. Johansen. Would you please stand. Mr. Walters. Mr. Maitland."

I looked at her instead of Pizaro,

"I really don't need any more time to consider your sentence, Ms. Johansen. Nothing had been said here today that really changes the facts proven in this case. You have been found guilty of premeditated first degree murder. The possible sentence could be death. But in my opinion, this crime does not reach the level where a death sentence could be justified.

"Life in prison without parole is another option. In my judgment, however, this crime not not reach that level of punishment either. At your age, I believe a substantial punishment woiuld consist of a mandatory ten-year sentence to be followed by ten years probation.

"You're welcome to appeal this sentence, and I expect you will, but considering what you could have faced, I don't think any appeal will be upheld. And that is another reason for the sentence. I believe it will forestall an avalanche of appeals that will do nothing but further clog up the court system.

"The bailiff will now take you back, Ms. Johansen, and you will be transported to the women's section of the state's minimum security prison at Lawtey within the next two days. Good luck to you."

She just stood there for a long moment, her face frozen in a hopeful smile. One of her sons groaned, another fell back into his seat sobbing. She was their mother. It wasn't unexpected.

Two women bailiffs approached her. I walked over as they did. She stared at me as if she didn't know who I was. It was one thing to expect to serve the balance of your life in prison. Another for it to be made real. She probably was beginning to go into shock.

"Judy," I said softly enough that only she and Lew could hear me. "You might live to leave prison. You're a pretty healthy lady. But you won't be that well off. Carroll's children are challenging the will, and with your conviction against you, I'd say they have a good chance of taking every dollar away from you. I'd watch my pennies if I was you."

That shocked her back to reality.

"Why do you hate me, Maitland?"

"I don't hate you, Judy. Actually I feel sorry for you. If you'd hung in there another year or two, he'd have died and you'd have gotten most of his money. You'd still have been young enough to enjoy spending it. There are some hot 70-year-olds. And 70-year-olds worth millions don't have any trouble finding playmates.

"But you got greedy. And impatient. Think about that for the next ten years as you go to sleep in a bunk bed with some interesting bunkmates."

As the bailiffs led her away, Lew said from behind me, "That was cold, Bill."

"She's doing better than Clark Carroll. But..."

I turned to face him. He'd bent over to collect papers he was shuffling into a briefcase.

"Are you alright, Lew?"

"Why?"

"You just don't seem like yourself, today. Where's the old swagger? Where is the Shark we've all grown to know and laugh at?"

He gave me a mild smile at the jibe but there was definitely something wrong.

"Maybe you just beat the swagger out of me. The Angel of Death took me out."

"Hell, I've beaten you before and you didn't act like your best friend died. Level with me. What is it?"

"I just...it's nothing, Bill. Just take a few bows and prepare your concession speech because the next time you go up against me, it will be me handing you your head."

"I hate to say this to a professional, but you're a piss poor liar. C'mon man, this is me. You want to go somewhere for a coffee? I can take the rest of the day off if you want to knock back a few cold ones."

He shook his head.

"Sorry, Bill. I have a few things to do and then I have to get ready to fly out. I've got a case they just called me in on in San Fran. A big payday and I need some time to prepare for opening motions. I have to leave tonight."