Jack Daniels and Associates: Snake Wine (3 page)

"Excuse me?" Jack asked, her tone of befuddlement with the defense counsel not lost on the jury.

"People have come after you before, haven't they? Serial killers, maniacs, people who truly intended to kill you and your loved ones? Murderers, rapists, they've shown up on your doorstep so many times, I'm surprised your address isn't listed on some sort of criminal GPS. Correct?"

"It's happened before, yes," Jack said.

Davidson stopped in the center of the room and turned, staring directly at her as he said, "And how'd it turn out for them? How did all those horrible, wretched, crazed violent predators make out once they showed up at the home of the infamous Jack Daniels?"

Every member of the jury was leaning forward now, enough that she could see them edging into her peripheral vision. "Not well for them," Jack said.

"Apparently not," Davidson said, flashing a smile at her. He looked at the jury and said, "Maybe my client was the lucky one since he didn't have to tangle with her."

"Objection!" Roth shouted. 

Davidson sat back down in his seat and held up his hand, saying, "Withdrawn."

Judge Ceparullo dismissed Jack and she stepped down from the witness box, straightening herself back into a cop again. She lifted her head and walked proudly back to her seat, eyes locked on Keenan Marvin. Marvin nodded and smiled at her and Jack snapped at him, "Keep smiling, scumbag. You'll never see the light of day again."

"We gon' see, baby," Marvin shot back, but by then dozens of the cops in the audience were calling Jack's name and shouting things at the defendant, until the judge started slamming his gavel and its deafening thud was the only sound anyone could hear.

"Enough!" Ceparullo ordered, only after allowing all the cops their moment to vent. Finally, everyone quieted down. The judge then glared at the prosecutor and barked, "Do you have any other witnesses, Mr. Roth?"

"No, your honor."

"Good." He turned his finger on Alan Davidson and said, "Call your witness, sir, and let's get this show on the road."

"Yes, sir," Davidson replied, and said, "The defense calls Detective Frank O'Ryan."

The prosecutor instantly turned to Jack and said, "Who?"

Jack shrugged and looked back at the courtroom door, just as all the other people behind them did the same. The man who came through stopped in the entryway to take the measure of all the people staring at him, immediately aware that he'd come into a room full of hostiles who thought he was worse than the defendant. He was a cop who was here to betray other cops.

Frank excused himself as he moved forward, buttoning his suit coat and tugging down on its sides to get it straight. He walked with a slight limp and looked directly at the jury as he passed before them, making eye contact with each one, letting them make eye contact with him.

Shit, Jack thought. He's already good.

She watched him get sworn in and listened to his voice. Steady and loud enough for the stenographer and jury to hear without any trace of jitters. He was in his late-thirties, handsome, even with a few extra pounds around the middle. The suit wasn't flashy but it wasn't bought by anyone trying to live on municipal cop's pay. The expense was in the details. It was tailored to him perfectly, giving an inch of break at the wrists to show the cuffs of his shirt and a pair of engraved silver cufflinks as well. There was no puffing around the shoulders or excess material around the chest. The shirt was crisp and brand new. She could tell because the light blue color was bright – no fading from wear or washings. But the tie was where the suit came together. Burberry. Dark blue check pattern. Full Windsor knot with a dimple so deep you could open a beer bottle with it. There was flash to him, yes, but there was no flash that was disingenuous. Jack's assessment seemed summed up by his subdued bling: A steel watch on his wrist, a thin gold band on his wedding finger, and an American flag pinned to his lapel.  

She noted that he wore his brown hair a little long and hadn't shaved in a few days, either trying to look like some sort of rogue or perhaps he was the kind of guy who watched Miami Vice as a kid and grew up thinking it was the right look for a cop. Then he did something unusual. He looked directly at her and nodded, acknowledging her before he looked at anyone else.

It was a cop thing to do. A way for the witness to tell the cop responsible for the case that everything was going to be okay. In a way, it made her more nervous than anything. It meant that this guy O'Ryan knew how the game was played and could exploit it to his advantage if he chose to.

Jack didn't nod back, but she didn't look away either.

Alan Davidson stood up and said, "Detective O'Ryan, can you please advise the court of your experience as a narcotics investigator and an expert witness in cases involving possession with intent to deliver controlled substances?"

Frank turned and looked at the jury before he began speaking. They were the people who really needed to hear what he had to say. "Back in Pennsylvania, where I'm from, I've given expert testimony at the local, state and federal level in multiple possession cases…possession with intent to distribute, that is. I've testified on behalf of both the prosecution and defense an equal amount of times. One of the things that's important for us so-called experts is that we maintain a degree of neutrality. It helps maintain credibility and objectivity."

Damn, Jack thought. Now half the jury is nodding in agreement with this guy.

Frank kept going. This part was the easy part. It was the same speech he'd delivered dozens of times before dozens of juries and judges as part of his ongoing campaign to make a living after being an active police officer. "Before I went on disability, I arrested thirty people for possession with intent to deliver. That is, in my last two years of narcotics investigations. I've conducted at least one hundred covert operations using confidential informants to purchase controlled substances. In addition, I have acted in an undercover capacity to do the same. I have attended over ten classes that dealt specifically with the sale of drugs, and am a graduate of Top Gun. The narcotics school, not the flight academy. I'm not a pilot." The jury laughed slightly, but Frank was too busy looking out at the room full of bitterly-cynical faces of Chicago's Finest staring back at him and he added, "I'm sure there are many people here whose experience dwarfs mine. I don't want to pretend to be anything I'm not." 

Alan Davidson held up his hand to stop Frank from speaking and said, "That's good enough, sir. Your honor, I submit that Detective O'Ryan is credible as an expert witness, capable of rendering an opinion for the purposes of this hearing."

The judge looked at the prosecutor and said, "Any objections?"

"Several, your honor. First of all, this man has no familiarity with our local or state laws, let alone the processes that Chicago PD had to follow to establish their case. What might pass for proper protocol back in Pennsylvania is likely wildly different then protocols in place in Chicago."

Davidson said, "Your honor, the language and loopholes here might be different than they are somewhere else, but a drug dealer is a drug dealer no matter where you go. This man will not be asked anything he is not qualified to answer."

Judge Ceparullo looked at Frank and said, "I'll accept him as an expert witness. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this witness is allowed to offer something a little different than the other witnesses you've heard so far. Instead of direct testimony about things that he saw or did, he will be offering an opinion about the investigation methodologies and ahhh proper procedures, you see." Once the jury members nodded, Ceparullo pointed at Davidson and said, "You may begin, counselor."

"Detective O'Ryan, if I might ask, you mentioned that you are on disability. What for?"

"I was shot in the knee by a suspect after he killed my sergeant. I continued working for several years, but eventually the doctors decided enough was enough."

"And what is the primary drug you dealt with during your years as a narcotics investigator?"

"Heroin," Frank said. "Most of the people I dealt with became addicted to prescription drugs containing OxyCodone. They began with legitimate prescriptions for various injuries and found themselves hooked. Heroin is a cheaper and easier way for them to satisfy that addiction."

"Did you have experience with methamphetamines?"

"Rarely."

"Marijuana?"

"I turned down more weed jobs than I took," Frank said. "Marijuana was too prevalent for me to tackle with my resources. Besides, heroin was what was killing people and making them commit countless crimes, so that is what I focused on."

"What about cocaine?" Davidson said. "My client is charged with possession with intent to deliver cocaine. Did you have experience with that?"

"Yes," Frank said. "Usually in crack-form."

"So why are you able to give an expert opinion about this case if your main experience is with heroin?" Davidson eyed Roth as he said this, knowing he was getting all the hard questions out of the way on his own terms, wanting to give the appearance of complete transparency.

"When I look at a case, much in the same way as when I select a target for a narcotics investigation, I don't focus on what he sells. I focus on the methodology he employs to determine if he's a viable target."

Davidson clapped his hands to get everyone's attention on him as he walked toward the jury box. Now it was show time. Now he brought the whole thing home. "And in your expert opinion, is Mr. Keenan Marvin a drug dealer?"

Frank looked from the jury to the defense table and said, "Yes."

There was a chorus of muted laughter and people muttering "The hell did he say?"

Keenan Marvin slapped his wrists on the table, rattling the handcuffs holding them together and called for his attorney. Davidson looked stricken for a moment, like a man who'd been punched too hard in the face during the third round and the lights were flickering, about to go out. "What?" was all Davidson could manage.

"Your client is clearly a drug dealer, sir. He's been arrested twice for possession with intent and he's pled guilty to it. He's spent time in prison for it. Whether or not he's a drug dealer isn't the question I came to answer. It's whether or not the controlled substances he was in possession of the night the police arrested him, the drugs that are listed on Lieutenant Daniels' search warrant receipt, were intended for sale. And that's it."

Jack looked from the witness to the defense attorney to the prosecutor, searching each face for answers, but she was coming up short. She leaned over to Roth and asked, "Is this guy secretly on your payroll or what?"

Roth didn't respond. His hands were wrapped around the edge of the table before him, gripping it until his fingers were flat and knuckles white.

Alan Davidson rubbed his face with his hand like he was trying to scrape water off a windshield and cautiously said, "Okay…so on the night in question, were the drugs my client possessed intended for sale?"

"Absolutely not," Frank said. "The phone records clearly indicate they were having a party that evening and had the drugs on hand for their personal use. The prosecution's case for those charges is built around the quantity of drugs on hand, saying that the only possible reason Mr. Marvin and his cohorts would have so much ecstasy and marijuana in their possession was if they were going to sell it. That's simply not the case."

After that, Davidson relaxed and settled into his routine. He began holding up police statements and laboratory reports for Frank to analyze and interpret and explain to the jury why the officers had failed to establish their case for the drugs. It was a show, really, Frank thought. The drug charges were tacked on like a chef tossing a bowl of spaghetti at the wall. They were trying to see what stuck.

A piece of garbage like Keenan Marvin was already a two-time loser. Illinois didn't have a three-strikes law, but that didn't mean the judge wouldn't launch his sorry ass into orbit regardless of whether or not the murder charges held.

It seemed that for every one of his answers, the attorneys spent twenty minutes arguing about whether or not it would be admissible. They argued and the cops in the back rolled their eyes and the jury either nodded or scribbled on their notepads and Frank, bored, began skimming through the various reports in front of him. He picked up the lengthy criminal complaint filed against the defendant by the woman, Lieutenant Daniels. As an expert witness for one specific section of the case, he had limited his research. He'd never seen the full list of charges or reports.

As he came to the end of the charges leveled against Marvin, he read the final two charges: Conspiracy to Attempt Kidnapping and Rape. The victim's name was the same as the person's signature on the affidavit below.

Frank looked up sharply at Davidson first, his mouth quivering in disbelief. Davidson was too busy filibustering to notice. Frank turned his head, staring wide-eyed at the female Lieutenant, who was looking directly back at him. 

It was dark by the time Frank got off the stand and most of the cops in the back had cleared out, needing to get home or go to work or simply bored of standing there listening to the details of evidence procedure and narcotics collection. Some of the jury members were still trying to hang in there, making notes as people spoke. Others were staring off in the distance and one in the back was asleep. Keenan Marvin was asleep too.