The Brass Verdict

Florida with a tremendous cash flow that needed legitimate businesses to move it through and legitimate front men to operate those businesses. I was an accountant. I was one of those men.”
    It was easy to put together. Florida twenty-five years ago. The heyday of the uninhibited flow of cocaine and money.
    “I was sent west,” Elliot said. “I had a story and I had suitcases full of money. And I loved movies. I knew how to pick ’em and put ’ em together. I took Archway and turned it into a billion-dollar enterprise. And then my wife…”
    A sad look of regret crossed his face.
    “What, Walter?”
    He shook his head.
    “On the morning after our twelfth anniversary – after the prenuptial agreement was vested – she told me she was leaving. She was going to get a divorce.”
    I nodded. I understood. With the prenup vested, Mitzi Elliot would be entitled to half of Walter Elliot’s holdings in Archway Studios. Only he was just a front. His holdings actually belonged to the organization and it wasn’t the type of organization that would allow half of its investment to walk out the door in a skirt.
    “I tried to change her mind,” Elliot said. “She wouldn’t listen. She was in love with that Nazi bastard and thought he could protect her.”
    “The organization had her killed.”
    It sounded so strange to say those words out loud. It made me look around and sweep my eyes across the restaurant.
    “I wasn’t supposed to be there that day,” Elliot said. “I was told to stay away, to make sure I had a rock-solid alibi.”
    “Why’d you go, then?”
    His eyes held on mine before he answered.
    “I still loved her in some way. Somehow I still did and I wanted her. I wanted to fight for her. I went out there to try to stop it, maybe be the hero, save the day and win her back. I don’t know. I didn’t have a plan. I just didn’t want it to happen. So I went out there… but I was too late. They were both dead when I got there. Terrible…”
    Elliot was staring at the memory, perhaps the scene in the bedroom in Malibu. I dropped my eyes down to the white tablecloth in front of me. A defense attorney never expects his client to tell him the whole truth. Parts of the truth, yes. But never the cold, hard and complete truth. I had to think that there were things Elliot had left out. But what he had told me was enough for now. It was time to talk about the bribe.
    “And then came Jerry Vincent,” I prompted.
    His eyes came back into focus and he looked at me.
    “Yes.”
    “Tell me about the bribe.”
    “I don’t have a lot to tell. My corporate attorney hooked me up with Jerry and he was fine. We worked out the fee arrangement and then he came to me – this was early on, at least five months ago – and he said he had been approached by someone who could salt the jury. You know, put someone on the jury who would be for us. No matter what happened he would be a holdout for acquittal but he would also work for the defense on the inside – during deliberations. He would be a talker, a skilled persuader – a con man. The catch was that once it was in play, the trial would have to stay on schedule so that this person would end up on my jury.”
    “And you and Jerry took the offer.”
    “We took it. This was five months ago. At the time, I didn’t have much of a defense. I didn’t kill my wife but it seemed the odds were stacked against me. We had no magic bullet… and I was scared. I was innocent but could see that I was going to be convicted. So we took the offer.”
    “How much?”
    “A hundred thousand up front. Like you found out, Jerry paid it through his fees. He inflated his fee and I paid him and then he paid for the juror. Then it was going to be another hundred for a hung jury and two-fifty for an acquittal. Jerry told me that these people had done it before.”
    “You mean fixed a jury?”
    “Yes, that’s what he said.”
    I thought maybe the FBI had gotten wind of the earlier fixes and that was why they had come to Vincent.
    “Were they Jerry’s trials that were fixed before?” I asked.
    “He didn’t say and I didn’t ask.”
    “Did he ever say anything about the FBI sniffing around your case?”
    Elliot leaned back, as if I had just said something repulsive.
    “No. Is that what’s going on?”
    He looked very concerned.
    “I don’t know, Walter. I’m just asking questions here. But Jerry told you he was going to delay the trial, right?”
    Elliot nodded.
    “Yes.