Judge Me When I'm Wrong by Cheryl A. Head

Author:Cheryl A. Head [Cheryl A. Head]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781612941585
Publisher: Bywater Books
Published: 2019-08-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Tuesday

After a wait of over an hour, the clerk came for the jury. Charlie counted sixteen people in the gallery, among them the ghost and Don. The prosecution called a last-minute surprise witness. Video equipment had been set up at the front of the room, and there was a third lawyer at the government’s table. It was the new prosecutor, Earl Thompson, who would question the witness.

“Your Honor, I call Donald Paulsen to the stand.”

From the hall, a tall man in a dark suit, burgundy tie, and polished black shoes entered the courtroom and walked up to the witness stand. His bearing and clothing shouted “federal agent.” The ghost’s shoulders shifted, and he sat upright on full alert. Charlie could almost see a wave of anxiety flow from the crown of his head.

“Mr. Paulsen, what is your occupation?”

“I’m a special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“Were you the agent-in-charge during the surveillance of a meeting last January between Francis Canova and a manager in the city’s Department of Purchasing Services?”

“Yes.”

Goulet quietly got up from his seat and moved toward the exit. He had to pass a row with two other black-suited men who almost certainly worked for the FBI. Both men looked at the ghost as he passed, but he impeded the view of his face by adjusting his scarf around his neck. Charlie saw Don look back and stand. He had to wait for a lady to move her bag before he could exit his row, and his face flushed with impatience. As he moved to the door, Don also received the FBI once-over.

“Mr. Paulsen, I’d like you to walk the jury through the video you and your agents captured on the evening of Tuesday, January 18, 2005.”

“Okay.”

The monitor showed a nighttime meeting, shot through a restaurant window, of a man easily identified as Canova and an overweight man in a Columbo-like beige raincoat. The video had no sound. The man nervously downed a glass of what looked like wine. Canova sipped at his wine, and ten minutes into the tape a waiter brought a plate of food, which Canova ate with relish.

“This is at nineteen-hundred hours on the eighteenth.” The agent caught himself. “That’s 7 p.m.,” he said in the direction of the jury. “Canova is the man on the left; Robert Widdon is the man on the right. Widdon is the executive charged with the oversight of Detroit’s vendor licenses. He reports to Adrienne Raab. We were tipped off to this meeting by an anonymous call, and we obtained a court order to surveil Mr. Widdon and wire the restaurant.”

With no warning, the audio on the tape sounded loudly, and the agent fumbled with the remote to decrease the volume. The jury continued watching the restaurant scene, and the sound was surprisingly clear.

You should have ordered some food. I know the rules about gifts from vendors. But there’s no rule about eating, is there?

Canova had a cackling laugh, which Charlie found repulsive. He took a huge gulp of wine, and wiped his napkin roughly across his mouth.

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