CHAPTER 37

Joe Hennessy sat in the booth, staring at his whiskey instead of drinking it.

Barry Lockett nursed a pint of pale ale in his large hands on the other side of the booth, and Jacinta Templeton sipped a glass of chardonnay next to Lockett.

Big John’s Tavern was a legendary bar in Downtown Charleston. Refurbished after a fire ten years ago, the rustic tavern was one of Charleston’s favorites. First opened in 1955 by a former New York Giants player, the bar now had different owners but held onto the dive bar feel, if only a more upmarket version. The lighting was dim, the décor was dark, and the smells of aged bourbon wafted from every corner of the building.

“No mistrial?”

Lockett asked.

“Judge Clayton doesn’t want to give into thuggery in the courtroom, and it’s understandable,”

Hennessy said. “It gives us grounds for appeal, but it doesn’t help us now. The jury is almost convinced of Palin’s guilt, and Berkley is going to be the one to slam it home.”

“Well, the timing is good,”

Lockett said. “I found something for you this afternoon. If Berkley had testified on Monday, then we wouldn’t have been able to use this information.”

“What is it?”

Lockett took out his cell phone, opened the screen, and passed it across to Hennessy. Jacinta leaned over his shoulder to look at the picture.

“John Tilly and Clarence Berkley together?”

Jacinta questioned as she looked at the picture. The picture showed Berkley standing next to Tilly at a golf game, both men dressed in white polo shirts, one arm around the other.

“It’s from two years ago,”

Lockett explained. “They were at a charity golf game together in Florida. I ran their faces through our facial recognition program, which took days to process. The program picked up this hit from a photo on Facebook promoting the golf day. It’s not much, but it might help the case.”

“This is good,”

Hennessy agreed. “Berkley will retake the stand on Thursday, and now we’ve got new ammunition to attack him with. If we can suggest to the jury that Tilly gave Berkley the bank statement, we might be able to create enough reasonable doubt about Palin’s guilt in this one instance.”

“Yeah. This ‘one’ instance,”

Jacinta said. “He still looks like he’s guilty of so much more.”

Hennessy and Lockett nodded their agreeance.

“Are you all set for the defense case?”

Lockett asked.

“Almost,”

Hennessy responded. “All our expert witnesses have agreed to testify, and their statements look good. We’ve got financial investigators, fraud experts, and IT specialists all lined up to support our claim that there’s doubt about who did the transfers. In our defense case, we’re not going to dispute it happened, but we will claim there’s reasonable doubt that Palin did it. Jacinta, can you please call Harrison Reid and Jeremy Flynn tomorrow and confirm they’re ready to testify? They’ll open our defense case, and I need them to be ready.”

“I’ll do it first thing,”

Jacinta said. “Do you think we’ve got a chance to win?”

“John Tilly wasn’t investigated as a suspect, and that failure by the investigators has left a reasonable amount of doubt. The question is whether the jury sees it the same way. We won’t know their thoughts until they deliver the verdict.”

“Think they’ll be more trouble before then?”

“I don’t know,”

Hennessy responded. “But the closer we get to a decision; the more things escalate. Palin doesn’t want to go to prison, and I’d hate to think what he’ll do if it looks like we’re going to lose.”

“You could request to leave the case,”

Jacinta said as she sipped her drink. “Forget about the money and walk away. You don’t owe Bernard Palin anything.”

“I can’t do that,”

Hennessy shook his head. “I’m in too deep. Ethically, I can’t walk away from the case now.”

“How many more chances will you give him?”

Jacinta asked. “He’s going to keep pushing the boundaries. How many more witnesses will be beaten up or go missing because of this case? And what if his anger turns to you?”

“He wouldn’t be that stupid,”

Hennessy replied. “But that’s not my biggest worry. My biggest worry is that if we win, he’ll be on the first plane out of here, and it’ll be a long time before I get paid.”

“Didn’t he put his house up as collateral?”

“He did, but that’s a long legal process to claim. It could take years for that to happen. I’d have to go through so many hearings and court appearances. It’s an option, but it’s the last option.”

Two gray-haired men at the bar started arguing loudly, catching everyone’s attention.

Words were thrown around about the Clemson Tigers, and Hennessy started to move to defend his team. Jacinta held out her hand and then shook her head at Hennessy. Hennessy conceded and made no further moves. Still, the older men in their late seventies continued to argue until one stood up and pushed the other. They scuffled in slow motion, not having the strength to nudge each other off their feet. As they became physical, the bartender raced to break them up, pulling them apart. He pushed both back onto their barstools and cautioned them like they were children. The two men didn’t argue any further, and after the bartender instructed them to shake hands, they did so. Once the hands were shaken, the bar went back to its normal business.

“If this is all about money,”

Jacinta turned back to Hennessy. “Then you need to make sure you get paid. Otherwise, we’ve just defended a despicable human for nothing.”

It wasn’t a statement Hennessy wanted to think about. He’d become tangled in a web of corruption, lies, and violence, and the thought of not getting paid for it was too much.

“I need to defend him,”

Hennessy said. “If he didn’t do this, then I need to convince the jury of the truth. That’s my job. That’s my part in the justice system. Dirtbag or not, I need to defend his right to a fair trial.”