Page 84 of Grave Danger
Judge Carlton entered from the side door to his chambers. The lawyers and their clients rose on the bailiff’s command.
“You may take your seats,” the judge said from the bench. “Here’s what I’ve decided to do, in consultation with the court-appointed child psychiatrist. In a few moments, I will direct each side to open the envelope in front of you. It contains the drawing at issue. The drawing will not leave this courtroom. Each side will have ten minutes to review and discuss it. Yasmin Bazzi will then be brought into the courtroom and sworn as a witness.”
Jack could hear his client gasp, which drew a reaction from the bench.
“Mr. Swyteck, is there a problem?” the judge asked.
“No, Your Honor,” said Jack, and he gave his client a reassuring touch on her wrist.
“As I was saying,” the judge continued, “Mr. Swyteck will question the witness first. Ms. Beech, you may cross-examine if you wish. I admonish both sides to bear in mind that the witness is a six-year-old child.”
Beech rose. “Not to quibble, Judge, but today is actually Yasmin’s seventh birthday.”
The judge’s expression soured. “We’re doing thison her birthday?”
“Not that Mr. Swyteck’s client cares,” said Beech.
“Really?” said Jack. “Judge, I object.”
“Ms. Beech, enough with the cheap shots. Whether she’s six or seven, my point is that we are dealing with a child of tender age. Mind yourselves accordingly. Are there any questions?”
Jack spoke. “Judge, would it be possible to speak with Yasmin before questioning her?”
“Absolutely not,” the judge said. “As I stated, I made this decision in consultation with the child psychiatrist. I am adopting this procedure to avoid any possibility of witness coaching by either side. Yasmin created this drawing while she was completely alone, influenced by no one. I don’t want anyone—stepmother, father, lawyer, judge, or psychiatrist—putting ideas in her head about what her drawing means. Yasmin’s testimony will be completely untainted.”
“Understood,” said Jack.
“Any other questions?” the judge asked.
There were none.
“All right, Counsel. You may open the envelopes.”
Andie spent the sunny afternoon in Bayfront Park, taking a walk along the seawall with a confidential informant.
Loco Lenny was a member of Miami Murda, a violent street gang in the Liberty City area. Andie wasn’t officially assigned to the Gang and Criminal Organization Unit, but years of experience as an undercover agent made her the go-to liaison between the Miami safe-streets task force and nervous informants. Lenny was having second thoughts about wearing awire to his next meeting with a local rapper named Piss-Tahl, the lead suspect in the execution-style murder of two spring-breakers who stiffed the wrong drug dealer and ended up on the wrong end of Piss-Tahl’s pistol.
“Piss-Tahl gonna shoot me in the head, and then light me on fire.”
Or he might light Lenny on fire andthenshoot him in the head. But Andie didn’t go there. All she could do was reassure him and, when that didn’t work, give him a hard dose of reality.
“If you back out now, Lenny, we can’t protect you. You’ll be on your own.”
It was the recurring theme of her pep talk. By the hour’s end, Lenny was solid. Andie left him at the bronze statue of Christopher Columbus and walked alone to the park exit on Biscayne Boulevard, Miami’s main north-south thoroughfare. Four lanes of bumper-to-bumper traffic flowed in each direction, divided by the elevated tram platform and a mile-long row of fifty-foot palm trees. Andie was in the long shadow of office towers across the street, waiting at the crosswalk for the green light, when a man wearing a suit and dark sunglasses stopped beside her.
“Agent Henning?” he asked.
She didn’t recognize him. “Do I know you?”
“I came to discuss your application to the international corruption squad.”
Miami was the fourth field office—joining New York, Los Angeles, and Washington, DC—to have an entire squad of senior agents and forensic accountants dedicated to combating foreign bribery, kleptocracy, and other complex investigations into transnational corruption with a US connection. The required coordination with foreign law enforcement and FBI legal attaché offices made it Andie’s dream assignment, and she’d been waiting almost six months for a promotion. But not many people knew that she’d even applied.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Someone who is concerned for you. The application seems to have hit a wall.”
“What are you talking about?”