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“It would, Your Honor.”
Then I’m back at Hennessy. “High tide or low tide?” I look over at Jimmy Cunniff, who is back in his seat, giving me a thumbs-up. I’ve never needed a second chair because I usually have Jimmy sitting not far behind me.
“I don’t remember,” Hennessy says.
“It was high tide. My assistant checked the tide tables while we’ve been having this conversation. And we both know, living near the water—though I don’t live as close as you do, of course—how loud the Atlantic can get at high tide. Don’t we?”
“To me the ocean is always loud,” Hennessy says.
“But somehow not too loud for you to overhear words said seventy-five yards away. Isn’t that right?”
Before Hennessy can answer, I say, “You ever ask my client about this argument?”
“It sounded awfully personal, like something between him and Mitch that I didn’t want to get involved in.”
“In all your years of close friendship with my client,” I say, “did you ever hear him threaten to kill anybody else?”
“No.”
“People can go their whole lives without threatening to kill somebody. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Hennessy?”
“Yes.”
“Did my client sound like he meant it?”
“I hate to say this. But in my opinion, he did.”
“And you decided to come forward as a way of being a good citizen. Is that right?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“SoIguess I have only a couple of more questions, then. The first is this: why did you lie to me in your pretrial interview about having no knowledge of a prior relationship between Rob Jacobson and Mitch Gates?”
“Maybe I misunderstood what you meant about a relationship.”
“Sure you did.”
I turn away from Gus Hennessy now, walk past my client, all the way to the double doors at the end of the courtroom. I’m facing the door when I ask Gus Hennessy, “What took you so freaking long to remember that scene on the beach?”
Hennessy says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear the entire question.”
“I asked, what took you so long, Mr. Hennessy?”
And before he can answer this time, I raise my voice and say, “Lucky for me, since you couldn’t hear me from the other side of the room with my back turned, that I didn’t just threaten to kill somebody.”
Ahearn objects, Prentice sustains, I tell him I’m done with this witness and sit down as Prentice tells everybody we’re about to adjourn for lunch.
As I’m putting my papers back into my bag, Rob Jacobson says, “I swear to you, that never happened.”
I smile at him now.
“I believe you,” I say.
Twenty-Four
AFTER DINNER AT HOMEI decide to take a ride over to where the Jacobsons live in Sagaponack.
They live close to, but not on, the water, so I park my car at the big house on Gibson Lane so that I can take a beach walk before I drop in on Claire Jacobson, unannounced. I assume she’s there, because there are plenty of lights on when I drive by the house. And I see her Blue Bentley in the driveway.
