The Ex(81)

“Correct me if I’m wrong, ADA Temple, but isn’t that Mr. Harris right there? If so, the house arrest appears to be working. What exactly is the problem here?”

“The problem, Your Honor, is that although the People have already complied with our obligations to disclose exculpatory evidence, eventually we will need to disclose additional information that will make the strength of our case quite clear. We believe that once this happens, Mr. Harris might indeed be motivated to flee.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that. What exactly is it that you’d like me to know that I didn’t hear at arraignment?”

Temple was starting to talk about the deposition transcript found among Jack’s files, revealing Malcolm Neeley’s habit of going to the football field on Wednesday mornings, when I interrupted. “This is clearly an attempt to get around the gag order, Your Honor. The courtroom is filled with reporters. I have no idea what evidence Mr. Temple thinks he has, but he’s trying to advertise it to the jury pool before I’m able to rebut it.”

As if on cue, a voice erupted from the galley. I turned to see Max Neeley on his feet, Amanda grabbing his hand, trying to return him to his seat. “Judge, I deserve to have a private lawyer intervene on my behalf. Jack Harris’s lawyer has continually slandered me in these proceedings.”

“Okay, everyone.” Judge Amador was banging his gavel. “In chambers, lawyers only. Go on home, reporters. You, too, Mr. Neeley. There’s nothing to see here.”


AMADOR UNZIPPED HIS ROBE AND took a seat at his desk. “Okay, kids. What exactly is going on? Does this have something to do with our last hearing miraculously ending up on Eyewitness News even though the courtroom was empty?”

Temple was having a hard time not looking smug. “You’re a very smart man, Your Honor.”

“All right, let’s cut to the chase. Ms. Randall, I think you probably leaked something to the press the last time you were here. Mr. Temple, I suspect you haven’t exactly been tight-lipped with Max Neeley, who must have a publicist working for him at the rate he’s giving interviews. Enough. I’m not letting this motion be used as a run around my gag order.”

I thanked the judge, but he said, “Not so fast. I took a huge risk releasing your client given the severity of the charges. I think we all know Amy Chandler’s not exactly the sharpest knife in the DA’s kitchen, so if she didn’t give me the full picture the first go-round, I want to hear it now.”

I had been expecting Temple to lay out the evidence of Jack’s affair with Tracy Frankel. What he actually had was far, far worse.


JUDGE AMADOR LOOKED LIKE A high school student trying to understand advanced physics as Scott Temple brought him up to speed. The prosecution had established at arraignment that Jack had a motive to kill Neeley, was at the waterfront the morning of the shooting, and tested positive for GSR, but now Temple was explaining the rest of the story: the missed-moment post, the Madeline e-mails, and the homeless man who’d found the picnic basket containing the murder weapon.

“I might officially be a loony tune,” Amador said, “because I think I followed all that. But I’m afraid I still don’t see your point, Mr. Temple.”

“The point is that Jack Harris has been absolutely clear that the only reason he went to the football field that morning was because this woman Madeline told him to. So naturally we were interested in finding this Madeline person to confirm or disprove Mr. Harris’s story.”

I had been waiting until we knew more to tell Scott about Madeline, but now it was obvious he’d known all along. I tried to breathe evenly as Temple explained that “Madeline” had used an account with an anonymous service called Paperfree.

“The Paperfree address was used not only to respond to the missed-moment post and contact Jack Harris, but also to hire a prostitute to pose as Madeline in the first place.”

Amador took off his glasses. “You finally lost me.”

I had no way of stopping Temple as he detailed the e-mails between the anonymous Paperfree account and an online escort. “Though the escort used a pseudonym on the escorting website, we have now identified her as a woman named Sharon Lawson. She has invoked her Fifth Amendment right to counsel, but we know from the e-mail messages that the person using the Paperfree account told her precisely where to sit, to bring champagne and a picnic basket, and to read a book called Eight Days to Die. She was given a photograph of Jack Harris and instructed to try to catch his eye as he passed.”

This was the evidence that I had planned to use to save Jack. Now Temple was the one presenting it. I had managed to intimidate Sharon into signing an affidavit, but she hadn’t bothered to update me with the fact that the prosecution had located her, too.

“And from the People’s perspective,” Judge Amador asked, “what was the point of all that?”

“So that Jack Harris could then tell his best friend Charlotte Caperton about his desire to see this woman again. She then wrote a missed-moment post that this fictitious person ‘Madeline’ responded to, which gave Harris an explanation for being at the waterfront the morning of the shooting. In the event no one believed him, he had the e-mails and even surveillance camera footage of Lawson to back up his story.”

Temple handed the judge and me a thin stack of stapled pages.

“This is an affidavit from Paperfree.com.” It would have been nice to have Einer here to translate, but I could tell from Scott’s confident demeanor that what I was looking at wasn’t good. “It includes a list of IP addresses used to log into the e-mail account in question. Almost all of them are public WiFi connections—Starbucks, a hotel lobby, NYU, and a fro-yo shop. Importantly, they’re all within walking distance of Harris’s apartment.”