Free The Rose Conspiracy by Craig Parshall

this.
    Hartz wants to bar me from disclosing the strange little poem that Langley wrote, clearly a key piece of evidence, even to my own co-counsel, Blackstone thought to himself. He’d better have some blockbuster arguments for something as mind-boggling as that.
    Unfortunately for the defense, he did.
    In a court hearing conducted by telephone that afternoon, Hartz explained that even limited disclosure of the Langley notes “could jeopardize our ongoing criminal investigation into the Langley murder.”
    â€œI thought you’d indicted the person you consider to be the culprit here, Henry,” Blackstone replied. “You’re going after my client, remember?”
    But Hartz cut him off.
    â€œYou’ll note that she is charged with being a conspirator. We’re still investigating the other conspirators. If Langley’s notes get out, the others may flee our jurisdiction.”
    Then Hartz added, “Your Honor, you will note in the sworn affidavit we filed from Detective Victor Cheski, our chief investigator in this case, that exact allegation is set out in detail.”
    â€œI suppose you don’t want to give me a teeny-weeny little hint on who those ‘other co-conspirators’ might be?” Blackstone said sarcastically.
    Judge Templeton brought things to a head.
    â€œYou know, gentlemen, I know you both enjoy being my special phone-pals on these emergency motions, but I’ve got a docket full of other cases. Let’s cut the squabbling and get to the point. I have to give a great deal of deference to Detective Cheski’s affidavit. As a result, I am not going to allow an ongoing federal investigation to be interfered with.”
    â€œThe rights of due process and a fair defense trump that, Your Honor,” Blackwell interjected, his voice rising. “I need to share this information with my client—that’s a fundamental part of trial preparation. And I need to give it to my law partner who is assisting me on this case.”
    â€œYeah, but there’s always one lead counsel, Blackstone, and that’s you,” Hartz chipped in. “You know what the notepad said—that should be sufficient. And you’ve shown no compelling need to have your client possess this sensitive information, either. Remember, Judge, Miss Archmont is out on bail, something I objected to. She is out there in the community, where she could share this critical information with others…and if she does, the remaining conspirators could hide or destroy evidence to make themselves unavailable for legal process.”
    â€œMr. Blackstone,” the judge finally ruled, “I can appreciate your desire to share this with your client, Miss Archmont. And I realize that my order is highly unusual. But for now, I am going to prohibit further disclosure of the contents of the Langley notes, subject to this: If you can show me a genuine, material need you have to get your client’s input on this piece of evidence, then file a motion. Detail it. If you don’t want opposingcounsel to know your strategies on why your client needs to see what’s on that notepad, I can understand that—in that case, request that the Court review your arguments in chambers. There’s my ruling. Henry, prepare the order accordingly. And gentlemen, please let me get back to the rest of my docket.”
    After hanging up the phone, all Blackstone could do was shake his head in disbelief. He was being sandbagged. He didn’t mind the typical dash to trial…the frantic search for exculpatory evidence…mounting a defense against the government’s unlimited resources and manpower. In fact, J.D. Blackstone usually exulted in that kind of race.
    What he didn’t like was having to run it in a gunnysack.
    But there was another thought he had. And it wasn’t about the notepad.
    Ever since putting Tully Tullinger on the tail of the tan Taurus that had been following