The K Team, page 13
Laurie speaks first. “Renny Valdez.”
I nod. “He threatened Simon.”
Andy says, “And if there are no repercussions, he’ll try it again.”
“There will be repercussions,” I say. “Very serious repercussions.”
“Whatever we do, we do as a team,” Laurie says.
I shake my head. “No. Not this time. I will deal with Renny Valdez myself.”
Drew Lockman came through as promised.
He clearly believes that I am out to get his former partner, Miles Sloane, so will do whatever he can to help me along. That’s why I am sitting in a diner in Teaneck at eight o’clock in the evening, waiting for Denise Tennison to arrive. She couldn’t meet me until after work; she said she’s a waitress at Applebee’s and today is on the shift that gets out at 7:00 P.M.
A woman walks in and looks around, as if trying to find someone. She’s attractive, but younger than I expected. Vickers probably had ten years on her.
I take a chance and wave. I think it’s her, but if I’m wrong, incorrect waving is not a felony in New Jersey.
She nods and comes over to me. “Mr. Douglas?”
“That’s me. I’m going to take a wild guess that you’re Denise Tennison.”
She smiles. “Good guess. You wanted to talk about Kevin?”
This is a woman who doesn’t believe in small talk. I admire and appreciate that quality. “Yes, if you don’t mind. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
“How long did you know him?”
“October would be three years. We were talking about marriage.”
“I’m interested in what you knew about his work, particularly in the months leading up to his death.”
She thinks about it, searching her memory. “He really didn’t talk about it much. But in the last weeks he was pretty intense about something, but in a good way. He thought he was going to make a lot of money. He said when it was over, we could go on a trip, to anywhere I wanted. I was thinking Paris.” She smiles. “He was thinking Vegas.”
“How was he going to earn the money? What was he doing?”
She shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know, but…”
She pauses, as if unsure of her memory, or whether to voice it. I prompt her. “Whatever you remember might help me find the person who killed him.”
She nods; that’s her goal in being here. “I sometimes heard him on the phone. One time he was talking to a man named Miles, at least I think that was his name. I don’t know his last name.”
The chance of it not being Miles Sloane is infinitesimal, especially since Vickers placed three recent calls to Sloane’s office. “Miles Sloane?” I ask, just to confirm.
“I don’t know. He didn’t use a last name that I remember.”
“Tell me whatever you can about the conversation. Please.”
“Kevin was angry; it was one of the few times I saw him that way. He said something like, ‘Miles, I’m a professional. I’m all over this guy.’”
He certainly could have been referring to his tailing Judge Henderson, which would make this a monster revelation. “Do you remember anything else he said?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m sorry.”
“Did he ever mention a judge? Or the name Henderson?”
“I don’t think so. That doesn’t mean he didn’t; I just can’t recall it.”
I spend the next ten minutes trying to get her to dredge up some more recollections, but I can’t do it. In the meantime, the server has come over and asked if we want to order. Denise doesn’t; she clearly wants to get out of here. I order a hamburger and fries; no sense wasting a good diner.
I’m polishing off the last of the fries and just starting to ponder the potentially significant revelations by Denise Tennison, who left when my food came, when my cell phone rings. I can see by the caller ID that it’s Laurie. “We have a bit of a situation here,” she says.
“Tell me.”
“Marcus just called. He’s at the pavilion building on the lower level of Eastside Park. He wants you to come down there right away.”
“Why?”
“He has Renny Valdez with him.”
I don’t even bother to wipe the ketchup off my face. “I’m on my way.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“No. Please don’t.”
This will be the second time that I’ve met with Renny Valdez in Eastside Park.
Last time was in Laurie’s car, sitting with the lights out on Dead Man’s Curve. This time the meeting place will apparently be the deserted pavilion building down below the curve. It sits on the huge, grassy expanse, in between the Little League fields and the full-size field.
Back in the day it contained a refreshment stand, but that was well back in the day. For a long time now, it’s just been an empty building. According to Laurie, it’s not empty tonight.
I arrive and park near the building. I shut the car lights off, which leaves me in the dark, literally and figuratively, although there is enough moonlight to get around. I don’t know what to expect, or what Marcus has already done to Renny Valdez.
I can only assume that Marcus knew that I was planning to deal with Renny for his attempt to kill Simon. As a good teammate, he smoothed the way for me by eliminating the planning process. I have no idea how Marcus has gotten Renny here, but I have a feeling that a number of Renny’s people are slowly regaining consciousness. I also imagine a lot of moaning is involved.
I don’t even have to go inside. Marcus and Renny are standing in front of the open door, watching me walk up.
Renny doesn’t look any the worse for wear; nor does Marcus. Marcus obviously thought his job was to get Renny here, not to soften him up. His instincts in this regard were perfect.
“You tried to poison my dog,” I say.
“So?”
“So I’m just glad you’re a stupid piece of shit who couldn’t pull it off.”
He doesn’t answer, so I turn to Marcus. “I assume he’s unarmed?”
Marcus nods.
I take out my handgun and hand it to Marcus. “Now we both are. Would you excuse us please, Marcus?”
He takes the gun and nods as if it’s a reasonable request and happens every day. Then he just walks away into the darkness. His car is here so I doubt he’s left entirely, but I don’t see him.
“Just you and me now, Renny.”
“Walk away, old man. You couldn’t handle me on your best day.”
Renny is a good fifteen years younger than me and seems to be in good shape. Certainly there is no fat on him. If he’s afraid of me, it’s not readily apparent.
I have three advantages. First of all, I am a tough guy. Not Marcus tough; Godzilla is not Marcus tough. But I have a long history of being in rough, physical confrontations, and so far I’m pretty much undefeated. I have my Marine Corps training to thank for that. Second, Renny tried to kill my best friend. Third, Renny tried to kill my best friend.
I’m motivated.
“I warned you the other night, but you didn’t listen,” I say. “You are about to learn that you should have listened.”
He knows where this is going and decides not to wait for it to get there. This is not a guy who touches gloves before the fight. He rushes me and throws a roundhouse right hand, which I move away from just in time. It lands, but it’s a glancing blow to the side of the head. No damage.
I learned a couple of things from the punch. One is that Renny is stronger and hits harder than I thought. Two is that he doesn’t hit hard enough and is not nearly smart enough.
My assessment is that it’s been a long time since Renny was in a street fight. As the leader of his gang, he hasn’t likely been challenged much, if at all, and he is always surrounded by his people. So he has not been battle-tested, at least not lately, and he is going to pay the price for that.
I smile at the punch, though I don’t know if he can see that in the dim light. The smile is more for my benefit than his; I am trying to control myself. I am raging with anger inside; it’s a feeling I have had before and one that I hate. Not only can it make me do things I will later regret, but it will impact my ability to deal with Renny efficiently and effectively.
I have developed techniques to deal with this feeling, one of which is to change my outward reaction. If I appear calm, I become calm. At least that’s the theory. Sometimes it works, though it’s far from foolproof. Right now it doesn’t seem to be working so well.
Now that Renny has taken a shot, it’s my turn. He’s still throwing punches, but I step inside them and throw a few of my own. They are short and straight, the hardest type to block and the ones that do the most damage.
I hit him with three or four straight lefts, and the old Muhammad Ali line comes to mind: “I’ll hit you with so many lefts, you’ll be begging for a right.” Finally I throw the right, twice. On the second one I opt not to hit him with my fist, but instead I cross over and nail him with my elbow.
That puts him down.
He’s bleeding and helpless, but conscious. I can see the fear in his face as I kneel down with my right knee pressing down on his upper chest. It has to hurt like hell, which is probably why he is moaning.
“You’re going to die, Renny. Right here and right now. You don’t deserve to live, and you’re not going to. You’re going to die alone on this cement floor, with no one to help you, whimpering like the piece of useless garbage that you are. You ready to die, Renny?”
In some strange way it doesn’t feel like I’m the one talking; it’s as if I am watching the scene. I hope Marcus is watching and I hope he intervenes, because otherwise I just don’t know what is going to happen next.
It’s hard for Renny to move and talk because of the way I have him pinned. He has no air because his chest is compressed. He seems to be shaking his head, and making some kind of noises, but if they are words, I can’t make them out. I think he’s crying, but in this light, I can’t be sure.
I pull my hand back to throw the punches that will crush his skull and send his nose back into his brain. I know that when he is dead, no one will miss him, and the world will be a significantly better place. I also know that he has taken other lives, and his own death in this manner is real-world justice.
But suddenly I cannot cross that line.
“Renny, you have just had a near-death experience. Understand something. We can get to you whenever we want, and if we have to find you again, you won’t be this lucky.”
I push off with my knee as I get up, momentarily pressing his chest even harder. Then I stand and leave.
I need to find Marcus to get my gun back.
And to thank him.
It was not a fun time for Judge Robert Pletka.
As the acknowledged second-in-command to Judge Henderson, the state Judicial Board has done the expected and named him acting chief judge. No one has any doubt that he will soon be given the position permanently; this is just a stopgap to keep things moving.
Courts in the county were closed for one day as a tribute to Henderson, as at least for the moment the doubts about his ethics were shelved. His actions are for the state to investigate and to determine whether he violated his oath. That process will most likely be slow, but has already been set in motion.
Part of the investigation is an analysis of his cases over the last two years. That is urgent, as just about every lawyer for every person convicted in Judge Henderson’s courtroom is claiming that the client was a victim of a miscarriage of justice.
For now, Pletka’s marching orders are to conduct business as normal, even though normal does not come close to describing recent events. The most pressing matter before him is to parcel out the various matters that were before Judge Henderson, as well as those coming up.
It will not be easy to manage. The department was already shorthanded, with one judge having recently retired without yet being replaced, and another having just undergone back surgery. Those cases that can be delayed will be, but there are not many of them. Every lawyer and every defendant considers their case to be the most urgent one on the docket.
Pletka gathered his judges for a lunch meeting to learn the status of the various cases, to analyze their urgency and potential for delay, and, most important, to assign Judge Henderson’s cases. The other judges, while still stunned by the recent turn of events, nevertheless approached the situation with a “team first” attitude, all willing to step up and do whatever was necessary.
Pletka had discussed it with Peter Tuckman, and they both felt it was Pletka’s obligation to do more than his share. It would be a way to show leadership and ward off any resentment that the others might be feeling for not having gotten the top job themselves.
So Pletka took four of Judge Henderson’s upcoming matters, while not assigning more than two to any of the other judges. Included in the four was the key one, the one everyone would be watching, and that was the Luis Valdez murder trial.
Of the others, one was a simple breaking and entering that would likely be pled and not go to trial and another was a domestic violence matter. The third was actually next on the docket, the case of John Lowry, convicted of manslaughter in a bar fight. He was seeking a new trial based on an alleged judicial error by Judge Henderson.
Pletka told the others that he would handle that case because the prospect of judicial error by Henderson would be heavily scrutinized in light of recent events. Also, Lowry is represented by Walter Cummings, which means the defense will be vigorous and well funded.
For everyone in the room, it felt strange that Judge Henderson was not there to lead them. But the justice system was not about to grind to a halt, and they would do their part to make it run as smoothly and efficiently as possible.
Judge Pletka was their leader now.
Courtrooms were near the top of Andy Carpenter’s least favorite places list.
That is because he was only in them when he was working as a lawyer, and lawyering would have been at the very top of his least favorite pastime list.
It had never come close to entering his mind to voluntarily attend a court session when he was not working; he would have been just as likely to show up at a dance recital or poetry reading. He has often said this to anyone who would listen, and to some of us who have no desire to listen.
But today he made an exception, and that’s apparently what he’s called this meeting to tell us about. Laurie, Marcus, and I are waiting at his house for him to get back from court. We don’t have to wait long, and he gets right down to business.
“So I sat in on a hearing today. Walter Cummings and the prosecution were presenting oral arguments in the case of New Jersey vs. John Lowry. You remember what that’s about, right? Lowry had been convicted eighteen months earlier of intentional manslaughter, after a one-punch bar fight that resulted in the death of the person on the receiving end of Lowry’s fist.”
Laurie and I both nod that we remember the case. The original trial was presided over by Judge Henderson and took place within the time frame of interest to us. I had also spoken to Cummings about it, a conversation that went absolutely nowhere.
Andy continues, “The reason I have been interested in this is because of Cummings. He doesn’t do much criminal work, and if he lowers himself to do so, you can be sure he’s getting a huge fee. Lowry is a tech guy, but he’s a worker bee; he’s not CEO of Google. With all the money being thrown around in the Henderson case, it just felt like it could be relevant.”
“What was the hearing about?” Laurie asks.
“Cummings is seeking to overturn the guilty verdict and get a new trial. His first stop is this district court. He can then appeal, but it would be very time-consuming. He wants to get it done at this level.”
“On what grounds?” I ask.
“That’s where it gets interesting. One of the grounds is judicial error; he thinks Hatchet screwed up in his charge to the jury.”
“Did he?”
Andy nods. “It’s very possible. Here’s the issue: For a defendant to be convicted of intentional manslaughter, he must have had a reasonable expectation that his actions would result in death. He actually must have expected that result. Hatchet did not tell the jury that in his charge; it can definitely be argued that he should have.”
“So if you punch someone and it kills them, you’re off the hook if you didn’t expect that result?” I ask.
Andy nods. “Right. But we’re talking about intentional manslaughter. The conviction could have been for reckless manslaughter, which is much less serious and almost always results in a much lesser sentence.”
“What might the Judge say was his reason for giving the charge that way?” Laurie asks.
“Hard to know for sure, but there is an extenuating circumstance which could explain it. Lowry used to be a professional boxer and he’s a huge guy. As a boxer it could be argued that he knew that his punch could cause death, that his fists were by definition deadly weapons. That came up during the trial.”
“What’s your view on it?” I ask.
“I think he made an error, though I doubt if the argument would by itself carry the day. But they may have more. Something that the prosecution said during the hearing makes this even more interesting, and it’s why I called you here.”
“What’s that?” Laurie asks.
“The bar fight started when the victim mistreated his girlfriend in a way that caused Lowry to intervene. The girlfriend’s name was Maria Burks, and she was a key witness against Lowry. She moved to Ohio, but about a month ago, she didn’t show up for work one day and hasn’t been seen since. It was apparently completely uncharacteristic of her. The prosecutors are trying to find out more about the circumstances surrounding her disappearance.”
Laurie asks if Andy thinks that Lowry will get the new trial, and he says, “Very possibly, although Judge Pletka can be as tough as Hatchet. But the reason I think they might prevail is the fact that in addition to me and the participants, there was also the elephant in the room.”
