The Plea, page 31
part #2 of Eddie Flynn Series
My mind cleared and I started slowly.
“Officer, presumably you tested the murder weapon for fingerprints, yes?”
“Correct. None were found.”
“Yes, I read your report. You say that the only fingerprints found were those of Officer Philip Jones, who recovered the weapon from the defendant’s car, correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“But you also made another observation in your report. You say that when you expended the empty clip, you found a small amount of dirt?”
“Yes, a little soil. It was just an observation. I have to record all of my findings when I examine a weapon.”
Time to move on. Time to start flipping Gershbaum.
“Officer Noble, you were in court just now to hear the evidence of Mr. Gershbaum, is that right?”
“Yes. I listened to Mr. Gershbaum’s evidence.”
“Then why is it that you say Mr. Gershbaum is lying?”
Judge Rollins pulled a face, flicked back over his notes.
“Is the witness calling Mr. Gershbaum a liar, Mr. Flynn? That’s not what I have in my notes,” said Rollins.
“That is the effect of his testimony, Your Honor. Please allow me to explore the point.”
“Very well, but I am taking a careful note, Mr. Flynn. And please, be more specific.”
I nodded, breathed in and out, and tried again.
“Officer Noble, Mr. Gershbaum says he heard gunfire, he went to his balcony to check the street below, and then he saw the window of the defendant’s apartment explode. He said that after the window exploded, he didn’t hear any further gunshots. Do you accept that was Mr. Gershbaum’s evidence?”
“I accept that he said all of those things. And I’m not calling him a liar,” said Noble, hands open, a smirk on his face.
“But you are, Officer Noble. You say the first two bullet wounds on the victim are in the lumbar area—one shot exiting the body and one paralyzing her and possibly killing her, and then she suffers the shots to the head. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“But on Mr. Gershbaum’s testimony, the shot that you describe passing through the victim and shattering the window is likely to be the first or second shot while the victim is standing in front of the window—followed by the point-blank firing to the back of the head when the victim was on the ground. Mr. Gershbaum did not hear any shots after the window exploded.”
“I can’t speak for Mr. Gershbaum. I can only evaluate the evidence.”
“The evidence, yes. It’s possible that the weapon may have had a full magazine of seven rounds and an additional round already chambered. Isn’t that right?”
“It’s possible. But we didn’t find a fifteenth shell casing in the apartment.”
“You never found the bullet that passed through the glass either?”
“No, we haven’t yet.”
“So it’s possible the killer could’ve picked up this shell casing and tossed it out of the window?” I asked.
“I can’t say that’s impossible.”
“You mean, ‘Yes, Mr. Flynn, it is possible,’” I said.
I heard a wet, unpleasant sound as Judge Rollins sucked his teeth. He shook his head as he took a note of the answer. Noble reacted like a third grader who’d just been put in detention.
“Yes. Mr. Flynn. It … is … possible.”
“I have just a few more questions. I want you to explain why you believe the bullet that passed through the victim shattered the window. Couldn’t the victim have been lying facedown when this shot was fired into her lumbar area?”
I’d taken too long. Zader was on his feet. He’d caught the whiff of blood in the air and was desperately trying to limit the damage.
“Your Honor, this is a preliminary hearing, not the Nuremberg Trials. Mr. Flynn is dragging this out unnecessarily.”
“I’m coming to the end of my cross shortly, Your Honor. Surely it’s in the interests of justice and my client’s right to a fair hearing that I am allowed just a little more time.”
“Make it fast,” said Rollins.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” I said, then switched my attention back to Noble. He was smiling. He’d had time to think of an answer, and I prayed it was the right one, the one I’d been waiting for.
“It’s impossible for the victim to have been lying facedown when this shot was fired through her body for two reasons. First, we would’ve found a great deal of blood and tissue on the floor beneath the victim. Second, we would’ve either found the bullet in the floor or ricochet marks where the bullet struck the tile.”
Blood flushed my cheeks. Zader saw it, and his face dropped. He knew, before I even opened my mouth, that I’d set a trap for his witness, who’d just walked straight in.
“Your Honor,” I said, “I have rebuttal evidence, which I’d like to submit.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
The judge read the document I’d just handed to him, and the crowd murmured and whispered like a soft ripple of water on a midnight lake. The sound of the crowd was broken by the rhythmic slap of David’s heel on the floor as his knee bounced with anxiety. Holly put a hand on his shoulder and cut off the noise.
Gripping the pages between his forefinger and thumb, as if they were toxic, he handed me back the report with a sigh. “Very well. Make sure Mr. Zader has a copy of this.”
Cooch flung a copy at Zader, which sailed through the air and landed expertly on the prosecution table.
“Next time, hand it to him, Mr. Coucheron,” said Judge Rollins.
I waited around fifteen seconds to allow Zader to skim-read the report. When his grip spasmed and tore the corners of the pages, I knew he’d finished reading it. I gave my copy to the witness.
“This is a report written by an FBI field agent named Theo Ferenze. It details an examination of the floor of the panic room located in David Child’s apartment. At the back you will see two photographs that have been printed on plain paper and appended to the report.”
“I see them,” said Noble, through tight lips.
“The annotation for photograph one reads, ‘Panic room floor, treated with luminol.’ Now, what is luminol?”
Judge Rollins raised an eyebrow—I got the feeling crime scene analysis didn’t feature heavily in his limited experience.
“Luminol is a chemical agent that, when applied to surfaces, highlights bloodstains when a black light is shined upon the area,” said Noble.
“Thank you. You didn’t search the panic room?”
“I wasn’t aware that there was a panic room.”
I held up the Claudio, the architectural drawing clearly showing the panic room, which I’d taken from the wall of David’s apartment.
“This was hanging on the wall. Didn’t you notice it?”
“No. We don’t pay attention to the wall hangings. Anyway, panic rooms are for the occupiers. We understood from building security that the occupier, Mr. Child, had left the building.”
“Turning back to the FBI report, it states that a large volume of recent blood staining was found on the floor of the panic room in Mr. Child’s apartment, as we can see from the purple patch on the floor, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And in addition, photograph two is a close-up of a notch in the concrete floor, in or around the center of the bloodstain, which, according to the FBI expert, is consistent with a bullet having ricocheted off the floor?”
“Correct.”
“According to Agent Ferenze, the bloodstained fibers found in the damaged part of the floor are similar to the T-shirt the victim was wearing that day?”
“According to this report, that’s correct. I have not had an opportunity to—”
“Just a second,” said Judge Rollins. “What does this all mean, Mr. Flynn?”
“It means that the victim was shot in the back in the panic room. She likely died there. It means that sometime after this, her body was dragged to the kitchen, where she was shot twelve times in the back of the head. Isn’t that right, Mr. Noble?”
His mouth clammed up, lips drawn up under his nose.
“That appears likely,” said Noble.
“If that is the case, then considering the accuracy of the other shots, the killer deliberately fired into the window?” I asked.
“That’s possible.”
“Perhaps to attract Mr. Gershbaum’s attention and have him call security?” I said.
“Objection, Your Honor. This is speculation,” said Zader.
After a beat Judge Rollins said, “Sustained.”
I ignored the hit. The idea had been planted in Rollins’s head. One last question.
“You offered the conclusion that the victim had suffered the multiple head shots because of the sheer rage of her attacker, but there is another explanation. Could it be that the damage was deliberately inflicted to wipe out the victim’s face, making her impossible to identify from her facial features or dental records?”
“I can’t rule that out,” said Noble, shifting in his seat.
I took a moment. Evaluated. I wondered if I’d done enough. The judge looked confused more than anything else. I decided to quit while I was ahead. I thought I’d save my best shots for the last witness, Detective Andy Morgan.
“No further questions,” I said. Zader didn’t want any more of this witness.
Noble almost fell over getting out of the stand. He didn’t want to stay there a moment longer.
“I suggest we take a short break, gentlemen. Who is your next witness, Mr. Zader? You can prep them during the recess.”
“Your Honor, we’ll be calling the driver of the car that was involved in the RTC with the defendant, a Mr. John Woodrow.”
No, you won’t, I thought.
I got up, looking for Christine, and as I passed the Lizard, I palmed his cell phone.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
My guts boiled.
Scanning the room, walking toward the doors, my pace quickened; I broke into a run, my head swiveling, eyes searching out my wife.
No.
She was gone, and the agents with her. Christine had been taken. I slammed open the doors. The corridor was empty save for two people. On my right, Perry Lake, or John Woodrow, according to the DA. On my left, Dell. I reminded myself that I had a job to do.
Perry Lake leaned against the wall and flicked his thumb across his cell phone. His mouth fell open when he saw me approach.
“Eddie … I … didn’t know you were in this. I’m sorry, man.”
“Take this, Mr. Woodrow. There are photographs on this phone. Make sure to answer it when it rings,” I said, handing him the cell phone that the Lizard had passed to me for this very purpose. Without another word, I turned and made my way toward Dell.
Sitting cross-legged on a bench set against the wall, Dell lifted his gaze from his cell phone and said, “It’s your own fault, Eddie. I told you what you had to do. Why can’t you listen?”
“Where is she? If she’s under arrest, she’s entitled to a phone call and an attorney.”
“That’s only if she’s booked in at a precinct or in federal lockup. You’re a lawyer—you should know that.”
“You have to process her as soon as possible. You’re holding her illegally.”
“Thinking of suing me? Think again,” he said, and stood. He motioned for me to follow him as he walked toward one of the large windows that overlooked the square. He remained a few feet from the window and gestured that I should take a look.
I felt a vibration from my cell phone. I checked it and found a text message from Christine’s number.
Third window, next to the stairwell. Take a look at the street.
I ran to the window and felt my heart plummet ten stories.
Ten floors below, on the sidewalk, Christine stared up at me. It was a fleeting moment, a terrible second of realization that hit like a hammer blow. One of the firm’s security men bundled her into a black town car. I hammered the glass, ignored the looks and cries of people in the corridor, and gritted my teeth as I saw Gerry Sinton with a cell phone in his hand, probably Christine’s. He slid into the car after her. They sped into traffic and were lost from my view.
“Don’t even think about taking a swing at me. I’m through playin’ around with you. You try anything and I’ll put you down. This is your fault. All you had to do was get me my plea. But you couldn’t do that, could you?” said Dell.
“What have you done?” I said, shaking my head.
“I haven’t done anything. We let her go. Somebody else picked her up. Nothing to do with me.”
My ears were ringing with blood and my hands trembled. I thought about my hands—slipping around Dell’s throat, squeezing his neck, feeling his windpipe collapse, watching the capillaries in his eyes burst.
He checked his watch.
“If Child’s algo is right, the money lands in an account in central Manhattan in four hours. If I don’t have my plea by then, I can’t guarantee her safety. Right now the firm wants to know exactly what Christine has heard about all of this and whom she’s told. They’ll take her back to their offices. They want to know what the FBI has on them. They already know there’s some kind of deal, because an FBI agent is handing you documents in court. That was stupid.”
He was right. I hadn’t thought about how that would look if the firm was watching. Stupid move. I turned and heard Perry answer the phone I’d handed to him. Within a few seconds he’d sunk to his knees. I knew how he felt.
“How long can she hold out, do you think? An hour? Five minutes? Five seconds? My guess is they won’t make their final play until the money hits Harland’s account. We’ll keep an eye on things, make sure she isn’t hurt too bad.
“I’m gonna give you one last chance, Eddie. I don’t want to subpoena David Child. I want him under an agreement, under my control. Doesn’t matter what kinda deal the DA is offering. Just take it. I can always get a few years shaved off if he testifies the way I want him to.”
“You mean you want him to lie. You want him to lie about murdering his girlfriend and testify that his system was designed and built for the firm so that they could launder money.”
“You only getting it now? I thought you were smart.”
“He’ll never admit to a murder he didn’t commit, and as for the system, he built it in good faith. If the firm used it illegally, that’s their bad. It’s a lie, and it ruins him.”
“He’s already ruined. Even if he’s acquitted, people will never be convinced that he’s innocent. This kind of shit sticks forever. But it doesn’t have to go bad for Christine. As soon as he’s pleaded, we’ll get her safe. It’s your call. Don’t worry about David Child; it’s like I said—shit sticks, and he’s in far too deep for you to help him.”
Dell shouldered past me, back into the courtroom. I swung back and saw Perry moving toward me as quick as his limp would allow. He handed me back the cell, mouthed the word “sorry,” then shuffled into the elevator, almost falling in his haste.
The corridor shrank. I swallowed, trying to hold down the vomit. I fought for control.
The Lizard stepped out of the court and joined me. I had to lean on his shoulder, take deep breaths. We took a corner, so we could talk without being overheard.
“Turns out your old buddy Perry didn’t want to meet Bert and Ernie. He said he had to go away for a while, visit his aunt in Topeka.”
“Dell let Christine slip out of court. The firm was waiting for her. This is all pressure to make me bust David’s case and force him to plea. Did Perry tell you who paid him to crash into David’s car?”
“He recognized the guy from the photos on the phone. Said it was the man in photograph three.”
“Was he sure?”
“One hundred percent. You gonna make David take the plea?” he said.
“I don’t trust Dell. He’s happy to risk Christine’s life. I’m not so sure he’s willing to save it.”
The Lizard brought up the third photograph on the camera phone. It was the photo I’d taken of Langhiemer.
“Goddamn it, David was right,” I said.
“You said you needed the Lizard,” said the Lizard.
“The firm has Christine. I think they’ve taken her to the Lightner Building. You remember the first day I met you, you had a steel box in the back of your van with some toys in it?”
“It’s still there,” he said.
“This is what I need you to do…”
The Lizard bolted down the steps, headed out with a Hail Mary. He was probably the one man I completely trusted in this whole damn situation. Heavy footsteps behind me. Kennedy tapped me on the shoulder.
I said, “It’s Langhiemer. He paid the driver to crash into David’s car. I just had it confirmed. He’s the one who set up this whole damn thing. And I can’t use it in court. You need to pick him up.”
“We will, but we don’t have it all yet. This changes things,” he said, and held out his cell phone. It had an image on the screen.
“You asked me to check out who had access to that French ballistics paper on GSR and air bags. I called the university, and the only person who has ordered it online was you, yesterday. They keep a record. Other than that, the report has never been published in any periodical. The only other occasion in which sections of the report have been made available was at an Interpol conference last year. I got the names of those who attended. Nothing stood out. So I called Interpol and asked for the security IDs for all the delegates who attended that lecture. Fourteen attended. This is the one we’re looking for. Sarah Callan.”
I looked again at the image on Kennedy’s cell. This time I made the connection.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.
He shook his head.
“What the hell does it mean, Eddie?”
Right then I didn’t know.
“You got background on this Sarah Callan?”
“My director is e-mailing me. I told him what’s happening on the task force, and he’s just as pissed as I am. He doesn’t want this to blow up in our faces.”
