“Very possibly but I think we should meet to discuss it first. I have some information that might change the way we proceed.”
“Wow. You’re working on my case already? Sure. You want to come here?” he asked.
Vinny pictured a small apartment filled with lingerie-clad prostitutes lounging about on worn sofas, the carpet sticky to the touch. “Maybe my office would be a better choice.”
“Okay. Where’s that, Mr. Gambini?”
Vinny checked his notes for the address of the Rent-N-Office space he’d called a few days earlier and gave the address to Lopez. “Will you remember that?”
“Stop that,” the woman complained. “Don’t use my lipstick to write on my ass.”
Vinny smirked.
“Yeah, I got it Mr. Gambini. You know, Giselda doesn’t have a client until late tonight. You want me to send you over a package? On the house.”
“Is she silver, gold, or bronze?”
“Gold, man…twenty-four karat.”
“Thanks, Hercules. But as much as the prospect of tearing into one of your gold packages sends shivers up and down my spine, I’m afraid that I’m a little busy right now. Maybe some other time. No offense, okay?”
“It’s cool, Mr. Gambini. I get it.”
“Good. So how about we meet tomorrow morning? How’s ten o’clock work for you?”
“Ten is good, Mr. Gambini. I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
Vinny heard him say, “Damn, Giselda. The towel’s cold.” Then the line went dead.
Vinny was feeling encouraged when he hung up. The receiver was still in his hand as the phone rang once more. He assumed that Lopez had forgotten to mention something and was calling right back. “Hello?”
The woman’s voice on the end of the line was trembling. “Mr. Gambini?”
“Yes,” he said. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Theresa Cototi, Mr. Gambini…I thought you said I had nothing to worry about?”
“Yeah. I did say that. Why? Is something wrong?”
“Uh-huh.” She sniffled. “That detective hauled me back into the police station.”
“You’re kidding. Don’t get worried. I’ll come right down.”
“Hurry, Mr. Gambini, I think I’m gonna be arrested.”
Chapter Twenty-Two: It’s Your Funeral
Vinny got back into his suit and hustled down to the precinct he’d visited a few days before. Winter sunset came early as he drove the short distance to the police station. The sky wasn’t quite dark but evening was no more than minutes away. He’d phoned Augie’s shop and asked Lisa to get a ride home with her dad, explaining why he couldn’t pick her up when the shop closed for the day.
At the station, he asked the desk officer to see his client and was once again told to wait. “I don’t need to remind you that once an arrestee has asked for their attorney the police are no longer allowed to question them, do I?”
The desk officer gave him a steely cold stare and turned away. This time all the seats in the waiting area were empty. Nonetheless, Vinny was a creature of habit and took the same seat he’d taken the first time.
The time passed slowly without Hercules Lopez there to regale him with colorful tales of sex workers and lawsuits against national banking institutions.
Still expressionless, the desk officer summoned him with a flick of his hand toward a closed door. He walked through and found Parikh waiting for him on the other side.
“So, Detective Par-eek…how’s it going?”
Parikh moved off without answering.
Vinny followed him to his desk. “I’d like to see my client.”
“You’ll want to hear what I have to say first.” Parikh sat down at his desk.
Vinny continued to stand, looking down at the seated detective. “Why has my client been brought back for questioning? I thought this was a suicide.”
Parikh kicked back in his chair. “Now I’m thinking I might’ve been wrong. We found a witness who states that your client was on the roof just seconds after the victim fell to his death.”
“And did this witness say that my client pushed the victim off the roof?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t do it.”
Vinny dismissed the allegation with a wave of his hand. “That don’t mean shit. I’ve discredited plenty of witnesses who thought they saw something they didn’t. I’m sure you had a better reason for bringing her in than that.”
“Blood.”
“Whose blood?”
“The victim’s,” Parikh said with his eyebrows raised.
“What? That’s it? I refuse to believe that the DA believes he can bring a homicide case with evidence as circumstantial as that.”
“The crime scene team found random blood smears on the roof.”
“How come you never mentioned this before?”
“Someone must’ve cleaned up the blood because it wasn’t visible to the eye but it showed up when we used Luminol. The blood was checked in the lab and the DNA is a thirteen-point match with the victim’s.”
“Everything you just said is bullshit and don’t mean nothin’.”
“We’ve got her footprints on the roof as well.”
“I’m still not worried. Now can I see my client or are we gonna keep playing Trivial Pursuit?”
“You must be a very confident lawyer, Mr. Gambini.”
“Confident?” Vinny mulled over Parikh’s observation. “Only when I know my client’s innocent.”
“Maybe you’re a little overconfident. I’m pretty sure this girl is not as innocent as she seems.”
“Are you ready to charge her?” he asked.
“I’m waiting to hear from the DA’s office.”
“Well then show me to my client.”
“It’s your funeral,” Parikh said. “Follow me, Gambini. I’m just getting warmed up.”
Chapter Twenty-Three: They Got Nothin’
Vinny hurried into the interview room and set his briefcase down on the table.
She stood by the window with her back to him, peering between the holes in the security grating. “Is this what it’s like?” she asked, demoralized.
“Is this what what’s like?”
“Being in prison? Being locked away? Stealing glimpses of the outside from behind prison walls?” She slowly turned so that they were facing one another.
Vinny approached her and placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “Now don’t go getting all down on yourself. You ain’t been charged with nothin’.”
“Not yet.”
“Don’t go thinking the worst. Did you tell this guy anything, this Detective Parikh?”
She shook her head.
“Anyone else try to question you?”
“No, but Parikh said they have evidence and witnesses. That’s when I said I wanted to call you.”
“You did the right thing.” Vinny was quiet for a moment. “Why don’t we sit down?” He directed her to the table. “How long have you been here? Has this clown offered you anything to drink or the use of the restroom?”
“I’m only here a couple of hours, Mr. Gambini. I’m okay.”
“You need anything?”
“No, thanks.” She dragged the chair away from the table and sat on it, her back slumped and her knees wide apart. “So what do we do now?”
“Now don’t worry. The police question people all the time. That doesn’t mean they’re gonna make an arrest. In most cases, the police discuss what they’ve got with the district attorney, and he’s the one who decides whether the evidence is strong enough to make a case. They say they got a witness that saw you on the roof seconds after Sam fell but the annals of court history are full of witnesses who think they saw something.”
“But I told you already—I was never on the roof,” she said with panic in her voice. “How could they say that I was?”
“It don’t mean shit, Theresa. And the fact that they found some of your boyfriend’s blood…” Vinny cracked his neck and t
hen leaned his chin on thatched fingers. “That don’t mean that you were involved.”
“So you don’t think I’ll be arrested?”
“I would hope not.”
“I was asleep when they say the accident took place. I didn’t even know that Sammy had gotten out of bed.”
“Yeah. I remember that.” He drummed his fingers on the table.
“What’s bothering you?”
“What’s bothering me is that the victim’s brother is a deputy mayor and very high up in the city’s administration. So the DA ain’t just gonna bury his head in the sand because, sure as shit, he don’t want to damage his relationship with the mayor, or hurt his chances for reelection. And the deputy mayor’s brother was a recent ex-con, so a lot of negative publicity is the last thing anyone in City Hall is gonna want.”
She began to tear up. “They’re going to make me a scapegoat, aren’t they?”
“Nonsense, why would you even say that?”
“Because, it’s fast and easy. Think about it. I’m a stripper dating an ex-con. I watch TV. I know how they’ll paint me. They’ll make me look like some kind of lowlife slut.”
“There, there.” Vinny patted her hand. “I can see why you’d be worried but don’t go jumping to no conclusions. You’re forgetting one very important thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“Motive. Why would you do it?”
“I wouldn’t. I loved Sammy. I waited seven years for him to get out of prison.” She’d convinced herself that he was right and smiled weakly. “You really think so? You really think I’ll be okay?”
“Of course, dear. All of their evidence is circumstantial. They ain’t got a thing. I mean except for the witness. But I ain’t too worried about that. They say they found your footprints on the roof.” He picked at a tooth. “You sure you ain’t been up there recently?”
“It’s crazy cold outside. Why would I go up there?”
“That’s what I thought.”
“That bothers you though, doesn’t it?”
“From a trial perspective…no, but from an evidentiary perspective…a little bit. Yeah. I don’t like it. It’s looking more and more like Sammy was killed and not so much like he took his own life, so someone’s going to trial. I just hope it ain’t you. Can you think of anyone who might want to kill Sammy?”
The blood drained from her face. “Do you really believe that Sammy was murdered?”
He weighed the premise, moving his head side to side. “That’s what I think…yeah. So, if we can produce a person of interest, someone who might’ve wanted Sammy dead…” He was being brave for her sake, but was worried that it was only a matter of time before she was arrested. “Think, Theresa. Who might’ve wanted to have Sammy killed?”
“I have no idea. He was in jail so long. I just don’t know.”
He patted her knee. “Don’t worry, dear. We’ll figure it out.” But he sighed a troubled sigh.
“I can see it on your face. This isn’t going away, is it?”
“The more I think about it…I don’t think so…no. It ain’t going away. I need to think of a strategy so that—”
He heard the door opened behind him, and was surprised to see Theresa smile with relief.
“Tony,” she blurted as she stood up tall, her expression suddenly optimistic. “Thank God.”
She moved toward him, her arms wide to throw around the man who’d helped her get through the long ordeal of Sammy’s incarceration.
But as Vinny turned around, he saw Parikh move in front of the deputy mayor and reach for his cuffs.
Her eyes went wide with terror when she saw the cuffs in Parikh’s hand. “Tony. Tony. What’s going on? Can’t you stop this?” But the man she expected to come to her rescue was silent, his eyes cold and harsh.
Parikh reached for her arm to cuff her. “Ms. Theresa Cototi,” he said, “you are under arrest.”
Chapter Twenty-Four: War Hats?
Theresa was taken to her arraignment trial, but not before midnight had come and gone. She’d been read her rights and rushed down to central bookings.
Vinny didn’t have much experience with New York arrest protocol, but it occurred to him that his client’s file had been processed with lightning speed and whisked through a process he believed normally took most of a day, several hours at minimum. The deputy mayor was likely working behind the scenes to see his brother’s killer punished with the greatest possible speed. The file had been red flagged and was getting top priority.
His adrenaline was spent. He felt absolutely exhausted as Theresa was brought before the judge. The time on the large wall clock read 3:45 a.m. He’d had several cups of coffee but the caffeine wasn’t helping. He felt clammy and nauseous from a combination of nerves and fatigue.
Ever dutiful, Lisa had gotten a ride downtown from Augie and looked like a mob wife sitting in the back of the courtroom wearing a kerchief over her head and dark sunglasses to mask her bloodshot eyes.
Theresa’s rapid processing allowed Vinny little time to confer with her on the case or decide on a strategy.
The court clerk looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else but where he was and frowned when Vinny refused to waive the lengthy reading of the complaint. He already knew what was going to be read but wanted to hear it objectively, thinking that the words coming from someone else’s mouth might jar free an idea that would ignite his thought process.
It didn’t.
And when the clerk read, “Murder in the first degree,” Vinny was shaken to the point that he had trouble stringing his thoughts together and coming up with an argument for bail.
Peter Doucette was the assigned ADA. He shook his head when Vinny looked over and mouthed, “Not this time.”
Anthony Cipriani sat behind Doucette, staring at Theresa with loathing. He mouthed, “You conniving little bitch!”
Vinny ran his finger inside his shirt collar to loosen it because he felt as if a noose were tightening around his neck. Think. Think.
The honorable Larsen Whorhatz pressed the back of his head against his chair forcing the folds of his bloated neck to push forward and engulf his chin. Deeply cut lines that delineated his jowls framed his mouth. His eyes were dark and recessed. Vinny thought he felt the judge’s eyes on him, but when he looked up, Whorhatz was studying the complaint.
He turned to Vinny, studying him as if he were under a microscope. “It’s an arraignment not a firing squad, Mr. Gambini. How does your client plead?”
“‘Not guilty,’ Your Honor.”
Whorhatz turned to the ADA. “I imagine you’re going to ask for remand, Mr. Doucette?”
“We are, Your Honor.” Doucette pried off his glasses and made direct eye contact with Whorhatz. “Judge, Ms. Cototi is accused of first-degree murder. She is accused of savagely pushing the victim off the roof of an eight-story building in an act of premeditated murder.”
Whorhatz pressed the pads of his fingers together. “You have a witness to substantiate this allegation?”
“We do, Your Honor. This is an open-and-shut case of premeditated murder. The defendant hails from Ohio and has few ties to the community. The defendant is a stripper, Your Honor and—”
Vinny shouted hotly, “I object, Your Honor.”
Whorhatz seemed to find the outburst amusing. He tilted his head, appearing inquisitive. “You have…an objection?”
“Yes, Your Honor. The assistant DA has belittled my client with his callous reference to her occupation, and has violated the federal rule of selective or vindictive prosecution.” He concluded his statement by poking the air with his finger.
Lisa ripped off her sunglasses and blurted, “Holy shit! That was great.”
Whorhatz scoured the courtroom. Finding Lisa, he said, “I take it you’re impressed with the defense attorney’s objection, Miss…?”
Lisa stood. “Vito, Your Honor. Mona Lisa Vito.”
“Well Ms. Vito, is this your first time in a court of law?”
“Oh no, Your Honor. I’ve been to court many times.”
“And despite all your accumulated courtroom experience, you were sufficiently moved by this objection to make an outburst?”
“Sorry about that, Your Honor. But yeah, I thought what the defendant’s attorney said was really great.”
He pursed his lips. His stoic countenance resolved into a small grin. “So did I…but in the future, please try to express your enthusiasm quietly. Can you do that?” he asked politely.
Lisa nodded eagerly before turning to Vinny with a beaming smile.
“Mr. Gambini, the ADA has every right to express his thoughts regarding remand and bail without objections during arraignment. However…” He turned to the court reporter. “Please strike the word ‘stripper’ from the record and replace it with ‘exotic dancer.’” He grinned at Vinny before turning to Doucette. “Please continue.”
Doucette nodded. “Thank you, Your Honor. As I was saying, Ms. Cototi is an…exotic dancer.” He turned, seeking Vinny’s approval. “As a rule of thumb, these women generally earn lots of cash tips, and despite her claimed meager net worth, she likely has access to a great deal of non-memorialized savings—in other words, mattress money. It also stands to reason that in her line of work, she likely has access to many reprobate individuals who could assist her in leaving the state. We believe this makes the defendant a flight risk and we ask for remand without bail.”
Whorhatz nodded to indicate he’d noted the ADA’s points before turning to Vinny. “Mr. Gambini, I’ve known you all of about five minutes but I have the sense that you’re going to disagree.”
“That’s right, Your Honor. Everything the ADA said was…” He was aching to say “bullshit” but remembered just how well that had gone over with Judge Haller. “Contrived.”
“Care to elaborate?” Whorhatz asked.
“Yes, Your Honor, I would. The prosecutor has done nothing but cast aspersions as to Ms. Cototi’s character. He’s painted her as a call girl who consorts with criminals and hides her income from the Internal Revenue Service, when in fact, Ms. Cototi is a hardworking single individual with a stable job history.”
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