Muzzled

by David Rosenfelt

  “Are you familiar with the names Charles Phillips and Orlando Bledsoe?”

  “Yes. Both of those men were victims of homicides on the same night. They were shot to death.”

  “In what would commonly be known as execution-style?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you made any arrests in that case?”

  “Not yet.”

  “And this took place after the boat explosion? Is that correct?”

  “Yes. Weeks after.”

  “And just a few days after it was reported in the media that Mr. Vogel was alive?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Is it your understanding that the late Mr. Phillips and Mr. Bledsoe had a relationship with Joseph Russo, Jr.?”

  “Yes, they were employed by him. I’m not sure what the status was at the time of their death.”

  Trell interrupts and asks the judge for a bench conference, and Judge Mahomes tells us to approach.

  “Judge, we are very far afield here. This is a fishing expedition that has little or no relevance to our case.”

  “It’s about to become very relevant, Your Honor, despite Mr. Trell’s attempt to avoid it.”

  We argue some more, after which the judge allows me to continue. “But you better demonstrate that relevance soon, Mr. Carpenter.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  I introduce as evidence a document and ask Pete to describe it. “It appears to be a boat-charter receipt from a company in … Toms River, New Jersey.”

  “And who is listed as the person chartering the boat?”

  “Orlando Bledsoe.”

  “The same Orlando Bledsoe who worked for Joseph Russo?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  I hand Pete the other document, which is a copy of the scanned driver’s license that Bledsoe had to provide to the charter company. “Now, let me ask you again. Is that the same Orlando Bledsoe that worked for Joseph Russo?”

  “It looks like him, yes.”

  “How far is it from Toms River to the location on the ocean where the explosion happened?”

  “I couldn’t say.”

  “If I told you that it was slightly over fifteen nautical miles, would you have any reason to doubt that?”

  “No.”

  Next I introduce more documents and ask him to examine them and tell the jury what they are. Two are receipts for burner phones purchased by Bledsoe at the electronics store, bought with Bledsoe’s credit card.

  Next I introduce GPS records from the phones that we have subpoenaed from the cell phone provider. We already knew what they would say, courtesy of Sam, but we needed to get them this way so that we could legally introduce them into the trial record.

  I get Pete to say that the records show the phones were in Toms River at the time of the boat charter. We don’t need it to prove the charter; Bledsoe’s credit card records and the charter document itself did that. But this adds further proof that it was Bledsoe’s phone.

  I direct Pete to a different place on the document, one that shows that Bledsoe’s phone was at the warehouse address at the time that Carla D’Antoni was pushed off the building.

  I can see that he is stunned to see this. “You should have come to us with this,” he says, admonishing me.

  “We received it two days ago.” It’s technically the truth, since that’s when we received the legal version.

  “Then you should have come to us two days ago.”

  “You needed this information urgently? Did you want to make a quick arrest because you consider these two dead men a flight risk?”

  Judge Mahomes rather forcefully tells us to stop arguing, and I’m fine with that. I’ve gotten what I wanted and made Pete look bad.

  It’s a win-win.

  When I get home, there’s a message from Carla D’Antoni’s sister, Linda. I call her back immediately in the hope that she’s learned something that might help and is not just wanting me to tell her if I’ve made progress finding her sister’s killer.

  “I finally got up the nerve to go through Carla’s things. I don’t think I found anything, but there is something I wanted to ask you about. Some advice, really.”

  “Happy to help if I can.”

  “In her things, actually hidden in a drawer, was nine thousand dollars in cash. Hundred-dollar bills.”

  I’m not terribly surprised to hear this; Sam had learned that she made three $9,000 cash deposits, one each week. I can only assume that this was meant to be deposit number four.

  “What did you want to ask me?”

  “Well, in addition to this, she had almost thirty thousand dollars in the bank, and she left it to me. What should I do with it?”

  “I don’t understand, Linda. You’re asking me how you should spend your money?”

  “It’s not my money, it’s Carla’s.”

  “Now it’s yours.”

  “I know, but … I don’t know how she got it. What if she did something wrong?”

  “It’s in the past, Linda. I imagine that Carla would want you to enjoy the money, to do things that are important to you and help you live your life.”

  “You’re probably right, but it doesn’t feel great.” Then Linda laughs a short laugh, but not the kind you laugh when you think something is funny. “Too bad she never gave me the stock tips she promised.”

  “You and me both. Linda, don’t agonize over this. She wouldn’t want you to.”

  “I lost my sister. I still can’t believe it.”

  Corey and Willie set up a schedule to watch and follow Victor.

  Because of our limited manpower, nothing close to 24-7 coverage was possible. We decided that the chance of his doing something was more significant in the evening and night hours, so Willie took from ten in the morning until four in the afternoon.

  After that it would be Corey, until whatever time seemed appropriate. If Victor was in his hotel at 10:00 P.M. with the lights out, for example, Corey would feel that it was okay to leave.

  On this day Victor left the motel at 7:00 P.M. Corey assumed Victor was going to dinner, but instead he drove up the Palisades Interstate Parkway, finally getting off at the exit north of Pomona, New York.

  With little automobile traffic, Corey stayed a longer-than-usual distance behind Victor. It would be better to lose him than to be discovered following him, but fortunately Corey remained in contact.

  Victor ultimately drove to a rural, hilly area. At the bottom of a small road that went almost a quarter mile up a hill was a sign for the Jefferson Home for Seniors. He went up the hill, but Corey could not follow him without its being completely obvious to Victor that he was under surveillance.

  Corey got as close as he safely could and took out his binoculars. It was getting dark and hard to see. Corey could see a large building at the top of the hill and what looked like a small shed about three-quarters of the way up.

  Halfway up the hill, Victor turned the lights off on his own car. Corey had no idea why, but assumed that Victor did not to want to be seen.

  He thought that Victor stopped near the shed, but in the dark it was hard to tell for sure. Corey also couldn’t tell how long Victor stopped there, if at all, and whether he then proceeded on up to the main building.

  Victor was on the hill for less than seven minutes. He turned his lights back on when he was almost at the bottom, after which Corey followed him back to the motel.

  Corey then called Laurie and Andy to relate what had happened. None of them had any idea what Victor was up to.

  Alex Vogel’s anxiety was through the roof.

  He knew all along that the trial was going to be difficult and an uphill struggle; Andy had been upfront about that. Hike was far more negative, but Alex had learned that Hike was Hike.

  Alex had initially been hopeful; it was exciting that they were going to fight back, present their case and try to convince the jury. That hope was gradually waning as reality was setting in; the prosecution’s case was just too powerful.
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  Andy had said that he wanted to speak to Alex that morning before court started to discuss whether he should testify in his own defense. Alex wanted to; he understood that no one else could explain his story or his actions.

  But he also knew the potential for disaster. His actions were illogical and stupid at best, incriminating at worst. He knew what a good prosecutor would be able to do to him, and he dreaded destroying his own chances.

  So the ten-minute drive in the van to the courthouse that morning, never a fun-filled drive, was even more nerve-racking than usual. As always, the guards said almost nothing. He wanted to talk to them about his predicament, to talk to anyone, but he knew that would be insane.

  Instead he would talk to Andy.

  When they arrived, the guards unlocked the handcuffs connecting him to the seat and just kept them attached to his two wrists. He had gotten used to that humiliation, but it had taken a while.

  He was halfway from the van to the courthouse when the two shots rang out. The first one hit Alex Vogel in the chest and sent him flying. The second would have hit Alex as well, but because he was already on the way down, it went past him and hit a guard in the shoulder.

  Alex Vogel was dead before he hit the ground.

  Something is going on … some kind of commotion.

  It seems to be toward the rear of the courthouse, maybe in the judge’s chambers, which is back there, or maybe outside. The three bailiffs and the court reporter left and went in that direction. When the court clerk, Rita Gordon, came back about three minutes later, she looked stunned.

  “What’s going on, Rita?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Rita.”

  “They wouldn’t let me back there, Andy. I swear I don’t know, but everybody is freaked out.”

  I am worried about this; Alex was supposed to be here by now. He is always brought in through the rear. I hope he didn’t do anything stupid like try to escape.

  “Andy, come with me, please.”

  It’s Norman Trell, who has seemingly appeared from nowhere. He also looks shaken. Something is very wrong.

  “What the hell is going on, Norman?”

  He doesn’t answer because he’s already walking away. I’m supposed to follow him. I don’t want to because I know I am not going to like what I hear when we get to wherever we’re going. But I’ve got no choice; I need to know.

  We head to Judge Mahomes’s chambers. He’s sitting behind his desk, not wearing his robe, but instead is in a sport shirt and khakis. It’s uncharacteristic of him to not be in his robe when meeting with lawyers.

  “Will somebody please tell me what has happened?”

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you that Alex Vogel was shot and killed outside the courthouse a short while ago.”

  I feel like Marcus has punched me in the stomach. “How … by a guard?”

  Mahomes shakes his head. “No, there was apparently a sniper. There is a great deal of confusion, and I haven’t been updated since I was given the news.”

  This is so shocking and horrible that I can’t seem to find a place to put it in my mind. I don’t have a mental compartment for it. I’ve been spending months thinking and strategizing about how to save Alex, and in one awful moment, there is no saving him. There is no jury, no judge, no arguments, no evidence … nothing. There is no Alex.

  I stand up. “I need to get out of here.”

  “I think the area might be in lockdown, Andy. You can wait in here.”

  For some reason it is jarring that the judge just called me Andy. He never does that; I would have guessed he didn’t even know my first name. It’s not important, yet it’s totally important. It’s a sign that the world has changed.

  I sit back down and not a word is spoken for somewhere between two and thirty minutes; I honestly have no idea. Then the word comes that the lockdown has ended. The judge asks if the perpetrator has been captured, and the answer is a negative shake of the head.

  I stand up, leave the chambers, and then the courthouse, I hope for the last time. Laurie is waiting for me at the top of the steps and she hugs me. A long one.

  Neither of us says a word until we are home, and for a while afterward. Laurie pours two glasses of wine, and the first words spoken are when she holds up her glass.

  “To Alex.”

  Within the hour, the house fills with people.

  Corey, Marcus, Sam, Willie, even Hike … they all come over, although I don’t think Laurie called any of them. Everybody seems to need to be with everyone else, except me. I’d rather be alone.

  I’m going to beat the shit out of myself with guilt, justified or not, and I’d just as soon start now.

  But that is going to have to be delayed since Corey seems intent on turning this into a team meeting. “This was Victor; there’s no question about it. When I heard what happened, I went to the motel, and he wasn’t there.”

  “We should have had him covered around the clock,” I say.

  Corey shakes his head. “We didn’t have the manpower.”

  “We could have hired someone. That’s what good lawyers do; they hire people when they need them.”

  “Andy…” Laurie’s telling me not to start blaming myself. Good luck with that.

  “It’s my fault,” Sam says. “I should have suggested that we put a GPS device on his car.”

  “He’s smart,” Corey says. “He would have found it.”

  “Not where I would have put it.”

  Willie says, “We need to nail him.”

  “Me,” Marcus says.

  It’s the clearest syllable I’ve ever heard him utter, and the meaning is just as clear. Marcus doesn’t want to wait for us to get proof that Victor has done something illegal and set the justice system on him.

  Marcus knows that Victor is a murderer, knows where he is staying, and wants to deal with him. One on one. Marcus-style.

  “Let’s go,” Willie says, fully associating himself with Marcus’s opinion.

  “No,” Laurie says. “That is not how we do things.”

  Hike speaks up for the first time. “It’s how Victor does things.”

  Laurie nods. “I know. But we are better than him.”

  “There is nothing I would like better than to see him die a painful death,” I say. “But it would run contrary to our interests.”

  Nobody says anything, though I see Corey nod in agreement.

  I continue, “We have two responsibilities here. One of them has been our goal all along: we need to prove that Alex was not a murderer. That doesn’t change because he’s not here anymore. It has become an imperative.

  “The other is to stop them from doing what they are doing. This isn’t just about Victor. He’s got bosses, and this is a wide conspiracy. We cannot let them accomplish whatever it is they have set out to do. That hasn’t changed either. We have already lost, but we cannot let them win.”

  “Are we any closer to figuring it out?” Corey asks.

  “I don’t know what ‘it’ is,” I say. “But I might know where.”

  I ask Laurie to hire a couple of outside investigators that we can trust, preferably retired cops, to maintain surveillance on Victor for the hours that we can’t. Then I suggest that we reconvene in the morning, after I’ve had a chance to think this through.

  “Sounds like a plan,” Laurie says.

  People get up to leave, but I ask Willie to wait a second. “We need to talk about Aggie.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. She’s part of our family now. Sondra would never give her up, and I ain’t about to either. And Cash? There’s no way he is letting her out of his sight. They’re buddies.”

  “Thanks, Willie. I promised Alex that no matter what happened, we’d make sure she was in a great home.”

  “Then you kept your promise, because she ain’t going to have a bad day for the rest of her life.”

  Alex Vogel was right all along: he was the target.

  He’d heard Bledso
e accurately on the boat; they were there for him. That’s why killing two out of three didn’t save Bledsoe and Phillips from their own deaths; they were sent for Vogel, and they missed. They were zero for one. To make matters much worse, they’d probably told Victor that Vogel was dead.

  Big Tony also told us that Vogel was the target, but we didn’t realize that he meant the sole target. It turns out that Stephen Mellman and Robert Giarrusso were collateral damage; they were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  If that’s the case, and I’m positive that it is, then Giarrusso’s new drug, the one that the three were going to start a new company to produce, has nothing to do with what is going on. If it did, then Giarrusso would have been in the crosshairs, not Alex.

  Giarrusso would have been the one to know all there was to know about that drug; he invented the damn thing. Alex admitted to me that he knew nothing at all about the science, so how could he be a danger to them?

  We got thrown by the stolen filing cabinet and that it contained information about Giarrusso’s drug. But Robert Giarrusso’s house had not been broken into, and much more information about the drug would likely have been found there. That’s where he created the damn thing. And how would Victor and his people have even known that Giarrusso’s drug information was in Alex’s possession?

  Giarrusso’s drug wasn’t why they took the cabinet; it was to get access to whatever else was in there. Alex said it was other work material. I just wish I knew what that material was, if there was anything else, and if any of it is significant. The other thing I wish I knew was whether anything else was taken from that house.

  This is about what Alex knew, because whatever knowledge he possessed constituted a threat to Victor and the assholes he is working with and for. It wasn’t simply about getting Alex out of the way; the justice system had been doing that quite successfully and was likely to continue to do so.

  Alex had no idea what he knew that made him so valuable and vulnerable, but the bad guys were afraid that it could become apparent to him at any time. So they ended that possibility by killing him.