Leader of the Pack

by David Rosenfelt

  “I have no reason to doubt the veracity of the officer; I simply have no recollection or independent evidence of ever having read the letter or spoken to him.”

  Hatchet turns to me. “Mr. Carpenter?”

  Hike hands me two pieces of paper. “May I approach, Your Honor?”

  He allows it, and I walk forward and hand him one of the pages. The other I hand to Dylan on the way back. “Your Honor, this is a copy of Lieutenant McKenney’s contemporaneous notes, taken during and just after his conversation with Mr. Campbell. You’ll note that he writes that Mr. Campbell expressed his appreciation for the information contained in the letter.”

  “That document was not in the filing, Your Honor,” Dylan says, a stricken look on his face.

  “Oops,” I say. Then, “I didn’t think it was necessary to include it, Your Honor. I had assumed Mr. Campbell would belatedly acknowledge the communication.”

  “And you wanted to, I believe the phrase is, sandbag him,” Hatchet points out.

  “Any wounds the prosecution is suffering here are self-inflicted,” I say.

  “Mr. Campbell?”

  “I’m sorry, Your Honor, but I still have no independent recollection of any of this.”

  I move in for the kill. “Your Honor, since the prosecutor is not even attempting to affirmatively refute this evidence, merely saying he doesn’t remember, I think our position should be accepted as the truth of the matter. Certainly it is highly unlikely that a Montana State Police officer would forge a document, as well as his notes, regarding a crime here in New Jersey that he has no other connection to.”

  I continue. “I would also point out that a good deal of evidence is not included in our petition.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because had we been aware of the exculpatory evidence from Montana, we would have had time to investigate and develop it, likely leading to even more compelling evidence. Mr. Campbell’s violation of the rules of discovery prevented that.”

  “Your Honor—” Dylan begins, clearly angry, but Hatchet cuts him off.

  “Mr. Campbell, unless you have something substantive to add beyond pleading a faulty memory and filing system, I suggest we leave it right where it is.”

  It stops Dylan in his tracks; I’m not even sure Marcus can protect me from what he’s thinking.

  “I’ll be issuing my ruling shortly. I trust no one is in suspense as to what that ruling will be. This hearing is adjourned.”

  It’s dark when I leave my office, a sure sign that I’m working on a case. Actually, the fact that I’m in my office at all is a sure sign as well. But working past dark is not exactly my M.O.

  My parking spot is in an uncovered lot at the end of the block, and I’m halfway there when a large black sedan pulls up alongside me. The rear door opens, simultaneous with my heart hitting the sidewalk. There can’t be any doubt that I’m about to die; not even Marcus will have time to intervene.

  But the person in the backseat, calling me by name, is Willie Miller. “Andy, get in the car,” he says.

  It’s dark in the car, and I can’t see who is with him. Certainly he’s not alone, because he’s in the back and obviously not driving. So I hesitate; I trust Willie, but he could have a gun trained on him, or something.

  “Come on, Andy. It’s OK.”

  I look quickly around for Marcus, but I don’t see him. I’ve got two choices; I can trust Willie and get in, or I can turn and run like a coward.

  Cowardly running is by far my first choice, but I force myself to do otherwise. I don’t think there is anything anyone could do to get Willie to force me into a trap.

  Once I’m in the car, I see that Willie is alone in the backseat. However, the front seat is occupied by two people, who are each so wide that at first I think it’s three of them. The driver doesn’t turn around, simply pulls back onto the road and drives off.

  The person in the passenger seat turns to face me, and I recognize him as Joseph Russo. Russo and I have never met, but I’ve seen his picture in the paper quite a few times, though never on the sports page, and absolutely never in the comics.

  Russo is number two to Dominic Petrone, which is to say he is a powerful figure among people who regard law enforcement as the bad guys. Petrone is in his mid-sixties, a courtly type who seems more like a CEO than a don. Russo is much younger, but is a throwback to the older, more violent school. He is also said to be Petrone’s choice to succeed him.

  A lot of people would want to get on Russo’s good side, if he had one. But I am aware that he and Willie have a relationship of sorts, and Russo considers himself indebted to Willie, with good reason.

  When Willie was in prison, just a few months before the retrial, Russo was there as well. It was the one conviction on Russo’s record, and he was only gone for a year.

  One day three men decided to make a name for themselves, or perhaps they were being paid for their actions, but they cornered Russo in the exercise yard. They had makeshift weapons, which would have been more than enough to do the intended job of killing Russo.

  The plan was a good one, but the execution of it left something to be desired. They neglected to notice that Willie was there, observing what was happening. He had never met Russo, but had an instinct that in any three-to-one fight, he belonged on the side of the one.

  Russo wound up with minor injuries, while Willie put the three assailants in the hospital. Willie heard that they met with even more decisive justice from Petrone’s people shortly thereafter, but that didn’t interest him much either way.

  For all of his faults, like the fact that he murders people and commits other criminal acts, Russo recognizes a debt, and he has been helpful to Willie in the past. I’m not sure why the three of us are together now, but I’m about to find out.

  Willie breaks the ice. “Andy … Joseph Russo. Joe … Andy Carpenter.”

  He makes no motion to shake hands, so I don’t either. Instead I just say, “Hey.” That’s how we tough guys talk.

  He doesn’t return the “hey,” a slight I’m willing to overlook. Instead he says, “You’re asking questions about Carmine Desimone?”

  Technically, I haven’t been asking questions about Carmine, except to our investigative team. Willie, as a member of that team, has clearly gone to Russo to get the answers.

  I nod. “Yes, I’m trying to find out whether he had Nicky Fats killed, and why he doesn’t seem to be helping Joey, and why he sent someone to kill me.” I don’t know if that last part is true, but I talk as if it is.

  “I don’t know about any of that,” Russo says.

  “Great,” I say. “That clears that up.”

  “Willie’s a friend of mine,” Russo says. “So he says you’re OK, I say you’re OK.”

  “I’m definitely OK.”

  “Until I learn otherwise” is Russo’s qualifier.

  “You won’t; I’m completely OK.” All I want to do is get out of this car; there will be time to strangle Willie later.

  “So what I say stays with you, and me, and Willie.”

  He doesn’t seem to consider the driver a human worth including in our little secrets, but I don’t mention this. “Fine. Sure.”

  “Carmine came to us,” Russo says. “A few months ago.”

  “Us? Meaning you and Dominic?”

  His voice gets about four hundred degrees colder. “Leave Mr. Petrone out of this.”

  Russo is obviously fiercely protective of his boss, Dominic Petrone, to the point of not even discussing him with outsiders like me. My guess is that Dominic doesn’t know Russo is talking to me. “OK … sure. Won’t mention him again. What did Carmine want?”

  “Some of our people.”

  “Your people? What did he want your people for?

  Russo looks at Willie with raised eyebrows, as if asking Willie why he wanted him to talk to this idiot, meaning me. “He wanted them to do what they do,” he says.

  I nod. “Makes sense. What did you say?”


  “We said ‘no fucking way.’”

  I notice that Willie, who’s been silent, is nodding in agreement at everything both Russo and I say. “Joseph, why would Carmine need your people? Doesn’t he have people of his own?”

  “So, you finally asked the right question. He don’t trust his people. Without trust, you ain’t got shit.”

  Words to live by.

  “Do you know why he doesn’t trust them?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know if Nicky Fats was murdered?”

  “No.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  He thinks for a moment, then says, “Yeah. Carmine was scared.”

  Hatchet issues the ruling at 9:00 A.M., less than twenty-four hours after the hearing. I think he would have issued it earlier, but it probably took awhile to get it scathing enough for his satisfaction.

  It calls for a new trial at the earliest possible date, and excoriates Dylan for the violation of his discovery obligations. It stops just short of accusing him of knowingly withholding the evidence, because he could not be certain of that.

  But he minimizes the difference between intentional and unintentional, describing them as almost equally egregious, since if it were unintentional, it would speak to “extreme incompetence.”

  I head down to the prison to meet with Joey, and while I’m waiting to be brought in to see him, I try and figure out how this conversation can go well.

  Unfortunately, it can’t. I am certainly delivering great news. To be telling him the opposite, that we didn’t get the new trial, would be devastating. But in the process, I’m going to be doing that which I always try to avoid … building false hope.

  The truth is that if we had the information we have now, back at the time of the first trial, we still would have lost. We need much more, and have very little time to get it. Making matters even tougher is the fact that back then we were investigating fresh occurrences; now we are rehashing trails that have been cold for six years.

  Joey takes one look at me and says, “We got it. I can see it in your face.”

  I nod. “We got it.”

  He doesn’t say anything for at least a minute. He seems to be trying to control his emotions and process this information, and that can’t be easy to do. If hopelessness is the bottom of the human condition, then it’s impossible to overstate how elevating its removal can be.

  He wants to hear every detail about the hearing, and literally asks if he can get a copy of the transcript. I promise to get him one, and then launch into my ten-minute speech about how he shouldn’t get too hopeful, and how precarious his situation remains.

  It doesn’t seem to take; nothing I say can diminish the joy he is feeling. I think the only way I can bring him down would be to have Hike deliver the transcript. After a one-on-one chat with Hike, Joey will want to plead guilty, and then hang himself in his cell.

  I bring up the rather weird goings-on in the Desimone family, though I do so carefully. I certainly don’t want to reveal anything that Joseph Russo told me. He made it clear that it was in confidence, and there are few promises I’m more inclined to keep than those I make to a mob boss.

  But it certainly seems likely that it was the Desimones who hired the man who tried to kill Marcus and me. I’ve pissed plenty of other people off, but none very recently.

  Joey surprises me by blurting out, “I called my father. I’m sorry, I know you told me not to.”

  “That’s OK, Joey. He’s your father. What did he say?”

  “That you were a smart guy, and that I should listen to you. He also said that Nicky’s death was an accident. And he told me to be careful in here.”

  This last statement makes me angry, not at Joey or Carmine, but at myself. Maybe my mind is atrophying from not working often enough, but one fact completely slipped by me.

  If someone’s goal was to eliminate me, it wouldn’t have been anything personal. It would have been to stop me from pursuing the case, and from trying to get Joey out of jail. I’ve been thinking that the bad guys therefore want Joey in jail, but that’s not it at all; they just want me to stop trying to get him out, because of what I might uncover in the process.

  Which means that Joey is in as much danger as I am, maybe more.

  “I want to get you protected in here. You need to go into solitary,” I say.

  “I’ve been protecting myself for a long time.”

  “Nobody had reason to kill you before. Except for your personality.”

  He laughs. “Thanks.”

  “I’m serious about protecting you, Joey. If there’s no you, there’s no case, there’s no investigation.”

  “You’d keep at it,” he says.

  I nod. “I probably would, but they wouldn’t have any way of knowing that.”

  He thinks about it for a few moments, then, “No. I want to stay where I am. If someone takes a run at me, I’ll handle it. And I’ll find out who sent them.”

  I want to say, “It might be your father that sends them,” but I don’t. And I have no luck talking him into taking the protection that solitary would offer.

  As I’m about to leave, he says, “Andy, there’s no way I can thank you for this.”

  “We haven’t done anything yet.”

  “You’ve given me a reason to get up tomorrow.”

  We have one major advantage heading into this trial. We called very few witnesses last time, because we had very few to call. But Dylan had plenty, as he successfully made his case. Those witnesses are all now on the record, and must stick to their story. Knowing what they’re going to say makes it easier for me to challenge them.

  Also, the roles are at least somewhat reversed here. Usually the prosecution is on offense most of the time, since they are the one doing the charging. The defense is aptly named, since it must fend off and refute those charges. But while Dylan will still present and make his case, he must now primarily worry about what we will throw at him.

  I hope and expect that he will spend time and energy demonstrating that the Montana militiamen, who made the threats, had nothing to do with the killing. That would be a waste of time and energy, because I am going to spend very little time making the case for their guilt.

  I don’t think there’s any chance that one of those dopes made it to New Jersey and murdered the Solarnos. The significance I attach to them is not as suspects, but as customers of Solarno’s illegal armaments.

  I want to demonstrate, both through logic and actual evidence, that Solarno wasn’t limiting his dealings to that one group, but that he was also selling to other, even more dangerous people. If he cheated the Montana group, then he might very likely have cheated other customers as well.

  Cheating victims with rifles make good suspects.

  Our case has to focus on that which we have recently learned about Solarno. We need to understand exactly what he was doing and who he was doing it with. And we have to turn the people that are trying to stop us into unwitting helpers.

  Solarno went relatively uninvestigated and unmentioned last time, and that’s going to change dramatically in the retrial. For all the hand-wringing that often takes place about defense lawyers attempting to put “the victim on trial,” that is what is going to happen here, or we’ll have no chance.

  I tell Laurie that Solarno is to be her prime focus; we need to re-create his life. We need to know whom he called and whom he met with. If he shared his wife’s penchant for infidelity, we must know whom he saw and how often he saw her.

  If we can get the jury to believe that he was the target, then we’re close to home free, since the prosecution has gone on record as saying Joey’s motive was to kill Karen Solarno.

  I call Edward Young, who surprisingly takes my call on the first try. Maybe Robby Divine beat him in golf again. In any event, I tell him that I’m going to need all of the business records of Solarno Shrimp Corporation, with particular focus on the six months preceding the murder.

  “I assu
me we’ve got it somewhere,” he says. “I’ll put someone on it.”

  “Thanks. I’m going to subpoena it through the court, simply as a formality, but if you can get someone started on it sooner, that would be a help.”

  “No problem.”

  “What about phone records? Would you have records of calls Solarno might have made or received from his office?”

  He thinks for a moment, and then says, “I wouldn’t think so; doesn’t seem like we’d have any reason to keep that.”

  “Probably not,” I say. It’s not a big deal to me; I can subpoena it from the phone company, or have Sam steal it from their computer. I’ll probably do both.

  “Is that it?” he asks.

  “Almost. I’m going to be putting your name on our witness list.”

  He hesitates, and when he speaks, I can tell by the sound of his voice that he’s not enthusiastic about the prospect. “Why? I have nothing to say about your case.”

  “I know, but I might need you to set the stage for Solarno’s company. And I probably won’t call you, but I have to put your name on the list in case I need to.”

  “I do a lot of traveling,” Edward says.

  “You’d get plenty of notice.”

  “I think I’m finished playing golf with Robby.”

  When I get off the phone, I call Hike and tell him to add Edward Young to the witness list. I doubt that I’ll call him, but the more names I have on the list, the more preparatory work Dylan has to do.

  Besides, it makes me feel like I actually have a witness list, which would be just a few steps away from actually having a case.

  Tommy Iurato was annoyed by the decision.

  Not so much because he disagreed with the strategy; strategy was not his thing, and he was not privy to all the factors that were called into play.

  When the word came down not to continue to go after Carpenter, Iurato argued the point. He didn’t make a full-blown argument—that wasn’t his style. What he did was point out that the hit would be successful if again ordered, that the screw-up on the highway would not be repeated.

  Carpenter had Marcus Clark protecting him, and while Iurato was well aware of Clark’s reputation and ability, he was still just one person. Iurato was prepared to send in enough manpower that the job would get done.