The Victim of the System

by Steve Hadden

  “Seismic?”

  “Yeah, seismic. They send sound waves into the ground to image the geology thousands of feet deep.”

  “Forgive me, Ike. What does that have to do with proving self-defense?”

  “Not sure yet. But look at this.” Ike slipped a handwritten time line from his file. Ed waddled around and looked over Jenna’s shoulder.

  “If you work backward, we’re in September here. At the trial. Tom Cole died in late March. Patrick Falzone died in late January.”

  “He died in a car accident,” Jenna said.

  “A one-car accident, no witnesses.”

  “You’re saying he was killed?”

  “Not yet. But keep moving down. In December, Tom Cole’s company did an interpretation of seismic data for Falzone Energy. His partner said it was top secret. He’d never seen Tom keep something so tight.” Ike let the information soak in before moving further down the page.

  Jenna caught up and nodded for him to proceed.

  “Then I pulled the press releases from Falzone’s website. Looks like they were the high bidder for three offshore blocks in that sale off Virginia.”

  Ed looked up. “The first one on the East Coast?”

  “Exactly. I could guess that the seismic covered that area. Falzone Energy kept it tight. They’ve taken more security measures to conceal that data than I’ve ever seen.”

  Ike moved his finger to the last line on the page. “Here in January, Tom Cole filed for divorce and won full legal and physical custody of Jack.”

  Jenna took the paper and leaned back. Ike could see her mind working through the options. Finally, she set the paper down. “So, you think some conspiracy centered around—“ She hesitated and looked down at the paper. “This seismic is the key?” Her disbelief was across her face.

  “Like I said. They’re hiding something. They met with me because they wanted to see what I knew. What their exposure might be. That’s the only explanation. Otherwise they didn’t have to do anything. Just let the case run.”

  “A big conspiracy is exciting. But we need evidence that Tanner somehow was involved in Jack’s father’s death.”

  “I agree. But I’m telling you I can smell it. Something’s not right here. And Tanner could be in the middle of it.”

  “How so?”

  “Why did the Falzones wait until a few weeks before the trial to file for a custody change? The ruling was in January. Why not file then?”

  “When they realized their grandson might not see the light of day for the rest of their lives, they had a change of heart,” Jenna said.

  “I’m not buying it. Then in a three-month period, a son and son-in-law both die?”

  Jenna rocked back in her chair. “One by suicide and one by a car accident—according to the law. It’s tragic but it happens.”

  “Maybe, but my gut says otherwise.”

  Jenna leaned forward and shifted back to her dark mood. “Look, Ike, I can’t put your gut on the stand. We need evidence. Proof in a court of law. You have any of that?”

  Ike understood Jenna’s frustration. He shared it. “I’m working on it. I have the information on the seismic, and Cole’s partner, Bobby Scott, will testify.”

  “Testify to what?”

  “Hang on.” Ike was losing his patience. “I’m going to talk to Cassidy about the evidence here surrounding Tom Cole’s death. Then I’ll dig into Tanner and the Coles’ divorce. I’ll do both today. Then, if I don’t come up with hard evidence there, I’ll go to plan B.”

  “What’s plan B?”

  “Not sure you want to know.”

  He knew she didn’t want to know. But Ike was not going to fail because of legal restraints. He’d prevail no matter what it took. He’d not leave Jack stuck in a cell for the rest of his youth and probably for the rest of his life. He’d been there. Hell, he was there.

  Ed leaned on his elbows. “Ike. We need this by the book. Anything tainted or illegal is useless to us.”

  “Ed, I’ll get that if I can. But if I can’t, I’m not going to let these people put Jack away. I’m just not.”

  A blanket of silence covered the room.

  “I got another e-mail,” Ike said.

  “From Tom Cole?” Jenna said.

  “Yes. It could be nothing. Just someone trying to screw with me.”

  “What did it say?”

  Ike wrote the mathematical expression on the bottom of the page: 4+3–53+8+74.

  “Thirty-six,” Jenna said. “Do you know what it means?”

  Ike explained the analysis of the two messages he’d done that had led nowhere. “I’ll keep working on it. You do the same as you can. But this bothers me. Someone has gone to some trouble to send this to me. If it’s a distraction, then what are they distracting me from? If it’s some coded message, who’s sending it and what does it mean and why the hell is it from Tom Cole?”

  “I’m sure you considered the possibility that Tom Cole set this up himself and had it delayed. He was a technical genius.”

  “Exactly,” Ike said, picking up the paper and stuffing it back into his file. “And I’ve got four days to see if Tom Cole is sending me a message from his grave to save his son.” Ike walked to the door. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Ike made his way through North Shore and passed Heinz Field. The Steelers opener was days away, and despite the schizophrenic preseason, he and the other gritty fans were confidently looking forward to a seventh Super Bowl victory. He wished he shared that optimism about the meeting at police headquarters.

  Mac had used his leverage and influence to force another interview with Cassidy. While Mac seemed to have banked an unending reservoir of goodwill during his tenure, Ike knew this might be the last shot he had at Cassidy. As he negotiated the rush-hour backup, exited on the West End Bridge, and wound down to Western Avenue, the abyss inside opened wider. Despite his determination to keep them buried, the dark sticky feelings resurfaced as he remembered driving to police headquarters to hear the gruesome details of his parents’ murder. He hated this place and what it represented. But Jack needed this, and in some ways Ike needed this, too

  As he entered the building, the sadness and anger coated him like heavy tar. Luckily, he spotted Mac surrounded by a half dozen detectives trading the things that detectives do and occasionally laughing at a zinger delivered by Mac. Mac spotted Ike, shook the detectives’ hands, and headed over.

  “How you doing?” Mac seemed to sense the residuals from the past.

  “Good.” Ike lifted the thick file containing Tom Cole’s suicide report. “I went through this in detail. Lots of questions.”

  Mac rested his hand on Ike’s shoulder. “You’re a good man for doing this, Ike. I know it’s not easy.”

  “My mother always said, ‘Do the right thing—not the easy thing. The work will be more rewarding.’ I hope in this case she’s right.”

  Mac nodded. “Let’s go. He’s waiting in the conference room.”

  “Thanks for pulling these strings again.”

  “Like your mom said, it’s the right thing to do.”

  Mac’s presence and support fortified Ike’s determination. They headed down a short hall and walked into the room.

  Cassidy was sitting at the table, checking his phone, wearing another five hundred-dollar sport coat. Ike made a mental note to check that out if he got the chance. Cassidy was getting money somewhere.

  “Have a seat, you two,” Cassidy said without looking up. “I’ve got fifteen minutes.”

  Mac pulled out a chair and sat across from Cassidy. “I can go down the hall to the assistant chief and get you some more time?”

  Cassidy stuffed the phone into his sport coat and leaned his elbows on the table. “Have a seat, Ike. This should be fun.”

  Ike slapped the thick file on the table next to Mac and sat. He wished he could get Cassidy into the ring—now. Then, as Ike opened the file and remembered the tabs he’d ad
ded to the key pages, he decided this might be almost as fun. He flipped to the first tab.

  “These crime-scene photos from Tom Cole’s garage show a three-quarter-inch garden hose sloppily duct-taped to the tailpipe and pinched in the driver’s-side window.”

  “Glad you can read and look at pictures. I don’t think they make picture books for junior detectives, though.”

  Ike wanted to take the bait. The time in the tank for assaulting a detective would be well worth it. But he thought about Jack and let it pass.

  “Well, apparently, you didn’t read your copies. Otherwise you would have questioned why an obsessive neatnik like Tom Cole would have been so sloppy.”

  “Christ, you idiot, he was getting ready to off himself. His prints were on the tape and the hose.”

  “The report also showed Tom was found in the seat with the keys on the console and not in his pocket. The radio was on to a rock station. His sister said he didn’t like rock.” Ike looked directly at Cassidy. “What I’m wondering is why you ruled it a suicide so quickly?”

  “Here’s why. I had the presence of a means of death, a body with no other signs of trauma, and a suicide note verifying the subject’s intent to take his own life. The guy had a shitty divorce on top of that. The examiner’s report verified the cause of death as carbon monoxide asphyxiation.”

  Ike flipped to the tab marking the ME’s report. “He also said he found a puncture wound in the bottom of his foot.”

  “So what? If you read on, it says we found a broken thumbtack and a sock with traces of blood that fit the same location on his foot in the master. He stepped on a tack.”

  Ike ignored Cassidy and kept going to the next tab.

  “It says here that the suicide note was composed on a computer. Not handwritten.”

  Cassidy leaned back and folded his arms. “Surprise, surprise. A dead techie used a computer. It had his prints on it.”

  “Did you check the house for other prints?” Mac said.

  “You know better than that, Mac.”

  “So you didn’t investigate any alternative scenarios?”

  “I don’t know if your mentor here explained how detectives work, but we don’t have the time to waste the taxpayers’ money.”

  “Did you check out the neighbors’ security cameras?”

  Cassidy shoved his chair back and stood. “This is bullshit. There was no evidence of homicide, an accident, or a natural death. He killed himself, end of story.”

  “So you didn’t check the neighbors’ cameras?” Ike knew the answer. He just wanted to fuel Cassidy’s temper. Cassidy seemed to catch on and sat back down. “No, Mr. Magoo, I didn’t. It was unnecessary.”

  Ike flipped to another tab. “It says here you talked to his sister and his son.”

  “You can read that in the report.”

  “I did. But did you talk to his crazy ex-wife or her attorney?”

  “Again, unnecessary.”

  Ike found the last tab. It was a photo of Tom in the passenger seat. His head was tilted back, and his thick, curly dark-brown hair was against the headrest. Ike turned the file to face Cassidy and pointed to the photo. “Did you see this?”

  “I was there when they took it, and I filed the report. Of course I’ve seen it.”

  “No,” Ike said, moving his finger closer to the photo. “This.” It was a minuscule fiber in Tom Cole’s hair.

  For the first time, Cassidy was speechless. Ike continued.

  “But here, in the ME’s report, there was no mention of fibers in Tom’s hair.”

  Cassidy leaned back from the file. “It was a suicide.”

  Ike closed the file. “What if that fiber was the same color as the carpet in his house?”

  Cassidy pushed the file at Ike and launched himself out of the chair, shoving the conference table into Ike’s gut. “Up yours, you asshole. You’re sitting here second-guessing good detective work? It fits. It makes sense that a washed-up jock would be comfortable being a Monday-morning quarterback. You can’t handle the fact that the guy committed suicide, the kid is a killer, and your parents’ murder will never be solved. Get the hell out of here.”

  In one movement, Ike sprang over the table and had Cassidy by the throat against the wall. He pinned his forehead against Cassidy’s. “I’ll choke you out if you say that again.”

  “Ike. Ike!”

  Ike could feel Mac pulling at his shoulders.

  “You okay, Mac?” another voice said behind them.

  “We’re fine,” Mac said. He squeezed Ike’s shoulders again. “Ike?”

  Ike realized where he was and released Cassidy. Cassidy’s demeanor shifted from anger to detachment when he saw the other detectives in the doorway, and he straightened his jacket. He walked around the table and stopped at the door. “It was a suicide.” Then he left.

  “You okay?” Mac asked.

  Ike blew out a breath, pulled his shirt down, and gathered the file from the table. He knew he’d lost it, but Cassidy had it coming.

  He grinned at Mac. “That was interesting.”

  “Somehow I thought you enjoyed that.”

  Ike had to admit it had felt great. “Looks like I’ve got some work to do.”

  “Let me help,” Mac said. “I’ll talk to the neighbors and see if they even had cameras. There’s a big difference between questions and having hard evidence.”

  “Thanks, Mac. I could use the help.”

  Mac’s comment hit home. Ike had no evidence to show a homicide. Just a little shabby detective work. Ike needed more. He needed motive. And motive started with a dead guy.

  CHAPTER 24

  Ike waited at a table in the corner of the Fairmont Hotel bar on Fifth Avenue. Tucked behind the last plate-glass window, he watched throngs of workers pulsing along the streets, evacuating downtown in favor of the surrounding suburbs. With the threat of rain, the post-work Market Square crowd would be pushed home or inside.

  Ike checked his watch. It was 5:05 p.m. Donna Martin was late, but she could unlock the inner life of Franklin Tanner. At least that was what she’d told Mac. Mac had known Donna for years, being a regular in Judge Palmeri’s courtroom, but his senior clerk was connected. Connected to the unspoken network of clerks that ran the courthouse. She was especially tight with another senior clerk in the Family Division of the Court of Common Pleas, housed in the old jail.

  Ike checked the time again. The one thing he didn’t have time for was being stood up. He was close—close to the truth. And he’d blast through a brick wall to find it. The wild animal surging inside was fed by a mix of confidence, eagerness, and determination. He’d felt this way before, except it was fourth and long in a late-season snowstorm with 1:48 left in the game, on his own twenty. Back then, he didn’t look at the score, he didn’t hear the crowd, and he didn’t see the jittery wide eyes of his teammates in the huddle. He focused on just the play and what the defense was giving him. Each snap felt the same. Play after play, they ate up the field. One chunk at a time. Then, with the state championship on the line, he called the play.

  It was as if he was in that exact moment now but Donna Martin had the play call. He could execute it, but she needed to deliver.

  He looked up and saw Donna enter through the back side of the bar. With her short dark hair parted to the right, wide smile and olive skin, she looked exactly like the picture Mac had provided. She stopped, spotted Ike, then scanned the bar patronage that spilled into the lobby. Apparently comfortable that no threat was present, she walked to Ike’s table.

  She offered her hand. “Donna Martin, Mr. Rossi.”

  “Ike,” he said, shaking it.

  She gently folded her raincoat on the seat between them and sat facing him.

  “Let me first say how sorry I am about the inability to get justice for your parents.”

  “Thanks, Donna. I don’t know if it’s inability or not.”

  “I lost my dad to a criminal. I know what it’s like to get closure.”

>   Ike didn’t want to say any more on the subject. “Thanks. And thanks for coming to talk to me.”

  “When Mac told me about what you were doing, I thought I might be able to help.”

  “What can you tell me about Franklin Tanner?”

  Dislike spread across her face like she’d just swallowed sour milk. “Tanner was arrogant and rude. He was ruthless.”

  “Did you deal with him?”

  “Not directly. But a good friend of mine in Judge Kelly’s court did all the time. He was always causing problems. Not for the court but for the clients. He’d antagonize, accuse, and flat out lie to get the couples going at each other. He was sanctioned more than once.”

  “Did he do this in the Cole case?”

  The corners of her mouth stretched down as if she’d stepped on a nail. “As clerks, we’re not supposed to talk about our cases. I don’t want my friend to get in trouble.”

  “I understand. If you know Mac, he’s probably told you that you can trust me. I’ll only use what you tell me to get my own information. You or your friend will never be involved, mentioned, or implicated. I’ll guarantee that. I need to help that boy if I can.”

  Her discomfort melted into the appearance of a mother’s concern. Ike guessed she was in her mid-forties and had children of her own at home.

  “Yes. Tanner pulled out all his nasty tricks on Tom Cole. He accused him of affairs and abuse and even called his partner and made up lies about him. That move cost Tanner two thousand in sanctions.”

  “What about the attorney on the other side?”

  “Mr. Cole’s attorney? I think he’s okay. He’s not part of that group.”

  Ike’s gut sounded an alarm. “That group?”

  Based on her expression, Donna didn’t realize what she’d let slip.

  “Ike, I’m not sure I can say anything else.”

  “I promised you the court would never know.”

  Donna shifted in her chair and silently weighed her next words. She scanned the bar, then lowered her voice. “It’s not the court I’m worried about. I have a family.”

  “You’re afraid for your safety?”

  Donna dipped her head as she nodded.