Leader of the Pack (Andy Carpenter)

by David Rosenfelt

  He frowns. “I’m not going to say anything; I already told you that. But Solarno did not know he was going to die so suddenly, and did not have the time nor the inclination to cover his tracks. So there are documents that support what I’m saying. I am prepared to turn these over to you, providing you do not reveal where you got them. You can call the investigator I hired; he will testify for you at trial.”

  My guess is that the bad guys will know where I got the documents, but I don’t feel the need to point this out. “Who are the people Solarno was dealing with?” I ask.

  “Members of the Desimone family. I’m not sure who or on what level.”

  “Do you know of any reason why they would have wanted to kill him, since doing so ended their business relationship?”

  He shakes his head. “I do not. Perhaps he was defrauding them. Solarno was not the smartest man I’d ever met.”

  I’m sure I’m going to be pressured to make a decision on the spot, though I certainly have the right to delay if it’s to my benefit. It seems to be a fairly easy call; I can either put on a witness who will say he has no information, or I can have documents that provide me with the crucial information.

  Even though I’m going to be leaving here a hell of a lot better off than when I arrived, I’m still annoyed. For all my desire not to actually work, I still maintain a healthy respect for the justice system. Edward is flaunting it by saying he will lie under oath, and it bugs me.

  “Subject to the documents clearly providing the information you say they will provide, I’m willing to go along with the arrangement.”

  He stands up. “Good.” Then he turns to the lawyers. “Please give Mr. Carpenter what he requires.”

  For Sam Willis, fear had become humiliation and returned to fear. He was tied to a chair; he certainly assumed it was in the house to which he followed Nicholas Costa. He had told them everything they wanted to know, in the hope that they would let him go, and spare his life.

  Now that hope was gone. Costa and the man that Costa was calling Bruni were discussing what to do with Sam’s body. Not what to do with him, or even whether or not to kill him. They were discussing what to do with his body.

  Every time he tried to say something, tried to intervene in a way that might convince them he should remain alive, Costa simply said, “Shut up.” When he didn’t obey, Costa simply picked up the knife, the knife they threatened to do horrible things with, the knife that had gotten him to talk.

  They also had a gun, at least one, and it sat on a table about four feet from him. It might as well have been a mile; the straps that bound him to the chair were applied by experts, and had no give in them whatsoever.

  He thought of yelling; after all, they were in a neighborhood, and there were houses not far away. But he couldn’t envision it playing out in a positive way; the likelihood was that they would simply kill him right away. There was no way that a neighbor, hearing screams, could react in such a timely and aggressive way that it could save his life.

  So all Sam could do was wait for an opportunity that would likely never come. Maybe if they took him somewhere else to kill him, he could fight for his life when they unstrapped him. If he got the chance he would take pieces of them with him, because mingled with the fear was a strong feeling of rage.

  Finally, Bruni stood up. “Let’s go,” he said to Costa. He said it in a weary way, like they might as well end Sam’s life now, to at least get it over with.

  Costa walked over to Sam, but before he undid the straps, he bound Sam’s hands together. The wire Costa used cut into Sam’s wrists, but the pain was barely noticeable up against the realization that Sam was not going to get a chance to fight for his freedom.

  Costa picked up the gun from the table and held it to Sam’s back as they walked toward the door, Bruni in the lead. Sam felt as if his legs could barely support him, yet in the moment he came to a decision.

  When he got outside, he was going to scream, and he was going to pull away and run. They weren’t holding the knife to him, but rather the gun. The hope Sam was grasping to was that it did not have a silencer on it, and they would be fearful of killing him on the street, because they might be seen and heard.

  It was less than a one in a million chance, and Sam knew it. But he was not going to be docile as they took him off to die.

  Bruni reached for the door handle, and Sam saw the world explode. Actually, he quickly realized, it wasn’t the world that exploded, it was the door. And it didn’t explode; it came into the room, full force, as if blown off its hinges.

  The rest happened so quickly that Sam only pieced it together later, replaying it in his mind. Costa moved the gun from Sam’s back out and into the clear, so that he could fire at whatever had come through that door.

  Before he could do so, Marcus Clark fired a bullet into his forehead, a bullet that whizzed by no more than three inches from Sam’s own face. Sam felt moisture land on his shoulder, and he realized with horror and glee that it was Costa’s blood.

  Bruni had been knocked down by the door, and Sam saw him scramble to his feet and reach into his own pocket, perhaps for the knife, or a gun of his own.

  Marcus was on him in an instant, hitting him across the face with the club that was attached to his shoulder. Bruni seemed to be lifted in the air, and landed with a thud, groggy but not completely unconscious.

  Marcus looked at Sam for the first time and said, “Good?” Sam started to respond, and then realized to his horror that if he tried to say anything, he was going to break down and cry.

  A minute ago he was sure he was going to die, and now the most important thing in the world was somehow managing not to cry. So he nodded that yes, he was good.

  There was nothing to be done for Costa; taking a bullet straight on in the forehead was not the kind of injury that calls for CPR. Bruni was recovering his bearings, and making an effort to get up.

  Marcus grabbed him by the collar, lifting the very large man as if he was a rag doll. He put him in a chair, the same chair that Sam was trapped in. But Sam was bound with straps and wires; Bruni was confined by Marcus.

  Marcus looked at Sam again. “You drive?”

  Sam didn’t know if he meant to ask whether Sam was OK to drive, or whether he had driven to the house, but the answer was the same. “Yes.”

  Marcus nodded; that was the answer he wanted. “Andy’s.”

  “What about them?” Sam asked, meaning the live Bruni and dead Costa. “I can help you.”

  “Andy’s,” Marcus said. “Now.”

  Laurie comes out to meet me when I pull into the driveway. On second thought, since she has her car keys in her hand, I think it’s a coincidence that I came home as she is leaving.

  “Come on,” she says, starting for the car.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  We get to the car, which is parked in the driveway, but Laurie turns when she sees Sam’s car pull up. “Never mind,” she says.

  Sam parks on the street and gets out of his car. From a distance he appears to be staggering slightly, or at least having some difficulty walking.

  Laurie walks out to the street to talk to him. She gets up close to him, but from where I am, I can’t hear what they’re saying. Then she puts her arms around him and hugs him to her, and he seems to rest his head on her shoulder.

  I’ve got a hunch that something has transpired while I’ve been out.

  Laurie and Sam walk toward me and the house, side by side, her arm around him. I don’t think they’re going to fit through the door this way, but I assume they’ll figure it out. I go in ahead of them, leaving the door open and dreading what I’m going to hear when they arrive.

  Once inside, Laurie brings Sam a beer, since we don’t keep hard liquor in the house. He looks like he’s going to need an entire brewery’s worth to make him feel better.

  He proceeds to tell us an amazing story about following Ryerson to the airport, getting kidnapped
and nearly killed, saved only by Marcus showing up on the scene. His lower lip quivers when he talks, and he pauses occasionally as he remembers how he felt during his time in that house.

  At one point he says, “I don’t know how Marcus knew to come there.”

  “I called him and asked him to go there,” says Laurie. “Just to make sure everything was OK.”

  “I thought Marcus was guarding me,” I point out, petulantly.

  “You were in a meeting. Marcus was just supposed to check things out, and make sure Sam went home. He’d have been back before your meeting was over.”

  “So Marcus was still there when you left?” I ask.

  Sam nods. “Costa was dead, and Marcus told me to leave. I left him alone with the one Costa called Bruni.”

  “So much for Bruni.”

  “You think Marcus killed him?”

  “I know how he operates. He’ll question Bruni, and find out whatever Bruni knows.”

  “What if Bruni won’t talk?”

  “He’ll talk; that’s a given. When Marcus asks questions, everybody talks. Then he’ll give Bruni a chance to take him on, even up, no weapons. If Bruni wants to, he’s a dead man. If not, Marcus will let him go. How big is Bruni?”

  “At least two forty.”

  “A tough guy?”

  “Very.”

  “Then it’s eulogy time.”

  Laurie goes off to get Sam another beer, and Sam seems to have been waiting for her to leave. He says to me, softly, “Andy, I told them all about the case, and what we knew.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Sam. Anyone would have done the same, and it doesn’t even harm us any. It’s fine.”

  “I was so scared; I never thought I could be that scared.”

  “I would have pissed in my pants.”

  “I don’t even feel bad that Costa is dead, or that Marcus might have killed Bruni.”

  “Sam, these guys were planning to kill you. And I’m going to take a wild guess that it wasn’t the first time either of them had killed someone. They are shit stuck to your shoe; don’t think about them for another minute.”

  “I’m not the guy you want in the foxhole with you.”

  “Sam, we already had this conversation. Laurie is my first choice, particularly if there are private rooms in the foxhole. And a sunken tub would be nice. Marcus is now my second choice. After that, you.”

  He smiles; the first time he’s done that since he got here. “Marcus was unbelievable. You should have seen him.”

  “I’ve seen him in action before. Actually, he and I are alike in a lot of ways.”

  “How?”

  “Well, we both want to keep me alive. And Laurie likes both of us. That’s pretty much it.”

  “When do you think we’ll hear from him?” Sam asks.

  “I don’t know, but I hope it’s soon. I need to know what Bruni told him.”

  The fact that today is Saturday is a positive. Actually, at this point anything that results in court not being in session is a huge plus. We’re getting pretty much nowhere in court, and doing better in our investigation, out in the real world.

  Unfortunately, court is where the jury is.

  But the main reason I’m glad I’m not stuck at trial today is I can be here if and when Marcus shows up. I’m not worried about him—that would be a little silly—but I’m anxious to hear what happened after Sam left, and what Marcus learned.

  Hike comes over to help me go through the documents that Edward Young provided. There’s quite a bit there to support his contention that Solarno was an arms dealer, in cahoots with organized crime. And while there’s no smoking gun regarding the Desimone family, there is certainly a great deal of evidence pointing in that direction.

  I believe I’ll be able to get the documents admitted, even though they don’t bear directly on the murders. The Montana situation works heavily in my favor; it’s already been established that Solarno was dealing arms and that they threatened him, and these documents relate rather directly to that.

  Hike approves of my agreement to let Edward Young off the testimony hook, since we wouldn’t have gotten anything from him anyway. Having the documents is clearly preferable to having a silent witness.

  Hike leaves, and I call Sam Willis to make sure he’s OK. He says that he is, but he isn’t. He’s going to take a while to recover from this.

  I can identify with Sam very well, because I have been through a somewhat similar experience, actually more than once. There have been times where I thought I was going to be killed.

  I was frightened out of my mind, much like Sam was. But the main difference between us is how we viewed ourselves. I knew then and know now that I’m a physical coward, so I was not crushed when I reacted that way. I expected nothing more from myself, so I was able to take it in stride.

  Sam saw himself as a warrior, disguised as an accountant. He considered himself a tough guy, and relished the chance to get some “street action.” The fact that he got some and failed to live up to his own expectations is devastating to him.

  He’s also very anxious to hear from Marcus, and asks that I let him know when Marcus shows up. He obviously wants to learn what happened, but he also wants to come over and thank Marcus, something he didn’t get to do last night.

  Marcus shows up just before noon. If he’s had a stressful time, you’d never know it from his expression. If he had an expression, which he doesn’t.

  Thus begins the most excruciating interrogation I’ve ever been a part of, at least since the last time I had to question Marcus. He throws around words like they were Winnebagos, and the words he does mutter, I can’t understand. I keep looking to the bottom of the screen for subtitles.

  As per usual, Laurie seems capable of chitchatting away with him, so I let her do the bulk of the talking, and for that matter, the bulk of the listening. She can download me on what I missed later.

  We don’t spend much time dwelling on what happened while Sam was still there, since we already know about that. What seems to have happened afterward is pretty much what I expected.

  Marcus was successful in persuading Bruni to tell what he knew, and it’s fairly stunning. Ryerson has effectively taken control of the Desimone crime family, though Marcus did not ask how that took place.

  According to Bruni, Carmine Desimone is dead. Bruni claims to have done the killing himself just a week ago. The body was dropped off a boat into the ocean, weighted down with rocks, and will never be found.

  Ryerson is in the process of pulling off an enormous crime, though Bruni did not know what it was, and Marcus believed his denial. He pleaded that he was a minor player in the operation, another claim that Marcus seems to have found credible.

  According to Marcus, and as I predicted, after the questioning was over, Marcus offered to let Bruni have a fair shot at him, no weapons and no restrictions. Bruni took him up on the offer. I suspect there were at least two reasons for that, one of which was stupidity. The other was probably a fear that once Marcus revealed what Bruni told him, his bosses would not look too kindly on his weakness and betrayal.

  I ask Marcus very carefully, “Is Bruni going to be a problem in the future?”

  Marcus’s response is a shrug and a simple “Nunh.”

  This is where I stop the questioning, and Laurie nods her agreement. The less we know about Bruni’s fate the better. I don’t want to actually hear whether Bruni is dead, how he died, or where the bodies are.

  It’s lucky I cut class so often in law school, especially the day they went over a lawyer’s legal obligations. I know of two people that died last night, and I should be telling the authorities about it.

  There are a number of reasons for why I’m not doing so, and right at the top of the list is my near certainty that the secret is otherwise safe.

  I have enough confidence in Marcus’s smarts to know that he cleaned up after himself well, and left no trace that he was ever there. I would suspect that the two bad guys will simply ha
ve disappeared. Carmine Desimone is not the only one who will never be found.

  To reveal what transpired would be to expose Marcus to legal jeopardy. I totally believe his version of what happened, but the cops and a subsequent jury might not be so trusting.

  Marcus killed two guys, both arguably in self-defense, that were going to kill Sam. They deserved their fate, and while it might be a revealing commentary about my character, I have no remorse about it at all. Zero.

  I call Sam and he comes right over. I tell him not to ask Marcus anything, that I’ll share Marcus’s story with him. One thing we don’t need is another Marcus soliloquy.

  Sam thanks Marcus and hugs him. Judging from his reaction, hugging is not Marcus’s preferred type of interaction, at least not with another male. If I’ve ever seen a more uncomfortable human not in the process of undergoing a rectal examination, I can’t remember when.

  You don’t tug on Superman’s cape, you don’t pull the mask off that old Lone Ranger, and you don’t hug Marcus Clark.

  “She was my best friend. I think about her and miss her every day.” The witness is Sandy Ellerbee, Karen Solarno’s sister. She made for a very effective witness in the first trial, and is likely to be the same in this one. She also looks very much like Karen looked, and the jury will certainly know this from the pictures they’ve seen.

  Dylan spends half an hour questioning her about their relationship, and their closeness as siblings. He is doing so for two reasons. First, it humanizes the victim and gets the jury to like her, which in turn makes them want to punish the creep that killed her. Since Joey is the only “creep” they have the power to punish, he’ll just have to do.

  Second, convincing the jury that they had a really intense relationship will make it more credible when she starts relating the things that Karen told her. Since they reflect negatively on Joey and positively on the possibility that he might have killed her, that works perfectly for Dylan.

  Finally, Dylan gets down to business. “Were you aware at the time that your sister was having an affair with the defendant?”