Leader of the Pack (Andy Carpenter)

by David Rosenfelt

  We go back and forth for a while, and I have the feeling that Hatchet is tuning us out. I’m nervous about this; if he rules against us we’re going to have a very short defense case to present.

  “I’m inclined to allow the evidence,” Hatchet says. “With the caveat that if it goes too far afield, I’ll stop it immediately.” He turns to me. “It will be your responsibility to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  I take a quick look at an annoyed Dylan before I say, “I’m on the case, Your Honor.”

  I am unsuccessfully trying to discipline myself. I’ve been spending a great deal of time focused on the Desimone crime family in general, and Simon Ryerson in particular. The problem with that, although I think something major is going down with that group, is I have absolutely no concrete evidence that it has anything to do with the Solarno murders and Joey Desimone’s trial.

  I certainly have circumstantial evidence of it, at least in my own mind. My reopening the case has provoked major repercussions; Edward Young and I became murder targets, Nicky Fats and probably Carmine became murder victims, and Sam was kidnapped.

  But in the eyes of the legal system that information has no chance to be admissible in this trial. I have as much chance of telling our jury about Simon Ryerson as I have of telling them about UFOs.

  I am a lawyer defending a client; I am not Columbo. It might be challenging to find out what Ryerson is up to, and certainly rewarding to somehow thwart it, but it’s not my job. Unless I have some reason to believe that following that trail could impact this trial, it’s simply not something I should be spending my time on.

  Unfortunately, discipline has never been my strong suit. My instincts tell me that if people are going to such great lengths to stop me, I should go to even greater lengths to persevere. I would describe that as admirable, yet strangely most people consider it annoying and obnoxious.

  Among those who’ve used those words to describe me is Cindy Spodek, with an occasional “irritating” and “maddening” sprinkled in. When I call at her FBI office in Boston, it takes almost ten minutes for her to come to the phone.

  When she finally picks up, I say, “I’ve been on hold for ten minutes.”

  “And?”

  “What if I had an imminent terrorist attack to report?”

  “Do you?”

  “No.”

  “Whew,” she says. “We dodged that bullet.” Then, “What do you need, Andy?”

  “This time I’m calling to help you.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “No, really. I’ve got some information that I believe is important, and I want to share it.”

  “So share.”

  “I want to meet with a local agent. Your top local agent, tomorrow after court. Seriously, Cindy, it’s important, and I believe it’s time sensitive.”

  I do have an advantage here. Cindy trusts me, and knows that I would not be wasting her time. “Tell me what it’s about. I’ll need something to get someone down there to see you. You may not believe this, but I’m not in charge of every agent’s schedule.”

  I don’t want to tell her too much, because although she’s a friend, I’m going to want to trade, which means I need to keep stuff to trade with. “It’s about Simon Ryerson and Carmine Desimone.”

  “Who’s Simon Ryerson?”

  “I’ll hold that for the meeting.”

  She sighs, loudly for effect, letting me know I’m not playing the game. “And what about Carmine Desimone?”

  “There is no Carmine Desimone.”

  “That’s a little cryptic for me.”

  “I’ll make it clearer at the meeting.”

  She pauses a moment to absorb this. Then, “Stay by the phone.”

  Twenty minutes later, the meeting is set.

  Lieutenant Chris McKenney didn’t want to go over his testimony in advance. He said that they didn’t do it that way in Montana, that he would just get up and tell the truth. “I don’t really need to practice telling the truth,” he said.

  I had explained that it wasn’t so much to practice the truth, as much as it was to make sure the testimony went smoothly, with no surprises.

  “I won’t be surprised,” he promised, before telling me that he didn’t want to come in for that long; his duties in Montana were too pressing.

  I’m a little concerned about his approach, especially since as a police officer he is rarely called on to testify for the defense. He might not be thrilled to be in that position.

  “Lieutenant, how did you come to hear the name Richard Solarno?” is my first question once he’s sworn in as a witness.

  He takes the ball and runs with it, and it’s all I can do to keep up. He speaks accurately and concisely, describing the arrest of the militia group in Montana, the investigation that led to the discovery that Solarno was providing arms to them, and their threats when they thought he cheated them.

  “These threats concerned you?” I ask.

  “Well, sure. They weren’t getting the guns to hunt possum; these were dangerous people. If they say they are going to kill a person, it has to be taken seriously.”

  “So you took action to protect Mr. Solarno?”

  “I was about to, when I found out he had been murdered, and someone else was arrested. Although I had no evidence that anyone from Montana had done it, I certainly had a duty to report it to the investigators.”

  He goes on to explain that he wrote a letter to Dylan, and followed it up with a phone call. He reads the letter, as well as his notes from the call. There could be no doubt that he is telling the truth.

  “Do you know if your report was ever followed up on?” I ask, even though the jury already knows it wasn’t.

  “I don’t know,” he says. “I know I was never contacted again about it.”

  I turn him over to Dylan, who asks, “Lieutenant, did you have any information then, or do you have any information now, which would lead you to believe that someone from the militia group in Montana ever did anything to cause Mr. Solarno any harm?”

  “No, sir.”

  It’s the only question Dylan asks, and it’s a damn good one.

  I get up for redirect and ask one question of my own. “Lieutenant, you said you didn’t find any evidence that anyone from Montana murdered Richard Solarno. Did you look for any?”

  “No, sir. I figured that was being done on this end.”

  Nice job, lieutenant, you definitely didn’t need to practice.

  Different lawyers have different styles in presenting their cases. Most prosecutors like to build them brick by brick, starting at the beginning. They often tell the story chronologically, as it transpired in real life, and in the subsequent investigation.

  Defense attorneys can have differing approaches. Sometimes they attack the prosecutor’s case in the same order it was presented, or sometimes they might go after the lesser evidence first, and the bigger stuff last. Or vice versa.

  I have no set way that I do it; I go by instinct, and often it depends on the way I feel the jury reacted to the prosecution’s evidence. In that sense for me it’s more art than science, though in real life I usually pick science over art ninety-nine times out of a hundred. The only exception is when I’m pretending to be touched by art so that Laurie will think I’m sensitive.

  In this case I’ve decided to take a scattershot approach, to bounce around from place to place, exposing holes in the prosecution’s case wherever I can find them. So my next witness is completely different from my first. I call Father Thomas Manning of the St. Johns Episcopal Church in Elizabeth.

  First I take Father Manning through the story of his life. He has pretty much spent all of his sixty-two years serving his religion and his community, and for the last eleven years has run a community outreach program for troubled teenagers.

  If that résumé doesn’t make him likable and believable to the jury, he also has a completely charming way about him. He employs self-deprecating humor, and clearly doesn’t take himself too s
eriously.

  “How long have you known Joey Desimone?” I ask.

  “Nine years.”

  “How did you meet each other?’

  He proceeds to describe how Joey came in one day and volunteered to help out with the kids in the program. It was at a time that the program was understaffed and underfunded, so his help was welcome.

  “What did he do there?”

  “Anything we asked. Washed dishes, played ball with the kids, taught them to read, you name it. There was nothing he wouldn’t do to help, but mostly he was a mentor to the kids.”

  “Did the kids know who his family was?” I ask.

  “Yes. And Joey would help them understand what was right, and what was wrong. I never heard him say anything bad about his family, but he showed the kids there was another way. And that the other way was better.”

  “Did he donate money as well?’

  Father Manning nods. “Ten thousand dollars every New Year’s Day. Still does it to this day. It keeps us going.”

  “How did you react when Joey was arrested for these two murders?”

  “Well, I was shocked, of course. And I felt for the victims, and I prayed for them. And I also felt for Joey, and prayed for him as well. But…”

  He stops, as if not sure whether he should finish the thought. Since I know what the thought is that he might not finish, I press him on it. “What were you going to say?”

  “But I guess most of all I felt outraged, that this could happen to an innocent man.”

  “So you don’t believe Joey to be guilty of this crime?”

  “No, sir. I would trust Joey Desimone with my life, and the lives of my family.”

  Dylan stands to question Father Manning, a task I don’t envy. This is not the guy you want to attack in front of a jury.

  “Father Manning, first of all, I think I speak for everyone when I thank you for your service to the community,” Dylan says, an obvious attempt to make me nauseous.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Father, do you know the details of the murders, and the investigation that the police conducted?”

  “No, I don’t. Well, just what I read in the papers.”

  “So you’re not aware of the evidence that has been presented so far during this trial?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Do you know where Mr. Desimone was at the time of the murders?”

  “I do not.”

  “You weren’t with him?”

  “I was not.”

  “Father Manning, during the time that the defendant was helping you with your program, were you aware that he was having an affair with Karen Solarno?”

  “I was not. We never discussed our personal lives.”

  “Would you have approved of it?”

  I object, but Hatchet lets him answer. “I would have attempted to discourage him from continuing it.”

  “Would you have thought him capable of such a thing in the first place?” Dylan asks.

  “The flesh is weak.”

  “You testified that the defendant is still financially supporting you?” Dylan asks.

  For the first time, Father Manning’s tone changes, and takes on a harder edge. “He has continued to donate to our program, to the children.”

  It was a mistake on Dylan’s part to imply, however subtly, that Father Manning might be testifying because of financial considerations. He backs off quickly, and lets him off the stand.

  All in all, it was a pretty good day for us. Not good enough, but pretty good.

  Cindy Spodek clearly didn’t have to be very persuasive to make this meeting happen. I get my first sense of that when she comes out to the reception area to greet me on my arrival at the Newark FBI office. I had no idea she would be here.

  “You work in Boston,” I say.

  “Thanks for the info,” she says. “I was coming in anyway for some Christmas shopping.” Then, “My colleagues thought it was a good idea for me to be here. You have a reputation that precedes you.”

  “Nice to hear,” I say. “Colleagues? As in more than one?”

  “Yes, you’re meeting with two agents, not counting me. The one who will do most of the talking is Gregory Beall. He’s based in Washington. The other is Jeffrey Givens, who covers organized crime in the tristate area.”

  “Why such a good turnout?” I ask. If both of these agents showed up for a meeting that I requested, something I said must have touched a very sensitive chord.

  “You’re a celebrity attorney,” she says. “You’ll probably just sign a few autographs and leave.”

  “Sounds good,” I say.

  We start to walk toward the office, when Cindy says, “Behave yourself; I’m here to make sure you don’t act like an asshole.”

  “You think you’re up to it?”

  “No chance.”

  When I get into the office, Cindy makes the introductions, and, as predicted, Special Agent Beall takes the floor.

  “You have information for us?” he asks.

  “You left out the ‘vice versa’ part.”

  He tries to look bemused. “You think we have information for you? I don’t believe we called this meeting.”

  “No, but you sure turned out in force,” I say. “In lawyer-land, we call that a ‘tell.’ So here’s the way we can work this, and jump in if you’ve got another idea. I’m in the middle of defending Joey Desimone on a murder charge, and I find myself with information that you’re clearly interested in. But I’m not sure how the information relates to my case.”

  “You want to get to the point?” Beall asks.

  I nod. “I’m on the way. I’ll tell you what I’ve got, you tell me what you’ve got, and you tell the court whatever you develop that can be helpful to my client.”

  “We’ll make that decision when the time comes,” he says.

  “That’s reasonable,” I say, and stand to leave. “Call me when the time comes.”

  “Andy…” Cindy says.

  “Sorry, Cindy. I forgot to mention when we spoke that I wanted to meet with serious people.”

  “Sit down,” says Beall, who is no doubt used to people sitting down when he tells them to.

  “I can’t remember the last time I was this intimidated,” I say, still standing.

  Beall doesn’t say anything for a few moments, pretending to ponder what he can and can’t say. There are few things less sincere in the world than agent-pondering in a situation like this; they have gotten their marching orders long before the meeting about what they can or cannot say.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he says.

  “So we agree on the arrangement?”

  “Within reason. What have you got?”

  “Carmine Desimone is dead.”

  They exchange quick looks among themselves, and Givens shakes his head slightly. “Not possible,” he says. “We’d know about it. So how about you stop wasting our time?”

  Givens has instantly annoyed me with his condescending attitude. “Well, he is very dead, and you apparently are in the dark,” I say. “You spend a lot of time in the dark?”

  “Better than spending my time with a dog and a dying fat man. Did Nicky tell you Carmine’s death was his fault also? Or just Joey being convicted?”

  I look at Cindy, not pleased that she related details about my meeting with Nicky Fats to Givens. She shakes her head, but I’m not sure why she’s doing that. What I am sure about is that Givens is thoroughly on my nerves.

  “Is anybody here interested in a serious discussion?” I ask. “If not, let’s hug and part friends.”

  Beall asks, “OK. How did Carmine die?”

  “Not sure,” I say. “But it’s a safe bet it wasn’t quietly in bed with his loved ones surrounding him.”

  “Who?”

  “Not sure of that either, but one of the participants was a man named Bruni. He’s unfortunately also gone to that great cellblock in the sky.”

  “How do you know all this?”

&nb
sp; “That I will take to my grave,” I say. There is no way I am going to tell anyone about Marcus’s role in this.

  Beall asks me a bunch more questions about Carmine, which I answer in varying degrees of completeness. But I don’t think they are here to talk about Carmine at all, which is why Givens has given up total control of the meeting to Beall. I think the mention to Cindy of Simon Ryerson is what brought Beall up from Washington.

  Finally, he says, “OK, let’s talk about Simon Ryerson.”

  “You know, I’m a little talked out. Why don’t you talk while I rest?”

  He nods, obviously having expected this. “Simon Ryerson has been running arms for the last sixteen months. Mostly for domestic consumption, and we’re not sure where he’s getting them. But if there’s a nutjob west of the Mississippi with a rifle, chances are they got it directly or indirectly from Simon Ryerson.”

  “But you haven’t arrested him because he’s branching out, and you want to wait until he makes his big move.”

  “Right. And we think it’s South America,” Beall says.

  “Oh, it’s definitely South America. Seven trips that I know of in the last eight months. Colombia, Venezuela, Ecuador, Peru…”

  “How do you know all this?” Beall asks, obviously surprised.

  I turn to Cindy. “You didn’t tell them about my investigative prowess?”

  “I must have left that out,” she says.

  “He’s met with some government officials in each place, but if there’s a legitimate business reason for it, we can’t find it.”

  “Don’t we already arm most of these countries?” I ask.

  “Their military, to some extent,” he says.

  “So if the United States government is already peddling arms, why do they need Simon Ryerson?”

  “You may not be as bright as you think,” he says.

  “That’s certainly possible. Think of this as your chance to educate me.”

  “Each of these countries has large, private entities that deal in illegal substances.”

  “Cartels.”