Body on Pine

by DeMarco, Joseph R. G.

  A man in a dark, expensive-looking suit emerged from one of the doors in the hall behind the receptionist. Jarrette. I’d seen his picture in the papers often enough to know who he was. Small and thin, like an insect, he moved forward. Seeing me, a broad smile stretched his leathery features. The bright white teeth looked unreal in his swarthy face. He probably assumed I was a potential client. As he drew closer, I saw his sharp gray eyes more clearly and they said more about him than his practiced smile. He was cunning, sly, and dangerous. His eyes held it all.

  “Ah, Terry, does this gentleman need some help?” He stood behind her, his smile frozen, guarded.

  “He… uh, this is… Mr…?” She looked to me having already forgotten my name.

  “Marco Fontana,” I said and stretched out my hand over the desk toward Jarrette.

  “Bin Jarrette,” he said, reaching out to me.

  His hand was cold and dry. He quickly withdrew it and straightened his mint-green tie.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Jarrette.”

  “What can I do for you, Mr. uh… Fontana, did you say? Any relation to the Fontanas in Bay Ridge?”

  “Anything’s possible. I come from a big family. Some of ‘em live in Brooklyn.” I watched his face. He was obviously trying to see if I was “connected” in any way and I didn’t want him getting the idea that I wasn’t. Even if I wasn’t and never wanted to be. Okay, maybe on really bad days I wished I had the kind of connections that could get things done in a hurry but that was all fantasy. That kind of help came with a price tag I couldn’t afford.

  “I see. You’re in need of legal help? Terry can set up an appointment and we’ll discuss your case.”

  “I’m kind of in a hurry, Mr. Jarrette. I need information on the Konstantin Branko trial. Kinda need it yesterday, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t know what I can tell you that isn’t public knowledge. The trial is over. The man’s been convicted.”

  “There are a few things I know that maybe the public doesn’t know.”

  He chuckled. “There isn’t anything of the sort. You’re bluffing, Mr. Fontana. You and I both know it.”

  “From what I hear the police have opened up another investigation,” I said. All right, maybe they hadn’t. But they might. “Are you aware of that?”

  “If there were a new investigation, I’d have heard about it. So, either lay out your case or hit the bricks.” He paused and the smile returned, this time a little less broad and a lot more phony.

  “My case is just this, I’m investigating a murder and there’ve been some indications that a connection exists between Branko and the case I’m on,” I said. At least that was one theory I was working on. “I’ve got some questions about Branko’s trial, maybe you can set me straight.”

  “Mr. Branko is a legitimate businessman. He’s a respected man. He was brought in on trumped up charges, most of which were dropped. The state couldn’t prove much. He was convicted of one count of extortion. Bad enough, true. We’ll be appealing the guilty verdict. There isn’t much more to sa—”

  Jarrette wouldn’t add more if he didn’t have to. Couldn’t keep me from asking, though. “What about the allegations of jury tampering?”

  “The alleg—?” Jarrette’s face went all squinty.

  “One of the jurors from Branko’s trial was murdered recently. Maybe Branko didn’t like the way things turned out. Seems like more than a coincidence to a guy like me. But then…”

  “Terry…” Jarrette said, placing a weathered hand on her shoulder, about to direct her to do something. Maybe call the police. Nah. That wouldn’t be smart. Maybe he had goons at his disposal. One call from the sad-eyed secretary and they’d be here.

  I tried looking bored while he decided what to do.

  “… hold my calls,” he said to her, then glanced up at me. “Follow me, Mr. Fontana.”

  He strode back to his office, a slight wobble replacing the straight-backed confidence he’d displayed earlier. He’d been dealing with thugs his entire career, you’d think he’d at least know how to act like one. Maybe he was more civilized than I gave him credit for being. Or, maybe he was just a wimpy rat.

  The short walk to his office was enlightening. Expensive paintings adorned the walls and antiques lined the hall. The fragrance of honeysuckle hung in the air accompanied by a stream of classical music. Defending thugs and mobsters obviously paid well. So Jarrette could surround himself with enough beauty to help him forget the muck he wallowed in every day.

  His personal office was over the top. The baroque, overly gilded ambience gave me a hint of the man’s mind as well as his taste. Walls dripped with gold, gilt sconces in the shape of bunches of grapes held candles that were never lit. The ruddy-colored curtains and ochre carpeting were beyond plush. He must’ve had minions scouring antiques fairs to find every possible piece of gold-leafed furniture. I felt tired staring at it all.

  “Shut the door,” he said as he sat in a gilded chair off to one side of the room. “Take a seat.”

  I walked over and sat in an equally ornate stuffed chair.

  “Now, let’s get something straight, Mr. Fontana. No matter what you’ve heard about this firm, no matter who our clients are, and certainly no matter what they’ve been accused of doing, we are a respectable firm. Our clients go beyond the famous names you may have heard. We have a healthy pro bono schedule and do more than our share. There are people who would be in jail, innocent people, if we had not intervened.”

  “Sounds nice, Mr. Jarrette. No doubt, all true. But that halo over your head doesn’t mean you don’t sport a pair of horns now and then.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what it is you think you know? You mentioned jury tampering…”

  “My sources tell me there’s an investigation. Preliminary, of course, but an investigation into possible jury tampering.”

  “If that were true, Mr. Fontana, why is my client behind bars? Isn’t the objective of jury tampering to have a client found not guilty?”

  “Good question. Fact remains someone claims there was an attempt at tampering with the jury. One member of which is now dead.”

  “Coincidence.” Jarrette looked edgy, like he wanted to be anywhere but sitting with me.

  “Maybe,” I said, not believing that for a minute. I decided to move on. “Your list of character witnesses was pretty impressive. Remy Berwick, Charles Ransome, and other heavy hitters in the development arena.”

  “As I said, Mr. Branko is a respected businessman. All of those witnesses were longtime associates. Mr. Ransome, Mr. Berwick, and others testified gladly.”

  “What kind of business did he have with the witnesses?”

  “It’s all a matter of public record. Land deals, housing and shopping developments. All above board ventures.”

  “And the extortion charge?”

  “I’m sure you’ve read about it in the papers.”

  “Yeah I have. Sounded like a pretty good case. Which is why he’s behind bars, I guess.”

  “There was little real evidence. Mr. Branko never hurt anyone, never touched a hair on the head of that man or his family.”

  “Never threatened them or got anyone else to threaten them?” I asked, knowing full well that the evidence was there and so were the witnesses.

  “We’ll be restating our case when we appeal the conviction. Maybe you’d like to drop in and hear what we have to say then?” He made as if to stand.

  “One more question, Mr. Jarrette…”

  He sat back down. “Go on,” he said as if he were suffering the peasants their pittance.

  “Why was a Mr. Wheeler dropped from the witness list?”

  “You tell me, Mr. Fontana. He was a prosecution witness. They dropped him. Maybe they’d found out he wasn’t credible, or he might’ve been lying to get even with Mr. Branko for some difficulty they’d had in the past. You’d have to ask the prosecutors.”

  “Right.” I thought he might have something juicy on Whe
eler. He did mention a past disagreement. That was juicy enough.

  “If that’s all…?” Jarrette stood and blinked “I’ve given you more than enough time.”

  I hoped I’d given him something to worry about with the tampering suggestion. Maybe he’d slip up or maybe Branko would do something stupid reaching out from his cell.

  ***

  Back in my office, I realized what a visual overload Jarrette’s place had been. My Spartan, no frills surroundings felt about right for me. Spartan if you didn’t count a couple of comfortable chairs, coffee maker, refrigerator, and a few other essentials. Nothing had gold leaf anywhere.

  I paged through the trial transcript and found the name of the prosecutor who’d handled the case and placed a call hoping I’d catch him.

  The receptionist said the man I was looking for had taken a job in D.C. with the Department of Justice. She was nice enough to give me his number without any questions. When I asked if there’d been anyone who’d assisted on the Branko case, she referred me to a person who she said was on vacation for the next two weeks.

  I tried the D.C. number and got so tangled in DOJ voicemail, I had to call back… twice. On the third try I reached the guy’s voicemail. He sounded seriously nerdy and officious. I left an ambiguous message and hung up.

  The next number I dialed was Shim’s.

  “Detective Shim.”

  “Dae, it’s Marco. Got a minute.”

  “Tell me you’ve found something and I’ve got all the time you need,” he said sounding sexy and a little desperate for leads on the case.

  “I wish I had something so I could take you up on that. Unfortunately, I’ve got hunches and theories and I need a favor.”

  “Can’t promise anything, but….”

  “I’ve been doing some digging on Wheeler.”

  “I figured you would. We’ve already been over that ground and haven’t found much. The guy was a respected businessman. For some people he was a real saint.”

  The police must have talked to some of the same people, but Shim didn’t seem concerned about Wheeler’s aborted part in the Branko trial.

  “I did come across something that you probably already know about. But…”

  “Like the Branko trial and the fact that Wheeler was scheduled to testify?”

  “You have covered a lot of ground,” I said. Of course, they’d know about that being right in the middle of everything and able to get that information at the push of a button. “There’s something that bothers me about that business.”

  “Okay,” Shim said, a wary tone coloring his voice. “If you’re thinking there was a connection, I wouldn’t be too sure. Wheeler was cut from the witness list.”

  “Yeah. That’s what got me wondering.”

  “How so?”

  “Why was he dropped? What was that all about? Doesn’t that raise any flags?”

  “There were a lot of changes to the witness list. Wheeler wasn’t the only one cut.”

  “True.” I’d seen the list and he was right. But Wheeler was the only one on that list who turned up dead a couple of weeks later. “Any other witnesses who were dropped get themselves murdered?”

  “What’s the favor you need?”

  I realized that this was Shim’s way of either shutting me up or conceding I had a point. Whatever it meant, he was obviously considering hearing me out.

  “Not asking much, actually.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.”

  “The prosecutor on the case…”

  “Works in D.C. now. Apparently took the express train out of here as soon as he could. Ambitious guy according to Giuliani. She wasn’t surprised he took off and wasn’t sorry to see him go.”

  “I tried reaching him. Even in D.C. but no luck so far.”

  “You’re thinking maybe I could get to him for you.”

  “I like the way you think.” I knew he’d be a good contact to develop inside the Department.

  “Since you asked so nice… I’ll give him a buzz.”

  “And not because it might help you, right?”

  “Of course not!”

  I could almost see the smile on his face.

  ***

  On the way home, I called Anton to see if it’d be all right to talk with Ty. He didn’t see any reason not to, so I found myself in the lobby of Anton’s building.

  “How ya doin’ Mr. Fontana?” Tib, the man on the desk had held that job about a million years. He knew everyone and everyone knew him. He might’ve been getting up in years, but he was sharper than most people. Unless he knew you and knew you well, you practically had to show a passport to get into “his” building which is how he liked to think of it.

  “Not bad, Tib. You?”

  “Same ol’ same ol’ you know how it is.”

  “That I do,” I nodded as I went past to the elevators.

  Everything about the building, halls, elevators, art on the walls, reminded me of Anton and some part of me felt a strong emotional pull. Was he growing distant? Or was I just feeling guilty at not paying him enough attention?

  I exited on the fifth floor and walked down the long, carpeted hall to Anton’s apartment. As if he sensed me coming down the hall, Anton opened the door as I reached it. I walked into the vestibule.

  “Hi, stranger.” He looked me in the eye as if he hadn’t seen me in months.

  I wrapped him in my arms and squeezed. “You feel good.”

  Anton held on without saying a word, pressing me close. We stayed that way for a while clinging to one another.

  “You’re so warm, you’re always so warm,” Anton murmured and moved back so that I was able to take his face in my hands and pull him to me for a kiss. A kiss that lasted a long time.

  “I’ve missed kissing you,” I said when we finally, reluctantly pulled apart.

  Anton placed a finger lightly against my lips. “Shhh. Don’t spoil the moment.” Then he kissed me lightly on the lips and pulled back again.

  I stood there staring at him. His beauty always startled me. The strong lines of his face, the high cheekbones and finely shaped nose gave him a masculine yet sensitive appearance. His eyes, though, were what drew me in every time.

  “Ty is watching TV. Go on in, and I’ll bring you… what? A beer or some coffee?”

  “I’ve gotta get to Bubbles later, and I haven’t had dinner yet. So make it coffee?”

  “Right.” He moved off toward the kitchen.

  “Hey,” I called softly to him. “Think you can leave the kid watching television and you and I can get some dinner?”

  “If you’re a good boy. I have homework to do so let’s make it a quick one.” He winked at me.

  I felt myself flush as I turned to find Ty. He’d commandeered the sofa and was watching something intently. As I got closer I realized he was engrossed in one of those real life crime shows.

  “Ty,” I said.

  He didn’t budge.

  “Ty.” I raised my voice a little and he turned, a frightened look in his eyes. “It’s me. Marco.”

  “Oh… M-Marco. Yeah, Anton said you were coming over.”

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Lots better. Anton is wonderful. I feel like I don’t have to do anything. He takes care of everything. I don’t deserve it. Really.”

  “Yes. You do, Ty. You deserve that and better.” I sat on a chair next to the sofa. “That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Y-you’re not… you’re not firing me, are you? I mean, I love dancing. And—”

  “Firing you? Where’d you get that idea?”

  “You said... I deserved better… and you wanted to—”

  “I meant you deserved better treatment. Better than Eddie.”

  “Eddie, is he… did you see him?”

  “He’s packed his things and is out of town. He won’t bother you again.”

  “But he… he’s really not that bad. You know? He’s got problems. Like everybody. He’s a nic
e guy. He loves me.”

  “That kind of love you don’t need, Ty.”

  “But…”

  “I guess you probably won’t want to press charges? Against Eddie?”

  “Press charges? Why would I—”

  “Because he beat you to a pulp. He broke a couple of bones and put you in a hospital. That kind of thing happens, people usually press charges.”

  “I know. I mean, I do know. I understand.”

  “If you press charges then we can take Eddie to court.”

  “Then what? He goes to jail? That isn’t gonna help him. I know Eddie and he needs help not jail.”

  Anton walked in carrying a tray loaded with coffee, cookies, and snacks. “Break time,” he announced. “Would you help me get something?” He looked at me, jerking his head in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Sure.” As I stood, I turned toward Ty. “Think about what I said, Ty. We can talk more another time.”

  I walked to the kitchen where Anton was waiting, leaning against the counter.

  “Don’t press him!” Anton said. “He’s had enough trouble. He still thinks he loves Eddie, so you keep on him and he’s just going to feel abused all over again.”

  “Somebody’s gotta do something.”

  “It won’t be Ty. Not this time.”

  “Next time he could be dead.”

  ***

  “Diner okay with you?” I asked Anton as we exited his building.

  “It’s the quickest alternative. I’ve got a lot of work left to do.”

  “Not easy babysitting and all the other stuff you’ve got is it?”

  “Ty’s no trouble and I kind of like having him around. Like having a kid without all the messy years. It’s homey and I like taking care of him. You know me, if it’s domestic, I like it.”

  “Yeah.” I knew it’s what Anton wanted more than anything else. I just wasn’t sure it was what I wanted.

  “I hear Jean-Claude is doing a good job in my place,” Anton said.

  “He’s doing all right. Does he report to you about work?”

  “We talk every day. A few times a day sometimes. He’s always so worried about getting things right.”

  “Oh,” was all I could say. He and Jean-Claude spoke every day and I hardly ever called Anton anymore.