“What crime? The gun wasn’t used in a crime. It’s got nothing to do with anything.”
“And you actually believe that.”
“The woman told me that.”
“And she seemed very sincere.”
The image of her dropping the robe came to mind. I tried to keep my face neutral. I shouldn’t have bothered. Not with the demon interrogator.
Richard poked a finger in my face. “Aha! Something is bothering you. In your assessment of the sincerity of her statement. What makes you think she’s lying?”
“I don’t think she’s lying.”
“Then what is it?”
I told him about Jersey Girl taking her clothes off.
Richard rolled his eyes. “A moron. I’m dealing with a moron. The woman’s story is so bad she offers you her body to believe it. Tell me, when she offered you her body, did she seem very sincere?”
“That doesn’t mean she’s lying.”
“No, she could be demented. She could be the type of woman who takes her clothes off just to ease the strain of social situations.”
“I didn’t mention she took her clothes off because I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to get around it. She was naked, she looked good, I was grateful for the show. Not so grateful I’d cover up a murder.”
“That’s just what you’re doing.”
“Only if the gun is the murder weapon. And I don’t think it is.”
“Now you don’t think it is? A moment ago, with visions of bare breasts dancing in your head you were sure it wasn’t.”
“I’m sure it isn’t. If it isn’t, I’ve done nothing wrong.” Richard was about jump in. I pushed on. “At least nothing that should concern the police.”
“And if it is the murder weapon, you’re aiding and abetting a felon. In the eyes of the law, the yeah-but-I-didn’t-think-so defense has never been successfully raised. That’s why you don’t put yourself in the position where you have to make that value judgment.”
“Yeah, but since I am, the gun is either the murder weapon or it isn’t. I take the position that it isn’t. Until someone proves that it is, I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Yes. And the flip side is, when they do, you go to jail.”
“It would be nice to prove conclusively that I’m right.”
“It would be nice to win the lottery. I don’t expect it to happen, but it would certainly be nice.”
“Come on, Richard, just because you’re pissed at me doesn’t mean you can’t help. If I’ve really put you in such a bad position I would think you’d want to get out of it.”
“I’d love to get out of it. You just seem hell bent on making it impossible.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I’d love for you to do nothing, but that’s like wishing for the moon. You’ve made such a mess of things it’s hard to know where to start.” Richard sighed. “Practicing law would be so easy if there weren’t any clients.”
Good. Richard was almost through beating me up and was slipping into lecture mode. Soon he might calm down enough to offer some advice. Or be willing to listen to some.
“About the gun,” I said. I hated to bring it up again, but it was the reason I came.
Richard looked at me as if I’d committed some social blunder by mentioning a taboo subject. “What about it?”
“It would be really nice if we could prove it had nothing to do with the crime.”
“Too bad we can’t.”
“Well, that’s the thing. If we could figure out a way to get a photograph of the fatal bullet—”
Richard exploded from his desk. “I don’t believe it! There’s no stopping you. Why bother with a jury trial? Why don’t you just confess?”
“Richard.”
“You’re not charged with this crime. Nothing connects you to this crime. As far as the police know, the two crimes have nothing to do with each other. But you want to hand them a connection readymade. Do you know what that means? That means I can’t plea bargain. In a worst-case scenario, if they wanted to get you for, say, obstruction of justice, in the first murder, I can’t take it, because then they’ll turn around and try you for the second. And they’ll be able to use the conviction from the first against you. In the second there will be no plea bargain, because they’ll be trying a convicted felon.”
“Richard—”
“And after they convict you the second time—and if they get you for anything the first time they damn well will the second time—that’s when they turn around and come after me. Though I certainly apologize from mentioning it in the midst of a conversation that is entirely about you.”
“Are you saying it can’t be done, or are you saying it’s inadvisable to try to do it?”
He shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
“Richard, I know it’s bad. That’s why I’m trying so desperately to get out of it. Everything I do seems to make it worse, but not doing anything seems suicidal. Not that I don’t think you’re going to do a crackerjack job defending me. But I don’t expect these cops to come up with any shred of evidence that doesn’t point to me.”
“I know,” Richard said. “It’s your storybook mentality. If I get you off, it won’t be good enough, because I didn’t find out who did it. Well, guess what? This is very likely one of those crimes that is never solved. Getting you off is the optimal result.”
“I know that.”
“I know you know that. The problem is you don’t act like you know that. Or you wouldn’t be asking me to get ahold of the fatal bullet.”
“Not the fatal bullet. Just a photograph of the fatal bullet.”
“I understand the concept. And it’s not gonna happen. Or I’m gonna get my bail bond back and put you in jail where you can’t get into any more trouble.”
“Can you do that?”
“It’s my money. I put it up. If I wanna surrender you and get it back, who’s gonna stop me?”
I wasn’t sure if Richard could actually do that or if he was bluffing, but it didn’t seem like a good time to find out.
“I’m kind of happy being on bail. Whaddya say we keep the status quo?”
“And you’ll stop hassling me about the fatal bullet?”
“Sure thing, Richard. What do you want me to do with the gun?”
Richard rolled his eyes. “Oh, my, what a straight line.” His face hardened. “I want you to do absolutely nothing with the gun. I want you to take the gun out of here and forget you ever showed it to me. Because I certainly intend to. In the very unlikely event it becomes necessary to worry about the gun, we will worry about it then. But, until such a time, I would prefer to pretend that it doesn’t exist. Is that agreeable to you?”
“Sure.”
“And you will cease and desist in attempting to match any bullets from it with any bullets from any known felonies?”
“I promise.”
25
IN MACAULLIF’S CASE, I LED with Jersey Girl taking her clothes off. I figured it was the only thing that would keep him from throwing me out of his office. I figured right. He was coming around his desk just as I got to her dropping her robe. He broke stride, said, “What was she wearing underneath?”
“Nothing?”
“She was naked?”
“As a jaybird.”
“Fuck the jaybird. What did she look like?”
“Prominent nipples. Dark and pointed. She recently had a bikini wax.”
“She spread her legs?”
“MacAullif.”
“Just asking.”
“She was standing up.”
“And?”
“What do you mean, ‘and?’”
“What happened then?”
“Nothing happened then. She was trying to distract me from what was going on.”
“What was going on?”
“Nothing was going on. I was just questioning her about her relationship with the decedent.”
“What was that?”
�
��She was his girlfriend.”
“Full time?”
“She wasn’t living with him.”
“She seem broken up?”
“Not particularly. She went right back to work.”
“What’s she do?”
“She’s a hairdresser.”
“With big tits?”
“It’s a prerequisite.”
“And why were you questioning her?”
“Why don’t you sit down.”
“Why?”
“Keeps you calm. Sit down, play with a couple of cigars. Make you feel better.”
“I feel just fine.”
“Make me feel better.”
“And why don’t you feel well?”
“Are you kidding me? I’m a defendant in a murder case.”
“No, why would you feel better about me sitting down?”
“Did you see yourself coming around the desk? If this girl hadn’t happened to be nude I would probably be dead.”
“You gonna tell me why she took her clothes off?”
“If you want me to speculate on women’s motivations. I mean, who knows why they do what they do.”
“From your evasion this must be pretty bad.”
“Well, it’s not good.”
“I’m on a new blood pressure medication. I haven’t really had a chance to test it.”
“I’m glad to be of help.”
“I’m not amused. What did you do that’s so bad you want me sitting down when I hear it?”
“Why don’t you sit down and I’ll tell you?”
MacAullif took a deep breath, exhaled slowly through his teeth. It sounded somewhat like a steam engine. He marched around his desk and plunked himself in his chair. “Okay. Shoot.”
“Funny you should say that.”
I resisted the temptation to pull the gun. Instead, as gently as possible, I broke the news to MacAullif of my latest adventure into the realm of the absurd.
Needless to say he wasn’t thrilled. “You impersonated a police officer and appropriated a murder weapon?”
“I didn’t impersonate anybody. I wore a suit and said ‘we’. If the woman thought I was a cop, that’s hardly my fault.”
“Bullshit. What reason did you give her for taking the gun?”
“I told her it needed to be tested in order to determine if it was used in the shooting. Which happens to be true.”
“What excuse did you give for not taking her in?”
“It was a favor for showing me her tits.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. I didn’t say that, but that’s the way she read it.”
“I should turn you in.”
“Yeah, but you can’t. It’s the fruit of the poisonous tree. I got onto her because she’s the girlfriend of the guy whose address you got me from the motel. So there’s nothing you can do.”
MacAullif shook his head. “If it’s a murder weapon, I gotta turn it in.”
“Yeah, but it’s not. A girl with nice tits and a bikini wax told me it’s not, and I tend to believe her. On the other hand, if that should turn out to be a faulty assumption, something would have to be done.”
MacAullif’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?”
“To bring you up to date.”
“You don’t want me up to date. The last time you brought me up to date you wound up stranded on the Palisades Parkway. The only reason you’d be here is if you want something. So what do you want this time?”
“Will you stay seated?”
MacAullif groaned. “Let me guess. You want me to get ahold of the fatal bullet and see if it came from this gun.”
“Now that you mention it.”
“Not going to happen,” MacAullif said. He seemed remarkably calm. “It’s not going to happen because it would be suicidal. For a number of reasons which I’m sure your attorney already told you. And here you are, disregarding his advice, asking me anyway. Or perhaps, acting against his explicit instructions might be more accurate.”
“MacAullif.”
“What did Richard say when you showed him the gun?”
“I didn’t say I showed him the gun.”
“If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here. Your attorney’s your first line of defense. Unless you’ve already disobeyed so many of his instructions you don’t dare talk to him either. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody dig a deeper hole. I mean, you’re doing a routine surveillance. Husband-wife thing, what can possibly go wrong? Best case scenario you have something to report, so the client doesn’t think she wasted her money. Worst case scenario you sit there all night and nothing happens. Your client may think you’re an incompetent douchebag, but she can’t prove it, and you still get paid. But not in your wildest dreams is the end result you get charged with a homicide and stuck covering up another.”
“So you’re not going to do it?”
MacAullif sighed. “It’s like talking to the wall. No, I’m not going to do it. I’m going to live out my few years until retirement in relative peace and contentment. I’m going to hope that in that time no one comes around asking me embarrassing questions that get me booted off the force. But if they do, so be it, it will serve me right for trying to do a favor for a friend.”
“You don’t know anybody from the Jersey Shore?”
MacAullif came out of his chair. “Are you deaf? Are you willfully stupid? You put yourself in a position where nothing is going to help. You gotta bail. Cut your losses. Live to play another day. Taking this gun has to be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, and I don’t care how many tits you got to see. If I were you I would polish that gun as free of fingerprints as it can be, put it in an equally fingerprint-free carton, and mail it to the cops.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Safest thing to do. Solves all your problems. If it isn’t the murder weapon, it won’t matter a bit. If it is the murder weapon, you’ll find out.”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“Damn straight.”
“Is there anything else I could do for you?”
“You sure you don’t know any officers on the Jersey Shore?”
I was out the door before MacAullif made it around the desk.
26
IT WAS A ONE-STORY building of mortar and brick, not the most imposing edifice in the world. The neon sign out front that said Police could just as easily have said Diner or Motel. I walked in the front door, found myself in an outer office where a single cop in uniform manned a cluttered desk. There was a counter along one wall, and a corridor leading to various inner offices and/or holding cells.
The cop at the desk looked up. “Can I help you?”
“You have some evidence for Sergeant Fuller, Ft. Lee.”
The cop, who gave the impression he was used to being given the runaround by plainclothes cops, heaved a sigh. “No one told me about it.”
“Figures. I knew you wouldn’t know. But just try talking back, huh? I mean, something like this you could fax it, right? Or email it as an attachment. As a gif or a tiff or a jpeg. You know, anyone could do it. Well, I couldn’t do it, but my wife could. But, no, people do it this way because they’ve always done it this way. So I gotta drive down here. They could at least tell you so you had it ready.”
“Had what ready?”
“Photo of the fatal bullet.”
“What fatal bullet?”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Hang on, I got it written down.” I fished a notebook out of my jacket pocket, riffled through it. “Here we go. Vinnie Carbone. Apparently it’s a homicide.”
“Oh, yeah. It’s a homicide, all right.”
“So you got it?”
“No one told me about this.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I gotta call somebody.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. Let’s see, who caught this one?”
There was a microphone on the desk. He pulled it to him, pressed a button. “Hey, Sa
mmy?” he said, and released the button.
A moment later the radio crackled. “Yeah?”
“Vinnie Carbone case.”
“What about it?”
“Is that your case?”
“Fred Seager’s lead.”
“Guy from Ft. Lee wants to see the fatal bullet.”
“Come again?”
“Guy from Ft. Lee wants a photograph of the fatal bullet.”
“Why?”
“See if there’s any connection to a case he’s got there.”
“So give it to him.”
“Where is it?”
“Huh?”
“Where’s the photograph?”
“You’ll have to ask Fred.”
“He won’t be in till tonight.”
“Ask him tonight.”
“Guy’s here now.”
“So call over to the lab. They should have copies.”
The cop released the microphone, picked up the phone.
“I appreciate this,” I said.
The cop shrugged. “Just routine.”
The door banged open and two plainclothes cops came in. I knew they were cops because they were dressed like me, and they acted bored. The taller, wirier of the two barged right by the desk without so much as a second glance. His partner, short and fat, threw the cop at the desk a nod. A rookie mistake, it gave the guy the chance to pass the buck.
“Hey, Charlie,” he called. “You guys know anything about the Vinnie Carbone case?”
The tall cop turned back. “What about it?”
“Cop in Ft. Lee’s asking. Wants to see the fatal bullet.”
“Oh, does he now?” The tall cop, who seemed to have a chip on his shoulder, fixed his eyes on me. “Who are you?”
I put up my hands. “Hey, don’t look at me. Sergeant Fuller wants to see the bullet. Not the bullet. Photo of the bullet. I’m here to pick it up.”
“Why are you here to pick it up?”
“You think Fuller’s gonna drive down himself?”
“What’s his angle?”
“He’s got his own murder case.”
“I thought he got the guy who did it.”
“He made bail.”
“Really? Fuckin’ system. Well, good luck getting your picture.”
Stakeout (2013) Page 9
