“I do, Your Honor,” said Miriam.
They had to deal with this in camera. This old legal term means that the court sits in private, without a jury and without the public.
The judge rose and said, “Clear the court,” then made her way to her chambers.
I heard Volchek laughing behind me.
“I knew you had something,” said Volchek.
The court officer ushered everyone out of the courtroom except the lawyers and the defendant.
Arturas lifted the suitcase.
“Hey. I’ll need the files,” I said.
He hesitated and then began walking away with the case.
“Arturas, wait. He said he needed them,” said Volchek.
As far as Arturas was aware, neither Volchek nor I had any clue what the suitcase really contained. He tapped his finger on his watch as he stared at me before dropping the case and leaving the courtroom.
This short adjournment cut into my time with Benny, but I needed one more try with Volchek.
When I was sure that we were alone and out of earshot of the prosecution, I placed Kennedy’s cell phone on the table. I’d told Volchek I would get us some alone time to set up the exchange. Secretly, I’d hoped he would have seen enough already to let Amy go.
“I got my shot at Little Benny. Let’s do this now. Call your guy and tell him to release Amy.”
“No. We stick to the plan. I need the decision first. We set up the exchange now, like we agreed.”
He dialed and waited on an answer. I did the same.
Jimmy picked up first.
“It’s me. You see the car?”
“Got it. It’s about thirty feet away from me. The driver is on the street, leaning against the rear door of the car. You can’t trust Volchek. He’ll screw you and kill Amy,” said Jimmy.
Cupping my hand and keeping my voice low, I said, “I don’t think so. Right now I’m the only one he can really trust. I’m gonna save his ass, so he needs me. But if it all goes to shit, I need you to do whatever it takes … Amy is…”
“You don’t need to say it. I might be able to take her now. Wait. The driver’s answering his cell,” said Jimmy.
Volchek began his conversation in Russian.
“English,” I told him.
“Uri, wait until I give you signal. It will be a call or a text. Either you let the girl go, or … well, you know what to do,” said Volchek.
“Eddie, the driver’s carrying. He just flashed me a pistol from his coat pocket. There’s no way I can get to her in time. He’s standing right beside the door. If Amy’s in the back, he’ll only need a second,” said Jimmy.
“Wait for the exchange. I’ll call you. If I don’t call … If something happens to me, promise me you’ll get her out. Tell her … tell her Daddy’s so sorry. Tell her I love…”
My throat gave up, strangled with the thought of losing my daughter.
“She knows. I’ll get to her. Good luck, bub. The Lizard is on his way to you.”
The chambers door opened; Judge Pike appeared.
Volchek and I hung up our calls and put the phones away.
As soon as I put the phone in my pocket, I felt it vibrate. Pike stared at me. I couldn’t check the message. Not yet.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
“What is your motion, Mr. Flynn?” asked the judge.
“Your Honor, no doubt you’ve read the People v. Stannard and the related authorities.” This case law set out what the DA had to prove in order to keep the identity of a witness a secret. If you were a criminal attorney with a half-decent practice then you would have come up against this problem at least once. I’d done two cases where this had been an issue before. Both were buy-and-busts: An undercover police officer poses as a buyer for drugs; the buy is recorded, and when the matter comes to court, the undercover cop usually keeps his or her identity hidden and they’re identified in court only by their shield number.
“My client’s defense is prejudiced by this witness remaining anonymous; it adversely affects our ability to conduct an effective defense. Your Honor, I request permission to cross-examine the witness on the issue. I will not seek to reveal his identity. I only wish to test the strength of his evidence on why he feels his life is in danger. If you rule that evidence is insufficient, then there is no need for his identity to be protected and he should be named.”
“That’s agreeable. We can do a quick direct examination,” said Miriam, “on the condition that the jury get to hear that evidence.”
Miriam was coming back at me strong and smart. She wanted me to give Little Benny hell in front of the jury so that they would feel sympathy for him and begin to think that I was a real hard-ass.
“Agreed,” I said. I needed Benny on the stand as soon as possible.
“Fine. Let’s have the witness and the jury back. If the jury is to hear this, then is there really any objection to the court proceeding in public?”
Miriam and I shook our heads.
“I’ll rise until the jury is reseated,” said Pike and went back into chambers. That bought me some time. The court security guard disappeared through a side door to collect Witness X.
The court officer opened the doors and the gallery filled up again. Arturas, Victor, and Gregor came back into court. As Arturas made for his seat, he punched out commands on his cell phone, held the phone to his ear for a few seconds, then, with a tut, he brought the phone before his eyes again and repeated the process. When he reached the top row of seats, he put his phone away in case the judge saw it. Before sitting down, he looked longingly at the courtroom doors. He sat and folded his arms. I thought he was trying to reach someone on the phone, someone he was expecting through those doors any second. Whoever he was expecting hadn’t shown up.
I felt Kennedy’s phone vibrate again. Arturas had taken a seat closer to me. I couldn’t take the phone out of my pocket and check without Arturas catching me. I whispered loud enough for Volchek and Arturas to hear me, “I have to talk to the prosecutor, see if there are any judgments she wants to refer to.”
Volchek considered it for all of a second and said, “Fine.”
Miriam scowled at me as I approached her table. I remained standing, leaning over the desk, shuffling papers. I put my back to Volchek. The phone stopped vibrating.
“You want to take a look at this,” I said to Miriam as I took her copy of the crime-scene photos.
“What? You going to show me a photograph that isn’t there … No. Show me why the jury should give a shit about a missing photo,” she said.
“Come here,” I said, and she got up and stood to my left, giving me good cover from the Russians. As I chatted a little with her about the broken photo frame, I could feel Kennedy’s phone vibrating again. Two short bursts of vibration, then nothing. He must have been receiving a mixture of calls and texts.
I slipped the phone out once I got Miriam to look again at the photos.
Kennedy’s cell phone registered two new texts and four missed calls.
I looked at the missed calls. The first two were from somebody called “Ferrar,” and then two from “Weinstein,” and I guessed they were agents. I checked the texts.
First text was five minutes ago from Ferrar. We’re at the lawyer’s apartment. Are we still good? We’re going in 60 seconds unless you say otherwise.
I opened the last text, sent two minutes ago. I’d underestimated Arturas, badly. Found a suicide note from Eddie Flynn. He’s going to blow up the whole building. We found a shipping manifest for the Sacha and a schematic of the courthouse. Get him and search the building.
The phone vibrated in my hand— Ferrar calling again. Miriam was too busy with the pictures to notice. She hadn’t seen anything. I glanced over her shoulder. Kennedy sat four rows back. He sat alone. No other agents around, but of course, they couldn’t reach Kennedy because I had his phone. I played the likely scenario in my head. Both Ferrar and Weinstein would be hauling ass from my apartment to this spot. I estimate
d it would take a half hour, forty minutes tops. I figured if Ferrar couldn’t raise Kennedy, he would try calling some of the other agents.
The double doors swung open with force, and Agent Coulson made his way to Kennedy’s seat. Coulson whispered something to his boss. Kennedy stood and started moving toward me. I stepped away from Miriam and stood in the center of the courtroom. Lawyers call it the “well.” Drawing his weapon as he advanced, he shouted, “Freeze, Flynn. You’re under arrest.”
I’d blown it.
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
Volchek spotted Kennedy making a move toward me, and his right thumb slipped over his cell phone.
For once I could think of nothing to say.
Kennedy stopped in front of me, the barrel of his Glock aimed at my head. Coulson had also drawn his gun, but he stayed back and covered his boss.
“You’ve got the wrong man,” I said to Kennedy as I held my hands up.
“On the ground slowly, facedown,” said Kennedy.
“He’s my lawyer. This is harassment,” said Volchek.
Keeping my hands high, I went down on one knee, then two; then I put my hands on the floor and went down. The marble floor felt cold on my cheek. Spreading my hands out in a crucifix position, I heard my pulse thumping in my ears.
My hands were pulled behind my back and cuffed. A strong arm hauled me to my feet.
“What the hell are you doing?” said Miriam. “I warned you not to fall for his crap. Can’t you see Eddie’s hustling you? He wants to be arrested. He’s playing for a mistrial. Take the damn cuffs off before the jury gets back.”
The agent ignored Miriam.
I managed a whisper to Kennedy. “Trust me. Don’t do this. They’ve got my daughter. Arturas is going to spring his brother. He’s got automatic weapons in that suitcase.”
Kennedy took a step forward so that he could see over the heads of the people in the gallery. The suitcase stood open, with a file sitting on top of the false bottom.
“You mean that empty suitcase? Too late, Flynn. We found your suicide note in your apartment, along with the manifest for the Sacha and the plans for the courthouse. It’s all over.”
At that moment, all I could do was pray that Jimmy would get Amy, that somehow he could get to her and take her home to her mom. I hadn’t prayed in a long time. My hands clasped together, and I asked God to help Jimmy save my daughter. The pain in my limbs fired up and my body felt heavy, slow, the exhaustion finally kicking in as the last reserves of adrenaline trickled away in my failure.
Kennedy began to lead me from the court, but he hadn’t realized he’d inadvertently created a small riot up ahead as reporters fought to get out of the courtroom so they could take a picture of me in cuffs.
A voice from behind me stopped Kennedy dead.
“Officer! You there! Turn around. Goddamn it!”
I knew the voice.
Kennedy and I both turned and looked back. Judge Pike stood in front of her chair, and Senior Judge Harry Ford stood beside her. His sixty-some years seemed to fall away. He no longer looked like an old judge. His back was straight and his chin proud.
“Who are you?” said Harry, rooting Kennedy to the floor with the power of his stare.
“I’m Special Agent William Kennedy, and I’m bringing this suspect in for questioning,” he said, about to turn again and leave.
“Special Agent Kennedy, you set one foot out that door with that man and you will be Mr. Kennedy within the hour. Turn around, take off those handcuffs, and sit your ass down,” said Harry, more like the captain from Nam than the judge. Kennedy did stop, and he did turn, but he didn’t take off the handcuffs.
“Guard,” called Harry to the security guard who had just returned to court with Benny, “if Special Agent Kennedy does not release Mr. Flynn, then you are to arrest that agent. If he resists, shoot him,” thundered Harry.
Beginning to protest now, Kennedy addressed the court. “This man is a…” he began—a major mistake.
“If those cuffs are not off in five seconds, you will spend a long time in the cells of this courthouse,” said Harry.
I saw Kennedy’s eyes moving quickly between me and Harry. A silence like no other I’d ever heard seemed to grip the courtroom. I could hear Kennedy’s breathing becoming heavier. I heard the guard move forward and draw his gun. Whatever magnetic power emanated from Harry was clearly finding its way to the security guard, who pointed his gun at Kennedy like he meant it. He leaned close so no one could hear him but me.
“You gonna blow up this place, Eddie? End it all?” said Kennedy.
“I’ve been set up. I’m going to do whatever it takes to save my daughter.”
“Where’s the bomb?”
“I told you, Levine is dirty.”
I couldn’t tell him about the vans in the basement. If I did, Kennedy would clear the building and I needed a little more time. Just a little more time.
“I don’t believe you. Levine is a decorated agent. Security are searching this whole building right now. I don’t trust you, not one bit.”
“Kennedy, let him go,” said Miriam.
“I can’t, and by the way, this is a federal matter. You’ve got no jurisdiction here, Ms. Sullivan,” he said.
“You can let him go and you will. You’re in a courtroom governed by state law, and you’re about to hand the head of the Russian Mafia a mistrial. If his lawyer is arrested, the trial collapses and he walks out of here. This is what Eddie wants. Can’t you see that?”
I sensed hesitation. Kennedy’s eyes began darting around the floor as his head worked overtime.
“Time’s up,” said Harry.
“I need a little more time, please. Stay here. Watch. It should prove interesting. I’m not going anywhere. In my left-hand jacket pocket you’ll find a business card. Look at it.”
With my back to Arturas, he wouldn’t see Kennedy taking the card. The FBI agent turned the card over in his fingers.
“That’s the FBI card I told you about. You’re Levine’s senior officer. You read his logs. Tell me that’s not his handwriting.”
Holding the thing in his hand had given Kennedy pause. I should’ve given it to him earlier. His expression softened; the lines on his forehead disappeared. With his mouth slightly ajar, I could smell the morning coffee on his breath. He recognized the handwriting.
“That card came from Gregor’s wallet. Look. You’re searching the building, fine. Give me the time while you’re searching. Give me thirty minutes. If you still don’t believe me in half an hour, you can arrest my corpse.”
Harry had enough. “Agent Kennedy, your five seconds are up already.”
I heard screams from the crowd, followed by people climbing over the seats behind us to get out of the firing line as the security guard advanced on Kennedy.
Miriam had her cell phone in her hand.
“I’m calling the city field office. Your director will want to know why one of his agents just messed up the biggest mob trial in fifteen years.”
Kennedy hesitated. Head down. Fingernails working swiftly on his thumb, tearing the skin, drawing blood.
“What did you tell me this morning, Agent Kennedy? Do you remember? You told me Eddie Flynn used to be a con artist. He’s conning you, Kennedy. He wants to get arrested and blow this trial. The longer this process takes, the harder it is to keep the witness safe from his old boss. Come on. Think! You’re not going to blow my career case for this. No way,” said Miriam.
A heavy breath and his head came up.
“You got twenty minutes, Flynn. I’m watching. You make a move? You die first,” said Kennedy as he took off the cuffs, nodded to the judge, and walked back to his seat, keeping me in view the whole time.
The guard put away his gun. Harry and Gabriella looked at each other and sat down.
“Agent Kennedy, I am the law in this court. Don’t forget it,” said Harry.
I took my seat at the defense table. The noise from the crowd sounded more li
ke an audience at a heavyweight title fight than a murder trial. Volchek grabbed my arm and pulled me close.
“What the hell was that?” said Volchek.
“It was luck. Sheer, dumb luck.”
Judge Pike seemed ready to get the trial moving again. She considered herself a modernist reformer when it came to judicial office, and she refused to have a hammer and gavel in her courtroom. She banged the flat of her hand against the mahogany desk in front of her and then shouted for quiet.
“Judge Ford will be observing the remainder of this trial,” she said. “I’m glad to have him here, considering the behavior of certain members of this court.”
* * *
Judge Pike clicked the top of her pen into action and rested the point against her notepad, ready to hear from the witness. The last of the jury members filed in, and Little Benny regained his seat in the witness box. Miriam would ask only a few questions on the threat to Benny’s life, and then I’d have him.
Kennedy never took his eyes from me.
Rising to her feet and adjusting her jacket, Miriam got herself comfortable and began her short direct examination.
“Mr. X, how did you become a witness in this case?”
Benny appeared surprised by the question, but he answered quickly, usually a good indicator of an honest response.
“I was caught at the scene of a murder by police.”
“Whose murder?”
“Mario Geraldo.”
“And who murdered Mr. Geraldo?”
A pause. Benny wiped his mouth.
“I did,” he said, matter-of-factly, as if telling someone the capital of Australia.
“You did?” asked Miriam. The witness had omitted a little piece of evidence, and she was giving him another shot. I should have objected, but I didn’t.
“Yes. Olek Volchek sent me a message. The victim’s name on half of a one-ruble note. I had the other half. It is old Russian code for a hit.”
The Defense: A Novel Page 28
