Inherit the Shoes

by E. J. Copperman

  I took a long drink of Diet Sprite, which Angie considered to be absolute sacrilege in the same room, let alone the same meal, as ziti. ‘Neither do we,’ I reminded her. ‘Keep that in mind.’

  ‘Who does he have left on his list?’

  ‘Nobody too exciting. Still no expert on archery to explain how Patrick managed to shoot the arrow without getting his fingerprints on it. All he’s really got left is Lucien DuPrez.’ I wiped sauce off Angie’s chin.

  ‘Patsy’s business manager?’

  I nodded. ‘I’m guessing he’s going to talk about how bad Patsy’s career was going and why she needed the money from the divorce. Make her seem more sympathetic, and show how greedy Patrick is that he wouldn’t just settle and let her have it.’

  ‘So greedy he gave you a Ferrari, and didn’t care when it blew up.’ Angie took a sip of red wine.

  ‘Everybody has a different definition of greedy,’ I said.

  ‘How badly can DuPrez hurt your case?’

  I tilted her head. ‘Not much, I don’t think, unless Cates knows something I don’t, like Patrick told DuPrez he was going to shoot Patsy with an arrow. And even that would be hearsay.’

  ‘Sounds like it’s gonna be an easy day, then.’

  ‘That’s what worries me.’

  Lucien DuPrez, as it turned out, couldn’t hurt us very much. He did indeed testify that Patsy’s career had hit the skids, that her net worth was about half what it had been only a year before, and that she was about to have to live like a semi-regular person, giving her reason to want to gouge Patrick for every dime she could in the divorce.

  ‘Were you aware of any financial pressure Mr McNabb was placing on Ms DeNunzio before she died?’ Cates asked him.

  ‘I know she was coming to me every two days asking for more spending money,’ DuPrez answered. ‘I know she was asking him first, and getting nowhere. And I know she wanted to sell off some of their joint possessions to raise cash, but he wouldn’t agree to it.’

  ‘Things like the Cagney tap shoes,’ Cates said, which, to me, didn’t seem like a question. It must have been, though, because DuPrez answered it.

  ‘Yes. She mentioned that an anonymous buyer had offered more than two million dollars for the shoes.’ There was a murmur in the gallery.

  ‘That much?’ Cates asked. ‘We’ve heard testimony they weren’t worth more than, perhaps, twenty thousand.’

  ‘Yes, Patsy was surprised, too. But she knew the offer had come in, and Patrick McNabb was not considering it.’

  ‘He was not.’

  ‘No. Patsy said Patrick wouldn’t let her have a dime of his money, and, to maintain her lifestyle, he wouldn’t sell the shoes they both legally owned.’ DuPrez licked his lips, probably thinking of the money. ‘I knew, of course, that her income was decreasing, and she could have used the help.’

  ‘Do you know who made the offer for the shoes?’ Cates said. As he asked, the doors to the courtroom actually burst open (I’d never seen that in a real courtroom before, but I was starting to expect such things: Hey, this was Hollywood) and one of Cates’ associates all but ran in, made it to the table, and whispered to the second chair, D’ontell Liebowitz, an African-American woman who’d clearly not kept her maiden name, and who had not said a word so far in the trial.

  ‘Patsy didn’t know, and she didn’t tell me, so I had no way of knowing,’ DuPrez replied, but virtually no one in the courtroom heard it. D’ontell’s eyes had gotten so wide at what the associate had told her that they threatened to engulf her entire face. She tugged on Cates’ sleeve so hard I half expected it to come off, like in a Three Stooges movie.

  Instead, Cates leaned over with an irritated expression that changed to one of amazement as he heard what she had to say. He straightened quickly. ‘Thank you, Mr DuPrez. No further questions,’ Cates said, and was back in his seat before DuPrez’s mouth finished dropping open.

  I was so curious that Evan had to pat my hand and gesture for me to begin questioning. Oh, yeah.

  I stood and approached DuPrez, trying hard not to look behind me at what Cates was doing, but hearing the courtroom doors open and close again. ‘Mr DuPrez, you said Ms DeNunzio was desperately in need of cash at the time of her death?’

  ‘That’s right.’ DuPrez, anxious to get the spotlight back, straightened up in his chair and let his many gold necklaces dangle for the jury to see. ‘Her income had dropped precipitously in the previous year.’

  ‘And she had no projects that could have brought in money?’

  ‘A couple of little gigs here and there,’ DuPrez said. ‘She’d recorded an album that didn’t sell. Her income had dropped like a stone.’

  ‘Dropped to what?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘How far had Ms DeNunzio’s income dropped? How much money did she make in the year before she died?’ I’d managed to regain focus and was intent on DuPrez now.

  ‘She made about two million dollars,’ DuPrez said. Members of the jury leaned forward, thinking they’d obviously misheard him.

  ‘So Patsy DeNunzio made two million dollars the year before she died, and she was still almost broke?’ I asked, my voice as incredulous as I could believably make it. ‘How is that possible?’

  ‘When a person makes a lot of money like that, on paper, it seems like a lot, but after taxes and fees, you know …’ DuPrez seemed to realize, suddenly, that the jury didn’t love him, and was confused.

  ‘What? It drops to only a million?’

  ‘Objection,’ came a woman’s voice. I turned toward the unfamiliar voice to see D’ontell Liebowitz standing where Cates normally stood. Cates was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Sustained. Let’s keep the sarcastic comments to a minimum, Ms Moss.’

  ‘Yes, Your Honor. My apologies. Mr DuPrez, does that mean Ms DeNunzio, at the time of her death, was in debt from her spending, and needed money to pay her debts?’

  ‘Yes,’ DuPrez said. ‘She was in debt, and was selling off what she could to pay her creditors.’

  ‘To whom was she in debt?’

  ‘A good number of people,’ said DuPrez. ‘No one in particular.’

  ‘Were you one of them?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ That had caught DuPrez off-guard, which was surprising. Surely he’d known, as her financial manager, if she owed him money.

  ‘You said she was coming to you for spending money. Did Patsy DeNunzio owe you money at the time of her death?’ I tried to sound calm and reasonable, the best tone for a lawyer savaging someone on the witness stand.

  ‘Yes, she did,’ DuPrez said. ‘Me and a large number of others.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘How much what?’ Now he was just buying time.

  ‘How much money did she owe you?’

  ‘Well, I don’t have the figures in front of me, so I can’t be precise …’ That was as much time as he could afford.

  ‘Feel free to estimate,’ I encouraged him sternly.

  ‘About a million dollars.’

  ‘Could you speak up, Mr DuPrez? I don’t think the jury heard you.’

  ‘A million dollars,’ he repeated. ‘But that’s not as much as you think it is.’

  ‘I don’t know, Mr DuPrez,’ I said, looking at the jury. ‘I think it’s a pretty large sum.’

  ‘Objection,’ said Cates, who apparently had returned.

  ‘Withdrawn. No further questions, Your Honor.’

  The judge looked down at Cates and regarded all the commotion, but didn’t comment. ‘Redirect, Mr Cates?’

  ‘No, thank you, Your Honor.’

  The judge dismissed DuPrez, who looked like someone who – despite his recent discomfort – would have stayed in the witness chair until someone removed him physically. Cates could barely contain his grin, which some might describe as eating something other than Cheerios.

  ‘Your Honor, the people would like to recall Melanie DeNunzio.’

  ‘Very well.’ The crowd could barely mask its
disappointment. Melanie DeNunzio had been the least interesting witness to date, and that included a day and a half of testimony by the coroner.

  Melanie walked in looking a little taller than she had before, as she’d forsaken her trademark slump for a prouder, more erect stance. She strode to the witness stand and sat down. The judge reminded her she was still under oath.

  Cates, who, on this day, was actually wearing suspenders, seemed to subdue the urge to snap them self-righteously as he approached Melanie. ‘Ms DeNunzio, I have only a few new questions. Can you tell me if you know who killed your sister?’

  I narrowed her eyes. How the hell would Melanie know who killed Patsy? What was going on here? I stole a glance at Angie, who’d rounded her mouth into a tight ‘o’ shape.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ Melanie answered. She’d been coached well – and in a hurry.

  ‘Who was it?’ No good could come from this answer.

  ‘It was Patrick McNabb,’ Melanie said. There actually was a gasp around the courtroom, and Patrick, more than anyone else, looked astonished.

  ‘How do you know?’ Cates asked.

  ‘I was there,’ Melanie said. ‘I saw him do it.’

  FORTY-ONE

  I looked at Patrick. He sat stock-still in his chair, staring at Melanie with a look I’d never seen in his eyes before.

  Hatred.

  ‘Why were you in the house that night?’ Cates asked Melanie.

  ‘I drove over to return some clothes Patsy had loaned me. I had a key, so I let myself in. The lights in the front part of the house were out, so I thought no one was home, or Patsy was asleep. I went in through the side, through the kitchen, like I always did. When I got there, I heard voices in the dining room, so I went to see who it was.’

  ‘Whose voices were they?’

  Melanie took a moment to dab at her eyes, which didn’t appear to need dabbing. ‘It was Patsy and Patrick,’ she said. ‘They were arguing.’

  Patrick slowly reached for the pen and pad in front of him and wrote, in clear, neat, block letters, ‘SHE’S LYING.’ He pushed the pad in front of me.

  ‘Did you walk into the dining room?’ Cates asked, his voice as smooth as anything the Skippy company ever produced.

  ‘No. I looked through the pass-through from the kitchen, where they used to place food during parties and whatever. And I saw them. Patrick was holding the bow, you know, just fiddling with it, but they were yelling at each other about Jimmy’s shoes. The tap shoes, you know.’

  I know, I thought, I know. Stop telling me that I know what I know!

  ‘What happened then?’ Cates asked.

  ‘I don’t know. It was freaky. They were arguing, but not really getting that mad, and suddenly, calm as anything, Patrick picks an arrow out of the, you know, arrow thing next to the bow and shoots it right at Patsy. Just like that. Calm.’ Melanie was looking up, as if trying to remember the name of her first boyfriend. ‘I almost screamed, but I was afraid he’d hear me, and then he’d fire one at me, too.’

  ‘What did he do then?’ Cates was having the time of his life.

  ‘He walked over, calm as anything, and wiped off the part of the arrow sticking out of her. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, and called nine-one-one. Next thing I know, he’s pretending to be all upset, and yelling, “Somebody shot my wife!” and all like that.’

  ‘And what did you do?’

  ‘I ran. I didn’t want to be there when the cops got there. I figured they’d think I was in on it.’

  This is fishier than a Friday night during Lent, and I’m not even Catholic.

  ‘But you saw it happen.’ Cates wanted that to be clear.

  So did Melanie. ‘Oh, yeah, I saw it, all right.’

  ‘Your witness, Ms Moss.’

  What? Already? Melanie actually looked afraid as I approached her.

  ‘Ms DeNunzio, why didn’t you tell the police what you saw?’ It seemed a logical question.

  ‘I told you – because I thought they’d think I was in on it.’ Melanie was reciting now, saying what someone had told her to say. The district attorney? Call me naïve, but I just couldn’t believe that.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell them afterward? Why didn’t you tell the D.A. before? In short, Ms DeNunzio, why are you telling your story, such as it is, now?’

  I’d deliberately tried to make my voice a little louder and sterner than before – I thought Melanie might crack under the pressure. But Melanie seemed to derive some strength from the browbeating, and sat back in the witness chair, relaxed.

  ‘She was my sister,’ she said simply.

  ‘How did that happen?’ I was too agitated to sit. Instead, I just stood and watched Patrick, Angie, and Evan situate themselves around the table in the conference room. We only had an hour for lunch, and I couldn’t even think of food.

  ‘Somebody got to her,’ Angie said with no hint of doubt. ‘Maybe they know something about her, or they made her think she’ll get Patsy’s money, or …’

  ‘But she will get Patsy’s money,’ Patrick said. ‘Well, no. I misspoke. She’ll get some of Patsy’s memorabilia. She would have gotten money, but Patsy was in so much debt there wasn’t much left except her business interests, rights to old albums and the hip hop record, if anyone wants it. I paid some of the debts but once it became clear we were divorcing I stopped. Still, there wasn’t much for Melanie to inherit. It’s in Patsy’s will. DuPrez gets everything she owned professionally.’

  ‘Then, what do you get?’ Angie asked.

  ‘Nothing. I didn’t ask for anything. I get only things I owned, the things I brought to the marriage, like Jimmy’s shoes. No money, no business considerations. I didn’t see any point. I have enough money.’

  I paced and thought. OK, maybe just a little food. ‘Should we order out?’

  ‘I’ll have something brought round.’ How did I know he’d say that? Patrick produced a cell phone and touched a button.

  ‘Sit down, Sandy,’ Evan said. ‘You’re making me nervous.’ So I sat next to him and put my head down on the table. Just a short nap until the food arrived … where was it already? I was hungrier than I’d thought.

  ‘Patrick, did you see anyone there that night? Hear a car? Anything? Could there have been someone else there?’ I figured if I couldn’t eat yet, I might as well gather additional information.

  Patrick shook his head. ‘No. No one. I’d have known if someone was there, and besides, I never did any of those things she said that night. Patsy and I weren’t arguing, we were … well, you know. It was one of the nicest nights we ever spent together.’

  I began to rub my temples with my forefingers. The clues were there, but I couldn’t recognize them. Something was shouting at me, but I was too far away to hear … But there was a way to find out! ‘You know …’ I began.

  Evan, ever hopeful, seemed to note my encouraging tone. ‘What?’ he asked eagerly.

  A court officer stuck her head into the room. ‘Your food’s here,’ she said.

  ‘Finally!’ I said. ‘I could eat a horse!’

  Knowing when to hold ’em and when to fold ’em, Cates rested his case when we returned from lunch.

  Once he was seated, I faced Franklin in my best TV lawyer mode.

  ‘Your Honor, the defense would like to call a rebuttal witness.’

  Franklin frowned. ‘A witness not on your list, Ms Moss? Does this go directly to testimony already presented?’

  ‘The prosecution opened the door, Your Honor.’

  The judge produced a sound like a whoopee cushion being sat upon. ‘All right, then. Call your witness, Ms Moss.’

  ‘The defense calls Martha Bach.’

  The concept of a ‘surprise witness’ is something invented for television and movies. In reality, all witnesses are listed long before the trial, but when an attorney decides a witness should be brought in to contradict testimony the other side has presented, it’s possible to bring in a rebuttal witness, and as s
uch, Martha Bach should have been a surprise to the prosecution.

  The problem was, no one at the prosecutor’s table so much as blinked when she proceeded to the stand from her seat in the last row of the gallery. Had she told her husband she’d be testifying today? Had he told Cates? Why didn’t anybody care about my dramatic opening?

  Mrs Bach was sworn in and sat in the witness chair. But for the regal presence she exuded, she looked for all the world like she was mounting the throne of England. Perfect, I thought, let her send waves of authority out into the room and seem even more impressive than she already is.

  ‘Mrs Bach, you are the wife of Junius Bach, who testified here previously, are you not?’ I wanted to let the jury make the connection without repeating what Bach had said on the stand.

  ‘I am,’ Martha said proudly. Who wouldn’t be proud of marrying one of the great back-stabbing attorneys in Los Angeles?

  ‘Although I know you weren’t here when your husband testified, Mrs Bach, he did say something that pertained to you.’

  ‘Really?’ Martha seemed perplexed at such a thing. Talking about her in public? How awful!

  ‘Yes. He was asked about the expression, “I could kill you,” and whether he’d ever said that to anyone. He said he’s never said such a thing to anyone in his life.’

  Mrs Bach looked at me as if I were speaking fluent Apache. ‘Yes?’

  I savored the moment. ‘Mrs Bach, has your husband ever said he was going to kill you?’

  Martha Bach digested the question and seemed to give it serious thought. ‘No,’ she said.

  Huh?

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Bach, but perhaps you didn’t understand the question. I’m not asking if your husband ever physically threatened you, or even made a serious verbal threat. I’m asking if he’s ever used the phrase, “I’ll kill you,” or something similar to that, in a conversation with you.’

  ‘No,’ Martha repeated. ‘Never.’

  I shot what I hoped was a threatening look at Evan, whose eyes were the size of baseballs. I looked back at Mrs Bach, then to the judge. In all this frantic looking, something at the rear of the courtroom caught my eye. It was the most fleeting glimpse of Junius Bach. I turned my head to confirm it – there he was, smiling broadly.