by Shenda Paul
She brushes my apology aside. "It was just a combination of professional and personal frustration on Tess’ behalf," she generously replies and smiles mischievously, "but the woman has a serious crush on you."
I let out a frustrated groan. "I'll deal with her. The more important issue is whether you’re able to work with her? I'm more than happy to speak to Bristly if you decide you can't."
"I'll be fine. I'd hate for her career to be affected by a momentary lapse in judgment," she says, and with that, the subject’s closed.
Back in the office, I turn my attention to the box marked as containing the contents of Joseph’s desk. In it, I uncover a copy of his will. He's left everything to his wife and children and named his brothers as co-executors to his estate. Then, I find the deed to an apartment in the name of a woman clearly not his wife. I note her details before documenting it with the rest of the evidence.
I’ve just about convinced myself that my search has been futile when I find it. The contract between Joseph and Justin for the exclusive services of Angelique Bain is for the astounding monthly payment of seven thousand dollars. It stipulates a three-year term and includes an option for renegotiation at the end of that period. The agreement, it also specifies, is subject to Justin entering into a business partnership with Joseph, whereby he’s required to purchase a thirty percent stake in Fidelity Properties. This last clause strengthens my belief that Angelique Bain is somehow linked to Justin’s decision to enter into business with Joseph.
Late that afternoon, Tess comes to inform me that she’s apologized to Jodi. "Good. Jodi and I need everyone on our team to be focused on getting the job done; there’s no place for personal feelings or petty squabbles. She’ll let you and Neil know exactly what needs to be documented," I say in response.
I detect her frustration but refuse to relent, and she leaves without saying another word. There’s unease between us that I know will need to be addressed, but I don’t have the time or the inclination to deal with it now.
Dad calls out of the blue to invite me to join him for a quiet drink and a bite to eat after work. I readily accept because we so rarely spend time on our own these days.
He’s already ensconced in his favorite booth at his local pub when I arrive. His old friend Sean O'Connell claps me on the shoulder as I slide into the seat across from Dad. "Who'd have thought this hellion would grow up to make us proud, Callum?" he remarks jovially.
Sean, a retired beat cop, had often been the cause of my teenage friends and I being grounded for fighting with rival boys. He’d threaten to lock us up and throw away the key and, on one occasion, made good on his promise. He confined us in a holding cell occupied by hardened and, to us, very menacing criminals. That had been the first time, since moving in with Mom and Dad, that I felt real fear. The experience went a long way toward scaring us straight. I'm pretty sure that was exactly what Sean and our parents intended because, I have no doubt, they all colluded in the matter.
"We always knew Adam would amount to something special, but we’d have been proud of him, no matter what," Dad says, making my heart swell with love.
Callum Thorne is the kind of man I aspire to be. He’s been more of a father to me than the man who sired me; the fortune Adam Winston left me means nothing compared to the love and guidance I’ve received from the man sitting across from me.
Sean leaves soon after, and Dad and I each order a simple steak, fries, salad and a beer.
"We don't do this often enough," I lament.
"You're busy, Son, and you're young. You have your own life to live."
"When these trials are over, I promise we'll do this more often, Dad."
"I look forward to that. How's the case going? Justin’s involvement must really be hard for you."
"It is. I feel bad about it, but agreeing to prosecute wasn’t a difficult decision," I say and then tell Dad about my discussion with Bristly, the meeting with Tom, and my feelings on our friendships; what it was and what I think it will become. He listens patiently like always, in no hurry to share his views and waits until I've exhausted the subject before he speaks.
"I'm proud of you, Adam. I may not understand all the legal implications, but I can say, without a doubt, that you've made the right decision. You know why you became a prosecutor; you can't let friendship get in the way of that and doing what’s right. Don't feel you need to apologize for it, not to anyone."
Dad doesn't often get this serious with me these days, but when he does, it has the same impact it had when I was a little boy. His words and confidence buoy me. I hadn’t, until this conversation with Dad, realized just how much the thought of going up against Justin had subconsciously been niggling at me
.
Chapter Seven
Jodi and I meet up early the next morning to revisit our strategy for the Cordi arraignments, which are scheduled to start at ten-thirty. Silvio’s is first, followed by Enzo’s and, finally, Joseph’s.
The hearings for Silvio and Enzo go as expected when they’re remanded into custody. Enzo appeared nervous throughout. Silvio’s demeanor, however, could only be described as disdainful. The arrogance of the man, given the weight of evidence we have against him, is astounding, but hardly surprising. He did, at only twenty-one, wrest control of his family’s criminal empire from his father’s lieutenants.
With thirty minutes before the start of Joseph’s hearing, Jodi and I separate to return missed calls. The first person I ring is Jon.
"I've traced her," he announces once we’ve exchanged greetings. "She lives in Southie, a nice enough place but hardly where I'd have expected someone with her income to be living."
"Angelique Bain?" I ask, excitement rising.
"The very same," he returns smugly.
"How soon can you bring her in?"
"I’ve got someone on it now. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back, but keep this evening and tomorrow free just in case."
"I'd like everything you've got on her beforehand."
"It’s not much, but I’ll drop it off at your office," he promises. "How’re things going there?"
"As expected. We have Joseph in just over twenty minutes."
"I’ll let you go," he says.
"Thanks, Jon. I'll call you when I get out of here."
Travis Jones, Joseph’s attorney, is a senior partner in Owen Bryce’s firm. Bryce is acting as second-chair. Both are seated at the defense table when Joseph’s led in. He stops as he and his escorts draw abreast with our table. "I never thought I'd see you again. You've certainly come a long way, Adam," he sneers before being forced forward. I stare after him, wondering what the hell he meant by that cryptic remark.
I can't see what Jones says to his client as he takes his seat, but I can clearly read Joseph’s response. "The prosecutor and I go back a long way," he says. Court is called to order before I can ponder the matter further.
After the charges are read and the presence of relevant parties confirmed. Judge Myer asks whether the Commonwealth has any notices to file because, at an arraignment, the prosecutor may table certain notices about the types of evidence that might exist. In most instances, the requirement is that they be filed within fifteen days of the arraignment.
"We do not, Your Honor," I reply, not wanting to unnecessarily take up the time of this court. He then invites me to make a statement in respect of bail.
"The Commonwealth strongly advocates against the granting of bail. Mr. Cordi stands accused of serious crimes and is under investigation for others. We believe that, if released, the defendant could potentially seek to threaten or adversely influence key witnesses. There is also the very real possibility that he, a man of considerable wealth, could flee the jurisdiction of this court, even the country."
Jones is asked to respond, and he takes to his feet.
"Your Honor, we reject the Commonwealth’s assessment," he declares. "My client is a respect
ed businessman and philanthropist. He has no previous criminal record, is a long-time resident of this state and his family lives in the community. Mr. Cordi is innocent of the charges brought against him and intends to clear his name. He has no intention of absconding."
Judge Myer takes a few moments to read through a document before him and then turns his gaze from Jones to Joseph, who appears unaffected by the situation. "Bail is denied. The defendant will be remanded in custody until the conclusion of his trial," he rules.
Court rises as Judge Myer exits. Joseph’s escorts arrive to lead him out, but he ignores them. Turning his gaze on me instead, he quirks an eyebrow and smirks sinisterly. A guard grasps his shoulder, and he allows himself to be led away. It's not unusual for defendants, particularly those on felony charges, to view me as the enemy. I've had many insults directed at me, I've even been threatened, but Joseph’s comments and behavior seem to hold more meaning.
The sense of having met him before plagues me, but no matter how hard I try, I simply can't place him. If, as he says, we go back a long way, I feel certain I'd remember having met him; he's hardly the forgettable type. I ponder it intermittently throughout my very busy day. In bed that night, it returns to haunt me until I fall into a restless sleep. I wake, none the wiser.
.
.
Jon drops off the file on Angelique Bain around noon, and I invite him to join me for a quick lunch. While discussing the Cordi trials, he confides that his younger sister, Elise, and a friend suffered from a drug overdose while in college. "Melanie died, but Elise made it, thank God," he says before revealing that the dealer had worked for Joseph.
"So you see why I gain particular satisfaction at the thought of him being put away for good," he says after I commiserate.
"We’ll make sure of that," I promise. We talk about other things then, the trial, ongoing investigations, sports, even the arts. It’s nice to finally meet someone who shares more than one of my interests. Dad and Matt share my love of sport, Cait literature, and Mom’s responsible for my love of art and classical music. Jon and I, I sense, are destined to become good friends.
Back at the office, Jodi and I have a short progress meeting at the end of which, I can finally turn my attention to the Bain file. The woman is both an enigma and a dichotomy, I note, after just a couple of minutes. She arrived in Boston from New York three years ago, but Jon’s been unable to unearth any detailed information on her life there, or here for that matter. Not much is known about what she does outside of working at Liaison, except that she works at a seemingly insignificant ballet studio. According to his contract with Joseph, Justin’s been paying seven thousand dollars a month for her services, yet she lives in a very modest apartment block and continues to work at a relatively low paying job. Experience and gut feel tell me there’s more to her than meets the eye.
I spend most of the afternoon poring over the evidence against Justin, stopping only when Bec informs me that Ms. Bain has arrived. With ten minutes to spare before our scheduled meeting time and curious to catch a glimpse of the elusive escort, I make my way to the viewing room.
She's seated at the table, her lithe legs elegantly crossed. I'd expected her to be attractive, beautiful even, given Jon's description; but I’d been ill prepared for just how stunning she is. With alabaster skin, long, dark hair, wide, honey-color eyes and lips that evoke sinful thoughts, she is, without doubt, the most alluring woman I've ever seen.
Her gaze sweeps over me as she scans the room, and then, as if sensing my presence, returns sharply. She stares into the two-way mirror, a tiny frown marring her lovely face. My heart stutters and then takes off at a gallop. Irritated by my body’s response, I remind myself that I've seen many beautiful women and bedded more than my fair share. This woman, beautiful as she may be, is involved with criminals responsible for the downfall and death of countless innocent people. People like Eleanor.
I turn away when she does and make my way to the conference room. I take a moment to gather myself before opening the door. She looks up at my entry, eyes momentarily widening in shock or surprise, I’m not sure which, before she composes herself to gaze back at me impassively.
"Ms. Bain, I'm Assistant District Attorney Adam Thorne. Thank you for coming in," I greet her, knowing full well that she had little choice in the matter. She doesn't respond; she watches me cautiously instead, like an unwelcoming cat might survey a stranger entering its domain. I sit across from her. She draws herself up defensively, hardly an attitude that bodes well for the cooperation I’m hoping for.
"Can I offer you something to drink, coffee or water, perhaps?" I ask. "Although, I should probably warn that the coffee isn't much good," I add lightly, hoping to ease the growing tension in the room.
"No, thank you," she says. Something in her soft, husky voice sounds vaguely familiar, but I dismiss the fleeting thought.
"Do you know why you’ve been asked here, Ms. Bain?"
"All I’ve been told is that I’m a person of interest in the Cordi case and that it would be in my best interests to answer your questions."
"Well, let's get straight to the point then, shall we?" I suggest, irritation rising at her tone. "Joseph Cordi hired you as a paid escort at his club, Liaison. You were then contracted to service Senator Justin Wade exclusively."
"I'm a dancer at the club, Mr. Thorne, nothing more," she counters.
"You and I both know that’s not true, Ms. Bain. Let's not pussyfoot around. You're an escort, paid thousands of dollars a month to service the senator. You are not just a dancer."
"You’re right, I'm not just a dancer, Mr. Thorne. I'm a very good dancer, some say I'm an extraordinary one, and I earn every penny of the money I'm paid to dance."
"I'm sure you do," I respond pointedly and watch her full lips purse in anger. Something about that seems familiar too.
Ass!" she mutters under her breath.
"Have we met before?" I ask suspiciously.
"I don't know, have we?" she challenges. "Perhaps you've visited Liaison?"
"I don't have the need for such places or have to pay exorbitant amounts of money to be entertained, Ms. Bain. Tell me how you came to be involved with Joseph Cordi and Justin Wade?"
"I've already told you; I was employed as a dancer at Liaison. Senator Wade frequented the club."
"Oh, I know there's a lot more to it than that; we have the evidence to prove it. What we're trying to establish is just how deeply involved both you and the senator are in the Cordis’ criminal activities. You are aware that prostitution is a crime, are you not?" I ask. "Luckily for you, we have bigger fish to fry, but you’d be helping yourself by cooperating."
She pales, and I suffer a momentary pang of regret for being so harsh, but it’s short-lived.
"I…I'm not a prostitute," she protests weakly, unable to meet my gaze.
"In the eyes of the law and based on a signed contract between Joseph Cordi and Justin Wade, you are a prostitute; and before you deny it, I should advise that we are in possession of the contract."
Long lashes nervously sweep her cheek, and I’m left to wonder whether she had, until now, been unaware of the agreement the men entered into. She bites her bottom lip; so hard, I have to curb the almost overwhelming desire to reach out and soothe her tender flesh.
"You can remain uncooperative, or you can assist us in our efforts to bring criminals, and in the case of Joseph Cordi, a man responsible for the destruction of innocent lives, to account. It's your choice, Ms. Bain," I say instead.
She glares at me now. "You truly are a bully, aren't you? I shouldn't be surprised really. How's your car, Mr. Thorne."
I stare at her more closely; her nose, mouth, that voice... "A. White? You're her?" I’m momentarily shocked, but surprise quickly turns to anger. "Giving false information, leaving the scene of an accident and prostitution; quite the little criminal, aren't you?"
She tries to s
peak, but I cut her off. "You’re going to pay for the damage to my car, or I’ll have you charged with leaving the scene of an accident and providing false information. Those offenses carry a maximum penalty of ninety days in jail and a fine of one thousand dollars. Providing police with false information is a gross misdemeanor with a maximum penalty of twelve months incarceration."
She leans forward, her breath coming fast. Despite my anger, I can’t help noticing her obvious attractions and my traitorous body's unwelcome response.
"You’re insufferable! You can't charge me with giving false information to the police; you're not a policeman, and I didn't know you’re a prosecutor," she says.
"That doesn't lessen your criminality," I reply icily.
"For the last time, I’m not a criminal. I only drove away because you were such a…an ass!" She stares me down like an enraged kitten puffing up its fur to look more intimidating.
"Sit down, Ms. Bain, I’m not through questioning you. I won’t be sidetracked, but rest assured, I will pursue you through the proper channels for the damage to my car. Right now, I want to know about your relationship with Joseph Cordi and Justin Wade."
"I’ve already told you; I was employed by Mr. Cordi as a dancer, and I’m a friend of Senator Wade."
"Oh, we’re well aware of the nature of your friendship and what you were paid for it."
"The senator has never paid me!"
"He may not have, but you have been paid for sexual favors. Your name is listed among the prostitutes working for Joseph Cordi. Count yourself lucky that we haven’t decided to formally investigate you. Instead, we’d like you to consider testifying for the Commonwealth. I'll give you a few moments to consider." I sit back in my chair to better observe her.
She’s pale, her eyes filled with fear, but she stares me down defiantly. "I don't like you, at all, Mr. Thorne, and I don't intend to help you… in any way. I will not turn on Senator Wade, he's my friend."
