“Anybody else?” Shelby thought about speaking up. Wasn’t putting someone in jail because of a technicality the same as keeping someone out because of one? But Jennifer’s proposal to take a pound of flesh was something she hadn’t yet had time to consider, and she knew that her thoughts were not well formed on the matter. She let the moment pass. “All right then. I’ll contact Prefontaine’s lawyer and offer him a deal.” She looked back at Shelby. “But I’ll make it clear to him that, if new evidence comes in, his client can still be prosecuted.”
Shelby remained in her chair as Dom and the chief stood up to leave. She reviewed the meeting in her mind—had Jennifer orchestrated the whole thing? It made sense. The chief tells Jennifer to end the investigation and move on to other cases—the investigation has hit a dead end, the office is under-staffed, and the public doesn’t care about a dead prostitute anyway. But Jennifer doesn’t want to rule by fiat, so she calls the team together for a little strategy session. First she gets Dom to admit that the police have exhausted all leads. Then she gets Shelby to admit she wouldn’t vote for conviction. Then, she “elicits” the chief’s permission. Finally, just in case Shelby is having mixed feelings about letting Charese’s killer walk, she agrees to push the RTC fraud thing and tells Shelby they can still prosecute for murder if they find new evidence.
Shelby had a lot to learn.
CHAPTER 49
[August 9, 1990]
Bruce looked at the calendar hanging on his office wall. August 9. It had been almost five months since Gus had committed the Gardner heist. But slowly, and surprisingly, Bruce was receiving new assignments.
They were mundane ones, and it may have been nothing more than a function of half the lawyers taking August vacations and needing somebody to do their work while they were away, but Bruce was hopeful—even desperate—that he might last just a few more weeks at the firm. Things were on track, but he needed the firm as a base of operations. And to give him continued credibility with both Pierre and Howie. He wondered how much use for him either of them would have if they found out he had been fired.
Bruce, as he often did, looked out at the boats on the river. The cargo ship Prefontaine was a rich one, and he was on course to intercept it. But he knew his own ship was taking on water quickly. If he couldn’t pirate the Prefontaine soon, it would be too late.
His secretary buzzed him. “Mr. Prefontaine is here. Attorney Callahan called to say he’d be right along.”
Bruce met Pierre in the reception area and escorted him to a conference room.
Pierre sat down heavily. “Thanks for being a part of this meeting, Bruce. Mike says he’s cut the best deal he can for me, and that I need to make a decision. I was hoping to get your input before I do.”
“Of course, Pierre. Anything I can do to help. I still feel like this whole thing is my fault, because of the memo.”
Pierre mustered up a response. “Hey, it’s not your fault. It wasn’t like you were trying to set me up or anything. And I appreciate you refusing to talk to the DA’s office. Mike tells me it would have been worse for me if you had been cooperative.”
“Hey, I’ll do whatever I can to help you. I don’t want to see you go to jail.” That last part, at least, was true. Bruce was having trouble with the thought of Pierre rotting away in prison, even for a few months.
Callahan knocked softly and entered the room. “Sorry I’m late. All right. Here’s what the DA’s office will do. They can’t agree to anything officially, but they’ve exhausted all of their leads and they’re willing to close the investigation.”
Pierre cut in. “What does that mean?”
“Basically, it means that nobody will be assigned to continue looking for evidence in the case. That’s not to say that new evidence won’t walk in the door, but the cops won’t be out looking for it. The ADA—Jennifer Palmer is her name—will give me her word on that, and I’m comfortable telling you her word is solid. Now, this is different from a plea bargain. A plea bargain would protect you even if new evidence comes up.”
“Why can’t we do a plea bargain then?”
“Because, under the law, you can plea bargain a murder charge down to manslaughter, for example, but not down to something really minor like assault. And I don’t think you’re willing to plead guilty to manslaughter, right?”
“Right.”
“But they want something. Apparently one of the ADAs was friends with the victim, and she can’t stomach just seeing Pierre walk. Bad luck for you that it had to get a little personal. So they want you to plead guilty to making false statements to the RTC. Now I don’t know how they got clued-in to the whole RTC thing, but somehow they did. One year sentence, six months suspended, out in three or four months on good behavior, $10,000 fine. Plus forfeiture of your ownership interest in Fenway Place.”
Pierre pounded the table. “Shit! The jail time’s bad enough, but I knew that was coming. But couldn’t you keep the forfeiture out of it? I’ve been working my ass off over there. I’ve got the place almost filled up for September 1.”
“No, there’s really no leeway there. The RTC has the final say on the settlement terms, and they can’t just let you rub their face in it and then expect to keep the property. That’s the type of bad publicity that ends up in hearings on Capital Hill just when the RTC is looking to increase its budget.”
Bruce spoke up. “What’s your interest worth over there, Pierre?”
“Just over a million, conservatively. Probably closer to two million by this time next year if things keep going smoothly.”
Bruce feigned surprise. “That much?”
“Yeah, believe it or not. Remember, I get 80 percent of the back end of the deal. So if I can add a million dollars of value to the project, I get $800,000 of that. To add a million in value, I need to raise rents by $100,000 per year—that’s how you figure the value of real estate, just multiply the yearly rents by ten. And to do that, I only need to raise rents about $40 per month on each unit. That’s the great thing about real estate—if you own enough units, even a small rent increase can translate into millions of dollars. Then if I raise rents again $25 next year, plus decrease the vacancy rates .... well, the numbers speak for themselves.”
Callahan spoke. “Well, Pierre, we could take the false statement charges to trial. But if you lose, and the case is pretty strong against you, the sentencing guidelines for making a false statement to the RTC are tied to the amount of your profit. Using rough figures, they’ll argue you bought a $8 million property for just over $5 million. The guidelines for that are 37 to 46 months in jail and a fine of between $7,500 and $75,000. Plus, you’d still have to forfeit the property. Not to mention that the murder investigation would be hanging over your head.”
“Mike’s right, Pierre,” Bruce offered. “What they’re offering sounds like a pretty good deal to me. Plus, it seems to me that if you’re going to have to forfeit the property, you might as well do it now instead of putting any more work into it.”
“Good point, since I don’t get paid for the management. Will the forfeiture affect Howie at all?”
Callahan answered the question. “No. It’s not a forfeiture of the property, just of your ownership interest in it.”
Pierre sighed. “All right, Mike. I’ll talk to Carla and give you a call tomorrow.”
* * *
Pierre heard the sound of little feet running toward the door as he fumbled with his key in the lock. He opened the door slowly, careful not to swing it into a self-propelled, hug-seeking toddler. She was nineteen months old now—the plan was for her to have a sibling on the way by now, but the world hadn’t exactly cooperated. Pierre took a deep breath and put on a happy face.
“Hi, my pumpkin angel.” He scooped her up and fell backwards onto the ground, Valerie giggling on top of him. “You’re such a big girl that you knocked Daddy right over.”
Carla smiled at them and moved around Pierre to close the apartment door. She bent over and kissed him on the f
orehead, which had become an increasingly large target over the past year. It was the least of his problems, but he had a quarter inch sunburn strip where his previously hair-covered scalp now nakedly braved the sunshine. He looked up at Carla—she hadn’t lost any hair, but there were a few gray highlights that weren’t visible last summer.
She tried smiling casually, but he could see the concern in her eyes. “How did it go?” It was tough enough for him, but it must be even tougher for Carla. She had to sit at home with a toddler and just wait for him to arrive home with more bad news. And although she had never said anything, she must have at least a shadow of a doubt about his innocence. There were too many things pointing at Pierre, and Carla was too analytical, and the human brain simply too curious, for her not to wonder.
“Not great. The deal is three to four months in jail and forfeiture of my interest in Fenway Place. Plus a $10,000 fine. They’ll close the murder investigation. But there’s no guarantee they won’t re-open it someday, although Callahan’s pretty confident that won’t happen unless they find important new evidence against me.” Pierre paused to wipe some Valerie drool off his cheek with his shirttail. “Bruce and Callahan both think it’s the best we can do.”
Carla stared off into the distance, out the window, toward a young couple in the park pushing a baby stroller. “All right, let’s put this whole thing behind us then. We can manage without you for a few months. What about the ten grand?”
“The closing’s set for next week for the Clarendon Street condo. We should net about $40,000, so we’ll be okay for a while.”
“And after that?”
“Well, I think I’ll try to do some more foreclosure deals. The one good thing that’s come out of this is that Bruce has been right there for me. Maybe he can steer some more deals my way after I get out.”
* * *
[August 10, 1990]
Pierre barely slept, the idea of jail both foreign and frightening. He staggered into his office the next morning and picked up the phone. He knew Howie would be up early.
“Hi, Howie, this is Pierre.” Pierre sat at a folding chair in front of a metal desk. His lease was up at the end of the month; he would not renew it.
“Hey, partner. Have you heard the one about the three priests and the nun?”
“No, but Howie I don’t really feel like joking around right now.”
“Oh. All right.”
“Sorry, but I’ve got some stuff to tell you about. Got a few minutes?”
“Sure.”
Pierre sighed and summarized the case against him for Charese’s murder. “So, the bottom line is that they don’t think they can convict me, but they want to nail me on this RTC fraud thing. It’s such a piddling little thing, I can’t believe I’m going to jail over it.”
Howie was silent. Apparently none of his books told him what to do in the case of his partner being accused of murder. When he finally did speak, Pierre was a little surprised at the question. “Pierre, did you kill her?”
Nobody had actually asked Pierre that question. Not his lawyer, not Bruce, not even Carla. “No, Howie, of course I didn’t kill her. I went to the Red Sox game with Bruce Arrujo, then I got stuck in traffic driving home.”
“All right. Fine. So what happens next?” Howie didn’t really sound convinced.
“Well, I’m going to accept this deal with the District Attorney. That means the RTC is going to auction off my ownership interest in Fenway Place.”
“You mean I’m going to have some stranger as my partner, managing the project?”
Yeah, life is tough, Howie. I’m going to jail over a deal I did together with you, plus I lose my profit. And you’re complaining about having to break in a new partner. “Unfortunately, yes. I’ll stay on for another month to get the September transition complete. That’s part of my deal with the RTC, plus I wouldn’t leave you hanging like that.” Although it’s tempting. “Then, if the judge agrees, I start my sentence on September 15—I’m hoping to be out by Christmas. Anyway, they’re going to hold the auction the middle of October, with a thirty-day closing. So you might want to get a property manager in there right away to work with me. He can manage the project after I leave and before your new partner takes over in November.”
“What do you think it’ll go for? Maybe I’ll make a bid.”
Nice guy. I just took one for the team, and now your main concern is whether you can take a bite out of my dead carcass. “Well, based on the new September rents, I figure my interest is worth about a million. But Bruce thinks that, since my interest is so convoluted and the deal is so complicated, there won’t be much bidding. Basically, somebody would be buying the right to manage a huge project for no salary, and to wait for their profit until after you’ve been paid back your half million plus 20 percent profit. Even I wasn’t thrilled with the arrangement at first, so you can imagine what some outside investor would think. Anyway, you should give Bruce a call to talk about it.”
“Yeah, I will. And Pierre, tough break. I know how much this project meant to you.”
But no offer to throw him a few bucks for the time he spent getting the property up and running. “I’ll tell you, Howie. It’s not the project so much as not being home with my girl that has me really bummed out. I’m really worried she’s going to forget me. You hear stories about guys going away in the army or something and they come back and the kids don’t even know who they are.”
“I hear you. But when you do get out, you’re going to have to feed her. And Fenway Place would have kept you guys in caviar.”
“Yeah, too bad I choked on it. Anyway, I’ve still got a couple of other properties with you, and they’re doing okay. We’ll survive. By the way, Carla will take care of the other properties while I’m gone.”
“Fine. She has my number if she needs me?”
“Yup.” And thanks for volunteering to take care of things while I’m gone.
“All right. I’m going to call Bruce to see about bidding. I’ll be talking to you soon.”
Pierre took a deep breath and paused for a moment. They were supposed to be partners. So why was Pierre the only one taking the hit here? He wanted to tell Howie to go fuck himself—the only reason Pierre was the one who signed that affidavit was because Howie was in California at the time. But Pierre knew he needed to maintain his business relationship with Howie. He would be coming out of jail unemployed and a convicted felon—he wasn’t in a position to be burning any bridges. He forced himself to end the conversation on a light tone.
“Oh, Howie, one more thing. Please, no jail jokes.”
“Not even stuff about soap in the shower?”
“Especially that.” Actually, Pierre wasn’t too worried. He would be serving his time in a minimum-security federal prison, sometimes referred to as the Country Club. But just in case, he planned to spend the next month at the local martial arts studio; he used to be a brown belt in tae kwon do, but his skills had grown rusty since Valerie’s birth.
“Oh, all right. But when you get out, you’re fair game again. I get to take my shots at you then.”
“Yeah, you and everyone else.”
* * *
Bruce recognized Howie’s voice. “Shit, Bruce, what’s going on up there with Pierre? I just got off the phone with him.”
Bruce was wondering when Howie would call. “You know, Howie, I really can’t talk about it too much. You understand that it’s confidential because of the attorney-client relationship, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so. But what about this forfeiture thing?”
“Well, assuming it happens, the RTC will set up a sealed-bid auction for Pierre’s interest in the Fenway Place partnership.”
“Well, I’d like to bid. I don’t want some stranger running this deal. Plus, it sounds like it might go cheap.”
“I see your point, Howie, but I think you should be careful. So far the RTC has only gone after Pierre. But they could go after you, too, technically. I mean, you knew about the Fell
off thing, right?”
“You’re right. I hadn’t thought about that. You mean my half million could be at risk?”
“Could be. If I were you, I’d just lay low and not do anything to get the RTC’s attention.”
“Good point, but let’s get one thing clear: I’m not the one who strangled my tenant.”
“Well, we don’t know that Pierre did either, but that’s not the point. The point is that the RTC is just one giant bureaucracy, and they care more about paper than they do about people, so to them this whole affidavit thing looks like a big deal.”
Howie didn’t respond for a few seconds. “So you think I shouldn’t bid?”
“I wouldn’t. They might think you were rubbing their face in it, you know? Or they might think you’re just a straw for Pierre.”
“Well, what happens if somebody else buys it?”
“Basically, they would step into Pierre’s shoes. They would have to manage the project, and they could take Pierre’s share of the profits.”
“What if they fuck it up?”
“Good question. Under the terms of the partnership agreement, the manager is required to provide ‘professional management services’—that includes giving you monthly reports and getting yearly audits. Besides, don’t forget, it’ll be in their interest to manage the property well, otherwise they don’t make any money. But if they’re incompetent or start stealing from you, we can go to court and try to get them replaced with a court-appointed receiver.”
“That sounds like it might be a bit expensive.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Any fight you have with the new guy is going to be expensive. But do you mind if I make a general comment?”
“Shoot.”
“It seems to me that you’ll be better off if whoever buys Pierre’s interest gets it really cheap. That way they won’t have to steal from you to make a profit. My experience has been that even basically honest people do things like steal and cheat when they’re desperate. But, when everyone’s making lots of money, even scoundrels can get along okay.”
[Boston Law 01.0] Unlawful Deeds Page 30
