“No. Not since the trial started.”
“Well, you look incredibly sexy in the courtroom sketches. Alika didn’t really get a good look at you the day you ran into him at the house. Now he finally knows what you look like.”
“How’s your brother been lately?”
She sighs. “I still hardly ever see him. He’s high all the time. He’s still selling ice and smoking half his supply. I’m so very scared for him, Kevin.”
“Do you think he would consider getting help? I could probably get him into a good program.”
She gives me another look. Ask a stupid question . . .
“So,” Nikki says, “now that you’ve been here several months, can I assume you are here in Hawaii to stay?”
“That’s a very safe assumption” is all I say.
A very safe assumption indeed. Since I intend to propose marriage to Nikki on our very first night on Kauai.
CHAPTER 40
Justice evolves only after injustice is defeated. I don’t know what that means. I read it fifteen years ago on a Public Enemy album cover and added it to every academic paper I had to write. Once I was sworn in as an attorney, I used it in every motion, every pleading, every piece of correspondence to the court. I shoveled it onto juries, and they ate it up like the Rooty Tooty Fresh ’N Fruity breakfast meal at IHOP. Soon other attorneys were singing the words during their own closing statements. It took a ninety-one-year-old retired cabdriver on a jury in Queens to finally ask me what the hell it meant. I admitted I had no idea, and that he’d have to ask Flavor Flav.
Jurors are a lot like dogs. They don’t necessarily understand what you’re saying; they only respond to the tone and pitch differences in your voice. In other words, it’s not what you say, it’s how you say it. A simple question like “So are you telling this jury you had blueberry pancakes for breakfast?” if asked correctly, can get the jurors’ attention and help to extinguish a witness’s credibility. Especially if that witness isn’t too bright. Suffice it to say, I didn’t so much enjoy my last meeting with Palani Kanno, but I’m going to have a lot of fun now.
It is Monday morning and Dapper Don Watanabe has just completed his direct examination of the pugilistic doorman from the Waikiki Winds hotel. Dapper Don put Palani on the stand not only to clear him as a suspect, but to confirm that someone was in the lifeguard station to make the noise that interrupted Palani’s romantic interlude.
“Your witness, Mr. Corvelli,” says Narita from the bench.
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
I take my place at the podium and offer Palani a broad smile. We’re not on his island. We’re not in front of his hotel. This time, we’re on my turf. And, yes, Palani, you stupid son of a bitch, this time, it’s personal.
“Good morning, Mr. Kanno.”
He nods but says nothing. Watanabe has instructed him to use as few words as possible.
“We have met before, have we not?”
He nods again.
“You’ll have to speak up for the court reporter.”
“Yeah, we met.”
“I may look different from the last time we left each other.”
“Yeah, you’re no longer one sharkbait. You got tan.”
“And my face looks different, too, from the last time you saw it.”
“Yeah, you heal up real good.”
Palani is smug, and I don’t like smug. By kicking the hell out of this guy on the stand, I’ll accomplish two goals. The first is that I’ll show the jury that Shannon Douglas was quick to intimately associate herself with a local lowlife and, thus, could easily have got herself killed by just about anyone. The second, of course, is personal satisfaction.
“You like hitting people, don’t you, Mr. Kanno?”
“Objection,” says Dapper Don. “Argumentative.”
“Your Honor,” I say, “Mr. Kanno testified that he struck Miss Douglas on the beach, and I know for a fact he struck me several times in the face. It’s a legitimate question.”
“The objection is sustained,” says Narita.
That’s okay. I just told the jury what I wanted them to hear.
“Mr. Kanno, you testified that you were at Waikiki Beach with the victim on the night she was murdered, did you not?”
“Yeah, I already said that.”
“Yet you didn’t kill her, is that correct?”
“That’s right.”
“And you didn’t witness the murder either, did you?”
“Nah.”
“So it must be possible for someone to have been at the scene of a crime and not have committed or witnessed the crime himself. Am I right?”
He thinks about the question, wondering if I’m trying to trick him. Finally, he nods and says, “Yeah.”
“Good. Now will you please explain that to Mr. Watanabe and the Honolulu Police Department, because it seems they can’t grasp that very reasonable possibility?”
“Objection!” cries Dapper Don.
Narita sustains the objection and admonishes me.
“Mr. Kanno,” I say, “you testified that you met Miss Shannon Douglas at a bar in Waikiki called the Bleu Sharq, is that correct?”
“Yeah.”
“And you danced with her, correct?”
“I said all this already.”
“Bear with me, Mr. Kanno. I realize you have doors to open, and I’ll try to have you off the stand as quickly as possible. Please, don’t hit me.”
“Objection!”
“Withdrawn,” I say.
As I’m looking back at the dirty look on Dapper Don’s face, I see Flan entering the courtroom. I specifically instructed him to avoid doing so, as I may need to call him to testify during our case-in-chief. But here he is, barreling up the middle aisle, waving a manila envelope in his hand.
“Your Honor,” I say, “may I have two minutes to consult with my colleague?”
“You have ninety seconds, Mr. Corvelli.”
I step to the rail and Flan whispers in my ear. He tells me what is in the envelope and where he got it from. I look back toward Palani and decide I’m through with playing games. It’s time to make some real progress toward saving Joey’s ass. Not to mention my career.
“Mr. Kanno,” I say, “at any time while at the Bleu Sharq, did you lose sight of Shannon Douglas?”
“Yeah, when I went to the bathroom.”
“Would you please tell the jury what you were doing in the bathroom, Mr. Kanno?”
Palani can lie in answering this question, and I will have to accept his answer. But he doesn’t know that, so he decides to tell the truth.
“I was smoking one joint.”
“How long were you in the bathroom smoking marijuana?”
“Maybe ten minutes.”
“When you exited the bathroom, did you find Shannon Douglas right away?”
“Nah, I didn’t.”
“How long did it take you to find her?”
“Maybe fifteen more minutes.”
“Mr. Kanno, did you ever come to learn where Shannon Douglas was during that time?”
“Nah.”
“Do you know if Shannon Douglas spoke to anyone, or if anyone spoke to her, while you were in the bathroom and/or while you were looking for her after that?”
“Nah, I dunno.”
I open the manila folder and leaf through the items. Everything is in there, just as Flan said. I step over to the counsel table, take a sip of water, and wink at Jake, even though he doesn’t know what the hell is going on. I go into my briefcase and flip through the file, pulling from it the single item that I need.
“Your Honor,” I say, “I would like this item marked for identification as Defendant’s Exhibit Nine.”
Jake has copies of the item, and he hands one to Watanabe and one to the court officer with the pretty purple flower in her hair.
“May I approach the witness?” I ask.
“You may,” says Narita.
“Mr. Kanno,” I say, coming as
close to him as I have in nearly six months. “Do you recognize the man in this photograph?”
From above the top of the photograph that I hold in front of my face, I see Palani’s eyes flare in angry recognition. He nods slowly at first, then more quickly. Like a mad-as-hell, take-no-prisoners, pissed-off bobblehead doll.
“Yeah,” he says, “I do.”
“Do you know his name?”
“Nah.”
“Then, would you please enlighten the jury as to where you saw the man depicted in this photograph?”
“The Bleu Sharq.”
“When did you see him at the Bleu Sharq?”
“On the night that girl was killed. Just before I found her, he knocked into me, on purpose like.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“Nah, but that big haole said something to me. That’s why I remember him.”
“What did he say to you, Mr. Kanno?”
“He said, ‘Watch yourself, you fucking coconut niggah, or I’ll bash in your fucking skull.’ ”
I step back to the counsel table and take another drink of water. Jake can’t hide his smile. Joey looks bewildered. But that bewilderment is about to turn into something else altogether.
“Let the record reflect,” I say, “that the man depicted in the photograph marked as Defendant’s Exhibit Nine is identified by the Federal Bureau of Investigation as Paolo ‘Small Paul’ Nicoletti, a capo of the Fiordano crime family in northern New Jersey.”
An uproar explodes in the courtroom, but I hear one distinct voice, yelling at me from the top of his lungs, calling me a two-faced son of a bitch. I turn and see Joseph Gianforte Sr. being pulled from the courtroom by three armed officers.
The judge raps his gavel and threatens to clear the courtroom.
Palani’s run-in with someone at the Bleu Sharq while searching for Shannon seemed rather extraneous while we sat on the beach, smoking pakalolo from a pipe. But Flan’s coming to the rail minutes ago triggered in me an instant total recall. Flan went to my office earlier today, funny man that he is, with an envelope filled with Vicodin and a note reading, Just in case today’s witness gets out of hand. While he was sitting there, speaking to Hoshi, a FedEx package arrived. He saw that it was delivered from Mahwah, New Jersey, and asked Hoshi to open it right away. The package was from Marie Nicoletti, Joey’s aunt, and it contained a cash receipt from the Bleu Sharq for two Peroni bottled beers, dated the night Shannon was killed. With the receipt was a handwritten note that read, I found this in the bastard’s pants pocket.
With Palani’s testimony on cross-examination, I have established that Paolo Nicoletti was at the Bleu Sharq on the night Shannon was killed. Nicoletti now has a target on his back. But I know that I now do as well. It is now a matter of who is mentally tougher, of who can outlast the other, of who can squeeze the trigger first.
CHAPTER 41
Nikki is staying with Julia, one of her sexy bartender friends. Alika, too, has been warned to steer clear of the cottage in Kailua until after the trial. Flan and Jake spent last night at the Kapiolani Surf Hotel, while I opted for the Grand Polynesian, which reminds me just how Bond-like I, Kevin Corvelli, really am. Suffice it to say, I am dressed in the same suit I wore yesterday, and my cell phone battery is ready to die. It is definitely an inconvenience to be hunted by the mob.
Today’s testimony should be anticlimactic. Cindy DuFrain has been called by Dapper Don Watanabe to testify against her former friend. Cindy is petite and pretty, with a few scattered freckles and mousy brown hair. She appears more than a little melancholy over the death of her best friend. Or perhaps she’s glum over today’s duty, which would make things all the better for us.
Dapper Don is decked out in Ralph Lauren for what should be the conclusion of the prosecution’s case. He greets Cindy DuFrain but does not get the warm smile he received from all his previous witnesses. Even Palani had offered Dapper Don a jovial “Howzit.”
“Miss DuFrain,” Dapper Don says, “I know that being here must be very difficult for you. I’d like to thank you for traveling all this way from New York to testify at this very important trial. I only wish you could see our lovely island under different circumstances.”
Cindy DuFrain’s testimony can only hurt us, so I hope the jury isn’t listening. To let the jury know that it’s all right not to pay attention to this testimony, I feign boredom and pretend not to be listening myself.
“Would you please tell the jury how you knew Miss Shannon Douglas?” asks Dapper Don.
“She was my friend. I knew her since high school in Tennessee. Most recently, we went to law school together in New York.”
Cindy DuFrain speaks casually, in a conversational tone. Attractive and articulate, she makes an effective witness.
“Do you also know the defendant, Mr. Joseph Gianforte Jr.?”
“I do,” she says sadly without looking at him.
“Would you please identify him?”
I tell Joey to stand and he does.
She looks in his direction and offers him a sorrowful smile. “That’s him.”
Dapper Don asks Cindy for details about her relationship with Shannon. He is no doubt concluding his case with Cindy to give the jury an image of Shannon Douglas less two-dimensional than the photographs he passed around. Cindy paints Shannon as a vibrant, intelligent, fun-loving girl with aspirations of going into federal law enforcement.
“Miss DuFrain,” Dapper Don says, “prior to Shannon’s leaving New York for holiday here on Oahu, did she tell you where she was going?”
“Yes, she did. In fact, I drove her to the airport. She said she needed to get away. That she planned to spend a couple of weeks soaking up sun in Waikiki.”
“Miss DuFrain, did you relay this information to anyone else?”
“Yes, I told Joey.”
“Miss DuFrain, what did you tell the defendant?”
Cindy shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “Well, Shannon had recently broken up with Joey, and he was understandably upset. He came to the apartment and asked me where Shannon was because he couldn’t get in touch with her. I told him to calm down, to try to get over her. I told him Shannon wouldn’t be around for the next couple of weeks. He persisted in asking me where she was, and I finally told him she left a short time ago for Honolulu.”
“What do you know of the relationship between Shannon and the defendant prior to their breakup, Miss DuFrain?”
“They were very close. They were inseparable.”
Dapper Don walks her through what she knows of the events leading up to Joey’s misdemeanor conviction in New York. I object at every turn, but Judge Narita consistently shoots me down. Dapper Don introduces an e-mail communication from Joey to Cindy, which describes for the jury precisely what Joey told me. Only it doesn’t sound nearly as truthful. The dam containing Joey’s motive has been collapsed; the terrible truth is flooding in. And I am helpless to stop it.
The sheer intensity of the relationship between Shannon and Joey is damaging to us, and I attempt to distract the jurors by rummaging through my files.
“Miss DuFrain,” Dapper Don continues, “would you describe the breakup between Shannon and the defendant as being very sudden?”
“Yes, it was very sudden.”
“Do you know, Miss DuFrain, just what caused the breakup?”
“Shannon and Joey had broken up once before. And during that breakup, Shannon started seeing someone else. A professor at our law school.”
“What was his name?”
“Professor Jim Catus.”
“Go on, Miss DuFrain.”
“When Shannon and Joey got back together, she tried to break it off with Professor Catus, but she was having a difficult time.”
Joey’s knuckles are turning white as he grasps hold of the defense table with both hands. His face is a shocking crimson, and I pour him a tall glass of water, hoping he’ll cool down. It does us absolutely no good for the jury to see him angry.
“So,
” Cindy continues, “Shannon broke up with Joey because she felt guilty. Guilty for cheating on him and guilty for putting her career above him.”
I try to hide Joey’s face by bringing some papers up to mine. I’ve inadvertently grabbed the brochures from Diamond Head Diamonds, the store I stopped in to pick out an engagement ring for Nikki. The rings are costly, to say the least.
“It was one thing when Shannon and Joey were just dating . . .” Cindy says.
I replace the brochures in my briefcase and pull out a close-up photo of the victim’s left hand. And that is when I see it.
“. . . but once Joey proposed, Shannon couldn’t live with herself.”
In the photograph, on Shannon’s left hand, a strip of stark white skin on her fourth finger contrasts deeply with her leftover summer tan.
“They were engaged?” Watanabe asks Cindy on the stand.
“You were engaged?” I ask Joey in his ear.
“Yes,” Cindy says.
“Yes,” Joey whispers to me.
I turn Joey around at the counsel table and speak to him as low as I can. “Did you give her a ring?”
“Yeah,” he whispers, “a two-carat diamond.”
“Did she give it back to you when you broke up?”
He shakes his head.
“You son of a bitch, Joey, why didn’t you tell me this?”
“I didn’t think it was rel—”
“Just shut the fuck up,” I say much too loud.
“Mr. Corvelli!” shouts Narita from the bench. “If I ever hear you use that kind of language in my courtroom again, you will spend the night in lockup!”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor.”
Dapper Don gives me an unsympathetic look and says, “I tender the witness.”
I stand and first walk over to Jake. “Call Flan and have him meet us at our office in an hour.”
Jake gets up to exit the courtroom, and I step over to the podium, a glass half-full of water in hand.
“Aloha, Cindy,” I say. “May I call you Cindy?”
“Aloha. Of course, you may call me Cindy.”
I look back at Dapper Don, stifling my urge to stick out my tongue. With seven words, I have already gained an air of familiarity with the prosecution’s final witness. Something Watanabe wasn’t able to accomplish at all.
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