The Vendetta Defense raa-8

by Lisa Scottoline

  Judy blinked. It was a helluva theory. Better than Santoro’s. But so was Bennie.

  “In this case, the answer to both questions is yes, but you have to give the jury something to go on. Hand them a defense they can talk themselves into believing. You’re all set up for it. You did a great job with the neighbors today. The jury will go for you if you just give them the chance.”

  Judy frowned. “Think I can do it?”

  “I know you can.”

  “Think I can fail?”

  “Of course.”

  Judy blinked. “Ouch.”

  “I’m a lawyer, not a cheerleader,” Bennie said, but Judy couldn’t manage a smile.

  Chapter 41

  “No comment!” Judy shouted, putting her head down and plowing through the press outside the Criminal Justice Center. Two musclemen in suits flanked her, serving double duty against bad guys and reporters. Umbrellas covered the TV anchors, and video cameras whirred through thick plastic bags. Despite the rain, there were more reporters than yesterday, attracted by Pigeon Tony’s courtroom tarantella. The morning headlines had made her shudder: TONY’S TIRADE. ITALIAN CURSES COP. GRUMPY OLD MAN. THE DIATRIBE AND THE DETECTIVE.

  “Ms. Carrier, just one picture!” “Ms. Carrier, you gonna put him on the stand?” “Judy, any comment on Judge Vaughn’s ruling against you?” “Ms. Carrier, what happened in chambers? Did he read you the riot act?”

  Judy ignored them and climbed the slick curb to the courthouse entrance, almost tripping over wet TV cables that snaked along like pythons. If the Coluzzis didn’t kill her, the press would. The newspapers had reported Pigeon Tony’s outburst, but nobody could translate it, and the courtroom stenographer hadn’t transcribed the Italian. Judy could only hope that Frank remained as uncertain as everybody else. He hadn’t called to say good night last night and wasn’t answering his cell phone. She’d be meeting them upstairs in court, since they entered through the secured entrance.

  “Judy, what are you gonna do to Jimmy Bello on the stand?” shouted one of the reporters just as Judy reached the revolving door, where she stopped.

  “Best question of the morning,” she called back, and entered the courthouse.

  Judge Vaughn was wearing a light blue shirt under his robes, with a dark blue tie whose knot peeked through the V at the neck, and he spent most of Detective Wilkins’s routine testimony glaring at Pigeon Tony from the dais, which worked for Judy. Pigeon Tony fidgeted a little but, as promised, didn’t make a peep, so Judy didn’t have to kill him. The courtroom was over-air-conditioned, to keep the humidity low on this rainy day, and Judy felt chilled even in her navy blazer and skirt. Or maybe it was the way Frank had looked this morning that left her cold. She glanced back at the gallery through the bulletproof shield.

  Frank met her eye only briefly, then focused again on the witness. His face was pale beneath his fresh shave, and there were circles under his large eyes, emphasized by the darkness of his corduroy suit and knit tie. He kept stealing looks at John Coluzzi. Obviously Pigeon Tony had told Frank about his parents. Judy didn’t know what would happen next, but she had to put him out of her mind. She was trying to save his grandfather’s life. She returned to the testimony, taking notes while Detective Wilkins spoke, but it concluded quickly, with Santoro taking his seat at counsel table.

  “Ms. Carrier, your witness.” Judge Vaughn shifted his icy gaze from Pigeon Tony to Judy, and she stood up and went to the podium.

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” She faced Detective Wilkins, who eyed her with remoteness. If he remembered that day in her apartment, when he was so nice to her, it didn’t show. Today they were adversaries and they both knew it. “Detective Wilkins, we have met, haven’t we?”

  “Yes, we have, Ms. Carrier.” The detective’s blue-eyed gaze met Judy’s levelly, and his demeanor remained steady. He even wore the same suit as yesterday; the jury would like that, Judy knew. And they’d already be on his side, after Pigeon Tony’s display. She had to defuse it.

  “Detective, you have my client’s apologies for his conduct yesterday, as well as my own apology,” she said, meaning it, even though she could see two jurors in the front row smile.

  Detective Wilkins nodded graciously. “All in a day’s work.”

  Judy laughed. Touché. Maybe it would help put the incident behind them. “Now, as you have testified, you were the detective on the scene the morning Angelo Coluzzi was killed, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were called to the pigeon-racing club?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you examined the back room carefully, where the killing occurred?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you testified there were signs of only a brief struggle?”

  “I did.”

  “Excuse me a moment.” Judy turned to counsel table, grabbed the exhibit mounted on foamcore, brought it to the witness stand, and placed it on a metal easel. The jury looked at the exhibit while she moved it into evidence, without objection. “Let the record show that the exhibit is a black-line diagram of the first floor of the pigeon-racing club, including the back room.” Judy had reconstructed it from her memory and with the help of The Two Tonys. “Detective Wilkins, does this depict the first floor as you remember it, including the back room and the furniture?”

  Detective Wilkins scanned the exhibit. “It does.”

  “The exhibit shows a large entrance room, let’s call it, with a bar on the west side of the room, the left-hand side. The entrance to the back room is on the north wall, through a wooden door. Correct?”

  The detective nodded. “Yes.”

  “The back room contained a blue card table in the middle of the room, with four chairs around it. Referring again to brief signs of a struggle, didn’t you notice that the table had been out of square?”

  Detective Wilkins thought about it. “I did.”

  “So the table had been moved,” Judy summarized for the jury’s benefit. “Would you say it was clearly out of square?”

  “Slightly.” Detective Wilkins knew just where Judy was going, and he wasn’t going with her, which was to be expected.

  “But clearly, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Thank you.” Judy pointed to the black-line chair in the diagram. She could have proved this easily through use of police photos, but they showed Angelo Coluzzi dead in the center of the picture. “Now, Detective Wilkins, there were four chairs around the table, all of which are brown metal folding chairs. Do you recall them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t it true that the chair on the east side of the table was knocked over?”

  “Yes, but it was on the path of travel, from the door to the bookshelves.”

  Judy held up a firm hand. “I’m not asking why or how you think it was knocked over, only that it had been knocked over. And it had, hadn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Detective Wilkins’s mouth became a hard line.

  Judy pointed to the exhibit again. “Now, the metal shelves we have been talking about that you said had been pulled down, they had been standing against the east side of the room, opposite the table, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And they had been pulled down. To the floor, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the contents, which were pigeon supplies, had fallen to the ground. Had bottles broken?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pills spilled out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bands for pigeons’ legs had fallen from their boxes?”

  Detective Wilkins thought a minute. “Yes.”

  Judy collected her thoughts. She had almost accomplished what she needed to, setting up her closing. She couldn’t get much more out of a hostile witness. But she needed to make her point. “Detective Wilkins, your credentials are very impressive, your having worked for twenty-three years as a homicide detective. How many crime scenes do you think you have examined in that time?”

  Detectiv
e Wilkins sighed. “Thousands, unfortunately.”

  Judy let it be. There were roughly two hundred murders in the city in a year, and she didn’t want to do the grisly multiplication either. “I would gather that most of those murders involve a weapon—a knife or a gun—am I correct?”

  “For the most part, yes. That is the typical situation.”

  “So you are very familiar with the signs of a struggle that occur in such situations?”

  “Yes.”

  Judy took a breath—and a risk. “Have you ever investigated a killing that took place without a weapon, between two men over the age of seventy-five?”

  Surprised, Detective Wilkins reacted with a short laugh. “No.”

  “So how much of a struggle do you want?” she asked with a throwaway smile, and Wilkins smiled, too. “Thank you, I have no further questions.” Judy grabbed her exhibit and sat down before Santoro could object. That had gone as well as it could, and Santoro stood up and approached the podium.

  “Your Honor, I have redirect,” Santoro called out, but Judge Vaughn was already nodding over his half-glasses. Santoro addressed his witness. “Detective Wilkins, you said you have investigated thousands of murder scenes, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you have a set of skills and experiences that you bring to bear in every murder scene you investigate, is that right?”

  “I like to think so.”

  “And so you can be presented with a new situation in a murder scene and you can bring to bear your skills, experience, and instincts, honed over twenty-three years?”

  Judy thought about objecting but let it go. The jury could see how self-serving it was, and she wouldn’t get points by tearing down Detective Wilkins.

  Detective Wilkins nodded slowly. “Yes, I think so.”

  Santoro rocked on his loafers a minute, evidently thinking about pressing it, and Judy shifted in her chair. If he went too far, she would object and she would have to be sustained. It was the lawyer’s equivalent of the cowboy’s hand hovering at his hip holster. Santoro made a decision. “I have no further questions. Thank you very much, Detective,” he said, and sat down.

  It was always high noon in a murder trial, but only one man took the risk of getting dead.

  Santoro’s next witness was a woman from Mobile Crime, a tall brunette with a black suit, a severe ponytail, and thick glasses, who testified that she had collected fibers from the clothes of Angelo Coluzzi that came from Pigeon Tony’s clothes. She was absolutely credible, and Judy barely objected, since it wasn’t inconsistent with her case for the defense. And her thoughts were elsewhere, as she tried to figure out what Santoro was doing and ways she could meet whatever it was in her case.

  It was clearly the morning for police testimony, because his next witness was another crime tech, a red-haired young man who had taken photographs of the scene. Santoro’s only purpose was to show the photographs of Coluzzi’s body to the jury, over Judy’s objection. She could do little but watch them as they looked uncomfortably at the grim photos, which Santoro had enlarged on a projection screen in the front of the courtroom. They swallowed hard at the sad sight, and Coluzzi looked horrible in photo after photo, his dark eyes sunken, his body as small and frail as Judy had remembered. The slides weren’t bloody, but somehow their very ordinariness spoke with a more subtle eloquence. Two jurors looked away, and even Pigeon Tony blinked.

  But Judy was suddenly grateful for the bulletproof sheet muting the reaction of the gallery. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Coluzzi’s widow crying and John Coluzzi holding her as she sobbed. The entire Coluzzi side of the courtroom was red-faced and teary, but the Lucia side remained still. Sketch artists drew madly, kept busy not only by the scene in the courtroom but by the one in the gallery, and the reporters scribbled their squiggles of old-fashioned shorthand. The Tonys had no reaction, and Frank kept eyeing the Coluzzis. Judy would have to talk to him at the noon recess and find out what he knew.

  For the first time in her life, she wasn’t looking forward to lunch.

  Chapter 42

  The courthouse conference room suddenly felt smaller than Judy remembered, but maybe that was because she was facing off against her lover. She stood on one side of the table and Frank on the other. The fluorescent lights were harsh and glaring. An uneaten pizza sat steaming in its box on the table. In two swivel chairs sat Pigeon Tony and Bennie, reduced to a captive audience.

  “You didn’t tell me, Judy,” Frank said, his tone an accusation and his mouth tight with hurt. Pain filled his eyes, which looked bloodshot from a night without sleep. “You knew Coluzzi killed my parents and you didn’t tell me.”

  Judy felt her face flush. “Your grandfather told you what Coluzzi said.”

  “Yes. He didn’t want to, but he did.”

  Pigeon Tony was shaking his head with regret. “Sorry, Judy. He no stop. He ask, ask, ask, ask. He scream and yell. He no give up. Like father.”

  But Frank ignored him. “He also told me about my parents’ truck, which you found, and have, incredibly enough—and the report you got from an expert who examined the wreck. You know more about my parents’ death than I do, Judy. You knew all along. And you didn’t tell me!”

  “I couldn’t. It was privileged.”

  “Bullshit!” Frank raised his voice, then glanced nervously at the conference room door. “You could have told me! I don’t want to hear about this privilege shit!” Frank caught himself and lowered his voice. “You’re not my lawyer. You’re supposed to be my lover. My friend. Everything. I took that seriously, but evidently you didn’t.”

  Judy went hot with embarrassment. She didn’t want to be having this conversation in a courthouse, in front of other people, much less Bennie, so she said as much.

  “This is the time and place, Judy, and you didn’t tell me about my parents’ murder because you were afraid I’d retaliate. You both were!” Frank cast a scornful glance that managed to encompass both Judy and Pigeon Tony. “That’s why you two kept your mouth shut. You both decided what my reaction should be, and it wasn’t the one you wanted, so you didn’t tell me. But that wasn’t for either of you to decide. They were my parents! I am their only son! I had a right to know they were murdered.”

  “But we don’t know that they were!” Judy couldn’t help but shout. “Think logically. Coluzzi told your grandfather he killed them, and I didn’t tell you that. Granted. But before you go off half-cocked, you should understand that there’s no proof that Coluzzi was telling the truth. I don’t think he did it.”

  Pigeon Tony was nodding. “He did it.”

  “He did it!” Frank agreed.

  “You don’t know that,” Judy said. “In fact, I have, or had, tapes of Coluzzi discussing the night your parents had the accident. There’s not a word on them about the murder or your parents. Nothing.”

  “Tapes, from where?” Frank demanded, and even Pigeon Tony looked over. She hadn’t mentioned the tapes to either of them. “What tapes? Videotapes?”

  “Phone tapes.”

  “Phone tapes? Of Coluzzi? Who was he discussing it with?”

  Judy thought better of it. She didn’t want Frank attacking Jimmy Bello, not before she had her chance with him on cross-examination. “It doesn’t matter. But I had them, and they said nothing. And the expert I hired said the accident was only an accident, as did the cops. They can’t all be wrong, Frank. Use your head, not your heart.”

  But Frank’s anger became unfocused. “Who was Coluzzi on the phone with? Who? And where did you get the tapes?”

  “I’m not telling you that, and you have to trust me. They don’t prove anything. Nothing proves anything. I think it was an accident. I didn’t think it before that accident expert, but now I do.”

  “I don’t need proof. Coluzzi admitted it.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. Think about it.”

  Frank threw up his hands. “Why would he say it if he didn’t do it?”

  “
To drive your grandfather crazy. To make him nuts. To take credit for something he didn’t do, with false bravado.” Judy felt calmer. The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. “There are a million explanations, Frank. Coluzzi was a sadist.”

  “He did it!”

  “He did it,” Pigeon Tony echoed, and Bennie shot him a dirty look.

  Judy got fed up. “Look, Frank, I’m in the middle of a murder trial right now. So this isn’t about you or your parents, as sorry as I am for their deaths. Right now it’s about your grandfather, who is charged with murder, and it doesn’t look so good for the good guys. Or the bad guys. Whoever we are.” It was a little confusing.

  Frank swallowed, visibly dry-mouthed, and Judy saw her opening and went for it, as much as it hurt her to shut him down.

  “You want to know the truth, Frank? You can read it. I’ll give you the files tonight. My file, the police file, the whole thing. You want to, you can even talk to the expert. He’s completely impartial. He said the guardrail was too low to be safe and there was no foul play. But right now I have a client to defend and you are not helping him—or me—in the least.”

  Frank’s features went stiff and he looked down at Pigeon Tony, whose tiny face sagged between his hands. Frank stood still for a minute, then his sigh was audible. “Fine. We’ll discuss it later.”

  Judy figured it was the closest an Italian man could come to an apology. “And you won’t get crazy until we do.”

  “I didn’t promise that.”

  “It wasn’t a question,” Judy said, and let it drop. Frank wasn’t nuts enough to be thinking about murder, was he? And who would he kill? Angelo Coluzzi was already dead. “Now let’s get back to court, where all I have to fight with is the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.” Judy glanced at Bennie. “You have anything to tell me before we go back in there?”

  “Nope. You’re the boss, boss,” Bennie said, with a relieved smile, and Judy breathed in the encouragement.

  “Then let’s go kick some ass.”