“Look, I gotta go on duty. You want anything more, go ask the sarge.”
Luca grabbed a cup of coffee and jumped into his car. He checked the address on the arrest report and made a beeline to Keansburg. Luca smacked the steering wheel as he passed the street Johns lived on and counted four blocks to Rosa’s residence.
Luca flung the car door open so hard it bounced back at him and bruised his shin. He rubbed the welt and took a few deep breaths before marching up the walkway.
A grizzled man in his seventies pulled open the door.
Luca held out his badge. “Looking for Mike Rosa.”
The man nodded slightly, left the door open, and disappeared back into the house. Luca poked his head into the dark house, but all he could see was the light from a TV. Luca stepped back and leaned against a rusty railing when he heard footsteps.
Tee shirted, Mike Rosa looked like a slab of granite. The cigarette dangling from his lip belied the athletic aurora he projected. He stepped onto the small porch and shut the door as Luca showed his credentials.
“What d’ya want?”
“You used a driver’s license belonging to one William Wyatt two nights ago.”
Rosa nodded as he took a drag.
“Where’d you get the license from?”
“I bought it. You see, I lost mine in a DWI, and I need to get to work and—”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your story except how you came in possession of the Wyatt license.”
“What’s it mean to you?”
Luca poked his finger into Rosa’s concrete chest. “Look, I ask the questions, and you give the answers. You got that?”
Rosa dropped his cigarette to the ground, and Luca’s neck hairs rose. Rosa crushed the butt out and spoke. “I bought the fucking thing for twenty bucks. I thought it was a good way to—”
“From who?”
“Guy lives a couple blocks away. He’s always fencing shit.”
“How about a name?”
“Jimmy. Jimmy Johns.”
Luca felt his lips curl. “You sure?”
“Yeah, of course I’m sure, man. Look at all the shit I got from it.”
Chapter 30
My lawyer’s offices were on the second floor of a low-slung building on Route 35. We sat in the waiting area, declining coffee twice as we leafed through a pile of magazines. After thirty long minutes, Edwards’ energetic secretary came out and led us to a small conference room as she chirped away.
Eddie Edwards offered his hand.
“Hello Peter. Vincent. Nice day today, huh?”
I stared at his white hair and said hello as he pulled a chair out for me.
“Sit, sit. You boys want something to drink, coffee, water?”
Vinny said, “Nah, we’re good.”
Edwards fell into his chair and reached for the phone. “I’ve asked Johnny Scotto to join us. Is that okay with you, Peter?”
I shifted in my chair and looked at my brother.
Vinny asked, “What’s his area of expertise?”
“Primarily white-collar cases, but Johnny’s got top-notch instincts to go along with extremely helpful contacts in the prosecutors’ offices.”
Instincts? If my life is gonna hang on instincts, my instinct is to run. I wondered how fast I could run. Was I fast in high school? Who was the track-and-field coach? I think he was a tall guy. Yeah, I think so. Was it Mr. Chavez?
I spat out, “Vinny, who, who was the gym teacher, nah the, the track coach?”
Vinny leaned in and put his hand on my arm. “Concentrate on the case, man! We’ll figure out the other stuff when we get home. Okay?”
The door swung open almost as wide as Edwards’ gaping mouth and Scotto strode in. Edwards’ eyes shifted from Vinny to me as he closed his mouth and jumped up.
“Boys, you remember my partner, John Scotto.”
We said our hellos and Edwards asked, “Peter, you need a bathroom break?”
Vinny grabbed my elbow and said, “Yeah, give us five.”
We went into the men’s room, and Vinny checked all the stalls. “What the hell’s going on?”
“What d’ya mean?”
“Petey, you got to keep it together, man. This is no time to go off on tangents. This is serious shit you’re in!”
I nodded and fingered my ringing ear, trying to recall if I had drunk that sandy stuff when Vinny instructed.
“Splash your face with water, man, and concentrate: really concentrate, you hear me?” Vinny turned the faucet on.
“Sure, sure.” I cupped some water and washed my face. “I’m okay. Don’t worry, Vince.”
“Yeah, well I am, and to think you didn’t want me to come with you today.”
I hung my head. “Thanks, man, you’re always looking out for me.”
Vinny softened his voice. “I know it’s tough for you, but you gotta keep it together. It don’t get heavier than this, man.”
The lawyers were huddled in a corner when we came back in and took seats across the mahogany table.
“We okay, fellas?”
“Sure, if you’re gonna tell me the case is dropped,” Vinny said.
“We’re doing our best, but frankly that seems out of the question. What do you say we review where we are and explore options?”
I stared at my name on each of the files as Edwards splayed the pile. He drew a red file and opened it.
“The prosecutor’s case is based upon a couple of pieces of evidence. You’ve been placed at the scene at the approximate time of death.” Edwards looked up at Peter. “You had an argument with the deceased over your girlfriend. You were seen at the scene with a weapon similar to the type used to kill William Wyatt.”
“Weapon? Hey, hold on. That was my cane.”
He raised a hand. “The prosecutor will want to know why you went to Wyatt’s home.”
I sank into my seat as he droned on. I looked at my brother, who had slumped in his chair before I tuned out completely. Sometimes I remembered going to Billy’s house, but I couldn’t be sure if I really did or if hearing that they knew I was there was why I thought I went there. I couldn’t believe I could do what they said. I traced the lines of my palms when the visions of Billy getting hit popped into my head. It couldn’t be, could it? They think I did it, so maybe I did? Geez, this was confusing.
“Do you need a break, Peter?”
Vince elbowed me back to reality.
“Uh, uh.”
“You want to take a break.”
“I don’t know, do you?”
“No, I’m okay.”
Edwards continued. “All right, so that’s the line of attack the DA is likely to take.”
Vinny challenged, “But don’t we have anything to come back with?”
“Certainly. We’ll mount an attack on their evidence. Some of it’s very weak, but a jury, and I’ve seen this happen over and over, could take four pieces of sketchy evidence and pile it up against a defendant.”
Scotto jumped in finally. “That’s why it’s critical that we bolster, strike that, that we present you and your service to the country. Your reputation and service record will help to deny plausibility.”
“Will Peter have to take the stand?”
The stand? Like in the movies? I could see Jack Nicholson in that film about a court martial. What was the name of it?
“We don’t think that’s a good idea at this point,” Edwards said.
“But we’d enter into the record, either by stipulation or possibly, dependent on what witnesses the DA proposes, have medical experts testify as to the injuries Peter sustained and how that affects his ability to recall events,” Scotto explained.
“You’ve got to know that putting Peter on the stand could backfire. There’s a long record of juries who vote against defendants who simply state they cannot recall events as a defense,” Edwards said.
“What do we do?” Vinny asked.
Edwards looked at Scotto, who steepled his fingers
. “Eddie and I have debated the merits of the case, vis-à-vis the strategy we should utilize, and we believe the best outcome would emanate from negotiating a plea agreement.”
I tried hard to follow things, but by the time I processed what someone said, there were two other exchanges that had passed by.
“Plea? You mean Peter would admit to doing it?”
I caught that! So now Vinny thinks it was me too?
“Well, we’d like to leave specifics in the background at this time and focus—”
“Background? Is that some kinda lawyer gobbledygook for jail?”
Edwards pursed his lips and waved a hand at his clients. “Hold on, Vincent. This is a strategy session. We’re here to represent your brother in the best way we can. Johnny is just trying to lay out an option. Any decisions will be made together. Is that clear?”
Vinny nodded.
Edwards asked, “How about you, Peter? You understand?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess so. What do you think, Vin?”
“Let’s hear them out.”
Edwards stated, “I want to be clear. We need to balance the risks of going to trial versus negotiating an agreement called a plea with the DA.”
“Do I have to go, like, to jail?”
“Well, any sentence is difficult to predict at this stage. So why don’t we look at the avenues we can pursue and the possible outcomes they offer.”
I watched everyone’s head bob in agreement. Edwards scooched his chair forward and took a sip of water. “Trials, by their very nature, are difficult to predict and thus carry a large measure of risk for any defendant. Given the circumstances in Peter’s case, it may be even more so.”
“Why? Why should my brother’s case be any different?”
“Well, each case is different, and in his particular situation, possibly being unable to put him on the stand in his own defense . . .”
Situation, I thought. So that’s what all this is called.
“But I thought lawyers never wanted their clients to go on the stand.”
Edwards said, “True, in let’s say a majority of cases, but that really depends on the evidence. In this case, the lack of forensic evidence tying a defendant to a crime and victim would present a perfect opportunity to rebut by the defendant.”
“So why not put Peter on the stand? You’re okay with that, right Petey?”
I shifted my gaze from face to face. “I—I guess so, Vin.”
“You have to realize, if he goes on the stand to defend himself, he opens himself up to attack on cross-examination. The prosecution will hit him with a barrage of questions and confuse him. It could likely get ugly, with the result being that it backfires, and Peter looks bad to the jury.”
“If the evidence they have is bad, can’t we just ask the judge to dismiss the case?”
Scotto sighed. “If only it were that easy. Frankly speaking, the DA has more than he needs to get in the courtroom.”
The sound of my brother’s hope crashing was almost audible, and the awkwardness prevailed until Edwards said, “A defendant’s testimony is just one aspect of risk. We’d have to be on guard for possible developments, such as a new witness or some piece of compromising evidence.”
“What about the police finding the real killer? Ain’t that a damn possibility?” Vinny asked.
Wow, finding the real killer. It sounded so Hollywood like.
“Sure, of course. I didn’t mean to focus on the downside, but it is my responsibility to lay out the risks and outcomes.”
“He didn’t do it, man. Why doesn’t anyone believe us?”
Vinny really believed I didn’t do it.
“It’s frustrating for all of us. We’ll do our own investigation during our preparation that may turn up something helpful. But right now we have to work with what we have.”
“So maybe your guys will find somebody who could’ve done it?” Even to me that didn’t sound quite right. So I added, “Like the real killer?”
“Well, it’s not our job to find a suspect, but during the discovery process, we’ll look at how to discount the prosecution’s evidence and look to support and produce evidence of our own.”
“You have to keep in mind that the threshold, or bar, for holding a defendant responsible is reasonable doubt. We’d have to convince a jury that there was a reasonable doubt that Peter committed the crime he is accused of.”
“But that’s possible, no? You said the evidence is sketchy,” Vinny said.
“Yes, if it was possible, we’d rule it out. However, I cannot stress this enough, outcomes are very difficult if not impossible to predict, and that translates into risk.”
“Okay, okay. I just thought, you know, he’d get off, and that would end this nightmare.”
“I understand, but the downside, and I hate to keep being negative, is that we lose the case. And that could be disastrous, with a term handed down of some twenty years or so.”
I shut my eyes and couldn’t stop myself from mumbling, “I can’t do that. I can’t. No way. No way.”
Vinny put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. “Don’t worry, we’re going to handle this.”
Edwards came around the table and pulled a chair out next to me. “I know this is tough, but you have to know that we are working around the clock to get a reasonable resolution to this case. Let’s take a short break, and then we’ll explore some other ideas we have.”
Chapter 31
Eddie Edwards and his partner, Johnny Scotto, shook hands with the Monmouth County prosecutor and his assistant, John Cline.
“Let’s sit over there. We’ll be more comfortable.” Stanley waved toward a couch and two wing chairs around a table. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Water?”
“Some water would be great.”
Cline grabbed two bottles out of a small fridge and handed them off to the defense attorneys, who had settled on the couch.
Stanley, seated in one of the leather wing chairs, crossed his thin legs and said, “I trust we’ll be able to work out a plea on the Wyatt case.”
Edwards responded, “As long as your office tones down the rhetoric and considers the circumstantial nature of the evidence you have.”
Cline said, “Circumstantial? We have a clear motive. Any jury on the planet gets the jilted lover picture. Hill was seen at the scene. We have his prints inside the house. He refuses to tell us what happened—”
Edwards, who had reached into his briefcase, interjected, “Mr. Hill is unable to recall the events of that night due to the traumatic injury he suffered.”
“While serving his country, I might add,” Scotto said.
Edwards slid some reports across the table.
“Here are the reports from three neurologists, all experts in brain trauma, who are willing to testify that our client’s extensive injury is the source of his inability to recall events.”
Cline didn’t touch the documents.
“Come on now, gentlemen. You certainly know we’ll get rebuttal testimony from our experts.”
“And we’ll put a string of the Marines he served with, including a general, who’ll testify to Mr. Hill’s mild manner and—”
Cline asked, “You want to go to trial? We may not get a murder conviction, but manslaughter will be a slam dunk, and your client will be calling Trenton State home for the next twenty years.”
“Twenty years? The max for manslaughter is ten years.”
“This is a clear case of aggravated manslaughter, and you know it, Counselor.”
“A judge would never give an injured vet twenty for this. That is, if you were lucky enough to get a conviction,” Scotto said as he scooped up the files.
Stanley finally spoke. “Ten years, medium security, or a psych facility—your call.”
“Come on, Bill. Ten years is just way too much,” Scotto said.
“Take it or leave it,” Cline said.
Edwards said, “There’s no way I can recommend a ten-year
plea to my client. He’d be better off taking his chances with going to trial.”
Stanley sneezed, and a chorus of bless yous broke out. He thanked them and pulled a hanky out of his pocket. After he wiped his nose, he said, “We can strike a deal for seven years.”
Edwards leaned forward. “You’ve got a deal at three years, minimum security facility.”
Cline put his hands on his knees. “That’s crazy.”
Stanley raised a hand. “The state can live with five years, with eligibility for parole after three.”
Scotto shook his head. “I don’t know, Eddie. That still seems stiff in my book for an injured veteran.”
Stanley said, “It’s the best you’re going to do. I’d recommend you take it while it’s still on the table.”
“Bill, this kid may not make it three years.”
“In minimum security? What’s gonna happen to him?” Cline asked.
“This kid has a ton of issues. You may not believe it, but he’s got a boatload of problems.”
“We don’t doubt his medical record, and it’s not that we’re insensitive, but a man was killed, and the public is demanding justice.”
“Yes, but you’ll be getting your so-called justice at the potential price of locking up an innocent veteran who can’t defend himself.”
“All right, all right.” Stanley stood and extended his hand to Edwards. “Four years, minimum security, and parole eligibility after two years.”
Edwards nodded and enveloped the prosecutor’s bony hand. “Thanks Bill. I really think it’s a fair deal for both sides, considering the circumstances.”
Stanley nodded and said, “One more thing, though. This plea is gonna have to be sealed. I can’t have the public knowing all the details. They just won’t understand.”
The defense lawyers exchanged glances and shook their heads in agreement.
Chapter 32
Vinny was into his second cup of coffee when I came down. The sun was shining, but the house felt ice cold.
“You take your meds?”
I nodded.
“How’d you sleep?” He poured me a mug of java.
“What do you think? You know, it’s kinda funny, I struggle to remember all kinds of shit but couldn’t shake this last night.”
Luca Mystery Series Box Set Page 17
