by Dave Daren
“The date stamp is last week,” I noted.
“Strange, since they were so certain they had the right man,” Liz replied. “Any judge would have given them the warrant in a heartbeat.”
“Well, we know this was added,” I remarked.
“And we have the proof,” she said gleefully as she pulled out another set of pictures. “I had my assistant print out some of the photos we took of Anthony’s apartment and you can clearly see that there’s no needle anywhere.”
“They’ll argue we missed it or tried to hide it,” I replied. “Although these pictures are pretty clear that there’s nothing like a needle in the closet.”
“And Anthony hasn’t been back to the apartment since he moved back in with his parents, so who would have moved it?” Liz added with a note of excitement. “I think we can really nail them with this. Especially when we have the neighbor on the stand talking about the guy who was tossing Anthony’s apartment.”
“Except he didn’t see the other guy,” I pointed out. “Just us.”
“Still, all we need to do is plant the seed of doubt,” Liz replied. “And this is just the start. I went over the witness statements. They found two witnesses who claim they saw Anthony arrive with Francie, and they both identified Anthony from a photo line-up. But there’s nothing that shows that the police talked to either the lady across the hall, or to anyone in Wendy Romer’s apartment.”
“Even though that’s where the phone call came from,” I mused.
“Strange, yes?” she asked.
“Very strange,” I agreed. “So who are these two witnesses?”
“They both live in the building,” Liz said. “Roommates, actually. One, a woman named Felicia Allman, talked to one of the police officers at the scene and said she and her roommate, a woman named Tracey Hargrove, had seen Francie and a young man enter the building ahead of them.”
“If Francie and the young man were ahead of them, how did they see his face?” I asked.
“They claimed, two days later when the detectives went to talk to them, that the man had turned around for a moment,” Liz replied.
“How convenient,” I muttered.
“You might want to get in touch with Francie’s friends again,” Liz added. “Because it doesn’t appear that the police have made any effort to talk to them.”
“Then how did they find out about Giorgio Marinello?” I asked.
“I’m sure they’ll say they got that from Anthony’s phone records,” Liz replied. “It’s a shame he agreed to meet with Marinello.”
“This is some really bad police work,” I commented as I read through the file. “Is this really everything?”
“They claim it is,” she replied. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if more pieces appear as the DA figures out which holes they need to plug.”
“All these delays look bad,” I added. “We should find an expert who can testify as to how long this type of investigating usually takes.”
“I don’t think there’s any doubt he was set up,” Liz replied. “And that someone in the police department, or the DA’s office, or maybe even both, is on it. What I’m not sure about is how far they want this to go. As you said, this looks sloppy, so maybe the goal is just to keep Anthony busy while they move in on the Febbo business?”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “But then they would still have to deal with Anthony at some point.”
“I think we both know what that means,” Liz sighed.
“Our client is fighting for his life,” I said. “On so many fronts.”
“And he didn’t even want to be part of this,” she added.
“Sometimes, family sucks,” I said.
“There’s a few more things we should discuss,” she said as she flipped through a few more photos. “And then it’ll be up to you to decide what to do next. I have a flight to London tomorrow afternoon.”
“That soon?” I asked in surprise.
“I hoped to put it off until the end of the week, but the firm’s really pushing me to go and the client is clamoring for me to start, so yes, that soon,” she replied.
“I guess we should make the most of tonight, then,” I said.
Which we did, though not just on the Febbo case. We sat at the table past midnight as we drew up lists and plans for Anthony’s defense, and reread the scanty material we had received from the police. We guzzled coffee and gulped down water, and when we finally felt we’d covered all the angles, we slipped into the bedroom.
There wasn’t much need for words. Liz slowly stripped off her clothes to reveal those long, long legs that I loved so much and the heavy breasts that she somehow kept hidden from the world. I ran an appreciative gaze over her toned body as she sauntered towards me, her dusky hair a halo around her head and her blue eyes alight with mischief.
“Miss Bennet,” I began, “are you trying to seduce me?”
She laughed, a musical sound that made me smile. She stopped in front of me and started to peel off my clothing. She was moving too slowly for me, though, and my erection was already pressed against the cloth of my pants. She smiled when she felt the bulge, and I tossed off the rest of my clothes as quickly as I could. I swept her into my arms for a hot, wet kiss, then collapsed onto the bed with her body pressed against mine.
“I am so ready for you,” she whispered in my ear. “Please, Hunter.”
That was all the encouragement I needed. It was a wild night, with both of us acting like two lovers who were about to part forever. There was definitely a wisp of sadness, but mostly it was just a moment to soak up the other person’s presence one last time. I had gone long stretches without Liz’s rose and strawberry scent before, and I knew I could do it again if I had to. I just needed to make this time hold me until we met again.
“You need to come to London for a visit,” she murmured as we recovered. “I don’t think I can go a year without you.”
“Maybe the Febbo’s have business interests there,” I chuckled. “I could offer to check on things.”
“I didn’t ask if Anthony offered you vacation days or paid sick leave,” she laughed.
“I haven’t asked,” I replied with a grin. “But I guess I should find out.”
“I guess you should,” she said.
I didn’t count how many times we made love that night, but when we were both finally sated, I fell asleep with Liz curled against me and one long, golden leg draped casually across mine. It was probably the most pleasant sleep I’d had in a while, and I tried not to be too disappointed when I felt Liz stir the next morning, and then felt her slip quietly from the bed and head for the bathroom.
When the shower came on, I dragged myself from beneath the sheet and made my way to the kitchen. I started a fresh pot of coffee and pulled out the eggs and bacon I’d bought over the weekend. By the time Liz reappeared, her skin aglow from the hot shower, I had a pair of omelets and some crispy bacon ready to serve alongside a mug of hot coffee.
“It smells delicious,” my long-legged co-counsel said as she took a seat at the table. She smelled slightly woodsy, like my soap, but it seemed fresher on her than it did on me.
“One of the few things I can cook on my own,” I assured her.
We ate quickly, since we both had a long list of tasks to attend to throughout the day, not the least of which was Liz’s impending departure. But it wasn’t until she was dressed and ready to leave that I saw any doubts about her decision.
“I’m doing the right thing, right?” she asked as she stood in the center of my little apartment and looked around. “I mean, London for a year is perfectly doable.”
“It’s a great opportunity,” I assured her. “You have to take it.”
“I just don’t want to stay there forever,” she added. “I want to work in New York.”
“You’ll be back,” I insisted.
She nodded as her eyes swept around the apartment again. She smiled when her eyes stopped on me and the sparkle returned to her eyes.
> “Well, I certainly have every reason to return,” she replied. “I’ll call you this weekend, just to make sure everything’s still okay.”
“You don’t have to,” I said quickly. “I know you’ll be settling in.”
“Please,” she replied. “I’ve already done all the tourist sites in London. At best, I’ll be sitting in my corporate apartment watching some really bad show on the BBC and wishing I knew a place to get good she-crab soup.”
We both laughed, and then enjoyed a lingering kiss good-bye. We almost ended up back in the bedroom, but she shook her head, and with a firm glint in her eyes, she walked across the floor and out the door.
With a sigh, I set about my own morning business, from a longer than usual shower to putting fresh sheets on the bed. I checked the time and decided it wasn’t too early to call a stranger. The police had been kind enough to note phone numbers for the two women who had identified Anthony from the photo line-up and I called the number for Felicia Allman first. I thought I would have to leave a voicemail since Ms. Allman wouldn’t recognize my number, but someone finally picked up on the other end.
“Hello?” a groggy voice asked.
So maybe it was too early to make phone calls after all.
“Felicia Allman?” I checked.
“Who’s this?” the groggy asked in an aggrieved tone. No doubt she suspected I was a telemarketer.
“My name is Hunter Morgan. I’m an attorney,” I replied. “I wanted to talk to you about a witness identification you made.”
“A what?” she asked in confusion.
“When your neighbor was killed,” I explained. “You and Tracey Hargrove did a photo line-up for the police.”
“Oh, um, yeah,” she muttered. It sounded like she had sat up and I could picture a generic female figure rubbing at her eyes.
“I wanted to talk to you about that,” I added.
“You said you were a lawyer?” she pressed.
“For a person of interest in the case,” I replied.
I could swear I heard her yawn, and then it sounded like she was walking across a floor.
“Well, I guess that’s okay,” she mumbled. “I mean, do I need to call the police and tell them? Am I even supposed to talk to you?”
“You don’t have to notify the police,” I replied. “In fact, they’re the ones who gave me your name and phone number. You don’t have to talk to me today, but I’d like to meet with you soon. I know some people prefer to receive a subpoena so they have something to show their boss, and I could do that, but that means you’ll have to talk to me on the record and we’d have to arrange for a transcript, and meet at an office in Queens. It’s a whole production if we go that route.”
I held my breath as I waited for Allman’s response. I hoped I had made the subpoena route sound unappealing and that she would be willing to meet today to avoid all that hassle. But it was hard to read anything from the silence that greeted me for several moments.
“Oh,” she muttered. “So how long do you need?”
“Not long,” I assured her.
“Well, Tracey’s still asleep but I could wake her up if you want to talk to her,” Felicia replied. “It’s probably easier if I just hand her the phone after we talk. Sometimes when she’s asleep she doesn’t hear her phone ring.”
“Actually, I’d like to talk to both of you in person,” I said as I crossed my fingers.
“Um,” Felicia hesitated.
Not that I could blame her. A woman in her building had just been murdered, and she and her roommate were probably the only ones who had gotten a look at the killer. According to every B movie cliche, I was secretly the killer who would show up on their doorstep to see what they remembered, then kill them when it was clear they recognized me.
“We could meet at a coffee shop or something if that would make you more comfortable,” I suggested.
“Can I call you back?” she said. “I need to talk to Tracey first.”
“Sure,” I agreed though I hated the idea. There was no guarantee she would call back, and then I would be forced to write another subpoena after all.
While I waited for Felicia to call, or not call, me back, I went online to see what was required to get a concealed weapons permit. I ended up at an NYPD site, since the city had stricter rules than the state, and a long description of everything I would have to submit along with the application itself. The phone rang while I was still flipping through the list and I answered quickly just so I had an excuse not to wade through the material.
“This is Hunter Morgan,” I said since I figured it was Felicia.
“Good morning, Mr. Morgan,” an unfamiliar man’s voice replied. “My name is Lyle Landis. I understand you’re the attorney representing Anthony Febbo during his current… predicament.”
Definitely an attorney, I decided, though I didn’t recognize the name as someone from the DA’s office. And he didn’t sound young enough to be a new hire that I didn’t know.
“I am,” I replied warily.
“My firm has represented the Febbo family for several years, on all their personal matters,” Landis added.
“Ah,” I noted.
“I was hoping we could meet today,” Landis said. “Perhaps we might be able to help each other.”
“Help each other,” I parroted.
“Indeed,” Landis replied. “I’m sure we have information that would be of use to you, and perhaps you could help us with some current issues we’re experiencing.”
“Does Anthony know that you called me?” I asked.
“He will, if you agree to meet with us,” Landis said in a soothing voice. “I didn’t see the need to inform him unless you agreed. If you’d prefer not to meet, then it’s as if the phone call never happened.”
“I can’t discuss the matter with you,” I said. “That would be a breach of confidentiality.”
“Oh, no, you misunderstand,” Landis insisted. “I’m not asking you to betray any information that might be considered confidential. But I do think we have overlapping interests, and I imagine we probably already know more than you think we do.”
Something about Landis’ smooth voice had my back up and what I really wanted to do was growl like a dog that’s gotten a whiff of danger. But if I was careful with what I said, I might be able to get something useful out of this, like a seat for Anthony in the import company.
“I have some interviews this morning,” I replied even though I hadn’t heard back from Felicia yet. “Can we do something this afternoon?”
Landis suggested three o’clock at his firm’s midtown office. I took down the address and bid Landis goodbye. I wasn’t sure I believed the smooth talking lawyer when he claimed he would notify Anthony, so I sent my own text message explaining that I hoped to turn it into a position in the company for Anthony. Anthony texted back a few minutes later telling me to be careful around that sea of sharks and not to trust what they had to say. A curious reaction to the family’s long-term lawyers, but then their loyalty was probably to Salvatore, not Anthony.
Felicia called back while I was still pondering Anthony’s warning, and this time I could hear a second woman’s voice in the background. It also sounded like the TV was on, so I guessed that the two ladies had decided it was time to get up. I only hoped that boded well for me.
“So, we called the precinct, and the detective said you were the attorney of record,” Felicia said without preamble.
“That’s correct,” I replied.
“So, we decided you could come by and talk to us,” Felicia added.
“At your apartment?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Felicia replied. “We both work at night, so normally we don’t get up this early. If you get here soon, we can maybe catch a few more z’s after you leave, and we won’t have to get dressed or anything.”
“Oh, ah, sure,” I said, though I hoped the not getting dressed part was meant euphemistically and not that two naked women would be waiting for me.
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br /> “Do you know where we are?” she asked.
“I know the building,” I assured her. “It says here you’re in six D?”
“That’s right,” Felicia replied. “How long will it take you to get here?” she asked.
“Not long,” I said. “I’m in Brooklyn, near the G.”
“Cool,” she said and then hung up.
I took that as an invitation to set off for Queens once again. Since I would be there in an official capacity, of sorts, I put on a fresh suit and tie, and packed up my briefcase. I joined the swarm of fellow apartment dwellers as they marched towards the various subway stations, and joined the pack already waiting for the G.
The ride was quick, at least, and not too crowded even though one of the cars was without air conditioning and therefore useless. I made my escape into clean air through the exit at the far end of the station, hot on the heels of a group of young men in shorts and sunglasses and armed with a basketball. While they turned towards a nearby park where a large group of men had already gathered on the courts, I turned towards Francie Mott’s last apartment in a building I was getting to know rather well.
This time, at least, I didn’t have to loiter outside for someone to let me in. The lobby door was unlocked for a furniture delivery, and I stepped inside alongside an overstuffed loveseat. The utility man saw me as I sidled in with the loveseat and started towards me, but I’d already reached the buzzers for the apartment. I pressed the button for Felicia and Tracey, and a moment later, Felicia’s startled voice could be heard in the lobby.
“Hello?” Felicia called out.
“It’s Mr. Morgan,” I replied as the utility man looked on.
“Oh, sure, come on up,” she replied.
I smiled at the utility man as I breezed by him. I walked past the elevators, where the delivery men waited with the loveseat, and took the stairs instead. I only saw two other people in the stairwell, both of whom were so caught up in their cell phones that they didn’t notice me.
The layout of the floor was exactly the same, and I found six D easily enough. My knock was answered by a young black woman with a head full of braids and a pair of lovely eyes the color of caramel.
