Corrupted: A Rosato & DiNunzio Novel

by Lisa Scottoline

  Bennie let it go, switching gears. “Jason, did the police give you your Miranda warnings when they arrested you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You didn’t say anything to them after that, did you?”

  “Yes, I did.” Jason frowned. “I was so freaked, I started talkin’, like I couldn’t shut up.”

  “What did you say?” Bennie held her breath.

  “I said I didn’t do it, I don’t know how it happened, but I wasn’t sad about it. I told ’em, ‘Good!’ I told ’em, ‘About damn time he paid for what he did to me,’ and I got a lil’ justice for once in my effing life!”

  Bennie cringed inwardly. “Did you tell Detective Gallagher that, too?”

  “Yeah, I did. He gave me Miranda warnings, and we went over the sheets.” Jason gestured at the papers. “I know, it was stupid to say anything to the cops. I know better, anybody knows better. I do the dumbest things, you don’t even know.” Jason’s shoulders slumped, as if he were deflating.

  “When did you call me?”

  “After he wanted me to sign the form, I figured I need a lawyer.”

  “Did you tell the police you’d been drinking?”

  “Yeah, the cops asked in the alley, but I told them I wasn’t drunk. I wasn’t. I’m not. The detective asked me that, too.”

  “Okay.” Bennie didn’t expect Jason to understand the legal significance of the alcohol. It could have nullified his statements, but his admission that he wasn’t drunk would cut against him. Bennie wasn’t hearing any basis for a motion to suppress. “When they brought you here, did they take your blood? DNA? Skin?”

  “Yes. They also took pictures of the blood that was on me. They cleaned me up, after.”

  “Was there blood on your clothes?”

  “Yes, but I swear, I didn’t do it.”

  “Then how do you think blood got on you?” Bennie hid her puzzlement.

  “I don’t know, whatever, I didn’t kill him. Somebody else put that knife in my hand, and I’m not goin’ to go down for it, no matter what.”

  “Okay, that’ll do for now.” Bennie set her pad on the table. “This is very serious. I have to tell you, they have enough to charge you with first-degree murder.”

  “So let ’em charge me, but I’m not pleading guilty to a murder I didn’t do.”

  “Jason, the sentence for first-degree murder is life in prison, without possibility of parole. It’s mandatory.”

  “I know that.”

  “I’m sure I can get you a deal for ten, at most. If you plead guilty to third-degree murder—”

  “You have to get me off. I didn’t do it. End of discussion.”

  “I’ll be right back.” Bennie rose. “I have to see Detective Gallagher.”

  “No deals, Bennie.” Jason scowled. “You know why.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bennie found Detective Gallagher on an ancient computer in an office so cramped that his desk shared space with a coatrack, and sleeves brushed against his case files. “Hi, got a minute?”

  “Sure.” Detective Gallagher swiveled around, rolled a black chair from a nearby desk, and motioned her into it. “Please, feel free.”

  “Thanks.” Bennie sat down in the chair, which wobbled slightly. She knew she had a losing cause, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t put up a fight. “I don’t think you have enough to charge him. The case is totally circumstantial.”

  “Doesn’t mean it’s not a case.” Detective Gallagher retook his seat, his mouth a grim line. “Plus your client made a number of res gestae statements to the uniformed officer on the scene, as well as myself, during his interview.”

  Bennie frowned. By res gestae statements, the detective meant what Jason had said about being happy Richie was dead. “They weren’t admissions, and he also said he didn’t do it.”

  “True, but the jury won’t be interested in the legal technicalities. Your client had bad blood with the victim. He handed us motive and he was found in the alley with the weapon.”

  “The knife wasn’t his. It was planted on him. Someone framed him for this.”

  “Yeah, right.” Detective Gallagher snorted.

  “Are you even investigating that? Richie Grusini had enemies. You need to look into his character and his history. That kid was bad to the bone.”

  “Educate me.”

  “Well, he—” Bennie stopped herself. She knew they had enough to charge Jason, so there was no point to showing her hand. “Forget it, let me ask you, was Grusini found with his wallet?”

  “Yes. Money and all.”

  “Phone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you learn anything from it?”

  Detective Gallagher frowned. “The A.D.A. will let you know, when they have to.”

  “How about a weapon? Did he have one on him?”

  “Your boy had the knife.”

  “But Grusini. Any weapon?”

  “No.” Detective Gallagher spread his hands, palms up. “Bennie, be real. The way I see this case, these two had history, and it’s a bar fight turned into a murder. Your client’s a punk, not a cold-blooded killer. Problem is, a man is dead. According to your client, that’s not the worst thing in the world. But the victim’s family doesn’t agree.”

  “Have you notified them?” Bennie ignored the pang in her chest.

  “Yes. We have enough to charge your client with general murder. You don’t need me to tell you, that’s fifteen to twenty years.”

  Bennie knew, too well. It would be the prime of Jason’s life, and after what he had gone through, could put him over the edge.

  “On the other hand, if you let him talk to me, we can reduce it to third-degree murder, voluntary manslaughter. He’ll do ten years, maybe less.” Detective Gallagher cocked his head, and the institutional lights shone on his bald scalp. “Let’s make a deal. I can get the D.A. to go for it.”

  “Jason didn’t do it, Detective. He’s innocent. He doesn’t want a deal.”

  “He should. He’s jammed up.”

  “He won’t deal.”

  “You really gonna make them try this?” Detective Gallagher frowned, and Bennie knew why. Almost everybody made a deal in Philly, and the truth was, plea bargains were often in the defendant’s best interests.

  “I’ll give it a shot, but he’s going to say no.” Bennie rose, resigned. A guilty plea would have been a no-brainer with any client but Jason Lefkavick.

  She knew why, but she wasn’t saying.

  * * *

  At dawn, Bennie found herself sitting in her coat in Arraignment Court, waiting for Jason to be arraigned. He’d declined the plea deal, and she understood. It had taken all night for him to be scheduled for arraignment, and though she hadn’t gotten any sleep, she felt oddly energized. She’d never thought she’d get a second chance to come through for Jason, and it fueled her. She didn’t love his story, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe that the little boy she’d known had become a murderer, even after all he’d been through.

  Arraignments were held uptown in the Criminal Justice Center, which was Philly’s modern courthouse, its corporate cleanliness a relief after the atmospheric filth of the Roundhouse. The courtroom was a windowless gray box, and the gallery was empty except for her. All arraignments were via closed-circuit television, so an arraignment courtroom was unique; a bulletproof wall divided the gallery from the bar of court, and Bail Commissioner Lawrence Holloway spoke directly to a camera, as did the public defender and assistant district attorney, their voices piped to the gallery on the sound system. A large closed-circuit monitor sat between them on a cart, broadcasting prisoners held in precincts around the city.

  Bennie watched as the defendants popped onto the TV, one after the other, like the worst nightmare reality show of all time. Each was onscreen for only a matter of minutes, and some cried, cursed, or even spat at the camera. They would nevertheless be formally charged with murder, rape, arson, or the like, then granted or denied bail. Murder wasn’t
generally a bailable offense in Philadelphia, but Bennie was going to give Jason everything she had this time, conceding nothing.

  She heard some noise in the hallway and turned around. There were glass windows in the doors, and through them, she could see what was causing the commotion. About to walk into the courtroom was something Bennie had never expected to see again.

  Her past.

  And he looked even better, the second time around.

  PART ONE

  Thirteen Years Earlier, December 16, 2002

  What transpired would make us pause for careful inquiry if a mature man were involved. And when, as here, a mere child, an easy victim of the law, is before us, special care in scrutinizing the record must be used.

  —Justice William O. Douglas, Haley v. Ohio, 332 U.S. 596

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Bennie Rosato could win a murder case and run a law firm, but she couldn’t buy presents to save her life. She couldn’t find anything good for fifteen bucks and she hated what she’d bought. She hated wrapping gifts, too, and it didn’t help that she’d forgotten to buy wrapping paper, so she was using a sheet of yellow legal paper, trying desperately to form it around a sphere, which was probably the hardest shape to wrap. She wished she could gift-wrap fifteen bucks but gathered that wouldn’t be in the holiday spirit.

  She could hear her associates yapping away outside her closed door, ready to begin the Secret Santa. She had three young associates, Mary DiNunzio, Judy Carrier, and Anne Murphy; all female, but Bennie hadn’t intended it that way. She hired only the best and the brightest, and they happened to come with ovaries. She wasn’t a girly girl herself, and truth be told, she was the closest thing they had to a male lawyer. She’d read somewhere that there had been a study measuring the testosterone of all types of lawyers, and the results were that male and female trial lawyers had higher levels than everybody else. Bennie was pretty sure hers qualified her as incapable of wrapping gifts, as well as applying liquid eyeliner.

  Also included in the Secret Santa was their young receptionist, Marshall Trow, and their investigator, Lou Jacobs, a retired cop. Lou was Bennie’s good friend and right hand, and his age and experience gave him the authority to keep the associates in line, like the Office Daddy to her Office Second Wife. The associates adored him, going to him with their complaints and drama, which were mostly about Bennie herself. It always struck her as vaguely ironic that Lou was considered less threatening than she, though he carried concealed.

  “Rowf!” Bear barked, facing the door and waving his feathery tail, getting excited at the sound of the happy chatter on the other side of the door. He was a chubby golden retriever, a breed always ready for a party. He knew something nonbillable was happening because nobody was working, ringing phones went unanswered, and faxes were being ignored. Plus the air smelled like cake. The only thing goldens liked better than cake were balls, which was how Bennie got the idea for her gift. She figured that if Bear would like it, so would Mary.

  “Boss, you almost ready?” Mary called from the other side of the door.

  “One more second.” Bennie formed the legal paper with her cupped hands, then tore a long strip of Scotch tape off the roll. She wrapped the tape around the gift a few times, like a spaceship orbiting the earth. “Okay, come on in.”

  “Yay!” the associates called out in unison, like an estrogen chorus.

  Bear barked again, as the door was opened and a noisy Mary, Judy, and Anne piled into Bennie’s office, followed by Lou, grinning broadly.

  “Merry Christmas!” Mary held a sheet cake that read Happy Holidays in red-and-green lettering.

  “Happy Hanukkah!” Lou called out. “Even though it ended on the seventh. Let’s not get technical. What’d you get me, Bennie?”

  Bennie set her anxiety aside, petting Bear’s head. “You’re not my Secret Santa. Tough break.”

  “So no Maker’s Mark?”

  “Bingo.” Bennie noticed Mary eyeing her cluttered desk, obviously wondering where to set the cake down without getting in trouble. Mary DiNunzio was proverbially short and sweet, a South-Philly Italian-American with a tendency toward codependency. Mary was a better lawyer than she knew, but generally loath to step out of line, as exemplified by her conventional blue suit and nude pantyhose, which Bennie regarded as cruel and unusual punishment.

  “Here’s cake!” Mary set down the cake with a brave smile. “Would you like a piece? It’s vanilla.”

  “Let’s do the presents first!” Anne Murphy called out, which surprised no one because she was the firm’s Material Girl. Lovely and model-thin, with green eyes and glossy red hair, Anne stepped forward, clapping her manicured hands. Today she had on a sleek black knit dress with black suede boots, an outfit that made her look like a licorice stick, but Bennie didn’t care what the associates wore, only that they won.

  “Yes, presents!” Judy Carrier started jumping up and down, which was her default mood, and if every office had a free spirit, Judy was theirs. A tall blonde from northern California, she painted for a hobby, and Bennie sensed it wasn’t coincidental that the associate had a brilliantly creative legal mind. Unfortunately, every day was Casual Friday for Judy, who today had on a long, multicolored Oilily sweater over her jeans, with cobalt blue clogs that matched her latest crazy hair color, courtesy of Manic Panic dye. Bennie thought it was a good look if you liked M&Ms, but she kept her own counsel.

  “Rowf!” Bear jumped up and down along with Judy, and Bennie waved them both into better manners, having better luck with the dog.

  “Carrier, don’t get him riled up,” Bennie said, trying to keep the annoyance from her tone, as it was a national holiday. She looked around, and the receptionist was missing. “Where’s Marshall? We can’t exchange gifts without her.”

  Mary waved her off. “She said to go ahead and get started. She wanted to check the answering machine to make sure none of the calls was important.”

  “Good.” Bennie approved. Secret Santa wasn’t worth a malpractice action.

  “Oh, by the way,” Mary said, tentative. “I wanted to ask you about next week, with the holiday. Are we closing the whole week?”

  “No, why would we?” Bennie couldn’t get any work out of anybody as soon as Thanksgiving passed. The associates started taking long lunches, and she’d even caught Murphy shopping online while she defended a deposition.

  Carrier jumped in, coming to her best friend’s rescue. “Boss, Christmas is Wednesday of next week, and Christmas Eve is Tuesday, so what’s the point of opening on Monday, and then afterwards—”

  “Do we have to discuss this now?” Bennie wished they discussed their cases with the same enthusiasm as their vacation schedule.

  “I might go skiing with some friends and I have to get a plane ticket. It’s cheaper if you buy it earlier.”

  Murphy nodded. “Last year you said we might close the office on Christmas week or between Christmas and New Year’s. Remember?”

  “No,” Bennie answered, though she could see the problem with plane fares.

  “You said you would see how busy we all were, and it seems like none of us is that busy. You know how it is around the holidays. The courts slow down, everything slows down. None of our cases is that active.”

  Bennie frowned. “Neither are mine, but that doesn’t mean I’m closing the office. The courts may slow down, but they don’t close, and I’ll be here.”

  “So what should we do? Are we allowed to take off, then?”

  “Here’s what I think.” Bennie decided just to speak to them like equals, since one day they would be. “You’re all professionals. Put on your big-girl panties and stop asking for permission. Your practice is your business. You should take time off when you feel that you can take time off. Answer to your clients and yourself, not to me.”

  “O-kay,” Judy said slowly, and the other two associates looked vaguely astonished.

  Lou started chuckling softly. “You meant that in a nice way, right, Bennie?”

>   “Of course. I respect their judgment. They should use it. End of discussion.” Bennie wished she were better in the maternal department, but she didn’t get a lot of practice, unless you counted golden retrievers. She looked around, ignoring the awkward moment. “So who wants to give out the first present? DiNunzio, why don’t you go first?”

  “Okay.” Mary accepted a perfectly gift-wrapped box from Judy and handed it over the desk to Bennie. Her brown eyes shone. “I’m your Secret Santa, Bennie! Merry Christmas!”

  “Ha!” Bennie laughed, surprised. It was pure chance that she had picked Mary, and she hoped that Mary’s gift didn’t outclass hers. She accepted the gift and tried to relax. “This is fun!”

  Lou snorted. “Bennie, you’re not fooling anybody. You’d rather be working.”

  Judy laughed. “Right, if it’s really fun, you don’t have to say it’s fun.”

  Anne giggled. “I mean, who says that?”

  Mary mock-frowned. “Give her a break, she’s trying.”

  “Fun is overrated.” Bennie tore off gift wrap covered with Grinches, which she assumed was coincidental. Under the paper was a square white box, and she opened the top and pulled out a white mug that read, I CAN SMELL FEAR.

  “You’re not mad, are you?” Mary asked.

  Bennie burst into laughter. “No, of course not! I love it, thanks!”

  Lou chuckled. “You should buy a case.”

  “Funny.” Bennie set the mug down on her desk, picked up her own gift, and handed it across the desk to Mary. “DiNunzio, you should get the next present, since I was your Secret Santa.”

  “Great!” Mary accepted the gift with an expectant smile, turning it this way and that. “What could this be? It’s so soft!”

  “Nice paper, Bennie.” Lou snorted again. “What, did you run out of tinfoil?”

  Bennie shot him a look. “Please, I’m a busy, self-important woman. Plus can you smell fear? I can.”