Whatever it was, they would handle it.
A driver picked Iurato up and took him to the Coastal Cargo planes. It was clear that he had not heard about Edward’s arrest. If he had, he would have tried to escape rather than head to the place the FBI would be most interested in.
The agents knew that Iurato was not armed on the commercial flight, but they made the assumption that the driver had given him a weapon. It was always safer to assume that, and be pleasantly surprised if it were not the case. As it turned out, that caution was warranted, as Iurato had been given a gun moments after entering the car.
When he arrived at the hangar and got out of the car, the agents moved in, using overwhelming force. Iurato made the decision not to shoot it out; he had long believed that going down fighting made no sense.
Even in the moment, he decided that he would instead use the bargaining chip of implicating and testifying against Edward Young to soften his fall. Young would be the key player the feds would be looking to take down.
Having prudently thought about this possibility long in advance, Iurato also would say that Young was the co-planner with Carmine Desimone, since there was no way anyone could know that Carmine was dead. Carmine was set up to be a possible fall guy in death, and there was no reason to abandon that idea now.
It was the largest illegal drug confiscation in the nation’s history, more than two and a half times larger than the previous record holder. And it would set off a law enforcement chain reaction that would reverberate through much of South America.
“You think he did it,” Laurie says, as soon as we get in the car. “I can see it in your face.”
“It’s worse than that; I know he did it. He confessed.” I go on to tell her all that had happened.
“I heard about Edward Young’s arrest just before I got to court,” she says. “I figured it tied into this.”
“I’m going to have to live with this. There’s not a thing I can do.”
“You did what you thought was right,” she says. “And what I thought was right. And what Hike thought was right. It’s the way the system works.”
“So everybody did good, and the system worked, and a double murderer is out on the street.”
She knows there’s nothing she can say that will make me feel better. “Does Hike know?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m not sure I should tell him. He’ll feel just as badly, and there’s nothing he can do either.”
“He needs to know,” Laurie says. “You’d want to know if the roles were reversed.”
I call Hike and ask him to meet us at the house. He gets there about ten minutes after we do, and I tell him straight out that Joey is guilty.
“I figured something was wrong,” he says. “The way you took off after the verdict.”
“Sorry. I should have told you then.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “You give any thought to what we can do?”
“I come up with nothing. Anything we’ve learned is covered by privilege. You know that. And even if we could tell what we know, he’s off the hook for the murders.”
I don’t have to spell it out any more for Hike; he knows that jeopardy attached when the jury was sworn in. Joey couldn’t be tried again for the murders if he went on national television and confessed to the world.
It’s unbelievably frustrating for me. Right now I’d be willing to give up my legal career by breaking a confidence and revealing what I’ve learned as Joey’s attorney. But that wouldn’t even help; he is not guilty of the murders in the eyes of the law, forever.
“So we watch him,” Hike says. “He’s going to move into the family business, right? That’s what the whole thing was about. And with his father gone, he’ll fill the void. He’ll do something we can nail him on.”
“Joey’s smart,” I say. “He’ll be careful for a while.”
“But it won’t last. And think of how sweet it will be when he makes a mistake.”
It is a measure of how bad I feel that Hike is trying to cheer me up. The mind boggles.
At dinner, Laurie and I talk about it some more. I don’t really want to, but I might as well, because I can’t think about anything else. “I liked him,” I say. “For six years I’ve liked him, and he’s been lying to me.”
“You had no way of knowing.”
“Of course I did. The first jury knew he was guilty; how come I didn’t? I feel like Johnnie Cochran.”
“What is it that’s bothering you the most, Andy? That a bad guy got off and is walking free? That you helped him do it? That justice didn’t triumph? That you were fooled?”
“All of the above. But never again. I’m done. I’m going to rescue dogs full-time. Dogs tell it like it is.”
“You’re retiring?”
“I’m retiring.”
“You say that after every case. Even when you win.”
“This time I mean it.” I can’t help but smile. “Actually, every time I mean it. But this time I really mean it.”
“You’re too good at it. There are other people out there that need you. People who deserve help.”
“I helped a murderer walk, Laurie.”
“Just so I can prepare, how long am I going to have to listen to you blame yourself?”
“Till death do us part.”
For the past week, I’ve been a walking contradiction. Actually, a walking and sitting contradiction, because when I’m not taking Tara for a walk, I’m sitting on the couch watching whatever sports I can find. It’s an attempt to take my mind off the trial, but off-hour sports, like poker and lacrosse, do not do the trick.
I completely ignore anything having to do with the Desimone case. I turn off anything about it on the news, I refuse to take calls from the media who want comments on the case, I also refuse to take a call from FBI agent Beall, who leaves a message thanking me for my help. I haven’t even been able to bring myself to send Joey a final bill.
The contradiction is that while I’m ignoring it, I’m obsessing about it. I pretty much think about nothing else, much as I would like to.
To make matters worse, a FedEx package arrives from Agent Beall. He’s making good on the trade I insisted on, in which I gave them the information about the drugs and Edward Young, in return for the tapes they had on Joey Desimone six years ago. Givens didn’t want to do it, but Beall had agreed, had given his word, and he’s following up.
I would rather listen to twenty-four hours of opera than five minutes of Joey Desimone plotting a murder. Not only do I not want to hear the tapes, but their very existence angers me. The FBI knew with total certainty that Joey was a murderer, but at no time did they intervene.
I haven’t spoken to Cindy Spodek, though I know Laurie has. I should thank her for her help, but since I’m in my “miserable to everyone” mode, I’m not about to.
Cindy calls again tonight, at ten thirty when Laurie and I have just gotten into bed. I hear them talking for about twenty minutes. It doesn’t seem to be about business, but rather some house that Cindy and her husband are about to move into in a Boston suburb.
When Laurie gets off the phone, she tells me that Cindy said hello to me. “We’re going to have dinner next week. You up for that?”
“Where?”
“Here. She’s coming in on an assignment. She’s been traveling a lot, which has been a problem, because she and Tom are getting ready to move.”
“She working on a case here?”
Laurie shrugs. “I guess so. Must be a Massachusetts case that spills over.”
It’s weird the way certain things can hit you. I totally was aware that Cindy traveled and that her cases took her across state lines. It’s why they call it the “Federal” Bureau of Investigation, because it’s national.
I get out of bed, leaving Laurie there, which is not something I’m normally inclined to do. I spend the next nine hours diving into the box that Agent Beall had sent me; I can sleep some other time.
All the tapes have fo
rtunately been transcribed and cataloged, which makes my job much easier. By morning I have what I need, and start calling Agent Beall in Washington every five minutes, until he gets in.
“I need to see you,” I say, when I finally reach him.
He tries to get me to say what I want, but I tell him it has to be in person. “I can be there by two o’clock,” I tell him, and he agrees to see me.
I bring a small suitcase, which I carry onto the plane. There are no clothes in it, only copies of the documents from the box and notes I’ve made from them. When I finally get to Beall’s office, I put the suitcase on his desk.
He smiles. “You’re moving in?”
“No, just negotiating another trade.”
“The last one worked out pretty well.”
“For you,” I say.
“Your client got off; isn’t that what you wanted?”
I nod. “Until I found out that he was guilty, which you’ve known all along.”
“Not me,” he says. “Just because the Bureau on some level had the information, there was no reason for me to be involved. It was a New Jersey case.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
“You have enough information in that bag to put Joey Desimone away ten times over.”
“Did you cut class in law school the day they taught double jeopardy?”
“There are at least eight phone taps in there between Joey and his father, or associates of his father.”
“So?”
“So Joey was living in New York, and that’s where he made the calls from.”
Beall immediately knows where I’m going; I can see it in his face. But I spell it out for him anyway.
“He’s on those calls talking conspiracy to murder, arms smuggling, laundering money … which is wire fraud … and he’s doing it all across state lines. That’s federal, and has nothing to do with the trial in New Jersey.”
“So his lawyer is asking us to prosecute him?”
I shake my head. “I’m not his lawyer anymore, and I learned this information after he and I ended our relationship. And I’m not sure I’d constitute what I’m doing as asking.”
“What does that mean?”
“This is going to become public knowledge. It will happen either by you bringing charges, or by me going to the media and telling them that you stood by while a murderer went free. And then the pressure will be so great that your bosses will force you to make the case anyway. So do yourself a favor and do it now.”
I’ve got him, and he knows it. “It will take some time to put the case together.”
I point to the suitcase. “Your case is in that case, and it’s already together. A competent attorney, which I am not, could file it next week. But I’ll give you three weeks.”
“You understand it’s not my decision.”
“The people making the decision will see the wisdom in it. To say nothing of justice being served.” I’m sure they will bring the case; I’ve really left them no choice.
As I’m about to leave, Beall says, “You never told me how you knew it was Edward Young.”
“He told me he buys small businesses with big potential, and then hires people to run them who report only to him. Ryerson was a businessman who could run things; that’s why Young brought him in. Once he bought out Solarno, he had access to Desimone. He thought Desimone’s business could be run better, so he took it over.”
“How did he do that?”
“I assume with money. He bought Desimone’s employees; their loyalty was to the money. Times have changed.”
“That still doesn’t tell me how you knew about Young.”
“Money was one reason,” I say. “I knew that the operation had to cost a fortune to put together, and Young was the only person connected to this in any way that had that kind of dough.
“And I did some research on Young’s companies before I met him. I knew Coastal Cargo was one of them, and I saw the planes flying into Peru on television. I also found out that Iurato was heading to St. Louis. That was where Coastal Cargo was based, and where Young was from. He’s a huge Cardinals fan. Those were major coincidences, and I do not believe in them.”
“Nice work,” Beall says. “But you didn’t know for certain. And there was that shooting; his driver was killed.”
I shrug. “I figured he set that up to divert attention from himself, so he would look like a victim. But the bottom line is that when I came to you, I wasn’t absolutely positive I was right. But if I was wrong, I was wrong. I had to take a shot; I was defending my client.”
I leave Beall’s office confident that I accomplished my goal, and that they will file charges.
And Joey Desimone will go down.
With a different lawyer.
Who probably won’t visit him in prison.
“I thought I’d never see either of you again,” Harriet Marshall said. She’s petting Tara as she talks, still using that reverse pet that Tara is not crazy about, but allows her to do.
I’m not sure whether Harriet is talking to me or Tara, but I decide to do the answering. “I told you we’d be back,” I said. “I’m glad it’s not in the hospital.”
We’re at her house, in Fair Lawn. She was discharged from the hospital awhile ago, and is doing great.
“Me too,” she says. “I saw you on the news. I told everybody I know about it.”
“Have you been getting out a lot?”
She nods. “Some, and people come over all the time. Family and friends. But that’s not the only way I talk to people anymore, not since my nephew gave me a computer. Are you familiar with e-mail?”
I smile. “Vaguely.”
“You won that case, right?”
I nod. “I did, but the client is going to go back to jail. The FBI filed charges against him yesterday.”
“Does that upset you?” she asks.
“I’m OK with it.”
“You know, bringing Tara to see me in the hospital really helped. It reminded me of my Sarah, and of happy times.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” I say. “Tara makes me happy every day.”
“Do you think you could help me find a dog of my own? They’re telling me I could live for a long time, and I’ll make arrangements for the dog to have a home with my daughter if I don’t.”
“Absolutely. I know a place where there are dogs just waiting for a home like this, and a friend like you.” Willie and I just rescued three mellow, senior dogs, any one of which would be perfect for this home.
“When could we do that?”
“How about now?”
She smiles and pets Tara again. “Now is good.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A while back, when I wrote Play Dead, I was accused of name-dropping, simply because I thanked a bunch of famous people. I stopped doing it for a while, because I didn’t want to look like I was showing off, but that stops here.
My relationships with these people help define me; they reveal who I am. Like it or not, I walk among the stars, and I’m not afraid to admit it.
So a heartfelt “thank you” to those mentioned below. I am proud to call all of you close, personal friends:
Barack Obama
David, Butch, and Hopalong Cassidy
Kelley Ragland
Kelly Ripa
Clarence and Marlo Thomas
Kim Kardashian
Kim Jung Il
The entire Jung Il family
Woody and Gracie Allen
Marv Throneberry
Marv Albert
Albert Schweitzer
Cynthia and Richard Nixon
Margaret Thatcher
Andy and Cherry Garcia
Doug Burns
Anne and Barney Frank
Too many Baldwins to mention
LeBron James
Marilyn and James Monroe
Kramer
Daniel and Jenny Craig
Robin Rue
Denzel and Martha Washington
Matt Martz
Ratzo Rizzo
Adlai Stevenson
The Williams family—Robin, Serena, and Tennessee
Andy Martin
Andy Warhol
Andy Carpenter
Jodie and Bananas Foster
Bruce Springsteen
Hector DeJean
Jenny and Senator Joseph McCarthy
Charlie Sheen
Charlie Chan
Lawrence and Elizabeth Taylor
Wolf Blitzer
Rod Blagojevich
Earl and Sigourney Weaver
Hyman Roth
Gunther Toody
Emma and Fred Thompson
Beth Miller
Harrison and Betty Ford
Vladimir Putin
Barth Gimble
Mel and Althea Gibson
Elizabeth Lacks
Warren Harding
Aretha and Benjamin Franklin
Debbie Myers
Peyton Manning
Meg and Private Ryan
Ernie Bilko
Roy Hobbs
Bruce, Spike, and Robert E. Lee
Scott Ryder
Neil and Hope Diamond
ALSO BY DAVID ROSENFELT
ANDY CARPENTER NOVELS
One Dog Night
Dog Tags
New Tricks
Play Dead
Dead Center
Sudden Death
Bury the Lead
First Degree
Open and Shut
THRILLERS
Heart of a Killer
On Borrowed Time
Down to the Wire
Don’t Tell a Soul
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DAVID ROSENFELT is the Edgar and Shamus Award–winning author of four stand-alones and nine previous Andy Carpenter novels, most recently One Dog Night. He and his wife live in Maine with twenty-seven golden retrievers that they’ve rescued.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
MINOTAUR BOOKS
An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
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