by Steve Hadden
Mac bull-rushed him and extended his hand, keeping him seated. “Vic. Thanks for meeting with us.”
“Your waste of time, not mine.”
The only person who despised Cassidy more than Ike was Mac. Both men’s postures foreshadowed a dogfight, but they played the game and held their tempers. Mac had always suspected Cassidy had planted cash from the evidence room in Mac’s locker eight years ago. The IA investigation that followed had provided enough heat that even Mac’s reputation couldn’t overcome the chief’s political fears. Mac had been allowed to resign with the full pension benefits he needed to care for his wife, Doris, who’d been diagnosed with brain cancer five months earlier. He’d left without a fight. Oddly enough, the chief was convicted of embezzlement shortly after.
Cassidy was dressed in a brown herringbone blazer that was well above the budget for a detective. He glanced at Ike, then back at his file. “I should have guessed he’d be with you.”
Mac stepped closer. “They’re his parents, you—”
“It’s okay, Mac. He knows who I am.” Ike wanted to get to the point of the meeting.
Mac stepped back. “Joey said there was a call to the station over the weekend about the Rossi case. Said you checked it out.”
Cassidy didn’t look up and flipped to another page in the file. “It’s nothing.”
“Let us be the judge of that,” Ike said.
Cassidy slammed his hand on the page. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Ike lunged forward, but Mac pulled him back. Ike rested his six-foot-three frame on his hands on the table, stopping face-to-face with Cassidy. “I’m one of only two people in this room who give a shit about solving this case.” Ike allowed Mac to pull him back.
“Okay, okay, let’s settle down.”
“Who called, Vic?” Mac said.
Cassidy held his stare on Ike. Ike didn’t flinch. Cassidy’s eyes always held lies. Ike knew if he didn’t back down there was a fifty-fifty chance they’d get the truth.
Finally, Cassidy returned his attention to the file. “It was some ancient crackpot at a nursing home for the demented.”
“And?” Mac said.
Cassidy looked up at Mac. “And nothing. Her son called. Said she was dying and wanted to clear her conscience about something regarding the case. I went there and she couldn’t remember her name, what day it was, and every minute I had to remind the old bat that she asked for me.”
Mac looked over his shoulder at Ike. Ike read his expression. Mac thought it was another dead end.
“What was her name?” Ike asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You interviewed her and you don’t know?”
Cassidy stood. “Hey, dipshit, I don’t have to tell you anything.”
Mac leaned in between Ike and Cassidy. “What was her name and where was she, Vic?”
Cassidy seemed to spot something in Mac’s eyes. Ike knew Mac had leverage on Cassidy, but Mac never said what.
“Emma Sosso. Homewood Nursing Home.” Cassidy sat down and nearly ripped the next page he yanked from the file.
“Thanks, Vic. What you working on?”
Cassidy glared up at Mac but then leaned back and smiled. “That kid’s case.”
“The Cole case?”
“Yup. Easiest one yet. The kid’s guilty as hell. Got all the evidence locked down. Just a matter of time.”
“You’re handling Jack’s case?” Ike said.
Cassidy crossed his arms. “Well, well. On a first-name basis, are you?”
Ike could see Cassidy took sick pleasure in the fact that Ike knew the boy.
“How’d that case come to you?” Mac said.
“Handled his father’s suicide. They thought I should handle this one, too—you know, keep it in the family.” Cassidy chuckled.
Ike thought of Jack asking for his help. He’d like nothing better than to make a fool of Cassidy, but his gut said to stay away from the kid. He’d felt the bottom drop out of his heart when he’d met him. It was the same feeling he’d had when the resident assistant at Penn State gave him the phone and a younger Mac Machowski introduced himself as a homicide detective and told him his parents were dead. He’d promised himself to avoid that sickening feeling for the rest of his life.
“You’re an asshole,” Ike said.
“At least I’m not some washed-up jock trying to play detective.”
Ike again took a step toward Cassidy, who stood.
Mac blocked his path and pushed against Ike. “Let’s go, Ike. We’re done here.”
Ike backed out of the room, his stare locked on Cassidy. He wasn’t done—not by a long shot.
CHAPTER 4
Jenna Price knew she was representing a killer. But she had bigger problems. It was two p.m. sharp and she heard the shuffling outside the conference room door. The other side’s cockiness was surging, and the old two-bedroom house that had been transformed into her father’s Cranberry Township law practice was smaller than the opposing counsel’s lobby. With their arrogance reinforced by the inferior setting, they’d go for the throat.
She glanced at her dad, who’d suggested he be present only to keep the meeting to three-on-three. He was relaxing in his chair, calmly fluttering through the pages of notes he’d made for another meeting. He knew this was part of the strategy: make them wait just a little to signal control and a lack of eagerness. Hell, he’d taught it to her. It was part of the home-court advantage—an advantage she’d been quite fond of during her playing days at Pitt. Time and time again she’d seen it create a subtle unease in her opponents and a cradle of confidence for her and her teammates.
She certainly needed an edge. Four years out of law school she was risking her father’s law practice to prove her case against the ambitious Allegheny County district attorney and a jury carefully selected from the public that had already condemned her client. She’d taken the case all because of something Jack had said to her. She believed him immediately. She didn’t know why.
That didn’t matter. She trusted her instincts above all else. They’d taken her to the women’s Final Four, to the top of her class in law school, and back to a successful role in her father’s practice. While it wasn’t the role she’d dreamed of, it had kept her close to her brother.
When she doubted that decision, she’d simply visit her favorite lunch spot. It was nothing special to see—a simple sandwich shop in Cranberry. But to her it was a magical place. She’d known the owner all her life. He’d opened the shop two days after her father set up his practice two blocks away, just off Freedom Avenue. She remembered spinning on the red stools and leaning on the Formica counter to get to the strawberry milkshake her father would buy for her on the days she came to see him for lunch.
But now it wasn’t the special childhood moments with her dad that gave Julian’s Sandwich Shop its magic. It was the electric enthusiasm of her younger brother, Michael, when he floated down the counter greeting and serving every customer as if they were royalty. Sometimes, the joy wasn’t returned, usually by some small-minded jerk who thought the outward trait of Down syndrome represented a less-than-complete person. Customers like that were ignorant bullies who deserved the immediate and voracious excoriation by the regulars. Just like the regulars, Jenna had always had Michael’s back, and would for as long as she lived.
But today she had a chance to demonstrate that she was better than the elite firms she’d shunned. The most powerful family in Pittsburgh represented by a firm fifty times larger than theirs was suing Jack’s aunt, Lauren, for custody.
Kristin, her father’s assistant who’d watched over Jenna when she’d hung out in her dad’s office as a kid, gave two gentle knocks on the door. Jenna paused, closed her eyes, and imagined a glowing steel core inside. It had worked before every game and before any challenge she’d faced so far in the profession. She raised her head and shared a confident nod with her father and stepped over to Lauren, who sat rigid at the table nervously pickin
g the lint from her navy wool sweater.
“Remember, I’ve got this. Stay calm and look relaxed. I’ll do all the talking. Don’t let them bait you into saying anything.”
Lauren gave her a trembling smile. “I’m ready.”
“We’re ready, Kristin,” Jenna said.
They entered the conference room and took their seats without introductions. After a month of battling in the custody complaint, no introductions were necessary. Jenna eyed Brooks Latham across the table. His short snow-white hair was cut close and perfectly in place. Even his eyebrows were brushed. His white starched collar perfectly contrasted his dark-blue suit, red tie and tanned face. He returned her stare with a certainty that exuded the wealth and power of the founder of the largest law firm in Pittsburgh. To his right was Ed Mayer, the newly promoted family law lead at Latham’s firm and the man she’d battled for the last month. Her pulse picked up as she imagined punching the smug grin from his face. Joseph Falzone, patriarch of the Falzone empire and her client’s grandfather, sat to Latham’s left, hands folded tight, appearing ready to crush these minions he faced. He looked like Latham’s twin. Jenna reached for Lauren’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Two months ago, Lauren had walked through the doors of Jenna’s father’s practice in Cranberry Township and asked for Jenna. She explained that a close friend had recommended her. She didn’t have much money, but she believed her nephew. Her brother, she said, had not killed himself, and the people who did would come for young Jack Cole next. The claim was sensational, considering the indisputable evidence that Jack had killed Franklin Tanner.
Tanner was a legendary family law attorney who’d represented Jack’s estranged mother, Brenda Falzone Cole, against her husband, Tom. Tom had proved Brenda unfit, mainly due to her excessive coke use and severe personality disorder, but in the process Tanner had nearly destroyed him. Now Jenna had the good fortune of facing Brenda’s father and one of Tanner’s founding partners in Latham, Tanner and McKee.
Jenna had used every ounce of her being and every resource she and her father could muster to persuade the judge to grant bail, even though Pennsylvania law dictated that Jack be tried for murder as an adult. It was not a popular decision. Jack would remain in his aunt’s custody as requested in Tom’s will. Jenna was preparing for the trial, which was only a week away and, at the same time, dealing with Falzone’s custody complaint.
She pulled her shoulders back and used every inch of her six-foot-two frame to rise above the men. “Gentlemen, this is your dime.”
Latham locked on to her and didn’t say a word. Finally, he turned to Mayer and nodded once.
Mayer jumped right in. “Ms. Price. As you know, the judge wanted us to try to settle this one more time. Mr. Falzone is the boy’s grandfather and with the terrible consequences his grandson is facing, he’d like to assume legal custody.”
“Not happening, Mr. Mayer,” Jenna said, leaving no room for doubt.
“Ms. Price, I’m sure Mrs. Bottaro is a fine mother to her own son, but she’s a widow with limited resources. Her lack of supervision resulted in allowing her nephew to commit murder. I don’t think the judge will look favorably on that. Mr. Falzone is Jack’s grandfather and a pillar of the community. He can bring significant resources to his aid and defense.”
The insult didn’t go unnoticed. “I’m his defense counsel and Mrs. Bottaro is his legal guardian. Despite your efforts to prove her unfit, she’s stood strong. The results of the psych evaluation are in and we’ll take our chances with the judge.”
Mayer leaned forward to continue, but Joseph Falzone stopped him with his raised hand. “Ms. Price, are you sure you want to do that?”
Jenna understood the threat. Falzone built far-reaching enterprises from oil to construction and had amassed a fifty-billion-dollar fortune. Politicians and judges sought his counsel and his funding. Judge Kelly was no different. But there was no way she’d turn a ten-year-old boy over to this bully. Lauren was a great mother. She worked from home for a tech company and raised her son, Jimmy, and now Jack. She’d lost her husband in Afghanistan. Still, she was a rock. Those boys were lucky to have her.
She looked at Lauren and smiled. Then she glowered at Falzone. “Yes, we’ll take our chances.”
Falzone’s face tightened as he froze for a moment. Then he bowed his head, acknowledging Jenna’s position. He leaned over and whispered something to Latham. Latham whispered to Mayer, and the two attorneys rose.
Mayer packed his single sheet of paper into his folio. “Ms. Price, Mrs. Bottaro.” Then he and Latham left the room.
“What’s this?” Jenna said. “This meeting is over.” She stood and guided Lauren to her feet.
“Just a minute,” Falzone said as he raised his palm. “Hear me out.”
Jenna stopped, holding her file in her arm.
“Mrs. Bottaro, all I want is to spend whatever time I can with my grandson. I can help both of you.” He pulled a business card from his suit pocket and produced a pen. “It would be worth a lot to me to be able to do that.” He hesitated and glanced up at Lauren. “I noticed you speaking with Mr. Rossi. Hire him and this doesn’t happen.” He returned his attention to the card and wrote something on the back, rose, and laid the card face up on the table. He paused and scanned Lauren’s face, then tapped the card with his index finger and left.
Lauren gave Jenna a quizzical glance, then reached down and picked up the card. She flipped it over, read it, sighed, and covered her mouth. She rotated the card in her trembling fingers and held it up to Jenna.
Five million dollars
A bully with a shitload of money.
CHAPTER 5
Jenna leaned back in the conference room chair and it gave a familiar squeak. She studied her father as he flipped the business card between his fingers. She knew that expression. When she was a kid, it always came in advance of a flurry of late nights without her father at the dinner table. It was a fragment of light in a case with nothing but empty darkness.
Finally, Jenna’s father pinned the card to the table with his index finger and faced her. She raised her eyebrows and waited.
“Why such a ridiculous offer?” he said.
“I know. And why is he afraid of this Ike Rossi?” she added.
Her father shifted and sat up straight in the chair. He eyed Jenna and nodded toward Lauren, who was locked on her phone, texting with the sitter, checking on Jack. Jenna got the message. It’s always the client’s decision, no matter how obvious the answer is. But this wasn’t obvious. Five million dollars was life-changing. Lauren could look at it two ways as far as Jenna was concerned. Five million for Jack’s life. That answer was obvious. She’d spent hours with Lauren going over the criminal case. She’d gotten to know her well. A widow who lost her husband in Afghanistan and was raising her son on her own. Then her brother died, and now she had Jack. She never complained and seemed to love them both. Still, it was five million dollars. She’d seen that kind of money change people—even the saintliest.
“Lauren?”
Lauren finished typing and returned her phone to her purse.
“As the client, it’s your decision. We’d recommend turning down Mr. Falzone’s offer, but I know it’s a lot of money. What Mr. Falzone was saying, or not saying, is true. He probably knows the judge personally and has some financial tie to him. There is a chance we could lose the custody case, but in the bigger picture, you have to consider the impact on the outcome of Jack’s trial. I believe what Jack has said and I think there is a case to defend, but we need more hard evidence and time is running out.”
Lauren looked down the table to Jenna’s father, then down at her folded hands.
“I’ll never turn Jack over to those people. They don’t care about Jack. They never did. He’s a special boy and he needs people that understand him.”
Jenna shared a smile with her father. “That’s what we wanted to hear.”
Lauren wasn’t smiling. “We could lose? I c
ould lose Jack?”
Jenna saw the tears filling Lauren’s eyes. She reached for her arm. “It’s only one outcome. It may be that the judge awards some visitation but you’ll keep custody of Jack. Or he could deny the request. You’ve done all you can and you’ve passed the evaluations with flying colors. You’re a great mother.”
Lauren forced a smile and pulled out a Kleenex and wiped her eyes. She sighed and patted Jenna’s hand. She stuffed the tissue into her purse. “So, we need more evidence?”
“Yes. We need something to back Jack’s claims.”
“How do we do that in six days?”
Jenna stood and walked to the end of the conference table and picked up Falzone’s card. “Five million dollars.”
Her father, Ed, proudly nodded.
Jenna continued. “Falzone was willing to pay five million for us to stop right now in the custody battle. On the surface, it looks like an effort to buy Jack. But he also said something else: the offer was null and void if we involved this Ike Rossi.” She held the card out. “Why?”
“He’s afraid of Rossi. He’s afraid of what he might find,” Lauren said.
“Exactly.”
“That means there’s more. There’s more in the criminal case against Jack that someone is hiding. That something may confirm some of what Jack has told me.”
Jenna remembered her conversation with her coach before their legendary run in the NCAA tourney. Trying to accomplish what seemed impossible was a sure formula for failure. But breaking it down into minute steps was the key. Back then, it wasn’t win the tourney, win each game, or even win each half. It was win on every play—every time down the court. No focus on the outcome of the game or the tourney. It worked until the final game, late in the second half, when Jenna traded Cinderella’s slipper for a torn ACL. She’d let them down then, but this time she’d drive to victory.