by R. D. Cain
“Hello?” the man’s voice said.
“Yeah, this is North. You got them?”
“Yeah, they’re the two right in front of you, we got them.” The men were in a suv parked across the street. One had binoculars and was holding a cell phone up to his ear. North had used Shawn Eade and Michael McCort before, and they had proved themselves to be reliable. As the Old Boys’ Club expanded, he planned on using them more. North had seen first-hand that it was an apt moniker from their debt recovery services.
“Is the secretary still out of the office?” North asked.
“They have a sign up saying it’s closed for the day,” Eade replied.
“Okay, I’m going to search the place again and set up the bugs; once you’re sure Carscadden and Nastos are in for the night, come back to the office and look out for me.”
“Sure thing, North.”
North hung up the phone and turned back toward Carscadden’s office.
CARSCADDEN AND NASTOS GOT IN Carscadden and Nastos got in the truck and started off for home. The traffic was still light because it had been an early adjournment. Dewar had asked for a longer afternoon recess since the jurors had taken in a lot of technical information and Montgomery thought it was such a good idea he just adjourned at four p.m. for an early weekend. Nastos was relieved when Carscadden choose not to argue the early break in front of the exhausted jury; it had been getting hot in the courtroom and he thought the break was a great idea. They took a few moments to chat after the courtroom was clear and were on the street by four-thirty and in the truck by a quarter to five.
Nastos saw that Carscadden was chewing on his bottom lip. He was pensive about something.
“It’s Friday, what could be bothering you?”
For a lawyer, Carscadden wasn’t too good at giving bad news. It was painfully obvious that he was psyching himself up. “Dewar says that Josie might have to testify Monday. She’ll be in a separate room with me, her, the judge and your wife. The jury and you will watch it on tv from the courtroom.”
“I’d rather her not to have to go through that.”
Carscadden checked his blind spot and changed lanes around a stopped ttc bus. “Steve, after she testifies, I’ll make a motion for you to go back home. You get your life back.”
“At her expense?”
“Listen to me. A few more days and the three of you will be together again.”
Nastos shook his head. “You think a guy like Montgomery — the hanging judge — will go for that?”
“I can play him both ways, Nastos. If he thinks you’re innocent then he’ll think you’ve been through enough already. If he thinks you’re going to get convicted, I say that it’s the last time you can spend time together as a family for a long time. Honestly. I think tomorrow, you should be ready for a good day.”
“Then why were you reluctant to bring it up, Carscadden?”
“Because I take no comfort in the questions that your little girl is going to have to answer. At least Dewar is a mom. It won’t be as bad as you think it will.”
Nastos considered that.
Carscadden tried to change the subject. “So, Nastos, what’s your feeling on the juror with the big tits?” Nastos smiled, shaking his head. He wasn’t used to lawyers with a sense of humour. He was happy to play along.
“Two things: one, they have to be fake; two, I think she wants to see me rot in hell.” Then he lobbed one back to Carscadden. “What do you think about the steroid freak with the tattoos?”
Carscadden smiled. “His tits are likely real, and if you two were in jail at the same time, I think the daddy role would be spoken for.”
“You just had to go there.” Nastos leaned his head back, twisting his head from side to side, stretching. “Hey, why don’t we go to the office? You can chat with Hopkins while I run across the street and get roti for dinner tonight.”
Carscadden winced and shook his head. “Hopkins is redecorating; I thought it best to stay out of her way,” Carscadden said.
“Why aren’t you dating her, anyways? Women don’t get a lot better looking than her, she’s smart, nice . . . What gives, she shoot you down?”
When Carscadden didn’t answer, it occurred to Nastos that Carscadden had been asked that question too many times.
“Listen, Nastos, I just got out of a marital jackpot that cost me everything I owned — I’m a little gun-shy. Second, I’m her boss and I just don’t want to be that washed-up has-been who hits on his secretary when I’m barely thirty-five. Third, she’s like ten years older than me so she would probably think I’m just some love-struck pest. I can’t imagine she would want anything to do with me anyways.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought about this a lot.” Nastos smiled.
Carscadden said nothing.
Nastos continued, “I think she likes you, I’m just saying. You’d be a good fit.”
Carscadden checked the rear-view mirror, then glanced at Nastos.
Nastos asked, “Finally notice the suv following us?”
“Yes, I guess I’m not good at this.”
“Have some fun, lose him.”
“You think I should?” Carscadden asked.
“Holy shit, man, live a little. It’s almost five. We’ve got an hour to get home.”
“Okay, what the hell.” Carscadden hit the gas and veered off through a corner lot gas station. Sure enough, the suv followed, driving much more smoothly. There were two occupants, two fat guys stuffed into suits.
Carscadden just barely made it through a red light, but the suv following wasn’t so lucky. The two men in the suv were entering the second lane of through traffic when they rammed into a Dodge Caravan, striking the driver’s door. A loud crash accompanied the bursting glass as the van skidded sideways, gouging the roadway, bursting the tires and careening into the curb on the other side. Early afternoon pedestrians turned, frozen in place watching helplessly until the vehicles came to rest.
The skidding tires and broken glass were so loud, Nastos immediately turned his head to see while Carscadden hit the brakes, watching through the rear-view mirror.
INSIDE THE SUV, IT WAS smoky and cramped. the impact of hitting the minivan had pushed the dashboard back six inches or more toward the occupants, the airbags had gone off, shattering the windshield, spraying expansion powder everywhere and deflating over them, blinding their attempts to unbuckle their seatbelts.
“You okay?” the passenger shouted.
“We’re fucked!” the driver replied. “It’s dead.” He was trying to start the engine, but it wouldn’t turn over.
“Open the glove box!”
“We don’t —”
The passenger pushed the airbag back out and through where the windshield was supposed to be and twisted the glove box door open.
Inside was a thirteen-ounce bottle of Scotch. As he stared at it dumbly, his companion grabbed it, cracked it open and started dumping it all over the inside of the suv, even on himself.
“This thing traceable?” the driver asked.
“The vin is a clone from Detroit, it’s clean,” the passenger assured him. North had connections everywhere and knew as well as anyone to use clean vehicles.
“We split up. I’ll take a cab from the bus station,” the passenger said. He frantically got his seatbelt off, grabbed his briefcase from the back seat and started crawling through the windshield.
The driver started slamming his body weight against his door, trying to muscle it open. “I’ll put on a bit of a show and take off to the subway.” He eventually got the door to open as he staggered to the ground. He got to his feet and dusted himself off before heading to the closest subway entrance.
Nastos and Carscadden parked at the side of the road and began running back to the scene of the accident. The driver of the Caravan was a woman, maybe thirty years old, bu
t it was tough to tell with all of the blood on her face. There was a young child crying inside the vehicle. Pedestrians had begun to accumulate around the Caravan. The driver’s door and the post behind it were caved in and crimped; it was going to take the jaws of life to get it open.
Nastos noticed that there was no glass anywhere on the driver’s side of the vehicle and ran right to the driver’s door, Carscadden following.
The driver’s left leg appeared mashed and swollen and she was bleeding from the head, but it wasn’t a fatal injury. The woman was frantically asking about her baby. Carscadden followed the sound of the screaming child and saw her in the back seat. She was about two years old with red curly hair.
“Nastos, check out the little girl,” he shouted, but Nastos was already on his way over.
Maybe happy wasn’t the right word, but Nastos wasn’t saddened to see the girl. Her car seat was on the opposite side from the impact and she was buckled in properly. She seemed totally fine, just scared. He began trying to soothe her, still a little reluctant to take her out of the car seat without the say-so from a medic or doctor. He considered it for a moment and checked out the integrity of the car seat. It was intact, so he unbuckled it, and took it from the back seat and brought it around to the driver’s side.
Carscadden spoke to no one in particular. “Anyone call this in yet? She’s hurt!”
“I’m calling now,” a woman said.
Carscadden wanted to identify the suv driver while holding the driver’s head still to stabilize her neck. He didn’t see the drunk disappearing into the crowd.
Nastos spoke to the girl, “Can you hear me, little girl? Can you settle down? You and your mommy are both going to be okay.”
Nastos saw Carscadden standing with blood all over his hands and suit from the woman’s head.
An ambulance wailed away from the accident with both mom and child. Nastos and Carscadden provided statements to police and answered what seemed like hundreds of questions. The investigating officer thanked them for their assistance, taking down their names and contact information and was about to send them on their way when his police radio squawked in his ear. He excused himself and stepped away for a moment.
Carscadden asked Nastos, “On tv this stuff takes five minutes — what the hell time is it?”
“Jesus, it’s got to be after six — so much for an early night.”
“Tell me about it. And I could eat the armpits out of a dead rhinoceros.”
The officer came back over. “No word on the extent of injuries. It’ll be a long time before she’s even seen by anyone. But thanks for helping, guys.”
Carscadden could read Nastos’ face. He was obviously concerned about the time. “Excuse me, officer, can I just mention something?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Well, my client here is out past his bail curfew. We had to be in by six p.m. But we felt we had to help out here.” Nastos and Carscadden observed the officer, but he barely flinched at the news.
“I would have to be a real jackass to breach a guy for helping a scared young girl. I knew about the curfew — I recognized you, Nastos — but I don’t imagine the average cop gives two shits.”
Carscadden was visibly relieved. “Thanks. I’m just glad we were there to do what we could. Just do me and my client a favour and get the asshole who did this, would you?”
“All we can do is try,” the cop replied. “There’s no shortage of assholes.”
Nastos and Carscadden began walking back to their truck. Nastos said, “Sorry I told you to live a little. We caused this.”
Carscadden shook his head. “All we did was hit the gas — those guys shouldn’t have followed us through a red light.”
“That nuance escapes me.”
21
October 3, 2011
DEWAR SAT IN THE PRIVATE mediation room outside court with the Nastos brief lying on the table between her and Jeff Scott. It was eight forty-five and the trial was to begin in just fifteen minutes.
Scott took two handwritten pages out of his satchel and slid them across the table to Dewar. She took the pages, turned them around and saw that they were on the Attorney General’s letterhead for witness statement forms. She began reading. The handwriting was not perfect; the grammar was maybe at a grade ten level. She stopped halfway down the second page and flipped back to the top of the first page. Shawn Eade — who the hell is that? Last Friday at five p.m.? He did this at five on a Friday?
“What is it now?” Scott asked.
Dewar realized that she must have had a perplexed expression on her face. “Where’d this guy come from?” She flipped back to the second page and read the last of the statement.
“Who the hell cares? He puts Nastos at the park that night.” Scott’s mouth hung open and he flipped his hands palm side up, shaking his head as if to say, Aren’t you going to thank me?
“Mr. Scott, what did you have for breakfast August fourteenth?”
“Probably oatmeal, Dewar.”
“Probably oatmeal. At what time exactly, Jeff?”
“Depends on if it was a weekend or a weekday.”
“So, you don’t really know when and you’re not entirely sure if it was oatmeal in the first place. And this guy Eade comes out of nowhere and is certain beyond any doubt that he was at the park on August fourteenth and that he’s a hundred percent positive that he saw this total stranger, Detective Nastos, leaving at this time.” She slid the statement back over to Scott. “Total bullshit.”
She caught something out of the corner of her eye. It was a tall native man peeking in the window. “Is that him?”
Scott shrugged. “Yeah, I think that’s him, big native fellow. The man must be anxious for his chance to tell the truth.”
“He keeps peeking in the window.”
Scott shrugged. “Dewar, like I said, he’s probably anxious.”
Dewar checked her watch again and slowly got to her feet. She pulled the case file over, then closed it up. Scott handed her the witness statement and she took it reluctantly. “This is a bit of a sandbag manoeuvre, Jeff. Carscadden will shut it down.”
“Then let him try. This guy is basically a witness to a murder. You’re going to have him testify right away, when the jury are the most receptive.”
Dewar blinked and tried to stall. “Actually I was going to recall Clancy Brown to get the last of the forensics covered off.” She lied.
“That’s redundant. This testimony will put an end to the whole thing and you’re going to do it, Dewar. Jesus, what’s wrong with you?”
Where’s my tape recorder when I need it? “You really think starting with him is the best move?”
“Yeah, I do. Now get in there and do it.”
Scott needs a motto for his office. Abandon hope all ye who enter here is already used at the gates of Hell. Maybe something simple like ‘I’m not happy till you’re not happy.’
Then he got to what he probably really wanted to say. “And the breach, when are you dropping that bomb? Today?”
“Pardon?” Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head and her mouth hung open in surprise.
Scott smiled; he kept getting happier. “Nastos breached last night, out past curfew. If I know it, surely you know all about it.”
“How’d you hear?”
Scott ignored the question. “After you get Mr. Eade off the stand, you’re going to bring up the breach. I want Nastos in jail this afternoon, sooner if you can. Do it right away.”
“I’ll . . .” She just couldn’t agree. “I’ll . . .” she repeated herself.
“I’ll be watching, Dewar. Don’t disappoint me.”
THE COURTROOM BEGAN TO FILL once the stenographer had unlocked the main doors. Dewar took her seat, as did Carscadden and Nastos. Glancing back into the gallery, Dewar saw Eade sitting down. He was tough to miss,
due to his large size and poorly fitting suit with the avant-garde leather tie, circa 1985.
She glanced at Nastos. His eyes were on his wife and daughter in the first row. Josie wanted to climb over the gate to get closer to him. Madeleine had to stop her by wrapping her hands tightly around Josie’s. Dewar wished she could put him on alert that something was wrong, but he was preoccupied. She felt a burning in the back of her head and knew Scott would be there, beaming.
Judge Montgomery came into the room and everyone stood. Court began and Dewar walked toward to the podium with no idea what she was going to say.
“Your Honour,” she brushed her hair back and wobbled on her heels then put a hand out to the lectern for balance. Feigning sickness wasn’t difficult under the circumstances.
Montgomery crouched over the bench, asking, “Ang — Ms. Dewar? Are you okay?”
She motioned for him to take his seat and Montgomery did, reluctantly. “Your Honour, I’m very sorry. I’m not feeling very well today, as you’ve apparently noticed. I thought I could get through to lunch, but now I’m not thinking so optimistically. I’m very sorry for everyone’s time, but I humbly request that we adjourn till tomorrow.” She turned to the defense table. “Sorry, Mr. Carscadden, I should have contacted your office this morning.” She took a seat, shaking her head.
Carscadden got to his feet, an expression of concern on his face. “Your Honour, I respect Madam Prosecutor’s attempt not to inconvenience any of us, but —”
A voice from the gallery spoke. “Your Honour?”
Dewar turned to see Scott standing behind her. Damn — he’s going to wreck it. She tried again to catch Nastos’ eye to give him a signal. All it seemed to do was make the man more nervous.
Montgomery waved to Scott who approached the bench.
“Your Honour, if I may. I’m Chief Prosecutor Scott, initial J for the record, as you know, sir. In light of my colleague not feeling well, I’m available to step in very briefly, just to sort out some minor administrative issues so that the day is not a total waste.”