Cory's Flight

by Dan Petrosini

  “I’ve got some information on who could be behind this.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “I’m being framed. There’s no other explanation.”

  Worth clasped his hands. “I’m listening.”

  “There are two people, Gerry Riley and Joe Bonner. It’s a long story, but Bonner was the one blackmailing me, and he’s the one I, you know, shot in the leg, so he has plenty of reasons for revenge.”

  “To avenge the shooting?”

  “Yeah, and I stopped paying him.”

  “And the other gentleman?”

  “He used to play in my band, and we don’t get along. He was managed by Lew Stein, and them two didn’t get along.”

  “Do you have details on how the plot was carried out?”

  “No, but we can hire an investigator to dig into this, right?”

  “I believe our resources are better applied to dealing with the charges at hand.”

  “What do you mean? These guys, especially Bonner, they’d do anything to get back at me.”

  “You don’t seem to possess more than innuendo to pursue. That leaves—”

  “No, that’s not—”

  Worth put his palm up. “Hold on, Mr. Lupinski. I understand there may have been strong disagreements with these men, but killing someone and making it look like someone else committed the murder is a complicated plot.”

  “But—”

  “Before you rebut, I’d like you to explain how they planted your blood at the scene.”

  “I can’t, but if we get someone to look into this, someone good, they’d find out what happened.”

  “Mr. Lupinski, it’s my responsibility to provide the best defense for you, but I’m compelled to advise you that without concrete evidence of a scheme to implicate you in the murder of Mr. Stein, we should consider alternative options.”

  “What other option is there?”

  “We must give a plea serious consideration.”

  “You mean saying I did it?”

  “Yes, but to a lesser charge.”

  “That’s crazy, man.”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “And why is that?”

  “The charge against you is first-degree murder, a class A felony. The sentencing ranges from imprisonment for life with no chance of parole to a twenty-five-year term. If you’re released, you’d be an old man, provided you survived the prison term to begin with.”

  “Twenty-five years?”

  “Yes, at a minimum. But if we plead guilty to second degree, and I say second because I don’t believe they’d accept manslaughter, which is unintentional, I believe we could strike a deal for a maximum sentence of fifteen years.”

  “Fifteen years?”

  “Yes, but if we move quickly, before they invest any more resources into the case, we might be able to negotiate a parole hearing after eight or ten years.”

  “This is crazy, you don’t believe me.”

  “Unfortunately, it’s not a matter of belief, Mr. Lupinski. I deal in the law. It’s early. However, between the witnesses placing you by Mr. Stein’s home, and your blood at the crime scene, the state has the makings of a strong case.”

  “But I wasn’t there.”

  “I understand your position, but I do believe it’s in your best interests to consider a plea. I’ll continue to develop lines of defense, but I’d like you to think this over.”

  The smell of a hot dog cart caused Cory’s stomach to lurch as he stepped onto the sidewalk. He leaned against the building, trying to anchor his thoughts. He felt as if the people on the bustling sidewalk were a visual of what was going on inside his head.

  Cars beeping their horns only added to the madness. He stepped back inside the lobby and closed his eyes. He couldn’t go to prison. His family needed him. Tommy was just six. By the time he got released, his son might have a kid of his own. And Ava, he knew their relationship would never recover from this.

  He couldn’t let it happen. There had to be a way out of this, he thought as he went outside. In need of a drink as he walked in a sea of people to the subway station, an idea hit him. It wasn’t optimal, but as a last resort he’d have to consider running away.

  Living a life on the run was miles better than being in jail. It wouldn’t be easy hiding, but the thought of being cooped up in a cell was worse. It’d be tough if not impossible to take his family with him. But maybe there was a way, he thought as he descended the subway stairs.

  A poster advertising a trip to Italy raised his hopes. Hiding in Europe would be easier to take. He wondered how tough it would be to get fake passports for the family. Kids provided a measure of cover, but they brought complications.

  Ava was too old to start over, and who knew what Linda would say. Leaving them behind would be painful. Cory pushed the thought of his family aside and boarded the RR train wondering if it was possible to slip over the Canadian border without detection.

  Chapter Seven

  As Cory peeled off his jacket, Tommy came running into the foyer.

  “Daddy, see what I made at school.”

  Cory took the crayon drawing from his son. “Wow. This is super. You made this?”

  “Uh-huh. Miss Judy said we had to make something we like to do.”

  “I can’t believe what a good guitar you drew. It looks just like the ones we have.”

  “You like it?”

  “I love it. We have to find a good place to hang it up.”

  “On the fridgerator?”

  “Perfect. Where’s Mom?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  Cory pecked his wife’s cheek. “My little man is super creative, isn’t he?”

  “Maybe you’ll be an artist, Tommy.”

  “Yay, me and Daddy.”

  “Go change your clothes.”

  As soon as Tommy left the room, Linda said, “How’d it go?”

  Cory exhaled. “A frigging disaster.”

  “Is that liquor on your breath?”

  “I had one drink. That’s all.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Worth didn’t want to hear about Bonner or Riley. Frigging guy wants me to make a deal.”

  “What kind of deal?”

  Cory lowered his voice. “One that would have me going to jail. No way I’m doing that.”

  “I don’t understand. Isn’t there a way to defend the charges?”

  “I certainly hope so, but I’m not sure Worth agrees. I don’t know if he’s looking for the easy way or not.”

  “A lot of lawyers like to make deals. Maybe he’s just feeling you out.”

  “I can tell you, it didn’t feel like that. Maybe he’s not the right guy for this. It’s like he sees the negative all the time. He doesn’t believe that I didn’t do it.”

  “I’m not saying you should make a deal, but what kind of a prison term are we talking about?”

  “Twenty years.”

  “Oh my God.”

  As Linda’s eyes teared, he said, “It’s okay. Don’t worry. That’s not going to happen.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “I don’t know, but worse comes to worst, I’ll run.”

  “But what about us?”

  “I just started thinking about it, you know, as a last resort, and I’m trying to figure it all out.”

  “Where would we go?”

  “Canada? Or maybe Mexico.”

  “Mexico? No way, it’s too violent there.”

  “I heard Costa Rica is nice, and there’s a lot of Americans there.”

  “You’d get caught in a place like that in a heartbeat. You have to be low-key.”

  “I’m just throwing stuff out. I’m going to start checking around, see what I come up with.”

  “I’m scared, Cory. What about the kids? We can’t just uproot them and go to some third world country.”

  “Maybe we won’t have to. We could get new identities—”

  “We’d be looking o
ver our shoulders for the rest of our lives.”

  “Don’t start jumping to conclusions. We’re a long way from packing, okay?”

  “And what about money? We’d lose everything we put up for bail.”

  “Take it easy, Linda. We’re not going anywhere right now, if at all.”

  “Maybe you get another lawyer or at least talk to someone else. We can’t be hanging our lives on one person.”

  “Trust me, I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “Tracy said she liked Worth better than the other woman. I think her name was McCarthy.”

  “Let me call her and set something up with her.”

  * * *

  Cory didn’t think it was possible, but Donna McCarthy had less warmth than Worth. He thought it might be a technique to prevent defense attorneys from getting close to their clients.

  Her office was a statement of contrasts: a rectangular table was laden with law books and files, but her desk was clear. Only a fresh legal pad and a bright red pen spoiling it. McCarthy’s chair was padded, but the visitor ones were wood.

  “I understand you’re looking for a second opinion, and I’m pleased at the opportunity to offer one. Please explain what happened and the current state of your defense.”

  Cory brought her up to date, finishing with, “I know it looks bad, but I didn’t do it. I swear on my kids.”

  “The state will build upon your prior conflict with Mr. Stein. Unfortunately, it’s a compelling narrative for a jury.”

  “I get the revenge stuff, but why would I wait so long?”

  “There are ways to counter that, but based upon what you’ve told me, that’s not the biggest issue.”

  “You mean the so-called witnesses?”

  “No, eyewitnesses are notoriously unreliable. The elephant in the room is your blood at the scene of the crime. It’s proof you were there, making a witness window dressing.”

  “I wasn’t there.”

  “Are you suggesting that it was planted?”

  “Yeah. It couldn’t have gotten there any other way.”

  “Is there a person or persons you believe responsible for it?”

  Cory told her about Bonner and Riley. McCarthy said, “You came here for an opinion, so I’ll give you mine.”

  “Okay.”

  “If you’re going to claim you’ve been framed, it’s imperative that you be clear about it. Unless Bonner and Riley are working together, I suggest you determine who is doing the framing. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah, I understand, but I don’t know who it is.”

  “The court and jury, if this goes to trial, are going to want evidence of collusion. You may not have to uncover the entire scheme, but more than hearsay is going to be required.”

  “Do you think a private investigator can figure it out?”

  “It would depend on what actually occurred.”

  “Someone is framing me, and nobody believes me.”

  “The way to convert them is by providing proof. It’s that simple.”

  “Do you use private eyes?”

  “Many times, they’re helpful.”

  “Would you use one if you represented me?”

  “I’d need more detail on what the prosecution has, but it’s a moot point as my current caseload prevents me from taking a case such as yours.”

  “What does that mean? That my case is too hard? That it’s not winnable?”

  “I was speaking to its complications.”

  “My lawyer said I should consider a plea bargain. What do you think?”

  “It’s an option in many cases.”

  “But you don’t even know that I’d have to serve like, twenty years.”

  “After doing this for twenty-two years, I’m aware of what a negotiated plea would look like.”

  Chapter Eight

  Emerging from the Washington Heights subway station, Cory’s phone pinged. He listened to the voice mail from Worth. His lawyer wanted him to call. After sitting on the train for almost two hours, talking to Worth was the last thing he wanted to do.

  The angst over the long trip to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital faded when Cory stepped into a family waiting room. Five kids were hunched over, strumming their guitars. The sounds clashed, but to Cory it was sweet.

  “Morning, guys.”

  “Hi.”

  “What a super cozy space. It’s gonna work out good here. I can spend one-on-one time with each of you.”

  Cory’s phone rang as he picked up his guitar. He swiped his wife’s call away. “You know what would be a cool thing to do? How about we learn a simple chord progression? Then we’ll add an easy melody and see how it sounds together.”

  Cory walked the children through a basic pop progression and taught them a melody using just four notes. It took half an hour for the kids to get close.

  “You guys are the quickest learners I’ve ever seen. Let’s put it together. We’ll need three of you to play the chords and the other two the melody. Who wants to play chords?”

  Cory assigned the roles. “All right, we ready?”

  The kids nodded.

  “Here we go. One, two. One, two, three, four.”

  It took three tries to get everyone through four bars. “This is sounding really nice. Let’s try it again.” As he counted the kids in, his phone vibrated. It was Linda, again.

  After they played, Cory said, “That was amazing. Look, I gotta make a quick call. When I’m done, we’ll do some one-on-one.”

  He stepped into the hall. “What’s up?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Up at Columbia. I’ll tell you, these kids are sponges. I can’t believe they learn so fast.”

  “You have to call Worth. He’s looking for you.”

  “What does he want?”

  “He didn’t say, but I don’t think it’s good.”

  “Don’t worry, he’s always negative.”

  “Call him and let me know what’s going on.”

  “Okay, as soon as I’m done.”

  Feeling as good as he had since his arrest, Cory floated through the hospital’s soaring lobby. A text sounded, reminding him to call Worth. He dialed his attorney as he walked down the circular driveway.

  “Sorry, I was up at Columbia working with kids who have cancer. What’s going on?”

  “I received a call from the DA, and it isn’t good.”

  Cory stiffened. “What did they say?”

  “They claim that you left a threatening voice mail on Mr. Stein’s phone.”

  “Uh-uh, it wasn’t a threat. I was trying to get him to call me back.”

  “Why would you call him?”

  “I needed some records that he had. The IRS is asking for some old documents, and he has most of the expense records.”

  “Why would you call him directly?”

  “He didn’t respond to my accountant. I was just trying to get my stuff. He had no right to screw with me.”

  Worth paused. “Did you reference the document request in your message?”

  “I, I don’t remember.”

  “That would go a long way toward explaining, but prior contact with the deceased will bolster the premeditated charge.”

  “What does this mean?”

  “It’s damaging. To what extent I won’t know until I receive the transcript of the call.”

  “When will you get it?”

  “Technically, they have thirty days, but we should have it in the next couple of days.”

  Cory held onto the strap as the subway rumbled south. He tried to recall what he’d said to Stein, but the only thing certain was it wasn’t cordial.

  He envisioned a slick prosecutor reading the transcript to the jury. The lawyers would twist everything to make him look guilty.

  Cory couldn’t let it happen. He had to have a plan if things didn’t turn around. If he wasn’t able to persuade the police he was framed, he’d have to run. The short time he’d spent behind bars convinced him there was no w
ay he was going to jail—especially for twenty or more years.

  Leaving his family would be painful, but maybe there’d be a way to see each other. He wondered whether the authorities would be able to trace video calls made through FaceTime. He could use a fake background, and as much as he would want to, wouldn’t tell them where he was.

  But wherever he went, there had to be a music scene. He’d have to play just to keep his sanity and to earn a living. He’d disguise himself, dye his hair, grow a beard, and wear fake glasses.

  What name would he take? Something foreign but not too exotic. A flash of nerves hit him as he thought about language. He’d have to decide immediately where he was going and learn what they spoke if it wasn’t English.

  There were a lot of countries where English was required in schools, but you knew who was a native or not. He began thinking of a backstory that made relocation believable. He could say he was Canadian. A move to England would be easy, he thought, as the train rolled into his station.

  * * *

  “Daddy’s home. Hey, guy. What did you do today?”

  “We played tag, and nobody could get me.”

  “That’s because you’re super fast.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Teaching sick kids how to play the guitar.”

  “Did you show them what you showed me?”

  “Only my Tommy gets the best secrets. Go get your ax out. I want to show you a new picking trick.”

  Tommy took off, and Linda kissed Cory’s cheek. “What did Worth say?”

  Cory shrugged. “There was a message on Stein’s phone.”

  “From who? Don’t tell me—you?”

  “I called him about the IRS stuff. He wasn’t calling Giordano back.”

  “Oh Cory, this is bad.”

  “What’s bad, Mommy?”

  Chapter Nine

  Tommy fell asleep as Cory read him a bedtime story. He put Harold and The Purple Crayon on the nightstand, turned on the night-light, and tiptoed out of the room.

  Cory grabbed his laptop and resumed surfing for how to disappear. There was a surprising number of articles on how to become a fugitive. The first two he read didn’t raise his spirits.

  Neither of them addressed running as a family. One article pointed out that the odds of getting caught multiplied when someone knew where you were.