“Is this a will contest, Doctor?”
“Of course not.”
“Is Rudy an elderly person?”
“No.” It was ugly, almost stupid, but like a blind man walking in a minefield, the Fourth finally stepped on something that made a little noise.
“Is there something here I’m missing? How long did this kid Rudy know Detective Brume?”
“I don’t think they knew each other before the interview.”
“And how long did the interview last?”
“Thirty-eight minutes, according to the reports I’ve seen.”
“And in that thirty-eight minutes, you’re saying they developed a fiduciary relationship?”
“In a way, yes.”
“What does that mean, ‘In a way, yes’?” It was an open-ended question, and H.V. didn’t miss the invitation.
“It means that the detective, who clearly had the superior intellect, established a position of trust with Rudy in that interview room. He pretended to be Rudy’s friend. Rudy still believes Detective Brume is his friend. He still believes the detective is trying to help him.”
“Are you saying that Detective Brume lied to Rudy?” The Fourth asked the question with such surprise in his voice Tracey almost started to laugh out loud. H.V. was possibly the only witness who had not attested to the Grunt’s lies.
“Not at all,” H.V. responded. “He just used the situation to his advantage.” Clay took the answer as a concession. He was done but he took a moment to stare at H.V. as he had done with Benny Dragone.
“I have no further questions of this witness,” he finally told the judge, acting as if he had beaten H.V. to within an inch of his life.
“I have nothing further,” Tracey told the judge when Clay sat down. The judge looked at the courtroom clock. It was ten after two. Everybody was hungry and tired.
“Mr. Evans, do you plan on having any rebuttal?” Clay thought about it only for a second. Who would I call? The Grunt again? Del Shorter?
“No, Your Honor.”
“Why don’t we take a lunch break? Come back at three. When you return, I want to see the lawyers and the court reporter in my chambers. Ms. James, the boy’s mother can come if she wants. Court is adjourned until 3 p.m.” The judge stood and walked out of the courtroom.
Tracey and Elena ate lunch at one of the two little restaurants across the street that specialized in quick sandwiches for the courthouse crowd. Elena was very nervous and had questions she was dying to ask, but she waited patiently until Tracey had given the waitress her order and had her first sip of coffee.
“I thought you were magnificent today.”
“Thank you, Elena.”
“Dr. Fischer was great too. I think he had the whole situation pegged.”
“He did. And his analogy was unique. I’ll have to do the research but I don’t think anyone’s ever made that argument before.”
“Do you think the judge will accept it?” Elena asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Why did the judge say he wanted to see us in chambers?” Tracey did have an idea about that and it wasn’t good. She decided against speculating and upsetting Elena unnecessarily.
“I don’t know, Elena. We’ll just have to see.” The waitress arrived with their sandwiches at that moment. They ate in silence.
Judge Wentwell still had his robes on when he entered the hearing room, which was surprising to both Clay and Tracey. Usually chambers meetings were more informal. Perhaps he wanted to maintain the formality because Elena was present. Perhaps he had other reasons.
The hearing room was a rectangular room adjacent to the judge’s private office, with a long table that extended from the front of a desk. It was similar to a hundred other hearing rooms that Tracey had been in during her career. The judge sat behind the desk, the lawyers on each side of the table. Elena sat next to Tracey. The court reporter had her own chair slightly to the right of the judge but in front of him. She was dutifully watching Judge Wentwell’s lips, waiting for him to begin.
“I’ve asked you to come to my chambers this afternoon because I am prepared to rule.” He looked at the two lawyers. “I know that you both have prepared closing statements to assist me in my deliberations but I don’t need them. I’ve heard the evidence.” The judge paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. Elena was so nervous she was digging a hole in the seat with her nails.
“I’m ruling in chambers because I want most of this record sealed.” That statement confirmed Tracey’s speculation. “I’m going to make factual findings for the purposes of this hearing and any appeal that ensues. If this case proceeds to trial, the jury will not be bound by my findings. They will not even know of them. However, I am ruling that the jury may hear the same evidence as I have heard.
“I find that Principal Yates, Mr. Dragone, and Ms. Lopez were all credible witnesses. They had absolutely no incentive to mislead this court. On the other hand, I find that Officer Brume had a total lack of credibility. Specifically, I find that Principal Yates advised Officer Brume to make sure that Rudy had either a lawyer or his mother with him when he was questioned for the boy’s own protection. I find that Mr. Dragone was threatened by Officer Brume.” The judge glared at Clay Evans. “I also can recognize a threat when I hear one.” He paused to let that sink in before continuing. “I find that Rudy’s mother, Elena, arrived at the police station before questioning began. I have no doubt, based on what I have heard, that Detective Shorter lied to her about why they were questioning Rudy.
“Most troubling for this court was Detective Brume’s own admission that he chose not to use the readily available video or audio equipment, which were purchased by the department for this very purpose. If he had done so, I could have either watched or listened to the actual questions and answers. This is especially troubling because of the total lack of candor displayed by Officer Brume in his testimony here today.
“Having made the above findings, however, I still cannot suppress the confession. The only issue in a suppression hearing is whether the defendant was advised of his rights, which include his right to counsel, and voluntarily waived them. It is clear that Rudy was advised of his rights in writing, understood them, and waived them. His mother is not a lawyer. She did not have the right to be present during questioning. The way she was treated, however, is relevant to assess the credibility and intent of the police officers involved. The testimony of Dr. Fischer intrigues me and I am not ruling on the issue of Rudy’s competency to consent to be interviewed by Officer Brume at this time. I think both sides need to do comprehensive briefs on that issue and present them before trial to your new judge.”
Both lawyers looked at him somewhat surprised. The judge returned their questioning stares.
“Yes, I’m going to recuse myself on my own motion. I will not be able to sit as a fair and impartial arbiter in this case. My own experience with Detective Brume prevents that. Another judge, probably a retired judge, will be appointed to take over the trial. I don’t think there will be any appreciable delay.
“Once again, the only evidence of this hearing will be a written order denying the Motion to Suppress. You are all bound to silence about my factual findings. I will not tolerate a discussion of these findings in the press.” He glared at the two lawyers, who nodded their assent. “I am ruling, however, that all the evidence presented today, including the testimony of Dr. Fischer, may be presented to the jury at trial. It is my belief that twelve reasonable men and women could find that the substance of the confession as transcribed by Officer Brume, based on all these facts and circumstances, is untrue. This hearing is adjourned.”
It was unlike Judge Wentwell not to solicit questions or clarifications after a ruling, but the old man had had it. He was too disgusted by the Grunt’s testimony. He looked at Elena for a brief moment before he stood up and left the room. The look was different from the lustful glances she’d been getting all day from the Fourth. It was a look of compassion, as if
to say, This is all I can do. It’s out of my hands now.
Elena learned at a young age to hide her emotions from the outside world. Where she came from, the vultures could smell vulnerability. But as she walked out of the courthouse that day, she was visibly shaking. Tracey put her arm around her and pulled her close, something she had never done with a client before. That corset of business at all costs that she wore so tightly was starting to loosen.
“Elena, I know you’re disappointed but this is good news really. We still have a chance if we can convince the new judge to listen to Dr. Fischer’s opinion. And even if we go to trial, we have all this evidence.” Her arguments were falling on deaf ears. Elena had always believed in America, the Constitution, and the jury system. She even believed in the death penalty because if a jury convicted you beyond a reasonable doubt, you had to be guilty. Now for the first time, as if in a vision, she saw how illusory it all was. None of the people from the barrio were going to make it on the jury. They weren’t registered voters. Rudy was going to be judged by people who knew nothing about who he was or how he lived. They were going to hear that he was in Lucy’s house, that his blood was found there, that he puked outside—and that was going to be it for them. This other stuff about Detective Brume’s credibility and Rudy’s rights wasn’t going to mean a damn thing.
“I believe we can win this case even with the confession,” Tracey continued, still trying to sound convincing. “Look, I’m going to stay in town overnight. Let’s meet first thing tomorrow morning and discuss where we go from here, okay?”
Elena just nodded. She knew what tomorrow’s discussion was going to be about. Tracey was part of her vision now.
Eighteen
They were to meet at nine the next morning at Austin Reaves’s office. Both women wanted to be prepared for the negotiation they knew was about to transpire.
A fire was burning in Tracey, a passion to help Elena and save Rudy from the electric chair. But she was also afraid. Rather than embrace the flame, she let the fear consume her. Today had been one of her finest days in the courtroom, but she had since convinced herself that her business was about money and winning, not lost causes. Late in the evening when she was nursing her third scotch, something she rarely did, the realization came to her that this case was a lost cause. She had to get out. She disguised it a little for herself: I have bills to pay and a staff with families who rely on me for support. I have a moral duty to them. If Elena could come up with just ten thousand dollars more, Tracey would stay on. That amount was still a discount for a case like this, but she could live with the compromise. It was the right thing to do, she assured herself. Still, she needed that fourth scotch.
Elena knew that Tracey was staying over until the next morning to talk about money. She remembered the original retainer amount. It was going to take at least ten thousand dollars, maybe more. Where can I get the money? Her first thought was her sister, Marguerite. But Marguerite had been tapped out by the first retainer. Who else? Mike. Mike had provided five thousand dollars the last time. He might have more. But I can’t ask a man whose child I kept from him for seventeen years for money, she told herself. What would I tell him? “Leaving you was the right thing to do, but now your son’s in jail for murder”? What kind of a mother have I been? She dismissed the thought of calling him but as she became more desperate, Mike kept popping up. I can’t call him, she told herself. I can’t talk to him. Her fear kept colliding with what she knew she had to do for Rudy. She decided instead to call Marguerite. Put the idea in Marguerite’s head. Marguerite would make the call.
“Just don’t tell him what it’s for,” she said after asking her sister to call Mike. Marguerite’s first inclination was to argue with her. You have to tell the man something! But she realized it would be no use. When the time came she’d tell Mike what he needed to know. She couldn’t tell him everything, though. He’d be on a plane that night and Elena was clearly in no shape to see him.
“All right,” she told Elena. “I’ll call you later.” Fifteen minutes later she was on the phone with Mike.
“Elena needs more money.”
“What for?” Mike asked. He needed more information this time.
“I can’t tell you.” Mike was furious. He wanted to scream into the phone but he kept his voice calm.
“That’s not fair, Marguerite. If Rudy’s in trouble and Elena needs my help, I’m entitled to know what this is about.”
“I know, I know, Mike, but I just can’t. It’s serious, though, and Elena is desperate. I’m sure that if you can come through this time, you’ll be able to see Rudy eventually.”
“That’s not good enough,” he said, his voice getting angrier. “I feel like I’m being blackmailed to see my son.”
“It’s not like that, Mike. I’d tell you myself if I thought it was best. Elena is overloaded right now. She can’t handle this situation with Rudy and you. Trust me on this. Right now we just need the money.”
Mike didn’t know what to do. He trusted Marguerite to a certain extent but this was getting ridiculous. On the other hand, it was now pretty clear that Rudy was in some deep trouble and it did make sense that Elena couldn’t deal with him and Rudy’s trouble at the same time. He decided to bide his time. Eventually, he’d demand to be involved. He was aching to know what was happening to his son.
“There’s not much I can do anyway. The last five thousand is all I had in savings, and my credit’s been bad for years. I don’t own a credit card.”
“I know what you mean,” Marguerite replied. “I’m maxed out on all of mine.” They were both silent for a moment.
“I assume she needs the money right away?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“Give me a few hours. I’ll call you back later tonight.”
Nick Mangione had dinner at Julio’s five nights a week. It was a small Italian restaurant, maybe twenty tables, on the corner of Ninety-third and Second. The word on the street was that Nick owned the building and maybe a piece of the restaurant but nobody knew for sure. From seven to nine, Monday through Friday, Nick occupied the back table at Julio’s and met with whoever came to see him. He was hard to miss. The joke about Nick, told in a whisper, of course, was that he was six feet tall and six feet wide. Anybody caught telling that joke, however, would find themselves six feet under.
Mike was a full two inches taller than Nick but hardly as thick. His had once been an athletic body, now ravaged by years of alcohol abuse and little exercise. He never ate at Julio’s. The food was good and the prices were moderate but he just didn’t eat out. This night he headed straight for the back table. Nick was alone.
“Mike, paisan, long time no see! Sit down. Angie, get Mike a plate of spaghetti.” Nick certainly gave directions like it was his place. But he was genuinely glad to see Mike. They’d known each other a long time. As Mike pulled in his chair, Nick poured him a glass of red wine.
“No thanks,” Mike said, looking at the wine like it was poison.
“How you doin’, Mike? Tell me this is a purely social visit.” He’d seen Mike at his worst in the old days, bailed him out a few times. They still weren’t totally even.
“It’s not.”
“No, Mike—you’re not back on the sauce, are you?”
“Nothin’ like that, Nick. My kid’s in trouble. He needs money.”
“What kinda trouble?”
“I don’t know.” Mike took out a cigarette and lit up.
“You don’t know? He won’t tell you?” Mike wanted to kick himself. He should have known Nick would ask questions and he should have had a story ready. Now he was stuck with the truth.
“I haven’t talked to him. His mother called Marguerite.”
“That Puerto Rican bitch. You remember the gutter she put you in last time, don’t you?” Mike wouldn’t let anybody else get away with that kind of talk, but there were no percentages in having words with Nick.
“Look, Nick, this isn’t about her, it’s about m
y kid.”
“How old is he now?”
“Nineteen.” Just then, Angie set a large plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front of Mike.
“Mange, mange,” Nick told him, gesturing with his hands like a benevolent despot. Mike dug in while he waited for the next question. He knew what it was going to be.
“How much?” Nick finally asked.
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“Michael, Michael.” The hands were flying again. “Ten thousand dollars! I remember when I used to lend you a couple of hundred to get through the month and you couldn’t pay that. Anybody else woulda had their legs broken. Mike, this is a business. What kind of collateral you got?”
“Me. I’m a hard worker. I’ve got a decent job—” Nick cut him off.
“You know how much you gotta pay for ten thousand dollars?”
“How much?”
“Two hundred forty dollars a week. You probably don’t make much more than that. It’s a death sentence, Mike. I’d have to kill you for that kind of money.”
“I need it,” Mike told him. “I don’t know what the trouble is but it’s serious.” Nick just looked at him. He felt sorry for the poor slob. Pulling himself out of the gutter, then jumping right back in. He wasn’t going to have that on his conscience. Still, they went back a long way.
“I’ll tell you what, Mike. I’ll lend you twenty-five hundred and you pay me back a hundred twenty-five a week for twenty-five weeks. But if you tell a soul, I’ll have to cut your tongue out.” Nick smiled as he said it—the kind of smile that let you know he might be joking, but then again he might not.
Mike knew it was over. He wasn’t getting the money, at least not all of it. He took a drag off his cigarette.
“How about five, Nick?” Nick didn’t answer right away. He just looked at Mike. Took a sip of his wine.
“You know you’re one crazy son-of-a-bitch. All right, five. You pay me the same amount for sixty weeks, but if you miss a payment, I’m gonna treat you like everybody else.” Mike nodded. He’d lived in the neighborhood long enough to get the picture. “When do you need it?”
The Mayor of Lexington Avenue Page 14