Castelluccio had arranged for Detectives Jaworski and Gomez to be present at the meeting, as well as ADA Bream. Not that reinforcements would help if Liz Pierce got emotional: Castelluccio knew full well the three men would look to her to be the empathetic one.
“So before we get into recent developments,” Castelluccio said, “I want to assure you at the outset that our case is still quite strong. We have had one significant setback—having to withdraw the GSR evidence—but the core of our case remains. The other thing that’s come up recently is that a drug dealer who was sitting near Nazario’s building at the time of the shooting denies seeing him run by. It doesn’t mean anything, really—most likely this guy just doesn’t want to get involved, be perceived by his crew as helping the police. And even if he’s telling the truth, it’s not really evidence of anything. But it’s something the defense may try to use.
“Which brings me to the most recent development. The defendant’s attorney resigned, and the judge is granting his new lawyer time to get up to speed. So it’s going to take a little longer to bring the case to a close, probably.”
“Something’s wrong, isn’t there?” Liz said after a moment.
Castelluccio shot a quick glance at Jaworski, whose attention stayed on Liz. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“This reporter came to see me yesterday. She’d somehow gotten hold of Sean’s bank records. She knew that he had a lot more money in the bank than made sense.”
Castelluccio had never looked into Fowler’s finances, but ADA Sullivan from the Rackets Bureau had met with her and the detectives a couple of weeks back, raising questions about whether Fowler had been involved in an embezzlement scheme at a construction site. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re telling us,” Castelluccio said.
“I’m telling you that my ex-husband had put a quarter million dollars into his bank account a few months before he died. I have no idea where that money came from.”
“Are you suggesting that this money was in some way connected to your ex-husband’s death?”
“The reporter seemed to think so.”
“Who was this reporter?”
“Her name was Candace. She was from the Journal.”
Castelluccio turned back to the detectives. “She ever contact you?”
Jaworski shook his head. “Somebody from the Journal called me back when we made the collar, but it was a man.”
Castelluccio turned back to Liz. “But you knew about this money, right? I mean, after he died.”
“It went to our kids, so yeah. But I didn’t know most of it had come in shortly before he died. I was surprised how much money Sean had, but I knew he was doing a lot of overtime and stuff, so …” Liz trailed off. Castelluccio got the picture: Liz had known for a while that her ex-husband had too much money, but hadn’t wanted to say anything because she wanted her children to keep it.
“Why do you think this extra money has anything to do with your ex-husband’s murder?”
Liz just looked back at Castelluccio, who wondered if she’d asked the question too aggressively. But Castelluccio didn’t get why Liz was bringing this up. The more they talked about it, the more likely they’d have to reveal it to the defense as something exculpatory. Castelluccio saw no reason to think that the money had anything to do with Fowler’s murder, but whatever Fowler had done, it likely wouldn’t end up reflecting well on him. “I think Sean was in some kind of trouble before he died,” Liz finally said.
“What makes you say that?” Jaworski asked. Castelluccio understood that the detective wanted to ask the questions if some new information relating to the murder was coming up. She leaned back in her chair a little, wanting to indicate that Jaworski had her blessing. This whole thing was looking like a disaster—what once had been a completely straightforward case finding yet another way to go sideways on her.
“I don’t know; it was … There was the way Sean was talking that last month or so. I could tell he was drinking too much, and that something was nagging at him. I think it all had to do with that accident that happened at the building he was working at.”
“The Aurora, yeah, we know he worked there. And you think Sean might have, what?” Jaworski said, clearly a little frustrated.
“I don’t know,” Liz said. “I think he knew about problems they were having down there.”
“We can dig into it, I guess,” Jaworski said. “But I’m not really seeing how that would relate to his being murdered off of Avenue D months later.”
Liz looked over at Castelluccio, as though for support from the detective’s skepticism. “I mean, if you’re sure this Nazario did it over being evicted, then this is all probably just something else. But the people Sean worked for, they won’t talk to me about what was going on with him. I asked Darryl Loomis about the money, and he just said it was from work, but wouldn’t explain how. Chris Driscoll won’t even return my calls. Why wouldn’t he call me back?”
“Driscoll’s an ex-cop,” Jaworski said. “I can tell you, being on the scene, not being able to stop what happened, it probably haunts him. It may just be hard to talk to you.”
“But you guys are sure Sean was killed by this Nazario?”
“It’s a very solid case,” Castelluccio said. “I haven’t seen any reason to doubt that the defendant is who shot Mr. Fowler.”
Castelluccio walked Liz out to the elevator, then returned to her office, where the detectives and Bream were waiting. She sat down and looked at each man in turn, deciding she wanted to let someone else speak first. For a long moment nobody did.
“Weird, huh?” Gomez finally said.
“Weird how?” Castelluccio said.
Gomez shrugged. “I don’t remember ever having a victim’s family doubt we got the right guy, this stage of the game. Even in cases where it’s all circumstantial, the family wants to believe. It’s hard enough for them without doubt.”
“There’s no right way to be the ex-wife of a murder victim,” Castelluccio countered.
“Course not,” Gomez said. “But that was still strange.”
Castelluccio agreed, but didn’t want to say so. “It syncs up with what Des Sullivan was telling us. Sounds like Fowler put some money in his own pocket a few months before he died. Did you guys ever look into this business with the construction accident?”
“Like we told Sullivan, we had this case down an hour after the shots were fired,” Jaworski said. “We never looked at anything going on with Fowler.”
“Should we now, maybe?” Gomez said, looking at Castelluccio.
“I’ve still got a winnable case here,” Castelluccio said. “We’ve got an ex-detective as an eyeball wit on the scene. The ID is flawless; the doer had motive and opportunity. The GSR shows he shot a gun.”
“It was thrown out,” Gomez said.
“It was thrown out because CSU decided to play amateur hour,” Castelluccio said. “But the fact is, Nazario did have GSR on his hands, even if we can’t use it at trial.”
“So should we look into Fowler?” Jaworski asked.
“To what end?” Castelluccio replied. “Create some Brady material for the defense? This case has become more of a headache than it should be. Anybody had any dealings with this new lawyer, Walker?”
“I had a murder trial two years or so ago where he was the lawyer,” Jaworski said.
“What was he like?”
“Best lawyer you could ask for. For our side, I mean.”
“That bad?”
“Put his client on the stand, guy had two priors, assault with a deadly. Asked me questions that allowed me to throw dirt on his guy’s grave. Jury wasn’t even out an hour.”
“Hopefully he knows what a bad trial lawyer he is,” Castelluccio said. “Because what I’m thinking here is that it’s deal time.”
64
DUNCAN HAD gotten home a little before ten—not an especially late work night by his standards. He was almost never home much before nine: on those rare days he was abl
e to get out of the office by seven or so, he generally hit the gym for an hour.
Duncan ate dinner at his desk roughly three times a week, ordering online through SeamlessWeb, charging it directly to a client’s bill. But lately he’d been feeling a little antsy in the office, more in a hurry to get out of there. Six months ago he’d felt confident that he’d make partner, spend the rest of his professional life at the firm. But that felt blown off course now, even if he couldn’t entirely put his finger on why. He hadn’t actually done anything to get on Blake’s bad side, other than not taking the hint about bringing the Nazario case to a quick close.
He’d been home for only about ten minutes when the doorman called up. Duncan, who got unexpected guests popping over approximately never, went to answer it. The doorman’s thick Slavic accent made understanding difficult, but it sounded to Duncan like he was announcing Leah Roth.
Not only had Leah never been to his apartment, but Duncan didn’t even know how she would have his address. Duncan had no idea what would prompt Leah to stop by unannounced, but he was pretty sure good news didn’t make the list.
Duncan wasn’t sure how to greet her, but did his best to force a friendliness he did not feel. For her part, Leah’s usual cool seemed slightly manufactured; Duncan wondered if she was nervous.
“So,” Duncan said, “how do you know where I live?”
“That’s the least of what I know,” Leah replied.
“Can I get you something? Water, beer, booze?”
“I won’t be staying long. I told you, Duncan, to stay away from that reporter. Why couldn’t you do that?”
Duncan felt a stab of something like fear, but tried to push it aside. “You mean the Journal reporter? She was interested in the Nazario case is all.”
“Knowing when you’re caught, Duncan, I would think is an important skill for a lawyer to have.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Candace Snow was in your apartment the other day. You’d already resigned from the Nazario case.”
“How do you know who’s been in my apartment?” Duncan asked, allowing himself to show anger. “What is this, Leah?”
Leah looked genuinely sad. “I offered you so much, Duncan. It was an extremely good offer, especially since all you had to do to get it was nothing.”
Duncan noted the past tense, trying to figure out what he could do to make peace. “I haven’t betrayed either you or your company,” he said. “I don’t know what’s bothering you, exactly, but I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Leah had recovered her composure. “If you told that reporter one word that was privileged, I’ll have your law license.”
Duncan was tired of her threats. “I see we’ve moved from the carrot to the stick,” he said with a half smile.
“Just remember, you made the choice here, not me,” Leah said. “This is good-bye, Duncan. Life is about to get very challenging for you.”
65
ONE LOOK at his new lawyer was enough to make Rafael miss Duncan Riley. Robert Walker was dressed in a cheap suit that no longer fit, a light dusting of dandruff on the shoulders. His tie was loose, the collar of his white shirt frayed. Everything about Walker seemed sloppy; he utterly lacked the sort of high-end professionalism that Duncan had always conveyed.
Walker stayed seated as Rafael was brought into the interview room and sat down across from him. The lawyer had some papers in his lap; he continued reading for a moment before finally extending his hand.
“I’m here with some good news,” Walker said. “The DA’s put an offer on the table, a good one.”
Rafael hadn’t thought about taking a plea, not since the one conversation he and Duncan had about it, back when he’d told his lawyer to go to war. But looking at Walker, Rafael wondered if going to war was really still an option. “What’s the offer?”
“They’re willing to go down to murder two, sentencing recommendation of eighteen years. That means with good behavior you’d get out in fifteen. You go to trial, you’re looking at life without parole, meaning you’d go in knowing you never had any chance of coming back out. Given that the guy was an ex-cop, this is a hell of a deal.”
Rafael was skeptical. “Fifteen years in jail is a hell of a deal?”
“When you could be looking at life without parole, then yeah, a hell of a deal is exactly what fifteen years is.”
“But Mr. Riley thought he could get me off,” Rafael protested, feeling again the betrayal of losing the lawyer he’d believed had enough juice to beat the system.
“I’ll tell you, the last thing you want in your situation is some young-Turk lawyer who’s looking to make a name for himself while it’s your life on the hook. Even the best criminal defense lawyers lose a lot more trials then they win; that’s just a fact. I understand he was probably telling you what you wanted to hear, but counting on an acquittal isn’t realistic. You’re young; you take this deal, you can get out and still have a full life in front of you.”
“So you saying I should take the fifteen.”
“It’s fifteen with good behavior, but yeah, I definitely think you should take it. You’d be making a big mistake not to.”
Rafael wasn’t sure what choice he really had here. Fighting made sense only if he had a chance of winning, and he was no longer sure he did, not with this guy in his corner. “You don’t think you can win my case?” he asked.
Walker looked uncomfortable with the head-on question. “The witness against you is a former New York City cop. They’ve got a motive, they’ve got that you were right there when it happened.”
“My old lawyer thought he could win,” Rafael said again.
“Look, Ramón, I’ve met your former lawyer. He’s young, full of himself, never even tried a criminal case before. I understand he probably seemed impressive, his credentials and whatnot, but believe me, what you need is a lawyer who actually knows his way around the city’s criminal courts, who knows how things get done in the real world. That’s how come I was able to get you a good deal like this right off the bat.”
Rafael didn’t want to plead guilty to a murder he didn’t commit, could hardly believe he was even thinking about doing so. It hadn’t been that long ago that Rafael had been sure he was going to beat the charges, walk away, maybe even get some kind of apology. But he certainly didn’t like the idea of trusting this new lawyer who couldn’t even get his name right to win his case in court.
Rafael needed to think; he needed to get advice from someone. His mother and grandmother clung to the fact of his innocence, as if that were enough. Rafael had thought so too, at first, but no more: he knew that innocence was not sufficient protection. He would’ve liked to talk it over with Duncan Riley, but that option was gone now. That left only one person.
IT TOOK Rafael a day to find Armando, spotting him at the cafeteria with a couple other Puerto Rican men, including Luis Gutierrez. Rafael had been avoiding Armando since hearing his pitch, still wanting to get through Rikers without joining up with anyone. But he forced himself to go over and ask if he could talk to Armando alone for a minute.
Armando looked surprised by the request, but after a moment he nodded. A quick look and the other men at the table dispersed, Rafael then sitting down.
“I got something with my case; I don’t know who to talk to,” Rafael said. “My lawyer, he wants me to take a plea. Says I could get out in fifteen.”
Armando regarded him for a moment. “Fifteen on a murder, that’s pretty good,” he said. “You’d still have plenty of life left to live when you got out.”
“But I didn’t shoot nobody,” Rafael said. “This whole thing’s just a mistake.”
Armando smiled at this. “It’s not no mistake,” he said. “You still thinking about it like what the system wants is to find the truth. What they looking to do is lock our people up. Don’t matter what we did. What matters is what we are.”
Rafael didn’t want to believe that. He’d been actively fighting it off.
But he could no longer pretend that his arrest was some misunderstanding that was going to be cleared up. He’d believed in Duncan Riley, but Riley was gone now. His new lawyer didn’t have any interest in winning; he just wanted to get the case over with as quickly as possible. If Rafael went to trial it would be his word against Chris Driscoll’s, and Driscoll was a white ex-cop. “So you think I should take the fifteen?” he asked Armando.
“It’s a long time; I feel you. But you go to trial on murder in the first, get life without parole, that means you going to die in prison. That’s the worst thing of all. And the fifteen don’t have to be hard years. You come in with us, follow the seven steps and become a brother for life, you’ll be taken care of. We got people everywhere.”
Rafael wondered if he could really spend fifteen years in the system without the protection of a gang. It was one thing to survive on his own at Rikers; a long bid at a maximum-security prison would be a whole different beast.
Armando leaned forward, looking into Rafael’s eyes. “I’m going to be taking a plea,” he said. “Doing seven. Longest stretch I ever done. But ain’t nobody going to fuck with me while I’m in. It’s not just that; we get provided for too. You just tell me, hermano, you just say the word and I’ll make you one of us.”
66
CALLS FROM strangers who were skittish about giving their names but who claimed to have great secrets to share were part of Candace’s stock in trade. But the call from the anonymous woman who said she had information regarding the Aurora Tower accident made Candace nervous. She’d had to fight off an initial impulse to refuse. That wasn’t really an option: if she was too afraid to meet with a potential source, then it was time to hang it up. Candace had been rattled ever since the break-in at her apartment, but she was determined to push through it, not let it keep her from doing her job. She had, however, sent Nugent an e-mail about where she was going, something she wouldn’t normally have done.
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