Justin Peacock

by Blind Man's Alley (v5)

  “Yeah, it was the reporter you guys sued. She’s still going after you, I guess.”

  “Why the hell was she coming to you?” Jeremy said. “How did she even know who you were?”

  “Beats me,” Alena said. “She wouldn’t explain any of that—just showed up at my door. Apparently I’m not that hard to find,” she added, but Jeremy was too worried to catch the reference.

  “So what did she want to talk to you about?”

  “She’s digging into you, Jeremy. She said you were taking money out of the Aurora, and that somebody who was part of it—a guy named Fowler, she said—was blackmailing you.” Alena paused, looking Jeremy in the eye. It wasn’t just about getting something on tape: she wanted to know if Jeremy really had a man killed, if he was capable of that. “She said the guy who was blackmailing you was murdered.”

  Jeremy picked up his drink, then immediately put it down. Even in the dimly lighted room Alena could see sweat at his temples. “What did you tell her?” Jeremy asked, his voice tight. He was afraid, Alena realized.

  “I didn’t tell her anything. I mean, I told her I had no idea what she was talking about. It’s not like I know anything about stuff like that. Jesus, Jeremy, is it true?”

  Jeremy used both hands to lift his drink this time, taking a long sip. It was true; Alena could tell just by looking at him. She’d come here believing it, but that still hadn’t quite prepared her for this moment. “You don’t want to get mixed up in this shit,” Jeremy said.

  “That’s all you have to say? How am I supposed to even be here if you’ve done something like this?”

  “I didn’t kill anyone, obviously, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “The reporter wasn’t saying you shot the guy yourself, just that you were behind it.”

  Jeremy had recovered at least a little of his composure. “We’re not going to talk about this,” he said.

  Alena had expected Jeremy to want to confess. But he wasn’t just looking to tell her. She was going to have to dig it out of him.

  “That’s basically the same as admitting it,” she said, studying Jeremy as she spoke. “You’re not that sort of person. Are you?”

  “There’re some things that happened at the Aurora. Yeah, I took some money out—but it was my goddamn money anyway. If my father wasn’t such a hard-ass I never would’ve needed to use Pellettieri to take it.”

  “So you knew he was skimming?”

  “It happens all the time on construction,” Jeremy said. “The only difference here was that I was getting my fair share. It’s not like I can really rob myself, can I? And no, I didn’t kill anyone, or order somebody to kill them, or anything like that.”

  “Then why is the reporter writing a story that says you did?”

  “Because she doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Jeremy said. He seemed angry now, although at what exactly Alena couldn’t say.

  “But she’s not just making the whole thing up,” she protested. “You’d told me you were being blackmailed before, and then you told me it was over with, the guy deserved what he got. Was he killed?”

  For a moment Jeremy just looked at her, a violence in his eyes. “None of it was fucking me, okay? None of it. I mean, yeah, I fucked up a little bit at the Aurora; that’s on me, but I didn’t have shit to do with the rest of it.”

  “The reporter told me that somebody’s on trial for the murder. She said he’s got nothing to do with it, that he’s been set up.”

  “Just don’t talk to her, okay? If she comes back, I mean. Did you tell her anything?”

  “I admitted that I knew you, before I had any idea what she wanted to talk about. I didn’t say anything once she got going. She just kept throwing new stuff out there—kept piling on. She seemed sure I already knew about it.”

  Jeremy looked ashen. “Was there anything else she said about the murder?” he asked.

  “She said your security guards did it. That was the other thing. Do you have people who do these things for you, really?”

  Jeremy didn’t answer, cradling his drink in his hands. The idea that the reporter had this much clearly had him scared. Alena decided it was time to play her final card. “That wasn’t even the end of it. The contractor you were working with, the police were about to arrest him and he disappeared?”

  “Jack Pellettieri? He went on the run, yeah, so what?”

  “She said his body just washed up in New Jersey.”

  Jeremy seemed equal parts puzzled and afraid. “Pellettieri’s dead? I don’t know anything about that.”

  “You said you wanted to see me again, Jeremy. That you wanted to fix things. I can’t have someone make these accusations about you and then just pretend that I haven’t heard them.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Jeremy said again, his voice fraying.

  “But it did happen, didn’t it?” Alena said, not having to act to show her own fear. “God, Jeremy, you know, don’t you?”

  “I can’t talk to you about this.”

  “Meaning you don’t trust me?” Alena said, aware of the absurdity of asking for the trust of a man she was secretly recording.

  Jeremy looked at her, and Alena could see in his face the burden he’d been carrying. Then something broke in him; she watched it break. Jeremy was not somebody built for carrying around a terrible secret; his nature wasn’t self-contained enough for it. He needed to confess.

  “It was my sister,” Jeremy said, his voice trembling. “Fowler was involved in skimming money, and then after the accident he came to me with his hand out. I paid him off, but the fucker came back. So I told my sister what was happening with Fowler, and she said she’d take care of it. Then she went to our security guy, Darryl, told him what Fowler was up to. I didn’t know what they were going to do; I didn’t know what was happening. You can’t ever talk to the reporter again, not one word. You understand? I won’t be able to protect you if you do.”

  Alena felt a chill. “Are you threatening me?”

  “Of course not. But once you know about something like this, you’ve got to keep it to yourself.”

  “I’m glad it wasn’t you, Jeremy,” Alena said. “I’m glad the reporter’s got it wrong. I mean, it’s still pretty fucked up that you let it happen, but it’s good you weren’t directly involved. But is it true that some innocent guy is being charged with killing Fowler?”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with that. Darryl ran the show. Leaving it unsolved was too risky, I guess, but nobody asked me my opinion. I mean, you do something like this, the idea is to get away with it.”

  “But you’re letting it happen. You could stop it if you chose to.”

  “It’s too late. Things take on a momentum of their own. I can’t change any of it now.”

  LOST IN thought, Alena barely noticed that Duncan had stopped the tape, the courtroom falling silent. As the room came back into focus the first thing Alena noticed was the cool hatred in the gaze of Leah Roth. Steven Blake stood, though more slowly this time. Alena thought the lawyer had to know the game was lost, that he wasn’t going to spin his clients out of this.

  “There are multiple issues with this recording, Your Honor,” Blake said. “We don’t know for a fact that the voice on the tape is Jeremy Roth. We don’t know if this recording has been spliced or altered in some way. It is also clear that Ms. Porter is being deceptive, at best, in the recorded conversation. And even if the tape is what it purports to be, it’s still hearsay. There is no supporting evidence to the claims made on the recording.”

  Judge Lasky looked exasperated by Blake’s arguments. “Are you suggesting that Mr. Roth was lying on that tape? And as to whether it’s his voice, you know him personally, do you not?”

  Blake hesitated. “He’s my client, yes.”

  “Standing before me as an officer of the court, did you think it was him?”

  Blake clearly didn’t want to respond. “It sounded generally like him, but I am by no means an expert in such matters.”
>
  Lasky offered Blake a withering look before turning to the DA’s table. “Would the People like to be heard?”

  Castelluccio stood, looking shell-shocked. “Your Honor, I have no way of knowing whether that tape is what it purports to be. At a minimum, I would like to have our technical experts review it. Obviously too we can simply ask Jeremy Roth whether he disputes it.”

  “Where does that leave Mr. Nazario in the meantime?” the judge asked.

  Castelluccio hesitated. “It would be premature for my office to make a decision as to what, if any, effect today’s hearing has on the case against Mr. Nazario. This tape by itself does not exonerate him, though it certainly raises questions.”

  Duncan had told himself to be quiet for as long as he could, see how things were shaking out. Now he stood and faced the judge. “This tape does not raise questions, Your Honor. It establishes that the defendant was framed, by whom, and why.”

  “It does no such thing,” Castelluccio said. “I would remind the court that Mr. Nazario was prepared to plead guilty to this crime. It remains to be seen whether this new information will actually exonerate him.”

  Judge Lasky looked at Castelluccio, then over at Rafael for the first time. After a moment he turned back to the ADA. “Even on its own, this tape is pretty much fatal to your case against Nazario,” he said. “Reasonable doubt is certainly established by it. You don’t have a case here anymore, counsel.”

  “It would be premature to dismiss this case entirely,” Castelluccio said quickly.

  “Jeopardy hasn’t attached, Your Honor,” Duncan said. “You can dismiss without prejudice, and the DA will be free to refile if they come up with anything.”

  “There would be a risk of flight,” Castelluccio said.

  “My client has no resources to speak of,” Duncan said, realizing that he’d mistakenly called Rafael his client but not feeling any need to correct it. “He doesn’t even have a passport. And why on earth would he run, under the circumstances?”

  Judge Lasky looked over at Rafael. “The defendant shouldn’t have to be in jail while the police try to build this case all over from scratch,” he said at last. “And the goal should be trying to figure out what actually happened here, not keeping this prosecution alive. People v. Nazario is hereby dismissed without prejudice. Mr. Nazario, you are free to go.”

  Duncan walked over to Rafael, ignoring Walker, and put his hand on Rafael’s shoulder. “Let’s get you home,” he said.

  85

  DARRYL LOOMIS parked on Sullivan Street, about a block away from the Aurora Tower. “We’re actually meeting Tommy inside the Aurora?” Candace asked as she got out of the car, an aging Ford Taurus. She was assuming that the police were hearing every word she said, and she was trying to give them a play-by-play without being too obvious about it. She hadn’t been able to see any sign that the cops were following them, but was taking it on faith that they were. “How are we getting in?”

  “Tommy arranged it,” Darryl said.

  “Aren’t they still doing construction?”

  “They’re doing the interiors now. We’re going around to the back.”

  They walked past the front of the Aurora and turned the corner. From the outside it no longer looked like a construction site. The building was stylish, she had to admit: it appeared to undulate like a gentle wave. It was by far the tallest building on the block, a showpiece. Candace supposed it should be, for half a billion dollars.

  Darryl stepped into an alley in the middle of the block, Candace hesitating a little. Darryl noticed, stopped, and turned back. “It’s just down here. The freight entrance has been left open. Come on.”

  “You say so, Reggie,” Candace said, forcing herself to go forward. The alley was actually well kept—this was SoHo, after all—and they walked about twenty feet to the back of the Aurora. The freight entrance was unlocked.

  Candace followed Darryl inside, finding herself in a grimly functional, fluorescent-lit hallway, a part of the building that the wealthy residents would presumably never see. Darryl led the way to the freight elevator, Candace following him in. The elevator was large and had clearly recently seen heavy use: it was scuffed, with dirt and sawdust on the floor.

  They took it up to the twenty-seventh floor. Once in the hallway Candace could see that she was in an unfinished building. There was plywood on the floor and the overhead lights weren’t on, plunging them into an evening gloom.

  “What’s on the twenty-seventh floor?” Candace asked, wanting to make sure the police knew exactly where she was. Assuming they still had a clear signal from her. Candace was beginning to think she’d made a very bad mistake, and she wondered if the smart thing was to just get back in the elevator and get the hell out of there.

  Darryl gave her a look. “This is where Tommy said he’d be,” he said.

  “It’s weird up here, Reggie,” Candace said.

  “You get used to it,” Darryl replied. “If you’re in construction, I mean.”

  “You’re in construction too?”

  “Yeah, I work with Tommy,” he said.

  “You must be management,” Candace said.

  Darryl looked puzzled. “Why you say that?”

  “Your suit,” Candace said. “I’m betting it’s hand-tailored.”

  Darryl looked at her for a second but didn’t respond. He walked halfway down the hall, then stopped at an apartment door. The slots for a lock and a doorknob were both empty. “In here,” he said, pushing the door open.

  Candace followed Darryl inside. She found herself in a large unfurnished apartment. As she passed the island kitchen Candace noticed that the refrigerator was in the middle of the room and the marble countertop was lying beside it, covered in bubble wrap. The living room was empty, except for a man who was not Tommy Nelson.

  “Chris Driscoll?” Candace said after a moment, recognizing Driscoll from the time she’d spotted him talking to Duncan. “The hell are you doing here?”

  “I work here now, the Aurora,” Driscoll said. “Got transferred off of Riis after your little article came out.”

  Driscoll was leaning against the far wall of the living room, Candace in the middle of the room facing him with Darryl behind her. The wall in front of her was glass, looking south onto Lower Manhattan. Candace took a couple steps backward so that she could have both of them in her sight.

  “It was nothing personal,” Candace said reflexively—what she always said to somebody who was pissed off about something she’d written.

  “Just my name in the paper, being called a liar, right?” Driscoll said. “My father saw that, my wife.”

  Candace was through playing nice. “What’s the idea of bringing me here?” she said instead. “Look, I’m sorry if I pissed you off, Chris, but this isn’t the way to get a meeting with me.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Darryl said. “Chris’s not the only man I know who feels you’ve been talking too much.”

  Candace turned to face him. She decided there was nothing to be gained at this point by pretending she didn’t know who he was. “You’re Darryl Loomis, aren’t you?” she said.

  Darryl was caught off guard, knew he’d shown it, then smiled. “Very good,” he said. “So then I’m guessing you can figure out why you’re here.”

  “You realize my editor knows where I am, right?”

  “With Tommy Nelson in Tompkins Square?” Darryl rejoined.

  “What is it you want?” Candace said.

  “First, I want to know if it’s true about Pellettieri.”

  “That he washed up in Jersey? Yes, it is.”

  “And you’re writing a story about it?”

  “You can buy a paper same as anyone else,” Candace said. “Or you can go to our Web site—it’s free, you know.”

  Darryl shook his head as though disappointed. “You need to take a look around, figure out the situation you find yourself in. You’re alone with two men who you think are killers. There is nobody else within a hu
ndred feet of you. I ask you a question, answering is a real good idea.”

  Candace was trying to understand what Darryl’s actual plan was. If she told him everything she knew, what was he going to do then? If he let her leave, he’d have to assume that Candace would go straight to the police and file charges against him. Maybe not serious charges, not if he didn’t hurt her, but still, he’d have a lot of explaining to do. “Are you planning on killing me?” she asked. “Because otherwise I don’t really see your move here.”

  “I’m just looking for information,” Darryl said. “Have you written a story regarding Pellettieri’s death?”

  “I’ve drafted something, yeah,” Candace said, lying. “It’s on the network at work.”

  “What is it you think you know?”

  “About Pellettieri?”

  “About all of it.”

  “Let’s see. I know that Driscoll here lied about seeing Nazario kill Fowler. I know that the real reason Fowler was killed was because he tried to blackmail Jeremy Roth about what happened at this building. I don’t know who actually killed Fowler, though you’d certainly make my short list. Whoever it was, they were following orders from the Roth family.”

  “And have you written this?”

  “Yes, though it’s not finished,” Candace said. “I guess my asking around got back to Jeremy?”

  Darryl ignored the question, studying her with a slight smile. “I’m calling bullshit,” he said. “I don’t think you’ve written a goddamn thing. What proof of any of this do you have?”

  “The DA is building a case against you for Pellettieri right now,” Candace said. “How do you think I know he’s dead and yet it hasn’t been reported anywhere? And once they do that, they’ll look at you for Fowler too. You killed your own guy, for Christ’s sake.”

  Darryl’s face went cold. “Fowler wasn’t my guy, not after what he did. He was a dead man the second he put his hand out to a client. I’m in a business that requires absolute trust. People come to me with their worst problems. The secrets I keep are beyond your ability to imagine. You think your little paper conveys the truth about how this city really works? You barely have a clue.”