“He wanted me to identify children who were being treated for illnesses that if untreated would result in their deaths,” Holstein said.
“Did he say why?”
Holstein shook his head. “Only that he had a plan to make money.”
“What else did he ask you to do?”
“He said I had to erase their patient records.”
“He say why?”
“No, only that I had to do it or my wife would get those photographs and I’d be killed.”
“Did he ask you to do anything else?”
“Yes, he wanted the personal-information packet that the families fill out when the patient is admitted to the hospital.”
“Did he want to know anything else?”
“Yes. He asked me about the diseases the kids were being treated for … how they would respond to treatment … how long they would live without medical intervention.”
Karp walked over to the jury box and looked at the jurors’ shocked faces before turning back to the witness. “Doctor, why didn’t you go to the police with this?”
Holstein looked down at his hands and appeared to be crying, but he finally lifted his head and said, “I was afraid. And embarrassed.”
“So you were willing to let children go untreated, children that you knew would die without medical help, because you were afraid and embarrassed?” Karp said, not bothering to hide the disgust that he felt in his heart.
Covering his face with his hands, Holstein let out a sob. “Yes. I was that bedeviled.”
Karp gave Holstein a few moments to recover and then resumed his questioning. “Doctor, how often did you meet with the defendant?”
Holstein shrugged. “Only a few times. Sometimes he’d call, or I was supposed to call him.”
Karp nodded and turned to the judge. “Your Honor, at this time I’d like to show the witness this file marked People’s Exhibit Twenty-five for identification.”
“Go ahead,” Temple said.
Handing Holstein several sheets of paper, Karp asked, “Doctor, do you recognize the information contained on these papers, People’s Exhibit Twenty-five for identification?”
“Yes, they are telephone records of calls I made to LaFontaine or from him to me.”
“But those are just numbers,” Karp noted. “How do you know they’re to the defendant?”
Holstein shrugged. “That’s who I called. Or sometimes his man Frank.”
Karp took the telephone records back from Holstein and offered them into evidence. “You mentioned someone named Frank. Did you know Frank’s last name?”
“No.”
“Did you ever see Frank and can you describe him?”
“Yes. Big guy, about as big as LaFontaine. He had a beard, kind of rough-looking … dark hair, brown eyes … he had a scar below one eye.”
“You mentioned that in addition to your gambling debt being forgiven, you were paid. How were you paid?”
“In cash.”
“Who gave you the cash?” Karp asked.
“Frank,” Holstein said. “He’d bring it in an envelope. And once Sarah brought it to my home and handed it to me in front of my wife.”
“How did you explain that?”
“I said it was a payment from a patient,” he said. “I don’t think my wife believed me.”
“Doctor, are you still married?” Karp asked.
“My wife has filed for divorce.”
“And are you a free man?”
Holstein shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m an inmate in a Tennessee prison. I pleaded guilty to larceny and have to serve at least two years. I’ve also lost my medical license.”
“Have you been offered any sort of deal by my office, or a district attorney in Tennessee, in exchange for your truthful testimony here today?”
“No. You wouldn’t agree to anything. And to be honest, I don’t deserve it.”
“On that, doctor, we agree,” Karp said, and turned to the judge. “I have no further questions.”
Rottingham rose and approached the witness stand, where he stood looking at Holstein for a minute as if studying some loathsome creature. He shook his head. “So Mr. Holstein, as I gather you are no longer a doctor,” he said, “do you have any proof that you ever met my client?”
“What do you mean?”
Rottingham shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know … a photograph of the two of you together? Is there someone who saw him with you in your office?”
“No. We met at the Gentleman’s Club.”
“A strip joint,” Rottingham said. “Surely someone would have seen you there.”
“Maybe. I don’t know of anyone.”
“You don’t know of anyone because maybe you never actually met with Reverend LaFontaine.”
“Is that a question?” Holstein replied. “Because if it is, I did meet with him, several times.”
“So you say, but there’s no proof of this.”
Holstein sat silently, just staring at LaFontaine.
“And you say that those phone calls from your telephone were to LaFontaine. But are you aware that the cell phone was registered only in the name of the Holy Covenant Church of Jesus Christ Reformed?”
“That’s his church,” Holstein said, pointing at LaFontaine.
“It was,” Rottingham said. “But was anybody else associated with the church?”
“Well, yes, Frank,” Holstein replied, now looking directly at his interrogator. “And maybe Sarah, I don’t know.”
“That’s right, you don’t,” Rottingham said. “And we don’t know who it was you actually called, do we?”
“I called LaFontaine, but sometimes I talked to Frank.”
“Mr. Holstein, do you have any proof that the cash you received came from LaFontaine?”
“It was part of the deal I made with him.”
Rottingham walked over to the evidence table, where he picked up the photograph of Holstein with Sarah Westerberg. He held it up and showed it to Holstein, who looked down, and then to the jurors. “I only see two people in this rather explicit photograph,” he said. “One is you, and the other is a woman you’ve identified as Sarah, a stripper you were fooling around with behind your wife’s back. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“The Reverend LaFontaine is not in this photograph, is he?”
“No.”
Rottingham sneered. “I have no further use for this witness, Your Honor.”
Asked if he wanted to question Holstein further, Karp rose and requested that the recording between the doctor and LaFontaine after Detective Winkler’s initial call be played.
“John, I got a call from a detective, he wants to know about you and the kids’ records. What do I do?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And don’t call here again.”
Karp looked up at Holstein. “Doctor, when did you place that call?”
“In April, after the detective called and said he wanted to talk to me.”
“And who did you call?”
“LaFontaine.”
“John LaFontaine. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Not Frank.”
“No.”
“Not Sarah.”
“No.”
Karp turned and pointed at the defendant, who for a moment lost his composure and scowled. “That man sitting at the defense table, the defendant, John LaFontaine. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
Recovering, LaFontaine yelled, “I forgive you!”
“I’ll leave that to God,” Holstein replied as the judge banged his gavel. “I can’t even forgive myself.”
The judge pointed at LaFontaine. “There will be no more outbursts,” he said, and turned to Karp. “Do you have any more questions for this witness, Mr. Karp?”
“Just one, Your Honor,” Karp replied. “Dr. Holstein, did the defendant at any time express any sort of remorse for what the two of you conspired to do to these children and t
heir families?”
Holstein shook his head. “No, the only thing he ever said was, ‘The brats are probably going to die anyway, somebody might as well make a buck.’”
28
MARLENE GLANCED QUICKLY AT THE NOTE HER HUSBAND had given her as they sat on the couch that evening in their loft, before handing it back. “ ‘Talk to Warren.’ Any idea who left it?”
“Darla swears it wasn’t on her desk before everyone arrived for the meeting at lunch,” Karp replied. “She says that everyone was sort of milling around in the reception area before going into the conference room, so it could have been one of them. Or maybe someone slipped in and out of the office while she was getting coffee.”
“But whoever it was wants you to talk to Dirty Warren. And then he tells you that David Grale wants to meet with you?”
“That’s about the size of it,” Karp replied. “He says it has to do with Malovo and the Halloween parade, and that I have to come alone.”
A car honked outside the building. “I believe my chariot awaits,” Karp said. He stood and walked over to the coatrack at the front door and pulled on a brimmed hat he rarely wore and a heavy trenchcoat. “I’m off,” he announced.
Marlene hopped up from the couch and walked over to give him a kiss. “What’s with the Humphrey Bogart look?”
“Just trying to look the part, schweetheart,” he replied in his best Bogie.
“Ah, of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, you had to walk into mine,” Marlene said with a smile. “Sure you don’t want me to go with you, Rick?”
“Nah, the boys and Lucy will be back from the synagogue in a half hour and want dinner,” he said. “This won’t take long. And besides, we’ll always have Paris.”
Marlene laughed and patted him on the chest. “Well, just remember that David has his own agenda,” she said. “If he thought it would further God’s work, he’d sacrifice you.”
“I’ll listen with the proverbial grain of salt,” Karp replied, and walked out of the apartment.
Reaching the street-level foyer, Karp stepped outside and up to the yellow cab that waited at the curb. One of the uniformed police officers assigned to the two patrol cars outside his residence was already talking to the driver.
“Evening, Mr. Karp,” the officer said. “This guy says you called for a cab?”
“That’s right, Eddie,” Karp replied. “I’m meeting someone. It’s for a case.”
“I’d be happy to drive you,” Officer Eddie said.
“That’s okay,” Karp replied. “I’m trying to do this low-key.”
“That’s why the Sam Spade look,” Officer Eddie said. “But Chief Fulton will have my butt in a sling if I let you go somewhere without an escort.”
“I’ll clear it with Clay,” Karp said, turning to the cab driver. “I’m sure Mr. …”
“Farouk,” the cab driver said helpfully.
“Mr. Farouk will deliver me to my meeting and return me safe and sound,” Karp said.
The officer looked doubtfully at the cab driver and then shrugged. “Well, as long as you clear it with the chief …”
“I promise,” Karp replied.
“And you take the cab back and forth … no walking around,” Officer Eddie insisted. He pointed a finger at the cab driver. “I have your name and cab number, no funny business.”
“Business is not funny,” Farouk replied with a frown.
“Now that that’s settled, I need to get going,” Karp said, and got into the back of the cab.
“Where to, sir?” the cabbie asked, looking in the rearview mirror.
“You know where the Bowery Mission is?” Karp asked.
“Yes, sir,” Farouk answered, then realized what Karp was asking. “But oh no, sir, you don’t want to go there. It’s a rough place.”
“And yet to the Bowery Mission I must go, my friend,” Karp replied. “Step on it.”
Fifteen minutes later, the cab pulled up to the front of a large dour brick building with a red neon sign that announced it as the home of the Bowery Mission. Looking out the window, Karp was not surprised to see the sidewalk in front of the mission crowded with small knots of unkempt, and in some cases dangerous-looking, homeless men and even a few women.
“Are you sure, sir?” Farouk asked. “If something was to happen to you, the police officer will make it very bad for me.”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” Karp replied. “You’ve done a great job so far, and I’ll make sure your superiors hear about it. Now if you can wait twenty minutes or so, I’ll make it worth your while.”
Farouk handed him a business card. “Thank you, kind sir. Call me when you are ready and I will be here in a jiffy,” he said. “I do not like the look of these men and I would prefer to drive around the block until you call.”
Karp glanced out the window and noticed that some of the rougher looking men were eyeing the cab and moseying over for a closer look. Then he saw Dirty Warren Bennett and the Walking Booger emerge from the shadows of the alley next to the building and walk swiftly toward the cab.
“Aha,” Karp said with a grin, “my friends are here to meet me.” He opened the cab door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Seeing a well-dressed man exit the cab, some of the sidewalk denizens picked up the pace toward him, but then Booger swerved to intercept them. The huge man bellowed something incoherent, but in a loud and aggressive tone, and the others shied away and went back to their places in front of the building.
“Hello, Mr. Karp … son of a bitch crap whoop whoop … thanks for coming,” Dirty Warren Bennett said. “He’s waiting inside.”
Bennett then led the way back to the alley and a side entrance to the building. He knocked and another big man opened the door. “This is … oh boy oh boy nuts tits … him, Harvey.”
The man nodded and started to say something that sounded like a greeting, but a coughing fit took him. So he just stepped aside and pointed down a hallway.
Karp was led through a small maze of hallways and through a couple of storage rooms whose shelves were stacked with canned goods, bags of rice, and blankets. His guide led him to a door and there knocked again. A muffled reply came from within, at which Bennett opened the door. “Go ahead … whoop bastard … he wants to talk to you alone,” the little man said.
Walking into what appeared to be a reading room with shelves full of books and several overstuffed chairs with lamps next to them, Karp stopped short as David Grale rose from his seat. It had been some time since they’d last seen each other and Karp was shocked by how gaunt and ill the man looked; the pale skin that covered his face and hands—the only parts visible—looked stretched and fragile, and dark circles hung beneath his eyes like purple half moons.
“Hello, Mr. Karp,” Grale said, extending a hand, “thank you for coming.”
“Hi, David,” Karp replied, wondering why it was that once again he found himself in the presence of a sociopathic killer and yet felt completely safe. “Warren said you had something important you wanted to talk to me about regarding Nadya Malovo and the Halloween parade.”
A look of sadness passed across Grale’s face. “Yes, there’s no time for pleasantries, even if I wasn’t who and what I am,” he said after a moment. “I have some information I’d like to share and, if you’ll listen to what I have to say, a plan that I think may benefit us both.”
“I’m willing to listen,” Karp replied. “But if you’re going to admit to any crimes, David, I think you should seek counsel first.”
Grale looked surprised and then laughed. “You are the last of an honorable breed, Mr. Karp,” he said. “A serial killer asks to meet with you to discuss stopping another killer, and you offer to protect his rights.” The look of sorrow again crossed his face. “I truly appreciate who and what you are, Mr. Karp. Maybe someday you will have occasion to read me those rights; however, there is no need at this moment.”
Karp smiled. “Good. I’d rather not attempt to make a cit
izen’s arrest, not on your turf anyway.”
Grale laughed. “You never know, perhaps I’d go along docilely as a lamb,” he said. “Then again”—he gave Karp a funny look—“a little bird told me that Nadya Malovo is spreading a rumor that you are actually in league with the Sons of Man.”
Karp’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s a new one,” he said. “This wouldn’t be the same little bird that left a note in my office telling me to speak to Warren at lunch today?”
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Grale said. “But apparently that evil woman would like to sow dissension among friends—or is she correct and you’ve gone over to the dark side?”
“But what about what I’ve done to thwart the Sons of Man and prosecute its members when they break the law?” Karp asked.
“All part of a smoke screen to keep you above reproach,” Grale replied. “At least according to Malovo. But don’t worry; if I truly believed that, you would be dead already. I do think it provides us with an opportunity. She believes that she can divide us, which means while she knows there is a certain ‘connectivity,’ she is unaware of our long and varied history … as well as my great affection for you and your family.”
Karp nodded. “So what does this have to do with the Halloween parade?” he asked. “I will tell you that Lucy filled me in on your meeting and discussion in Central Park, and while I’m on that subject, I’m asking you to turn Andrew Kane over to us for prosecution.”
At the suggestion, Grale frowned, and for a moment Karp was taken aback by the sudden flash of insane anger he saw in the man’s eyes. “I’m not here to discuss Andrew Kane,” he snarled before controlling himself with great effort. “Excuse me, I didn’t mean to lose my cool, but that subject isn’t up for discussion. However, Malovo and her Halloween plotting is. … My little bird told me that after this she will have completed what the feds are asking of her and will then be placed in the witness protection program.”
It was Karp’s turn to frown. “You’re sure of this?” he asked.
“My information is top-notch,” Grale replied. “Obviously, that would not please you, or your friend Espey Jaxon, who I take it hopes to get more information about the Sons of Man from her before any such reward.”
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