“The insurance company has not yet paid.”
“Why not?”
“Because the Ellises were charged with reckless manslaughter, and if they’d been found guilty, the company wouldn’t have paid. The company was waiting to see what would happen.”
“Were the Ellises found guilty?”
“No.”
“And why not?”
“I’m not sure. David Ellis is dead. I don’t know what happened to his wife, Nonie. I guess she’s still charged with reckless manslaughter.”
“Are you aware that there is a warrant out for Nonie Ellis for failure to appear both in her own case and as a witness in this one?”
“I’ve been told that.”
“Did you benefit by the death of David Ellis?”
LaFontaine scowled. “Of course not, David Ellis was a friend and trusted member of my congregation. I loved David. We were brothers in Christ!”
“Do you know what happened to David Ellis?”
“He was killed.”
“By whom?”
“By Kathryn Boole. She shot him.”
“Where did she shoot him?”
“In front of this courthouse.”
“And what happened to Mrs. Boole?”
“She was subsequently shot and killed.”
“By whom?”
“By Frank Bernsen … because, I might add, she had pointed a gun at you,” LaFontaine said.
“Indeed, she was pointing a gun at me,” Karp said. “Why did she shoot David Ellis?”
“I don’t know,” LaFontaine said. “She didn’t tell me her plans.”
“Do you recall your actions when David Ellis arrived in front of the courthouse, shortly before Mrs. Boole shot him?”
“I was part of a group protesting the charges against the Ellises,” LaFontaine said.
“But what did you do and say when you saw David Ellis arrive at the courthouse?”
“I don’t recall exactly,” LaFontaine replied.
“Well, perhaps this recording of the events will refresh your recollection.” Karp turned toward the judge. “Your Honor, I’d like to play a DVD of a newscast that recorded certain relevant events pertaining to this issue.”
Judge Temple turned toward the jurors. “There’s an old law school saying that argues you can use virtually anything to refresh the recollection of a witness, even a shoe. Mr. Karp will now show you part of a newscast taken from the day in question to ascertain whether it will refresh the defendant’s recollection. That’s all it’s being displayed for. You may proceed, Mr. Karp.”
The lights in the courtroom were dimmed as a court clerk set up a television screen so that the jurors, judge, LaFontaine, and the spectators could all see it. Karp pressed a button on the lectern and a female television reporter appeared on the screen standing on the sidewalk in front of the Criminal Courts Building.
“This is Tessa Laine, and we’re at the Manhattan Criminal Courts Building, where this morning jury selection is set to begin in the reckless-manslaughter case against David and Nonie Ellis. The Ellises are accused of not seeking proper medical attention for their son, Micah, who later died. As you can hear behind me, emotions are running high, particularly among a group of protesters across the street who claim that this prosecution is a violation of the parents’ religious rights.”
As Laine spoke, the camera panned across the street to take in the protesters led by LaFontaine. “Ah, we believe that David Ellis has arrived,” Laine said. “There’s no sign of his wife yet. That’s odd, but for some reason the protesters seem to be angry with Mr. Ellis, who up to this point they’ve been supporting.”
The camera panned across the street, zeroing in on LaFontaine as he pointed at Ellis and shouted. “ ‘The fool says in his heart, “There is no God.” They are corrupt, their deeds are vile.’” At that point, the protesters surged into the traffic, where they stopped cars and were met by police. However, one woman continued through the stopped cars.
“That’s Kathryn Boole,” Karp, who was standing next to the screen, said, pointing.
As the camera recorded, Boole pulled a handgun from her purse and walked up to David Ellis. “Judas!” she screamed, and then shot him.
Karp stopped the tape and signaled for the lights to be turned up again. “Mr. LaFontaine, does the tape we’ve just seen refresh your recollection regarding what you did when David Ellis arrived at the Criminal Courts Building?”
LaFontaine sat silently staring at Karp. Finally, he nodded.
“Please speak up, Mr. LaFontaine,” Karp demanded.
Again there was silence from the defendant, before he shook his head, then answered. “Yes, it does.”
“Objection! Your Honor, please, my client is not on trial—nor should he be—for the murder of David Ellis. He is not responsible for the actions of any one member of his congregation any more than Mr. Karp would be responsible if one of his assistant district attorneys walked out of the Criminal Courts Building this afternoon and shot a hot dog vendor. This is just an attempt to make my client guilty by association with a deranged woman.”
“A deranged woman who was apparently enough in control of her faculties to give Mr. LaFontaine a three-point-two-million-dollar building and eight hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars cash,” Karp argued. “Apparently she was sane enough for that! We just saw the defendant point at David Ellis and a minute later one of his followers turns into a murderer. This whole trial is about LaFontaine’s influence over susceptible people.”
“Enough!” Temple ordered. “Mr. Rottingham, I’m going to overrule your objection to the question, but I caution you and Mr. Karp to keep the rhetoric to yourselves. Now, Mr. Karp, do you want to continue without the additional comments?”
“Yes,” Karp said, and turned back to LaFontaine. “How powerful do you believe your influence to be over members of your congregation?”
“I’ve said before that all I do is explain what I believe,” LaFontaine retorted. “What they choose to do with that is up to them. They are all thinking individuals.”
“Do you know why Kathryn Boole murdered David Ellis?”
“I do not.”
“You have no idea why she would yell, ‘Judas,’ and then pull the trigger?”
“No idea.”
“Would it be because if David Ellis was dead and Nonie beat the reckless-manslaughter charge, you would collect on the insurance policy?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Was it because David Ellis planned to plead guilty to the charge and expose you as a fraud because of the insurance policy?”
“I have no knowledge of that.”
“No? David Ellis never told you those were his plans?”
“I said he did not,” LaFontaine snarled.
Karp stood in front of the witness stand with his hands on his hips, glaring up at the witness. “Mr. LaFontaine, right now there are two people in this courtroom who know that you just lied again under oath. Me and you!”
Rottingham again jumped to his feet, but before he could object, another voice shouted in the courtroom.
“No, Mr. Karp, there are three!”
Everyone in the courtroom turned to see who’d spoken. Karp was surprised as the woman who’d been sitting next to Marlene now stood up. She shook visibly as she removed the scarf, followed by a blond wig and dark glasses. “I’m Nonie Ellis, and I have something to say.”
Karp looked at his wife, who gave him a knowing smile. He shook his head and glanced over at Rottingham, who stood with his mouth agape, and then up at LaFontaine. For the first time since he’d met the man, he saw fear in his eyes.
“Your Honor,” Karp said, “I’d suggest that this might be a good time to adjourn so that we can sort this out.”
Judge Temple closed his mouth, which had fallen open when Nonie Ellis shouted. He now recovered and banged his gavel. “Mr. Karp, I couldn’t agree with you more. Court is adjourned. Uh, and happy Hallowee
n.”
34
NADYA MALOVO SMILED AT FEDERAL AGENT MICHAEL ROLLES as they waited on the northwest corner of Sixth Avenue and 8th Street and watched the revelers pass them by tooting horns, beating drums, dancing, shouting, and laughing. “You make a good wolf; nice fangs,” she said.
For once Rolles smiled back at her. “The better to eat you with, my dear,” he growled.
“Promise, promises,” Malovo replied as she adjusted her red hood and switched her picnic basket from one hand to the other, the folds of her cape hiding the fact that her wrists were cuffed with plastic ties.
They were both feeling good about the evening. She because her plan—for all its complexity and potential pitfalls—was coming to fruition. He because she’d finally let him in on her plan the night before, after she’d met with the men in Bedford-Stuyvesant, and he realized that it was going to work. All that he wanted—power and money—would soon be his.
Only outwardly was Rolles an agent for the National Inter-Departmental Security Administration. In reality, he worked for the Sons of Man, another one of its legion of foot soldiers who had been assigned to infiltrate the political, military, law enforcement, and business establishments of the United States. Many years earlier, he’d begun his double-agent life working for the Central Intelligence Agency until the World Trade Center attacks of 9/11. In the rush to consolidate and expand national security under one umbrella, the hierarchy of the Sons of Man had seen an opportunity and ordered Rolles and many others like him to switch agencies.
That past spring he’d been given the assignment of a lifetime. Malovo, whom the Sons of Man had used in the past for a variety of their nefarious plans, had gotten word out of her federal cell that she could deliver a very valuable prize. Her asking price was her freedom and enough money to live like a queen for the rest of her life, and not in some crummy witness protection program.
At least that was what she’d told Rolles when he showed up at the maximum-security federal penitentiary, ostensibly to try his hand at questioning her. When they’d agreed on the deal, they played it cool. At first she pretended that she was no more interested in talking to him about sleeper cells than she had been with any of the other federal agents, like Espey Jaxon. But over time, she had started to “divulge information” that led to the destruction and apprehension of some of the cells, including the one she goaded into attacking the Liberty Island ferry, and then let it be known that she was only going to cooperate with Rolles.
Even Rolles admitted to her that afternoon as they prepared for the final phase that her plan was brilliant. It incorporated three objectives that all fit in with the goals of his organization.
The first would be the terrorist act. If all went right hundreds of people would die that night and thousands more would be maimed. All of which would be televised around the country and the world. Most importantly, the fear and paranoia generated by such easily accomplished suicide attacks would be overwhelming. The comfort zone Americans were finally settling back into in the post-9/11 world would be destroyed in a moment of death and destruction. What little faith they had in their current leaders would evaporate and create a vacuum into which powerful, confident, and determined men would step, even if it required martial law and the suspension of certain constitutional protections.
The second facet of Malovo’s plan was the assassination of Roger Karp, the district attorney of New York County. For too long he and his cursed family and friends had foiled the well-laid plans of the Sons of Man. Sometimes it was beyond all understanding how they had stopped the organization from accomplishing its goals, but enough was enough; it was time for him to die. That this fit with Malovo’s desire for revenge made it all the sweeter to her.
However, it was the third part of her plan that truly mattered. The prize she had dangled in front of the Sons of Man was Andrew Kane, formerly the group’s most powerful member. As she told Rolles when he was sent to find out if she could deliver what she promised, Kane was alive and being held captive by the madman David Grale. One of her trusted men on the outside, one of the Russians she’d met with the night before, had been approached by a traitor who told him about Kane and said he could help locate him.
She could only imagine the ripple of both excitement and fear that the news of Kane’s whereabouts had sent through the clandestine organization. When he was in power, Kane had seen to it that billions of dollars of the organization’s finances were shifted into accounts that only he could access. The Sons of Man had lost billions more due to Karp and his friends, while the organization was not bankrupt, the financial blows had crippled its ability to push its agenda. Getting access to the money Kane had squirreled away would put them again in the driver’s seat.
However, even billions of dollars wasn’t the most important reason that Malovo’s plan to find Kane was so vital to the Sons of Man. Kane knew the identities of those members of the group who had yet to be discovered by Jaxon and his agency, one of the few agencies the Sons of Man had been unable to make any inroads into, mostly because of its small size.
As such, there were two possible outcomes for Kane if Malovo’s plan worked. Hopefully, he could be “rescued” from Grale and then forced to divulge the information regarding the secret bank accounts. After that, he would be disposed of. However, if Kane couldn’t be removed from Grale’s lair, it was up to Rolles and his two men, as well as Malovo, to kill Kane and silence him forever.
Malovo was quite certain that Rolles was also supposed to kill her, too. She was a loose end. She knew too much. Of course, she had not told him all of her plan. The image of her former mentor lying in the blood-red snow flashed in her mind and the thought made her happy.
Fortunately, Rolles was as weak as any other man. She couldn’t seduce him with her sexuality, but she played to his ambition. She looked up at him again, seeing past the fake canine nose and fangs, through the gray fur headpiece and floppy ears. He was thinking about all the rungs he would be jumping past on the Sons of Man ladder. Maybe right into the inner circle and a seat at its table.
As she watched a marching band of bare-breasted women covered in body paint dance past, Malovo smiled again. Knowing your enemy’s plan allows you to make the first move. This advice from her mentor had saved her many times, even if it had not saved him.
Waiting for word that the next phase had been completed, Malovo took in the scene around her. For more than a mile the sidewalks were packed with people, most of them in costume watching the parade. She knew that the marchers had begun lining up early that afternoon, an amazing collection of some of the most outlandish and outrageous costumes. Skeletons and vampires. Satyrs and clowns. Giants on stilts strode by as drag queens in their element proudly posed for photographs with tourists. And at the tail end of the parade was the grand marshal’s float—a cemetery with gravestones and ghosts, all presided over by the Grim Reaper.
It had disappointed her to learn that Karp’s family would not be on the float with him, though it had not surprised her due to her own warnings about the terrorist threat. But the warnings had been necessary. The most difficult part of her plan had been to lure Grale and his men out of their lair. The traitor had told her that there was no way she could simply storm his stronghold, even if she could find it. He and his people knew the subterranean world and were masters at fighting in the dark. “And if he knows you’re coming with too great a force to fight,” the traitor had said, “he’ll just take Kane and melt away into the dark.”
She needed to know how to find Grale’s home and Kane, and she needed Grale to be out of it, which is where her attorney Bruce Knight came in. The traitor had told her that Knight had once lived with Grale and still helped with legal issues for his motley collection of Mole People. That meant he could contact Grale and would be trusted. She gambled that Knight could also be trusted to reveal what she was saying and doing to his old friend. So much for attorney-client privilege, she thought with a laugh.
Of all the potential
pitfalls in her plan, Grale worried her the most. He answered to no one but himself and by all accounts was insane, which meant he might not react in a predictable way. So she’d come up with several traps to get him out from beneath the streets. The first was to offer herself as bait. She knew from the traitor that Grale felt he was on some sort of mission from God to rid Manhattan of evil. “He believes that you are inhabited by a very important demon,” the traitor had told her. “If he thought he could get to you and kill you, he’d take any chance.”
So she let it be known to Knight that she would be at the Halloween parade with very little protection. He would also try to stop a terrorist attack, seeing himself as a force for good, and therefore she made sure that Knight knew enough about the evening’s plans to warn Grale.
She wasn’t as sure about Grale’s feelings about Karp. On the surface, they were enemies—Grale was a mass murderer and Karp was a by-the-book prosecutor. The traitor had warned that there was some sort of personal connection between Grale and Karp’s family, but whether that extended to the man himself, he wasn’t so sure. So she also came up with the idea of planting the seed that Karp worked for the Sons of Man, not such a far-fetched idea for a madman. It had paid off when Rolles brought her the newspaper with the front-page story about Grale’s attack on Karp.
Malovo looked around, wondering if any of the costumed revelers around her were actually an insane killer and his minions. It would be so easy to sidle up to her, just as, according to her plan, it would be so easy for a group of terrorists to join the parade with no one the wiser until the bombs started going off.
Looking across Sixth Avenue, Malovo scanned the crowd to pick out Agent Jaxon and U.S. Marshal Capers. She’d suggested that they stand apart from her as they kept an eye on the marchers and told them it would be easier to spot the terrorists on the parade route than next to her on a crowded sidewalk. She expected Capers to resist the notion of being so far away, but other than insisting that Malovo be cuffed and within arm’s reach of Rolles, she agreed.
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