Blood Money

by Laura M Rizio

  “The police came that morning to question me and to search the apartment. They found a bug and surveillance camera. I was being watched by the killer. He couldn’t tell the difference between Carol and me. So he killed her by mistake.. I decided after that, that my life and the lives of others were in danger if this continued, if I allowed this to go on. I told the police everything—about what happened to Captain Riley, what I had seen, my identity change. I told them about you, Mr. Ceratto, and what was happening in Philadelphia with people being murdered. About what you suspected, about what you knew.”

  “And what did they tell you—the police, that is?”

  “They told me that they would give me an escort to Philadelphia so that I would be safe. They said that they would be working with the FBI and the Philadelphia police on this.”

  “And here you are.” Nick turned to the jury.

  “Yes.”

  What can you tell us about Dr. Manin, the defendant?” Nick swept his hand toward the defense table.

  “About him in general?”

  “Yes. Let’s start there. How long have you worked beside Dr. Manin?”

  “Oh, at least five years. I’ve worked with him on at least fifty surgeries.”

  “And what is the level of service that he gives his patients? In other words, is he a good surgeon. Does he take care of his patients?”

  “My goodness, I can’t remember a better surgeon. I’ve never seen a more caring, competent doctor. He takes his time with his patients. He frequently does things himself that many other doctors hand over to a resident. He loves his work and he’s good at it.”

  “What about with Captain Riley?”

  “I remember that he wanted to perform that emergency surgery because it was a police officer who was injured. Dr. Manin is a friend of the police. He decided to stay for the surgery instead of leaving for a dinner party. And he was very careful during the operation. The repair went smoothly. He closed the wound after it was irrigated. He checked it and then said he had to leave. Usually he would stay to make sure that the patient was stable and doing well in recovery—but this time he couldn’t. He had to leave. He told me to check Captain Riley. He said that his wife would have a fit if he stayed any later. He was never on time for anything other than his patients. Most doctors wouldn’t stay to personally check their patients. But Doctor Manin did—except for this time.” She swallowed hard and looked over the jury’s heads at the wall behind them. “I wish he had. Then I wouldn’t have found Captain Riley like that and things would have been different.” She paused to dab her eyes. The room was silent for a few seconds. Then there was an audible sigh as the contagious tension was released.

  “Mr. Ceratto.” Judge Primavera leaned into the microphone, which had been purposely set at a distance from him. He disliked amplification, especially when it picked up unwanted sounds, like body functions and the racing of his pen across the yellow legal pad as he took copious notes. He knew that for most people the courtroom was an inhospitable place, and he didn’t want to make it any worse. “I want to recess at this time, and I want to see both attorneys in my chambers. Ms. Price, you may step down now. However, please stay in close proximity to the courtroom until you are called, which will be shortly. You may not leave the building. You may not speak with anyone.”

  Donna nodded her head and slowly got up, nervously smoothing her skirt before she stepped down.

  Primavera waited until she took a seat in the back of the courtroom close to the door which was guarded by four armed police officers. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he went on, looking through his owl-like glasses, “you have heard testimony this morning which is compelling, to say the least.” The judge turned and looked at Theresa Riley. He was concerned about her. She was pale and didn’t look well. She sat motionless. Her expression was distant and flat. It was obvious that she didn’t understand why her lawyer seemed to have turned against her. She wasn’t alone. All Mrs. Riley knew was that someone had murdered Sean. If it was the Russian nurse, why wasn’t she on trial? Where was she? It looked as if the doctor was going to get off and no one would be responsible. Was the doctor in cahoots with the nurse? With Doletov? With Price? She was confused. And her head hurt. All the lawyer talk, the judge talk, the recesses. What went on behind those closed doors? Were they making plans? Were they all in cahoots? Her lawyer wasn’t telling her anything. Her sons had been right. He was selling her down the river. But someone had to pay, big-time for her husband’s death. She tried to get up from her seat. Her lips moved, but no sound came from them.

  “Mrs. Riley?” Primavera wanted to offer assistance, but it was too late. Her knees buckled and she crumpled like a rag doll onto the floor.

  CHAPTER XLVIII

  Judge Primavera stepped into his robing room and picked up the ringing telephone.

  His secretary, Julia, had been told never to interrupt him during trial unless there was an emergency and the emergency somehow related to the matter before him. Both criteria had been met.

  Asher and Ceratto waited nervously in a separate room, if one could dignify the space with the designation room. It was closet sized and had one broken metal desk, a leftover from World War II army surplus, and two mismatched chairs, both of which were badly in need of glue. The overhead fluorescent light buzzed and flickered, enhancing the lunar quality of the space. It was referred to by court employees as “the holding pen.”

  Primavera picked up the first of the two waiting calls. His secretary had told him that Fred Connley was on one and Mike Rosa on two. He didn’t discriminate on the basis of rank; he simply pushed the first lit button, which was Connley. Mike Rosa was left on hold, which he wouldn’t like one bit.

  Connley summarized, as briefly as he could, the messy series of events that would likely have an impact on the Riley case and the decisions the judge could be asked to make from the bench—like postponement or dismissal. As far as Connley was concerned, this case belonged in criminal court, not civil court.

  “Your Honor…” He always felt awkward when he addressed Primavera as Your Honor. They had attended Bishop Newman high school together, but Primavera had gone on to college while Connley had gone to the police academy. Although Primavera was never stuck on himself or his academic achievements, Connley still felt he had to address his friend formally when he called on him in his professional capacity.

  “You don’t need to kiss my ring, Fred. You can call me by my real name.”

  “OK, Tony…”

  “That’s better.”

  “Thanks. I feel better, too. OK, let me begin by saying that we arrested Marina Doletov at the airport. She was about to board a plane for St. Petersburg. She had twenty Gs on her in cash and a one-way ticket. The Pasadena police notified us this morning that Doletov was involved in the murder of Sean Riley. They got this information from a Donna Price, whose roommate was mistaken for Price and killed. We knew that Doletov was still under subpoena and was supposed to testify. We tailed her. She was seen getting into a cab bound for the airport. We thought that was a little strange for someone who had been ordered to hang around City Hall. She’s at headquarters now. She’s got a lawyer and she’s prepared to deal.

  “So soon?” Tony Primavera’s skepticism was clear. He knew that attorneys, especially criminal defense lawyers, loved to delay and obfuscate. This didn’t make sense to him.

  “Yeah, Tony. This is like a house of cards—like dominoes. Pull one out and the rest fall like an avalanche.” Sensing the judge’s reluctance to buy the story, Connley pressed for time. “Let me go on and you’ll see what I mean.”

  “Fine, but hurry, I have Mike Rosa on hold.”

  “Let him hold. He’s kept me waiting dozens of times.”

  “Yes, but I have a trial to conduct and I don’t have time. I’ve got two attorneys and a jury of twelve who want to know what the hell is going on. So make it quick.”

  “OK, I’ll try to make this brief. One of my men named Ralph Kirby was shot along wit
h the DA and the other two women. He’s alive but in bad shape. He was able to ID the shooter from a photo. The shooter, Rudolph Hines, aka Rudi, turns out to be a hired gun. He’s in the hospital, too, with a fractured skull and a busted face. But he was able to babble about his deal with—guess who?”

  “Dammit, Fred, don’t play games! This isn’t a game show. Who?” Primavera was clearly losing patience.

  “The noted Martin Silvio and Harold Levin. Neither has been seen or heard of since yesterday. We have warrants for both of them, there’s an APB out on them and stakeouts everywhere, including the airports. And the clincher is that we found out these guys fabricated a lot of their cases. Big cases, cases involving death. We have records, lists of cases involving setups. And the Riley case was one of them. The little girls, Carmen and Lily Lopez, who banged the shit out of the shooter when he came after them—”

  “Wait a minute. What do these kids have to do with all this?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to get at, Tony. The kids’ mother, Celia Lopez, another murder victim, kept a list of cases set up by Silvio and Levin. She was their receptionist and she would eavesdrop. She overheard conversations and made lists of cases where the injuries were set up. Some involving murder to create big damages—like turning off monitors in hospitals, particularly in nurseries—overdosing patients with meds, substituting wrong medication. Either leaving the victim dead or brain dead, or crippled for life. These cases brought in the big money, and they were always winners because they fucking created the evidence—sorry for the expletive.”

  “Fred, this is all hearsay. You know that—this list of cases. The woman is dead. She can’t testify.”

  “No, but the kids can. They would come in with mom on their days off and sometimes after school when Celia stayed late. And wait—this is the real clincher.”

  Primavera decided he had to listen to the rest of what Connley had to say. Mike Rosa, Nick Ceratto, John Asher, and the jury could wait “Go on,” he said.

  “Carmen, the older one, the one with iron balls who clobbered the shooter with a toilet lid—she recorded at least ten meetings where plans were hatched. She also gave a case list to Kirby who gave it to Gates. Silvio and Levin found out about the list through Margo Griffin, Gates’ girlfriend, and they put out a hit on everybody in the way of that list. Kirby got in the way and so did the kids. The list was destroyed by the shooter. But little Carmen—oh, what a kid!—she had another copy tucked away at home and still had the tapes. Her mother was going to use them as her retirement plan. Silvio and Levin, the cheap bastards, never put her on any pension plan. So she was going to blackmail them for a heap when she was ready to leave. But they got to her first. She was iced by Rudi. We have his statement—well, as much as we could get out of him with a busted face. But he fingered them, Silvio and Levin, as the masterminds behind all this.” He paused, sighing deeply. “Tony, there were two hundred and fifty-three cases on this list dating back to 1995. This is how those bastards avoided the slump in the personal injury business. They manufactured them, and Joe Maglio brought in the bacon. Only when he found out about the case factory, they knocked him off, too, or Rudi did. He confessed to murdering Maglio’s wife and kids, too. We found a tape made by Joe, of himself, in Gates’ office. It was a message to Ceratto, his protégée, telling him to get out of the firm—that he might be the next victim. Gates wasn’t investigating that. The tape was sent to her by the Montco DA. But she decided it was Rosa’s problem, according to a memo we found in her office. I think her girlfriend, Ms. Griffin, had a lot to do with her keeping it under wraps.”

  There was more, but Primavera didn’t need any more. “OK, Fred. You’ve given me enough information. Thanks.”

  “Don’t you want the rest?”

  “No, not now. Let me do my job.” With that Primavera gently pressed line two, disconnecting his old classmate and connecting to Mike Rosa.

  “Yes, this is Judge Primavera.”

  “Judge!” Rosa yelled into his speakerphone, his voice echoing around the room. “Let me take you off speaker. I know it’s annoying, but I wanted hands free while I waited. Hope you didn’t mind.”

  “No, Mike, but I’m pressed for time. Can you make this brief?”

  “As brief as I can, Your Honor.” Mike Rosa then told the judge about the surveillance tape in his possession, which showed in grim detail the murders of Christie and Joe Maglio. Mercifully there had been no camera in the children’s bedrooms. He described the killer as having worn a state trooper’s uniform. The stills made from the film identified the killer as a person named Rudi, now in the custody of the Philadelphia police. The guy had a string of aliases. The Montco police were charging him with four additional murders. And God knows how many others he might have committed.

  Rosa continued that he was in the process of handing over certain secret foreign bank records to the FBI, which had mysteriously showed up at his office. The envelope containing the records was postmarked Tel Aviv, and the records contained information leading to Harry Levin and Marty Silvio. He didn’t know who had sent them, but he had a good idea. The account showed transfers from a nested account in the Cayman Islands to an account at Bank Naomi in Israel. The balance in the account exceeded sixty million dollars. He suspected that Marty Silvio and Harry Levin were connected to the Maglio murders and possibly others. Additional warrants were being prepared for their arrest. He could go on, but he was really busy and suspected he was going to be busier dealing with his end of the mess—and he was late for a press conference.

  The judge thanked Rosa politely, put down the receiver, and then took three Advil in hopes of quelling the migraine that was starting to blur his vision and was beginning to threaten his ability to think. He slowly drank a full eight ounces of cold water, closed his eyes, and willed the pain away. Then he summoned Julia to escort Mr. Cerrato and Mr. Asher into his chambers.

  “Gentlemen, after hearing the testimony of Ms. Price and being informed of various events which have a direct bearing on this case, I’m inclined to entertain appropriate motions at this time. Mr. Asher, I’m assuming that you’re prepared to move for a non-suit? And Mr. Cerrato, based on the testimony you yourself are eliciting, which strips your case of any legitimacy, are you in agreement with this? Or would you move to postpone the case until all the criminal matters have been disposed of? In other words, are you convinced of Dr. Manin’s innocence in the death of Sean Riley?”

  Nick lowered his head, avoiding eye contact with the judge. His dark hair was tousled from running his hands through it at least fifty times while waiting for Primavera. “Your Honor, you obviously know that I believe that Victor Manin had nothing to do with the death of Sean Riley. And you know that the facts I presented demonstrate that Captain Riley was murdered. I’m sorry for Mrs. Riley, I’m sorry for the Sean Riley’s sons…”

  “I understand fully,” Primavera broke in. “But, as you know, your first duty is to this court is to this court, not to the Rileys. You serve justice, not simply clients. And this court thanks you for your adherence to your duty as an officer of the court, despite the fact that you could have won a considerable verdict had you not disclosed this evidence.” The judge nodded his head and smiled. “And you could have walked away with a huge fee as a result. Not many lawyers would resist that temptation.”

  Nick wondered about himself—about his choice of justice over cash—certainly not a choice he would have made before this past Christmas. But these were the cards he’s been dealt and the cards he had to play. “Thank you, Your Honor. I have no desire to bring a motion to continue this trial to a later date.”

  “Mr. Asher?”

  “Your Honor, I’m extremely proud to have served in this trial with Mr. Cerrato and I deeply respect him for his convictions and his honesty. Doctor Manin, I’m sure, will be pleased.”

  Asher stood and offered his hand to Nick. Nick stood and took it warmly.

  “Maybe the doctor will get a good night’s sleep toni
ght. I sure need one,” Nick said.

  “Yes, I’m sure he will.”

  “Well, gentlemen, we’ll adjourn to the courtroom to formally put motions on the record.” Primavera rose slowly from his worn leather chair, pushing his horn rims back up the bridge of his nose.

  “Your Honor, I’d like a minute with my client,” Asher said, sweeping up his briefcase and making a dash for the door before anyone had a change of heart. This didn’t happen too often and he wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Mr. Asher,” Primavera called out, “make it short.”

  “Yes, I will, Your Honor.”

  Nick followed him out the door. “Asher,” he called out.

  The natty, pinstriped defense attorney pivoted around on the ball of one foot. “Yes?”

  “What do I tell my client?” Nick asked sarcastically.

  “The truth. She doesn’t have a case.”

  CHAPTER XLIX

  Freezing rain pelted the dirty windows and ran down in rivulets until it hit the pavement four stories below on the sidewalk of Penn Square, where city officials’ cars were parked helter-skelter in the paths of the pedestrians. This was one of the privileges of City Council members, judges, and other elite bureaucrats. They got free parking and never a ticket, no matter where they parked or for how long. And some never bothered with the inconvenience of renewing a driver’s license. A select few never had one.

  John Asher paced back and forth in the grimy City Hall anteroom, four stories up, trying to explain—for the tenth time—the legal maneuver called a motion for a non-suit, which would get his client out of the courtroom scot-free and back into the real world, where he wouldn’t have to pay a dime to the Rileys. Neither would Asher’s real client, the medical malpractice carrier, except of course to cover his substantial fee for defending a case that had become a no-brainer—a gift from God.

  He almost had a heart attack when Victor Manin said no. Asher checked his watch. The judge would not be patient much longer. “Why, Victor? Why won’t you agree to my making this motion to end this trial and your agony and mine? Have you completely gone ‘round the bend?”