The Vendetta Defense raa-8

by Lisa Scottoline

  “Oops, sorry,” Judy said, but nobody took notice except a strawberry-blond woman with bright blue eyes. Tall and very pregnant in a black linen maternity dress, she stood alone by the door, examining the bad prints.

  “You needn’t be sorry,” the woman said, with a heavy Irish accent. A light sprinkling of freckles covered her nose, and her skin was a poreless pale pink.

  “I was looking for the ladies’ room.”

  “It’s down the hall.” The woman leaned over, her blue eyes dancing with mischief. “I made the same mistake. You’re not Italian either, are you?”

  “How could you tell?” Judy smiled, nervous that the Irish woman would recognize her.

  “Why, you’re nice and tall, too, and I can see under your scarf that you’re a blonde.”

  Renewed sobbing surged loudly from the groups of women in the corners, like tears in stereo. Judy considered leaving the room, but the woman was so obviously alone, a clear outsider. Judy leaned to her and whispered, “We’re the only women in here not crying. I think it’s the price of admission.”

  The woman laughed softly. “Now that’s the difference between the Italians and Irish. We Irish know how to throw a grand wake. Everybody has a good time. The whole point is not to cry.” Her eyes lit up. “Wakes last for days in Ireland. County Galway, where my family’s from. Do you know it?”

  “No,” Judy told her, counting it as a measure of the woman’s naïveté that she would expect an American to be familiar with Ireland’s counties. Judy had always felt guilty she knew no geography but America’s own.

  “It’s a lovely place, lovely. I’m from a town called Loughrea. I came over only two years ago, after I met my husband, Kevin. I’m Theresa, by the way.”

  “Great to meet you,” Judy said simply, and got away without supplying her own name, in Theresa’s enthusiasm for someone to talk to.

  “Well, my husband, Kevin, he’s American. He came to town on holiday, and he was looking for the ATM machine. You know, the MAC machine, you call it? And I told him it was right in front of him, pretty as you please, on Dublin Road. We fell in love right there.”

  “‘Where’s the MAC?’ Quite a pickup line,” Judy said with a smile, and Theresa laughed warmly.

  “It was. We got married and now we’re having the baby, and it’s been grand.” She paused, uneasy. “Not that it hasn’t taken some getting used to, a new marriage and all, and the way things are over here. Of course I’d read so much about America, we have all your TV shows and movies and your books, and I thought I knew what to expect. But then again, you can never tell what turn your life will take, can you?” The woman shook her head as if in a memory, and a sudden wetness sprang to her eyes.

  “You want to sit down?” Judy asked, taken aback, and helped the pregnant woman to a shaky seat near the door.

  “I’m sorry, I’m being so silly. It must be my hormones.”

  “No, that’s okay.” Judy yanked for a Kleenex from a box left on the seats and handed it to her. “You’re in the crying room. You might as well cry.”

  Suddenly the lounge door opened, and Judy froze. John Coluzzi stuck his head inside, as if he were looking for someone. He hovered right over Judy’s shoulder, so close she could smell his heavy aftershave. Was he looking for her? She could be dead if he found her. She threw her arm around Theresa and quickly yanked her close, comforting her. Judy hoped they’d look like more crying women in the crying room.

  Coluzzi lingered a minute more, but Theresa only cried harder, and Judy hugged her tight. Then Judy heard the door close behind her back. Coluzzi must have gone, leaving behind the faint scent of Calvin Klein.

  Theresa was saying, through her tears, “You’re so nice. It’s so nice . . . to make a friend here. Americans . . . or maybe Philadelphians, I don’t know . . . they’re not always so friendly to new people.”

  “I know what you mean,” Judy said, and she did. She had made only one friend in Philly, Mary, but she had always blamed herself. Maybe she should start blaming other people, which would be easier.

  “Everything’s going so wrong, just when it should be . . . so right. We’re under so much strain now, and my hormones, the doctor said . . . they’re going crazy.”

  “I’m sure things will get better.” Judy held Theresa while her shoulders shook with sobs, her heart going out to her, especially because Theresa had just saved her life. “And soon you’ll have a new baby.”

  “But we’re in trouble . . . with money, I mean. Things are so expensive here. Not like at home. I think I’m just so . . . what do you call it? Homesick.”

  This feeling Judy didn’t know. “I’m sure it’ll pass.”

  “We’re just building our new house . . . and my husband’s business was going so well. He was doing work for the Coluzzis . . . and we were finally going to get out of the apartment . . . and we need, you know, a nursery.” Theresa heaved a mighty sob. “They were even talking . . . about buying his company. They wanted to . . . expand or something, and they wanted to pay so much. But then . . . Angelo Coluzzi got killed and now there’s . . . a lawsuit against the company and I don’t know what’s going to happen. We could lose everything.”

  Judy felt stricken. Theresa must be the wife of one of the subcontractors. Judy had caused all this pain, to a pregnant woman. She didn’t focus on the fact that making the Coluzzis’ life a living hell meant making a living hell of lives like Theresa’s. “I’m so sorry,” Judy said, meaning it.

  “Kevin says not to worry, but I can’t help it. We can’t lose the new house, not with the baby on the way.”

  Judy’s thoughts raced ahead. As bad as she felt for Theresa, maybe this was the opportunity she’d been waiting for. What was it Roser had said? Coluzzi won’t hire Irish or black unless they have to. Was Theresa the wife of McRea, the paving contractor? Judy couldn’t remember his first name from the complaint. “It must be so frightening for you,” she said.

  “It is awful . . . and it couldn’t come at a worse time. I don’t dare tell my parents for fear they’ll tell me . . . to leave Kevin and come right home. I want to go home, but I don’t want . . . to lose my marriage.”

  Judy grabbed the entire box of Kleenex, hating that now she had an ulterior motive. But she had a job to do, and lives were at stake. “Please stay calm, but I have to tell you something surprising. I think I can help you and your husband.”

  “What . . . did you say?”

  “I’m a lawyer, and I can help you. I know about the lawsuit, and your husband isn’t the target.” Judy handed her a fresh tissue, and Theresa dabbed at her eyes.

  “Of course he isn’t. He can’t be. He hardly knows . . . the Coluzzi family. We don’t know . . . any of these people here. He never worked for them before.”

  “I figured that.”

  Theresa blinked her puzzled eyes free of tears. “But however do you know that?”

  “My name is Judy Carrier, and I’m the lawyer who filed the suit.”

  Theresa gasped, but the sound got lost in the wailing broadcasted in Dolby sound from the two far corners of the room. Theresa began to open her mouth, as if to yell or call someone for help, but Judy grabbed her hand and held on to it.

  “No! Please don’t betray me. These people will kill me.”

  “What?” Theresa’s eyes searched Judy’s, even through the sunglasses. “What are you talking about?”

  “They’re killers. They’re dangerous people. They’re not what they seem, to you anyway.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” Theresa looked at Judy as if she were crazy, which was a distinct possibility.

  “I was hoping to get to your husband or one of the other subs. Your husband, is he Kevin McRea?”

  Theresa nodded in teary shock, and Judy kept her grip on her soft hands.

  “Listen to me. Kevin’s in trouble as long as he stays with the Coluzzis. I know he built them a driveway in return for getting the excavation and paving contract for Philly Court.”

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p; “I don’t know anything about Kevin’s business.”

  “I’m not saying you knew, but what he did was against our law.” Judy felt a twinge of guilt at terrorizing her, but it was all true. “I don’t want to go after Kevin, or you.” She lowered her voice so as not to be heard by the other sobbing women. “The Coluzzis are the bad guys here and they won’t help Kevin when push comes to shove, believe me. They’re dangerous people and they stick together. They’ll hang you all out to dry.”

  Theresa’s eyes brimmed with new tears, but Judy couldn’t stop now.

  “You can reach me at my office in town, anytime. I promise you that if you talk to me and get Kevin to cooperate with me, I’ll let him out of the lawsuit. I’ll drop him, just like that, and your troubles will be over. I won’t tell anyone that he called until we have to go to trial. I don’t want to take your baby’s nursery, okay? Will you do it?”

  Tears clouded Theresa’s eyes, and she withdrew her hands. “You don’t care about my baby. You’re just trying to use Kevin, to help your case against him!”

  “No, I do care, but that doesn’t matter. Given what Kevin has done, I’m the best chance he has of getting out of trouble. Tell him we spoke. It’s his only chance, and yours.”

  But before Theresa could answer or expose her, Judy rose and left through the lounge door. She wanted to get out of the funeral home, fast. She had accomplished more than she’d hoped to. As the lawyers say, when you win, shut up and get out of the courtroom.

  She found herself in a hallway filled with Coluzzi mourners, talking, laughing, and filing outside for cigarette breaks. Judy wedged her way through the broad backs and thick necks and had almost made it through the entrance hall when she felt a pair of eyes on her, from a heavyset man beside her. She looked over, shielded by the big sunglasses.

  She had seen him before. It was Jimmy Bello, John Coluzzi’s man, who had been on the corner watching the clubhouse the other day. He was surrounded by mourners, but he was looking right at her. Did he recognize her? Judy wasn’t waiting to see.

  She hustled toward the open entrance and ran out the door.

  Chapter 26

  “You did what?” Bennie said, and Judy decided she was definitely ordering her boss that T-shirt. They were back at the firm, and the only difference between this and their last you did what conversation was that this time they were sitting in Judy’s office and the good guys were finally winning.

  “So it was a little risky, Bennie. So what?”

  “What do you mean, ‘so what’?” Bennie was shouting, but Judy felt too good to even be bothered.

  “Look what we got out of it! The woman was McRea’s wife. I live right, don’t I?”

  “Keep it up and you won’t be living long.” Bennie’s mouth was tight, her blue eyes washed out with fatigue, and her khaki suit rumpled from a long day. On the other side of the closed door, the business day was winding down. “Don’t ever do anything like that again, Carrier. Going to their viewing? It was insane.”

  “I know, but—”

  “You don’t go to somebody’s family viewing.”

  Judy didn’t get this quirk of Bennie’s. She’d drag somebody out of bed to depose them. What was the difference with a viewing? “The FBI does it all the time. They were probably at this one, too.”

  “You’re not the FBI. They have guns. Don’t antagonize the Coluzzis.”

  Judy laughed abruptly. “We’re suing the shit out of them!”

  “Suing them is one thing, crashing their viewing is another. These people are killers!”

  “I had it in control. I was careful!”

  Bennie leaned forward on Judy’s messy desk. “You say John Coluzzi may have seen you, and this Jimmy Bello.”

  “I got out in time. I can take care of myself.”

  “Oh, really. Tough talk. Can you take care of that woman, the one you liked so much? McRea’s wife?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Bennie cocked an eyebrow. “Coluzzi may figure out that it was you McRea was talking to in the lounge. He knows he’s exposed on the driveway. It’s in the complaint, and it’s the only example of a kickback we have the specifics on. So what do you think Coluzzi will do to the McReas, if he thinks they’re talking with you? At best, he’ll squeeze the shit out of them not to talk. That’s the best-case scenario. Can you guess the worst?”

  Judy’s mouth went dry. The truth struck horribly home. She had placed the McReas in the line of fire. Having first sued them, Judy had just made it worse. She fell quiet. Her face went hot.

  “I see I’ve made my point. Let’s hope the McReas call us before the Coluzzis call them.” Bennie sighed and stood up, crossing her arms. “Meantime, the GC in Huartzer really wants to talk to you. I’ll cut you some slack on the antitrust article, because we can make the next issue, but you have other cases. If you hadn’t been running around funeral homes, you could have been doing your job.”

  Judy felt a headache coming on. She hadn’t eaten in hours. She hadn’t slept in days. She hadn’t had sex in a year. She’d never had sex with an Italian, and it was looking like she never would.

  “Also. You have a preliminary hearing tomorrow in Lucia and you have to get ready for it. Did you call your parents?”

  “No.”

  “Do it now. And tell me if McRea calls you. I want to be in on it. And don’t forget your parents! They’re first!” Bennie barked, and left the office.

  Judy flipped open her Filofax, found the number, and punched it in. It was the number her parents had left on their itinerary, which they had e-mailed to the kids before they left; Judy had a brother teaching law in Boston and a sister in the Sydney office of a brokerage house. If it weren’t for e-mail, they’d never see each other.

  An answering machine picked up the call. As much as Judy wouldn’t have minded hearing her mother’s voice on the machine, even recorded, it was one of those mechanical samplings offered by the phone company. She waited for the beep. “It’s me, Judy. Just wanted to say hi and that everything’s fine. Take care. Love you.” That about covered it, she thought, and hung up the phone.

  Judy’s second call was to the general counsel in Huartzer, and she got voicemail. “Rick, this is Judy Carrier. Sorry I haven’t returned your call, but I haven’t been in. Feel free to call anytime and I’ll get back to you right away.”

  Her last call was the only one she wanted to make. She pressed the numbers with anticipation, envisioning Frank on the other end of the line, stacking stone in the sun with his shirt off, the long muscles of his back slick with sweat. His cell phone would be ringing in his pocket. He would feel its telltale vibration, a tingle that told him love was calling. Judy heard a click on the line. “Is that a cell phone in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” she said.

  But it was only Bell Atlantic. “The cell phone customer you have called is unavailable. Please leave a message at the sound of the tone.”

  Disappointed, Judy waited for the tone and thought of a good message. How about I filed our lawsuit, but I may have jeopardized our best witness? Or I’m sorry I turned you down last night, but at least it was in front of your friends? Or best yet, Everything’s fine except that your grandfather has to come to court tomorrow, exposing him to life-threatening danger?

  Beep, went the tone, and Judy spoke from the heart:

  “Call me. I think of you every minute,” she said, and hung up.

  It was dark outside Judy’s office window, and the law firm was quiet. The receptionist and secretaries had gone home, as had all of the lawyers except Judy. Bennie had gone to give a speech to the local ACLU chapter, but said she’d be calling to check in. Judy knew she was worried about her safety, which was a nice feeling, since Judy was worried about her safety, too. She’d taken the scissors from her office drawer and set them conveniently on her desk, just in case she had to make paper dolls of a crazed contractor. Between makeup and her personal defense, Judy was finding whole new vistas for office supplies.<
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  She slurped the last of her take-out lo mein out from a white carton and put out of her mind that nobody she was lusting after or suing had called her back. The phone hadn’t rung for hours, but she was going to stop thinking about it. That resolved, Judy scrutinized the thirty-two photos tacked to the corkboard on an easel in front of her.

  It was an array of the photos she’d taken in front of the funeral home this afternoon, which she’d had one-hour-developed across the street. She’d posted them in the order in which she’d taken them, and they made a story in still pictures of the people arriving at the Coluzzi viewing. Judy finished eating as her gaze went from one shot to the next. It was dinner theater for lawyers.

  She set down her pull-apart chopsticks and got up. The first shots were of the Coluzzis, John and Marco, and their wives, then, evidently, other family, then mourners arriving in cars and on foot. There were shots of mourners parking in the lot beside the funeral home and on the median on Broad Street. There were crowd scenes on the sidewalk, and many more of them mounting the long marble stairway to the entrance or gathering in groups out front or at the top of the stairs. Interestingly, the camera had recorded much more than Judy had realized she had seen. It was the power of the art, and it was working for her.

  Judy scanned the dark images. She didn’t know the faces, but by the end of the case she would. She walked back and forth before the photos, trying to fix each image in her mind. She’d already had the full set scanned and e-mailed to Dan Roser, who would be able to identify many of them, hopefully subs on the Philly Court project. She’d put in two calls to Roser but he hadn’t gotten back to her yet. Not that she’d sit on her hands in the meantime. She shoved them into her skirt pockets and stopped before the fifteenth photo.

  A flash of strawberry-blond hair appeared in the photo, an unusually bright spot in a canvas of dark hair and black suits, apparently of men at the top of the stairs to the funeral home.