A Killer's Alibi (Philadelphia Legal)

by William L. Myers Jr.

“Fun?”

  “I’m sorry your wife and law partner won’t be able to join us. Not to worry, though. My husband is certain they’re not in any danger.”

  “Unlike us,” he says, and her face darkens just a bit.

  “This place used to be a resort,” she says. “It actually still has a front desk. Your rooms are on the second floor, overlooking the grand lawn. It’s a lovely suite.”

  “How long are we going to be here?”

  “That’s something you’ll have to ask my husband.”

  She leads him into the great room, a vast space with thirty-foot cathedral ceilings, a massive stone fireplace, hardwood floors, club chairs and worn leather couches, and a deer-antler chandelier. The air carries the subtle scent of pine needles, and everything is polished, waxed, and shining.

  “This is Mr. McFarland,” Rachel tells the pretty young woman behind the reception desk. “And his daughter, Gabrielle. They’re in room 204.”

  The receptionist smiles and hands Mick a heavy, old-fashioned room key. He takes his leave of Rachel Nunzio and climbs the wide wooden staircase to the second floor. Opening the door, he finds a large bedroom with a separate sitting area and fireplace. The four-poster bed—as big as a Buick Regal—is covered with a thick white quilt and six feather pillows. High-backed wing chairs sit on either side of the fireplace. The wide-plank flooring is covered by an oval area rug.

  He carries Gabby to the side of the bed farthest from the door and gently lays her down. He looks around the room, wondering whether the Nunzios have it wired for sound or video. He wouldn’t put it past them.

  There’s a small minibar with assorted liquors and snacks. He’s surprised to find a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle 23. He opens it and pours a finger into a tumbler. The bourbon tastes of apples, cherries, oak, and tobacco, and has a long caramel finish. He pours some more and takes another swallow as he walks onto the small balcony.

  He leans over the railing, watches another Cadillac Escalade pull up and unload a family—two parents, a pair of twin boys about Gabby’s age, and an infant. The twins are asleep on their feet. The father seems nonchalant, but the mother is visibly upset. In the distance, he sees Johnny Giacobetti striding across the lawn, talking into a walkie-talkie. The two enormous dogs trot beside him. In the distance, another Escalade makes its way down the long driveway.

  He turns back to the room, to Gabby. “What the hell have I gotten us into?”

  21

  SUNDAY, MAY 26

  It is 6:30, and Tommy is brewing a pot of coffee when he hears the quiet knock on the door to the hotel suite. He opens it to find a muscular, bald man in a short-sleeve shirt. The man’s arms are covered in tattoos.

  “You Tommy?” the man asks.

  “Yeah. Dave?”

  The man nods and hands Tommy a brown paper bag.

  “Tell Lenny I owe him one,” Tommy says.

  “He already knows,” Dave says as he leaves.

  Tommy closes the door and pulls the pistol from the bag. He turns around to find Piper standing in the doorway of her bedroom.

  “What the hell?” she says.

  “You better wake up Susan,” he says, sliding the pistol back into the bag.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Get Susan,” he repeats.

  He waits until Piper knocks on Susan’s door and enters, closing the door behind her. Then he walks to the kitchenette, lays the bag on the counter, and pours three cups of coffee.

  Susan and Piper are out of Susan’s room before he even has time to pull the creamer from the fridge.

  “Someone brought you a gun?” Susan asks.

  “Is Lois in that much trouble?” Piper asks.

  “This isn’t about Lois. It’s about Nunzio.”

  Susan and Piper exchange glances.

  “I got a call from Mick last night,” he says, seeing Piper’s eyes widen. “Nunzio phoned him and said the war with Valiante’s heating up. So Nunzio’s bringing everybody in. Mick called me from a car—”

  “You’re saying he’s got Mick?” Susan asks, looking confused.

  “It’s okay. He and Gabby—”

  “Gabby?” Piper’s face drains of blood. “Nunzio has Mick and Gabby, too?”

  “Nunzio thinks Valiante is going to go after Mick?” Susan asks.

  “I have to get back there,” Piper says quickly, her voice cracking.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to Gabby or to Mick,” Tommy says, trying to calm them down even as his own anxiety rises. “Nunzio has an army around them. Around everyone.”

  “This is crazy!” Piper is pacing now. “I’m going to call him,” she says, turning for her bedroom and iPhone.

  “You won’t get through,” Tommy calls after her. “They took Mick’s cell.” “Then we have to call the police!” Piper shouts over her shoulder on the way to her room.

  “This really is nuts,” Susan says to him. “Are we in danger, too? Is that why you had that gun brought here?”

  “Nunzio told Mick that Valiante isn’t going to come after us down here. Still, I thought I should be ready. Just in case.”

  Piper returns, holding up her iPhone. “What should I tell the police?”

  “That’s the thing,” Tommy says. “What can you tell them? We don’t know where Nunzio’s taking everyone. If the cops go to the jail and ask, he’ll just say he doesn’t know what they’re talking about.”

  “Would Nunzio retaliate against Mick and Gabby if Piper called the police?” asks Susan.

  Tommy’s chest tightens—something else to worry about. “I don’t know,” he says, watching Piper lower the phone. “Look, I think the best thing for us to do is just get our business done down here as fast as possible and go home. The threat should be over by the time we get back.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Piper says, her eyes still wide with fear.

  Tommy walks around the counter, takes her hands. “Let’s just get this done. Talk to Lois Beal, see if she’ll help you. Then, when Mick calls us with the all clear, we’ll go straight to the airport and fly home.”

  He watches her take a deep breath and straighten her back. She nods.

  “It’s not even seven yet,” he says, “so we have a couple hours before we should try to meet with Lois. Drink some coffee. I’ll make us all some breakfast. While we eat, I’ll tell you the tale of Megan Corbett, a.k.a. Lois Beal, a.k.a. Terri Petrini. Then you’ll know why it’s gonna be an uphill battle getting her to testify for Darlene Dowd.”

  “Daddy? Where are we?”

  Mick opens his eyes to see Gabby sitting up in bed next to him. Her eyes are filled with wonder—and worry.

  “It’s for your birthday. A surprise your mom set up for you since she couldn’t be with us,” he says, hating how easily the lie rolls off his tongue. He’d worked it out last night. A story to tell her so she wouldn’t be afraid.

  Gabby rushes to the balcony, opens the door, gazes out at the great lawn. “The yard is really big!”

  “We’re going to have a fun time,” he says, walking up behind her. “There’s a lake out back, and I saw canoes. Maybe we can hike in the woods.”

  Gabby dresses excitedly, and he throws on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. They make their way down the stairs. Gabby pauses to take it all in, craning her neck to look up at the ceiling far above, then scanning the great room, her eyes stopping on the giant fireplace and the antler chandelier.

  “What is this place?” she asks, awe in her voice.

  He reaches for her hand. “Let’s go outside and see.”

  They walk across the porch and down the steps to the lawn. In the middle distance, he sees Johnny Giacobetti and his large dogs. Gabby sees the dogs, too, and makes a beeline for them. He follows and sees her slow down as she gets closer to Johnny G. She stops and waits for him to catch up. Giacobetti watches them approach, his face unreadable. Mick studies the giant but sees no sign that his relatively recent wounds are slowing him down.

  “Hold out yo
ur hand,” Mick tells Gabby as she approaches one of the dogs. “Fingers closed. Make sure he’s friendly.”

  “She,” Giacobetti says. “That’s Loki. She’s a bit—a girl,” he says to Gabby.

  Gabby reaches out, her hand tiny on the mastiff’s giant head.

  “What’s that dog weigh?” Mick asks.

  “About two hundred. A little less than her brother.” He turns to Gabby. “His name is Thor.”

  Gabby looks at Thor, then Loki, then up at Giacobetti.

  “Is everyone here really big?” she asks.

  Mick looks down. “Come on,” he says. “He has work to do. Let’s look around.”

  They make their way to the rear of the building. A hundred yards from the back patio is a lake that looks to Mick to be a half mile across. A stone’s throw from the shore is a diving platform, about twenty feet square. Half a dozen canoes sit on the pebbled beach.

  “You can use the canoes.”

  Mick turns to see Rachel Nunzio approaching them. She’s wearing a white blouse over tan pants and calf-high boots. Her dark hair is tied back.

  “I wouldn’t suggest swimming, though. It’s a little early in the season, so the water’s still pretty cold.”

  “What do you think? Want to go canoeing?” Mick asks Gabby.

  She nods her head vigorously.

  “We also have games. Horseshoes and bocce ball.”

  “How about soccer?” Gabby asks. “Do you have any soccer balls, and a net?”

  Rachel smiles. “I think we can dig up a net and a ball.” She turns to Mick. “Are you hungry? You can have your breakfast on the porch, or in the dining room. Or even in your own room, if you want.”

  “I think we’ll try the dining room,” he answers. He thanks Rachel and leads Gabby around to the front of the lodge. As they get close to the stairs, he sees a car pull up, a white 3-series Mercedes. The driver and a woman Mick presumes to be his wife get out of the sedan. The rear passenger doors open and three kids—two boys and a girl—jump out. Mick recognizes the man but can’t place him. He wonders why that family was allowed to arrive in their own car.

  There are ten tables inside the dining room, most of them occupied. He spots a couple sitting at a table across the room. They look to be in their late forties. The woman, an attractive redhead, seems familiar to him. He studies her face, and it hits him who the man in the Mercedes was. His name is Malcolm Crowe. He’s a well-known movie director living on Philadelphia’s Main Line.

  What the hell is he doing here? Surely Crowe isn’t one of Nunzio’s guys. Why would Nunzio think a movie man had to be protected from Frank Valiante?

  The question preoccupies him throughout breakfast, as does the nagging sense that he knows the redhead. When Gabby is finished, he takes her to the woman’s table.

  “Hello,” he says. “I don’t mean to interrupt. My name is Mick McFarland. I’m one of Mr. Nunzio’s attorneys. Have we met before?”

  The woman smiles and stands, as does her husband.

  “Not that I remember,” she says, shaking his hand. “I’m Alecia Silver.”

  “Ah, the author. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.” He’s read some of her books. Steamy legal thrillers.

  “No need to apologize. People know authors’ names, but there probably aren’t more than ten writers the typical person would recognize on the street, Stephen King and John Grisham counting as two of them.”

  Alecia’s husband introduces himself as an attorney with one of the city’s large defense firms. “And, of course, I’ve heard of you,” he says to Mick. “I think every lawyer in town has.”

  Mick smiles, unsure how to take the remark.

  “It’s lovely here, isn’t it?” Alecia says. “How generous of Rachel to invite us all for the weekend.”

  “When did you arrive?” he asks.

  “Friday evening. We had a great time yesterday. Canoeing in the morning. Tennis in the afternoon. Dinner and the firepit at night.”

  “We arrived late last night,” Mick answers. “I hope we have as much fun.” He introduces them to Gabby and takes his leave.

  Back in the great room, he hands Gabby the key to their suite and tells her to go upstairs and use the bathroom. “I’ll be up in a minute.” As she climbs the stairs, he catches sight of Rachel Nunzio by the French doors that open onto the back terrace. She turns and watches him approach.

  “So, I just met Alecia Silver, and I saw that Malcolm Crowe is here as well, with his family. What gives?”

  “Alecia is such a lovely woman. And Malcom’s films are a bright spot for the city, don’t you think?”

  “What the hell’s going on? You have me and my daughter woken up in the middle of the night and brought to this place against my will, under threat of mob war. At the same time, you lure celebrities here as invited guests? Do these people know you’re putting them at risk?”

  “But they’re not at risk. Nor are you, so long as you’re here. That’s the whole point.”

  “But you’re under attack!”

  She smiles, but her eyes are steel. “This isn’t the Alamo, Mr. McFarland. We are not under siege.”

  Piper sits quietly in the front passenger seat of Tommy’s rented Lincoln Town Car, still processing what he’s told her and Susan about Lois Beal. She wouldn’t have believed it had Tommy not shown her Xeroxes of the old newspaper stories about the crime and ensuing manhunt. She wonders what she’s going to say to persuade Lois to take a chance on coming forward for Darlene Dowd. She also wonders how she’s going to persuade Susan not to turn Lois in to the authorities. They fought about that over breakfast, Susan insisting she was obligated as an officer of the court and former assistant US attorney to report Lois to the FBI. Piper and Tommy argued against it, but all they won was Susan’s grudging promise to hear Lois out before she did anything.

  The drive from Ocean Lodge to Lois’s house is only fifteen minutes down Frederica Road. Frederica is a two-way road separated by a double yellow line, shaded by oak trees hung with Spanish moss. On one side of the road, Piper sees a jogging and bike path abutting a golf course.

  Piper takes a deep breath as Tommy turns onto Militia Hill Way, a shaded private road off Frederica. He pulls the car into the driveway of a yellow stucco home with a red terra-cotta roof and a porch with white pillars and banisters.

  “Here goes nothing,” she says, opening the door. Susan exits the back, and they walk together onto the porch while Tommy waits in the car.

  Piper knocks gently on the door. After a few moments, a petite woman with white hair and kind eyes appears in the screen.

  “May I help you?” the woman says.

  “We’re looking for Lois Beal,” Piper answers.

  The woman’s face registers fear, but she quickly recovers.

  “There’s no one here by that name,” she says.

  “How about Megan Corbett?” Susan asks.

  The woman’s eyes widen, and she seems to falter.

  Piper says, “We’re not with law enforcement, Lois.”

  “Though we know why you’d be worried if we were,” adds Susan.

  “We’re here about Darlene Dowd,” Piper says. “We’re with a law firm, and we’re trying to free her. We’re hoping you can help.”

  Lois’s eyes dart from Piper to Susan and back. She exhales and opens the screen door without saying anything. Once Piper and Susan are inside, she closes the outer door and screen door behind them, then leads them to a small dining room table.

  “Would you like some iced tea?” Lois asks. “I just brewed some.”

  “That would be lovely,” Piper says.

  Lois disappears into the kitchen and returns a few minutes later with a pitcher and three glasses. She fills the glasses, then sits and takes a sip of the tea. Piper is impressed with her self-control.

  “I suppose I always knew someone would come knocking at my door, sooner or later,” she says. “Though I didn’t expect it would be lawyers about Darlene.”

 
; “You figured it would be the FBI,” Susan says. “Coming to arrest you for the armored car. The killings.”

  Lois lowers her head, closes her eyes. When she opens them again, they are wet.

  “I expect this means Darlene’s mother has passed,” Lois says.

  Piper nods.

  “It’s been so long since Lester was killed . . . fifteen years, I think. Ten years since I moved here after my Bobby died—that’s how I still think of him, how I always did. I never thought of him as Jason Dell. I didn’t even like that name.” She sighs and shakes her head. “I’d almost forgotten the promise I made to Cindy.”

  “We’ll get to that,” Susan says. “Can we talk about 1969 first?”

  Lois hesitates. “I suppose it’s always best to start at the beginning.” She takes a minute to gather her resolve. “I had just turned nineteen. I was young, impressionable, and idealistic—like everyone I knew. Fervently against the war and the generation that had caused it. Certain that my own generation was going to change the world.”

  She pauses and smiles. Sadly, it seems to Piper.

  “And I was hopelessly in love. He was beautiful. Tall and strong, with big shoulders and long brown hair and blue eyes as deep as wells. And charismatic. That was my Bobby Moffat. God, but I fell so hard for him. I believed every word that came out of his mouth like it was gospel. So when he said that to fight the man the cause needed money—a lot of it, and fast, and we were going to get it by robbing an armored car—I was all in.”

  She shakes her head. “Ten thousand years ago, on the other side of the world. I read a story once that began that way. And that’s how it seems now, looking back on it. Most of the time. Sometimes, though, at night, sitting on my porch, I can close my eyes, and it feels like I never left that place, that time.”

  Susan leans forward. “Tell us what happened with the robbery.”

  Piper shoots her an angry look, then turns to Lois. “When you’re ready.”

  Lois closes her eyes. “It was supposed to be easy. No one was to get hurt. One of our group had a cousin who worked for Brinks. He knew the exact route of the truck, knew when it would be most full of money. He even knew the two guys who’d be in the truck. Most important, he told us that it was Brinks policy never to engage in a firefight with would-be robbers. So when our guys pulled their guns, the two guards were supposed to capitulate.”