“Yes. Hurry.”
As I hang up, the door opens. If it’s Marcus, I’m alive; if it’s not, he and I are dead.
It’s Marcus.
Three patrol cars arrive on the scene within minutes. They enter the office, guns drawn, though Marcus and I assure them that no one up there remains alive. There are two bodies lying in the hallway, Steven Thurmond and his killer.
Pete Stanton shows up a short time later, consults with the patrolmen, and then comes over to me. “Let’s hear it,” he says.
“There’s a guy up there named Steven Thurmond. He was shot and killed by the other guy, whose name I don’t know. Marcus killed him, before he could shoot me as well.”
Pete turns to Marcus. “You have anything to add to that?”
“Nunh,” or something to that effect, says Marcus.
“Why are they outside your office?” Pete asks.
“Thurmond was integral to my case, and was going to help me put Petrone away. My guess is that the other guy works for Petrone. Or maybe you think that Brian Atkins broke out of jail again and killed them both.”
He doesn’t seem to find that worthy of a response, and instead heads back into the office, telling us to stay where we are.
I make two phone calls. The first is to Rita Gordon, the court clerk, to describe to her what has happened and to explain that my obligations to file police reports will prevent my being in court this morning.
Rita is a good friend, and we actually had a forty-five-minute affair during the awful five-month period when Laurie had gone back home to Wisconsin and was out of my life. Rita hasn’t mentioned our fling since, and I’m afraid she might not even remember it.
Rita and I have a bantering relationship, but there’s no bantering now. “Damn, Andy, that’s awful. Are you all right?”
“Yes, thanks to Marcus. Tell Hatchet I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“He’s going to be pissed,” she said.
“He’s going to be pissed at me for almost getting killed?” I ask.
“You’re messing with his trial schedule,” she says. “He’d even be pissed at you if you were killed.”
The second call I need to make is to Laurie in Wisconsin. It’s early there and I know the call will both wake her and scare her, but I do it anyway. I don’t want her to turn on the news and possibly see that two people were shot to death in my office; she might think that one of them is me.
“Andy, are you all right?” she says instead of “hello.”
“I’m fine, but there was an incident, and I want you to hear it from me.” I then proceed to tell her what happened. She’s both upset and relieved, and I’m glad I called her.
We talk a little bit about the case, and how Thurmond’s death will affect it. “Petrone is obviously cleaning up the loose ends,” she says.
“What I don’t understand is how Petrone found out that Thurmond was talking to me.”
“He must have told them, either directly or through someone. He would have been too savvy to be monitored online like the others. He wrote the book on that.”
The devastating effect of his death on my case is becoming clear. “I don’t know exactly what he was going to say, but I’m sure he could have been the link from the computer stuff to Petrone. It’s an easy jump from there to the murders.”
As we’re getting off the phone, I tell her that I love her.
“And I love Marcus,” she says.
I find Pete and tell him that I can’t stay long, that I have to get to court.
He smiles. “Hatchet will set fire to you. I wish I could be there to see it.” But he promises to take my statement and get me out of here within the hour.
“Do you know who the other dead guy is?”
He nods. “Name is Richie Phalen. You were right: he’s one of Petrone’s guys. He works under Joseph Russo.”
“What a surprise,” I say, as drily as I can.
“Marcus put two bullets in his forehead, about a quarter of an inch apart.” He holds two fingers together to demonstrate how close they were, and shakes his head in amazement. “Remind me never to annoy Marcus.”
“Did you send Phalen to kill Steven Thurmond?” Joseph Russo asked. He had come to Dominic Petrone’s home uninvited, something he rarely did. But Russo did not want to wait until Petrone got to the office; this was too important.
His tone was accusatory, but if Petrone was concerned, he did not show it. “Yes, I did.”
“Why did you go around me?” Russo asked. “Phelan works for me.”
“And you work for me, Joseph. You seem to be forgetting that lately.”
“Why did you go around me?” he repeated.
“Because I told you to get rid of Carpenter. You didn’t follow those orders, so I lost some faith in your ability to follow others. Now Thurmond, I assume, is dead?”
“He is, and so is Phelan.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Petrone said.
“Why did you want Thurmond dead?”
“I was informed that he was about to testify.”
“Who told you that?” Russo asked, pressing him.
“That is not your concern. Joseph, I don’t know where you got the idea you can cross-examine me in this manner. The fact is that had you killed Carpenter, we would not be in this position.”
“The position is worse than you think,” Russo said. “Tony Costa has turned state’s evidence. He got immunity, and he’s talking to Carpenter and the Feds.”
A brief flash of worry crossed Petrone’s face, but he covered it quickly. “You know this?”
Russo nodded. “I know it. I also know that I’m the one who is exposed here. I’m the one who met with Mazzi and Costa, and Phelan worked for me.”
“And I must repeat that you work for me, Joseph. Everyone knows that.”
“So what now?”
“The source of our difficulties remains Carpenter. Kill him.”
“You think that will make all of this go away?”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. But it will certainly make him go away.”
Russo started to respond, but Petrone cut him off. “Joseph, this time do what I say. Kill him.”
Hatchet is less angry than I thought. Apparently, two murders is a big enough event to justify missing one morning of court time. But he’s not pleased, and when I show up for the afternoon session, he gives me a dry, “Glad you could join us, Mr. Carpenter.”
“Always a treat, Your Honor.”
“Call your next witness.”
“Anthony Costa.”
I’m a little anxious about this testimony. I didn’t have time to prep him personally; I had Hike do it. The fact that Costa didn’t kill Hike is evidence that maybe he’s giving up his life of crime, but that’s another story.
Hike isn’t even here now; I sent him off to get the doorman at Harbor Towers to testify in the trial. I’m hoping the guy will cooperate, but if not then I told Hike to get a subpoena to compel it.
Costa takes the stand; if he’s nervous, he’s a great actor. He smiles and seems perfectly at ease. As I get up to question him, I notice that two of the FBI agents are in the courtroom to take in his testimony.
“Mr. Costa, have you entered into any agreement with the government as it relates to your testimony?” I’m starting with this to get it out in the open, since Trell will no doubt use the existence of the deal to try to impeach Costa’s testimony.
“Yes, I’ve given up my Fifth Amendment rights, and in return I’ve been granted immunity. They won’t prosecute me as a result of anything I say here today.”
“So there is no downside to you for being truthful?”
He smiles. “I certainly hope not.”
Unlike with most witnesses, I don’t spend much time on Costa’s résumé, as it doesn’t exactly include time spent as a Boy Scout leader.
I move quickly to the case at hand. “Are you familiar with Gerald Wright, one of the murder victims in this case?”
“
I am.”
“Did you meet him personally?”
He nods. “Once. He attended a meeting with myself, Angelo Mazzi, and Joseph Russo. Russo and Mr. Wright came to see Mr. Mazzi; I sat in on it.”
“Who is Joseph Russo?”
“He works for Dominic Petrone.”
“Why were Gerald Wright and Joseph Russo there?”
“To demonstrate a computer thing they set up. People could order stuff … drugs … they could bet on sports … whatever. Wright showed us how it worked, and said it could never be traced. Russo said it was the way business was going to be conducted in the future.”
“And why were they talking to Mr. Mazzi?”
“Because they were planning to take over his territory, and they wanted to use Mazzi’s people. They said customers would rather deal with them this way, than the old way. They’d pay us … Mr. Mazzi … forty percent.”
“What did Mr. Mazzi say?” I ask
“He told them to ‘f’ themselves.”
“What did they say to that?”
“That they were taking over other markets as well, and that the money they would make would let them buy off our people anyway. So either Mazzi would take forty percent, or he’d get nothing.”
“So did he take the deal?” I ask.
“No, he threw them out.”
“Where is Mr. Mazzi today?”
“Six feet under,” he says. “They came into his restaurant and killed him.”
“Who did?”
“People that worked for Russo and Petrone.”
“What is the status today, as we speak, of Mr. Mazzi’s business?”
“Russo and Petrone control the territory.”
I sit down thinking the testimony has been powerful and convincing, and I hope the jury feels the same. I also hope Trell doesn’t get anywhere on cross.
“Mr. Costa, this meeting you said you attended, Joseph Russo and Gerald Wright were there as partners?” Trell starts.
“Yes.”
“And Mr. Wright was presented as the brains behind the computer operation?”
Costa nods. “Yeah, Russo said he didn’t even know how to send an e-mail.”
“So Mr. Wright’s death would have been a blow to their business?”
“Seemed like it.”
“But the operation continues today, is that your testimony?”
“Yes.”
“You worked for Mr. Mazzi?”
Costa nods. “Yes.”
“And he was a criminal? The head of a mob family?”
“You could say that.”
“I did say that,” Trell says. “Would you?”
“Yes.”
“Does that make you a criminal as well?”
Costa hesitates. “I’ve done some things I’m not proud of.”
“Like murder? Extortion? Those kind of things?”
“My agreement was that I would testify only to matters related to this case.”
“Have you ever had dealings with the police in the past? Ever been questioned by them?”
“Of course.”
“Did you provide truthful answers on those occasions?” Trell asks.
“Sometimes.”
“And sometimes you lied?”
“Sometimes I left stuff out,” Costa says.
“In order to protect and benefit yourself,” Trell says, more a statement than a question.
“Yeah.”
“So you’ll lie if it’s to your benefit. Does the immunity deal you’ve made provide you any benefit?”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“The jury will make that decision,” Trell says.
“The doorman’s name is Paul Tarpley,” Hike says. It’s nine o’clock at night, and he’s calling me at home.
“You sure you got the right one?” I ask. I didn’t know the man’s name, and since he can’t work twenty-four hours a day, I want to make sure we don’t call someone to the stand who doesn’t have the slightest idea what I’m talking about.
“Positive,” Hike says. “He remembers you well, and didn’t seem too broken up that Thurmond isn’t going to be a tenant anymore.”
“Will he testify willingly?”
Hike laughs. “Are you kidding? I couldn’t fight him off with a stick. He’s probably in ‘hair and makeup’ right now.”
“Good. I’m going to call him first tomorrow.”
“Without prepping him?” he asks.
“It’ll be okay. He’ll be on and off in fifteen minutes, and I know what he’ll say.”
“Famous last words,” Hike says, upbeat as always.
I hang up feeling a bit better about our case. In order to get an acquittal, I don’t have to prove that Petrone is guilty of the murders. What I have to do is throw enough “Petrone mud” against the wall so that that the jury will think it’s reasonable that he could have ordered them. As far as that goes, I’m getting there.
My other problem is personal. I’m not going to feel safe, more importantly I’m not going to feel that Ricky is safe, unless Petrone gets put away. He’s not really a turn-the-other-cheek kind of guy, and I don’t want my family under a cloud of danger from here on.
I really need to nail him.
But first things first, and I’m a long way from winning the case. I’d love to watch the Knicks game from the West Coast tonight, but I need to study and prepare.
I take Tara and Sebastian out for their nighttime walk at nine thirty. I think I like it more than they do; it relaxes me and focuses me at the same time. We walk for about an hour, not nearly long enough to prepare me for who I see in my den when we get back.
Joseph Russo. And Marcus Clark.
The weird thing, beyond the fact that they are there, is that there doesn’t seem to have been any kind of a fight. Russo is not battered or bloody, as he would be if he tangled with Marcus. He’s just sitting casually on the couch, while Marcus is in a chair across the way. Marcus is not holding a gun, or in any way restraining Russo.
Russo speaks first, which is just as well, because I am so stunned that my throat is paralyzed. He points to Marcus. “Whatever you’re paying this guy, it’s not enough.”
“Tell me about it,” I say. “Did you come here to kill me?” I ask.
“If I came here to kill you, you’d be dead. I’d have brought so many guys even Superman here couldn’t have stopped us.”
“That’s comforting. So why are you here?”
“I want to make a deal,” he says.
“To testify about the case?”
“To talk about the entire Petrone operation. He’s been setting me up, and he’s going to regret it.”
“What do you know about the computer operation?” I ask. “The way Petrone is moving in on other territories?”
“I know everything. But I’m not going to talk unless I get immunity.”
“Costa got use immunity. That means—”
“I know what it means, and it’s not good enough. I want full immunity.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say. The truth is that I have no idea what the Feds will do in this case. They want to get Petrone badly, and are close. There is no doubt that Russo can hand him over on a silver platter. But Russo’s hands are about as dirty as they can be, and letting him completely walk may not work for them.
“You do that,” Russo says. “Make sure they realize I know everything.”
“Why were Denise Atkins and Gerald Wright killed?”
“Except that.”
“What do you mean? You didn’t have them killed?”
“No. If Dominic did, he did it behind my back. Until recently, I wouldn’t have thought that was possible.”
Those are Russo’s last words on the subject. In fact, they are the last words of his life. The window shatters, and a nanosecond later, Russo’s head follows suit.
I see the bloody mask that was once Russo’s face, and before I can react, a huge mass lands on me and pushes me to the ground. It’s Mar
cus, reacting with unbelievable quickness to the danger.
Once I’m safely behind the couch, Marcus goes to the window and peers outside into the darkness. There’s no way he can see anything, and no way he can determine if the danger has passed.
Marcus heads for the back of the house, and I can hear the door opening and then closing. My assumption is that he’s going to circle around to the front, in order to determine if Russo’s killer has fled.
The net result is that I am alone in a room, hiding behind a couch, next to a dead, bloody, fat mobster. I’ve had more pleasant interludes in my life, and it’s a long ten minutes until Marcus comes back in and signals that things are safe.
I call 911 and report what has happened, and Pete shows up with a bunch of cops, just like last time. “I think we got a déjà vu thing going on,” he says. “Marcus again?”
I shake my head. “Not this time. The shooter got away; I didn’t see him.”
Pete walks over and looks at the body, which is hard to identify without very little face remaining. “Russo?”
“Yes.”
Pete nods. “Mmm … stepping up in the world.”
Once again I head for the phone. I call Willie to tell him of Russo’s death. I can tell he’s upset about it, and he says, “Andy, I know he was a bad guy, but he was my friend.”
“I know that, Willie. And I’m sorry.”
Next I again call Laurie, to head off her learning about the shooting from anyone else. I’m tired of making this call, and I’m tired of people getting killed.
And I’m very tired of losing witnesses.
If Paul Tarpley had his way, he’d be on the witness stand for a week. He’s clearly loving being in the spotlight, and my guess is he’s also loving a day off from screening visitors and signing for FedEx deliveries. But he’s about to be disappointed; he’s going to be on and off in a hurry.
“Mr. Tarpley, how are you employed?”
“I’m a doorman at Harbor Towers in Fort Lee,” he says.
“Was Steven Thurmond a tenant there?”
“He was. Until he got himself killed.”
Trell objects, and even though it’s sustained, I have to fight off the urge to smile; Tarpley is putting in my case for me.
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