“Move to strike,” Maria said, before Dan had a chance. “I will ask the witness to restrict his testimony to what he saw and heard, without speculating on the motives of deceased persons which cannot possibly be known.”
“I saw the whole damn thing,” Ellison said.
Maria frowned. “Please describe what you saw.”
“Ethan and Jack were behind me and several feet to the right, but I could see Frank in my driver’s side mirror. I could see Jack if I stretched a bit, but as you can probably imagine, I didn’t do much of that. But I saw Ethan raise his weapon. And he wasn’t pointing toward the gangs. He was pointing the gun toward the neighboring cop car.”
“And who was there”
“Only one person. Jack Fisher.”
“Did you see Ethan Pike fire his weapon?”
“I did. And I saw Jack fall, right then and there.”
“So you believe Ethan Pike killed Jack Fisher.”
“I know he did.”
“You believe that, in the midst of deadly confrontation with rival gangs, one police officer killed a fellow officer.”
“A fellow officer who used to be married to his wife.”
Maria’s lips parted.
“Didn’t know that, huh? Yeah, Frank and Alice were married, and he didn’t treat her too good, either. But some women like the bad boys. Locker room gossip said she’d been seen with Jack again recently, despite being remarried and having this fine boy who’s sitting at the table with us now.”
Maria looked at Dan, asking the obvious question.
He answered back, nonverbally, but with crystal clarity. He did not know this.
“Ethan wanted Jack dead, and all in all, I can’t say that I blame him. Ethan saw a chance to take Jack out, a time when everyone would assume he was an unfortunate victim of this hellish crossfire. Probably would’ve gotten away with it, too, if I hadn’t been looking in just the right place at just the right time.”
“So you testified against your fellow officer. The one you’d been through hell and back with.”
“What choice did I have? Can’t say that I enjoyed it. But Jack was my colleague too, even if he was a complete bastard.”
“I still—”
“Ma’am, I mean no disrespect, but you just don’t get it. I’m a police officer. That’s who I am. Retired now, but still at heart one of the boys in blue. I have a duty. I witnessed a murder. So I had to speak up. There was no choice about it.”
Dan leaned forward. “You had a choice. You made the wrong one.”
“I don’t fault you for standing up for your pa, son. But I saw what I saw.”
“Would you be willing to take a polygraph?”
Caldwell jumped in. “Polygraphs are unreliable and we would not advise—”
Ellison cut her off. “Been there, done that. Years ago. I took the polygraph, a few day after it all went down. I’m sure you can find the report. I took the test and I passed. I’m sorry to be the one who tells you, son. I know this has stuck in your craw for a long time. But the facts are the facts. Your father killed Jack fisher. In cold blood.”
Chapter 11
Conrad Sweeney drummed a theme from Rimsky-Korsakov’s Scheherazade on his desktop. He was anxious and he knew it. This increasing discontent was new to him and he was not entirely sure how to deal with it. He didn’t recall ever feeling like this before. Even when he had been poor—and that was a long time ago—he did not recall feeling the same unease. Something was eating away at him, something he hadn’t quite isolated, hadn’t identified. But it was real, just the same. And he needed to get it under control. He had too much at risk to suffer any distractions.
Normally being his office, the expansive penthouse suite, filled him with an inner calm, a sense of his accomplishment. But not anymore. Now he had this stupid trial to deal with. He was being played by Pike and that cut him like a sharp knife with a serrated blade. He refused to be anyone’s pawn—
Did he actually almost slam his fist down on the desk?
He needed to do something. Some kind of distraction.
He picked up his smartphone and texted Prudence. STATUS.
The reply was immediate. DEPO DONE
AND?
SHE’S PARKING
BRING HER UP ASAP
UNDERSTOOD
Dealing with this damnable lawsuit was only likely to elevate his blood pressure. But at least it would give him something to occupy his mind. Later he would have to deal with his business assoiciates in El Salvador. They were not pleased. The loss of the ship, the capture of their men, gave them cause for concern. They didn’t much like the way he handled the execution of The Captain, either. They were threatening to suspend operations, or to take their business to a safer port.
He could not afford for that to happen. Literally. One more economic setback and he was finished.
He had fought too hard to become what he was. He was not going to sit on his butt while it all crumbled at his feet.
While he waited, he dialed his lawyers. Drake answered. “How was the deposition?”
“Nothing to worry about. And no reason for you to be there.”
Not that there was a chance he would give Pike that pleasure. “Did Ellison toe the line?”
“Said what we expected. Held up his end.”
“Told Pike he watched his father execute another officer?”
“Pretty much so.”
“Any discussion of cartels or smuggling:”
“None at all.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way. Anything else?”
“I’m telling you, it went without a hitch. No problems. Perfect.”
This man might be an ace in the courtroom, but he was an idiot in life. He had no sense of what was going on here. Sweeney wanted the best firm in the city backing him, but he was beginning to wonder if the man’s cluelessness made him an asset or a liability. “There is no such thing.”
“Um, excuse me?”
“No such thing as perfect. Or a perfect deposition, for that matter.”
“Well...Ellison did mention that he saw Officer Pike pull the trigger—in his outside car mirror. I thought he’d seen it directly, with his own eyes. But it doesn’t matter.”
“Don’t be an idiot. Of course it matters.”
“What matters is that he saw Pike pull the trigger. And an instant later, Fisher went down.”
Hmm. That could be improved. “What do you think they’ll do next?”
“Oh, take a lot more pointless depositions. Run up the tab.”
“There is no tab to run up, you imbecile. Do you think the firm is going to send their partner a bill? These people don’t even bill their usual clients.”
Drake’s voice wavered. “I know they want a lot of depos. And documents.”
“But they want to be in court as soon as possible.”
“True.”
“So drag your heels. Any way possible. Buy me time.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Dr. Sweeney, but you know, there are ethical—”
“Don’t give me that crap. Delay. Working at a snail’s pace should come naturally to an imbecilic lickspittle like you.”
“Well, I’ll see—”
Sweeney disconnected the line. That call was a mistake. Now he was more agitated than before.
He heard the private elevator arrive outside. Heard some murmuring. Probably his guest rubbernecking the paintings. Prudence wouldn’t allow much of that. She knew he was anxious.
A few moment later Prudence led in their guest, who gawked and gazed as if she were on a tour of the Sistine Chapel. Actually, he much preferred this office to the Chapel. No crowds, and Michelangelo was a better sculptor than painter.
He did not rise. “Please take a seat.”
Meredith McKnight lowered herself into the indicated chair.
“I understand the first deposition is complete.”
McKnight nodded. She seemed nervous, a bit hyper. “Yes. What a creepsh
ow that was. I never heard so much arguing at a deposition.”
“I’m not surprised. Did the witness hold up?”
“Absolutely Stood his ground. He saw that guy’s dad fire the gun.”
“How did Mr. Pike react to the news?”
“Pretty cool, on the whole. He made a little noise, but not that much. If I’d heard someone accuse my daddy of murder, I’d have been a lot louder.”
“He’s heard it before. Many times before. Grew up with it. Made him the fighter he is today.” Sweeney paused, staring at his hands on the desktop. “And the lady lawyer?”
“Maria? Supercool. I like her.”
His chin lowered. “And when you say you like her...?”
“I’m just saying she’s a pro. Even though I know she didn’t like what she heard, she didn’t let it faze her. Kept her client in check too, which had to take some doing.”
“And they bought your cover story?”
“Oh yeah. No problems there.”
Prudence cut in. “No one asked how you financed the journey? No one asked how a newbie court reporter managed to be working for Friedman & Collins?”
“Nope. No suspicions.”
“The fact that no one asked does not mean there were no suspicions.” Sweeney said. “You’re not wearing a ring.”
“True.”
“You claimed to be married. But you’re not wearing a ring.”
“I don’t think anyone noticed.”
“Pike noticed.”
“How can you—”
“I know.” He and Prudence exchanged a frown.
“Some women are resisting the ring these days,” Prudence said. “They say it’s like wearing a dog collar. A badge of ownership.”
“Fine. That’s your story,” Sweeney said. “If someone asks. You resisted the ring because—” He chuckled out loud. “Because you’re a fiercely independent feminist.”
“I can do that.” Marilyn paused. “If I can ask, do you remember what you promised?”
“About the rest of your family? Your sister? Your parents?”
“Yeah. I really want to get them out of Brooklyn. I don’t think they’re safe. And I miss them.”
“When our business is completed—to my satisfaction—I’ll make the arrangements.”
“Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it.”
“But I will expect much more from you in return.”
She appeared confused. “I—I thought I was already reporting and—”
“Apparently Mr. Ellison made some foolhardy comments about witnessing the murder through a car mirror, rather than seeing it directly.”
“True. But he still—”
“I would like those remarks to disappear from the transcript.”
A sudden silence descended upon the room. “Sir, I can’t—”
“Or course you can. Are you saying you won’t?”
“I—I—The lawyers. They’ll remember.”
“But they won’t be able to prove anything.”
“Ellison will remember.”
“No, he’ll only remember what I want him to remember.”
“They’ll know it was me.”
“Maybe. But they won’t be able to do anything about it. And your family will be safe. Isn’t that what matters?”
“If word got out, no one would hire me to—”
“Friedman & Collins will offer you a ten-year employment contract. Payment guaranteed. After a brief sabbatical starting whenever the depositions are completed. Any other objections?”
She swallowed hard. “I guess not.”
“Good.” He steepled his fingers before his face. He was feeling better already.
“Dr. Sweeney,” Prudence said, “I think it might be good if I sat in on the remaining depositions. As your personal representative.”
“Thank you for volunteering. That’s an excellent idea. As always, I am indebted to you for your service.”
“Always, sir. Is there anything else I could do for you?”
“Yes. I think we should initiate some investigations of our own. Maybe use Ellison. Maybe not, if you think he’s too close.”
“What do you want to know?”
“More about this pack of losers who call themselves the Last Chance Lawyers. We’ve investigated Pike, but what about this Maria our friend here is so fond of? What about the researcher? The gay man? I’ll willing to bet they all have secrets.”
“Everyone does. If you dig deep enough.”
“And what about the mysterious Mr. K, the deep pocket who finances this operation?”
“I thought you already knew—”
“I want to know everything.”
Prudence nodded. “Specifically?”
“I want to know how to shut down the money pipeline. If we could persuade him to stop bankrolling this insane excuse for a law firm, all our others problems might evaporate like raindrops on a sunny day.”
“I will get right on it, sir.”
“Spare no expense. And spare no feelings. We’re playing for keeps. No holds barred.” His eyes narrowed. He wanted to make sure she understood what he was saying,. Every word of it. “We’ve toyed and parried with Daniel Pike long enough. We have the means to finish him. So let’s make sure we do it. Let’s drive a stake into his heart and twist it hard. Except this time, he will not rise from the grave.”
Chapter 12
Finding a place to park on 4th Street in downtown St. Petersburg during business hours was always challenging, and to be fair, Dan was more than a little particular about where he parked his Bentley. Not that the crime rate was that bad in this neighborhood, but, come on—it’s a Bentley.
He’d never been to Great Expectations before. He never had any reason to visit. He had no children. Most of his friends didn’t have children. He was an only child—or so he believed—so there were no nieces or nephews needing outings. So why would he visit a children’s museum? The Dali Museum, sure, he loved that place. Especially the 3D headsets that made you feel as if you’d walked into a world of the paintings. But climbing around in plastic tubes and using ping-pong balls to demonstrate centrifugal force—nah.
He might’ve told them he had an appointment and avoided paying the admission fee, but he preferred to come in quietly and not alert anyone who didn’t need to know that he was here. He refused to give in to paranoia, but he was still shaken by what he’d witnessed in the courtroom. If you they could persuade a deputy with seven years of experience and trust to execute a witness—then the next assassin could be the least suspicious person in the room.
He strolled through the museum, dodging children and trying not to touch anything. He passed the Critter Cave, skittered around Build It, then spotted the woman he sought in what looked like a kitchen.
In a children’s museum? If he’d known there was a kitchen, he might’ve come sooner.
Wait a minute. He took a closer look. No actual food here. In the BellaBrava Pizza kitchen, children explored how to make a pizza...out of Play-Doh, or something like it. Clay sculptures. Some of them lovely. But probably not tasty.
An older woman explained how the kitchen worked to three children, providing a scientific explanation of how yeast made the crust rise. He preferred flatbread when he made pizza—or rather, his Not-Pizza—but still, he found this interesting. He’d used yeast a thousand times, but never once contemplated exactly how it worked.
“Yeast is simply a single-celled fungus,” she explained. “And yet it’s the secret behind the bread you eat every day.”
One of the kids scrunched up her nose. “Fungus? We eat fungus? Eww.”
“Not exactly. The yeast consumes sugar and excretes carbon dioxide and alcohol, which causes fermentation.”
“Double eww! She said ‘excretes.’”
The woman smiled. “Maybe I should just let you make your pizza.” She looked up at him. “Dan Pike, right?”
“I am. Beth Kramer?”
“That’s me.” Red hair, stre
aks of gray. Peasant shirt. Petite, especially for a former cop. Tiny mole above her lip. Black smudge on her blouse.
“Former Lieutenant Kramer of the SPPD?”
“Yeah. I worked with your dad. He was my partner.” She glanced at her watch. “You’re right on time. Just like your daddy. You could set your watch by that man.” She gestured off to a side corner. “Why don’t we go someplace slightly quieter and have a chinwag?”
“Suits me.” They found a spot next to the wall behind a Segway track. He supposed it probably taught some lesson about energy, but the long line of kids suggested they wanted to take it for a ride, not hear a lecture about thermodynamics.
“You favor him, you know.”
She caught him by surprise. “You mean—my father?”
“No. Joe Pesci. Yes, of course I mean your father. I can see a little of your mother in there too, but mostly your father. You have his mouth.”
He thought about it for a moment. He supposed she was right, but it had been so long since he’d actually seen his father in person, he wasn’t sure. “You knew him well?”
“I was his partner for four years. And that’s no small thing.”
“You spent a lot of time with him.”
“And trusted him with my life. Having a partner is like having a brother, except actually, more. I got a brother I can’t stand to be in the same room with. But your daddy always had my back. And I had his. I never forgot what he did for me. Never will.”
That piqued his interest. “What—he did for you?”
“Yeah.” She fidgeted with her hands. “Remember, this was more than twenty years ago. Women on the force were few and far between. There were more Hispanic men than white women. We had to fight hard for every little crumb we got.”
“I can imagine.”
“You probably can’t. You were a kid back then. And you’re a white male now. The world was made for you. Not for women who...wanted something different. Most of the guys on the force wouldn’t have me for a partner.”
“Did they have a say in it? I thought the Chief made those decisions.”
“On cop shows maybe. In reality, pairing someone with a partner they don’t like, or can’t work with, is like signing their death warrant. The Chief wouldn’t force me on anyone. And you wouldn’t believe some of the BS excuses I heard. What if she starts crying during a fight? What if she trips during a chase? What if I need backup and she has PMS? You couldn’t get away with that blatant sexism today, but back then—it happened all the time. Every damn day.”
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