Eddie Flynn 02-The Plea

by Steve Cavanagh

  ‘We have to go, sweetie,’ she said.

  The pins on Amy’s denim jacket that bore the logos from a multitude of rock bands I’d never heard of glistened in the light from the hangar. I hunkered down and took my little girl in my arms. I could feel her trembling. I looked at Carmel, a taller, slightly older version of Christine. She had never liked me.

  ‘I love you, kiddo. You look after your mom. You’re going somewhere far away – somewhere really safe. I’ll be with you soon.’

  Amy kissed me on the forehead, gave me another tight squeeze with all her ten-year-old might, took her mom’s hand, and they set off toward the plane. I gave Carmel the money. ‘I’ll make sure they stay safe,’ she said.

  Before she ducked into the plane, Christine turned and looked at me again. Her eyes were streaming with tears. She wiped them away. Her lips moved soundlessly. ‘I love you.’ I couldn’t hear her over the sound of the plane’s engines. Maybe knowing that I wouldn’t hear her speak those words somehow made it easier for her to say them.

  I said it back. She waved and got on board.

  The aircraft door closed and I heard the jet engine start up, and then the change of pitch as the plane turned and taxied toward the runway.

  ‘The password?’ said Dell.

  I said nothing – willing the plane to take off, to take Christine and Amy far away. Away from the firm, away from Dell and Kennedy.

  Away from me.

  Ferrar switched the umbrella into his left hand with some difficulty and handed his boss a radio.

  ‘Hold here,’ said Dell. ‘The pilot won’t take off without my command. The password, Eddie. Or that plane never leaves the ground.’

  ‘We have a deal?’ I said.

  Dell nodded.

  Bile rising in my throat, I gave Dell the napkin with the password written in blue ink. Dell handed it to Ferrar, who folded away his umbrella and took the password to the waiting tech.

  Without looking at Dell, I raised a hand, halting any further talk, and strolled out after the plane. I heard him mumble something to the pilot on the radio. The rain had eased to a light shower, and I saw the clouds clear a little as the jet accelerated down the runway and rose into the tumultuous sky.

  I stayed there for a few moments. They were safe. No one could touch them, at least for now. As the plane got higher, the sharp ache in my shoulder blades melted into a dull echo of pain.

  ‘Destination?’ said Dell to the pilot on the other end of the line.

  ‘Let me save you the trouble,’ I said. ‘They’re heading in the wrong direction at the moment. Christine won’t give the pilot the landing location for a while yet. When she does, you won’t have time to set anything up. As soon as the plane lands, there’ll be someone to take my family to a safe place, a secret place. All you’ve done is given them a head start on the firm. They won’t truly be out of this until you take down Harland and Sinton.’

  He nodded and we strolled back to the hangar. The tech worked quickly, and within a few seconds I saw a smile brush across his features. His teeth shined brightly in his reflection from the polished hood of the Taurus. He popped a bubble of strawberry gum over his lips and whispered to Dell.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Dell.

  ‘David’s agreement, I need it,’ I said.

  He handed me the envelope. As soon as took it I knew. The weight, the feel of it. Kennedy saw my expression change. The anger and the boiling fear in my stomach must’ve leached the color from my face.

  ‘What’s wrong, Eddie?’ said Kennedy.

  I handed him the envelope. He opened it. It was empty. Kennedy tore it up and was about to lay into Dell when the treasury man spoke.

  ‘If you want to avoid a life sentence for David Child, you’ll have to talk to him,’ said Dell.

  The rear passenger door of the black Taurus opened, and District Attorney Zader stepped out. He buttoned his gray, pin-striped jacket and adjusted his tie. He held a larger brown envelope marked EVIDENCE – DAVID CHILD. He handed it to me.

  As he spoke he struggled to keep the triumphant tone from his voice.

  ‘You know, Eddie, I’m disappointed. I didn’t think I could hustle a hustler.’

  I tore open the envelope and found five closely typed pages.

  It wasn’t a plea agreement. I skim read the document, and a sickening feeling in my stomach grew into a cramp that spread up my abdomen, holding my throat in a tight, bitter grip.

  Right then I knew two things.

  I’d let my concerns for Christine compromise David; I never should’ve handed over the password without seeing the agreement. The last kick in the teeth was the knowledge that it didn’t matter what I did tomorrow – or months from now in the eventual trial. The document Zader had given me would ensure that David Child would be convicted of murder.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  20 hours until the shot

  The document Zader had handed me was a ballistics report. It confirmed, beyond any doubt, that the rounds found in the victim were fired from the same gun found in David’s car. I’d expected to see this report but not then, not so soon. And I could not challenge a word of this evidence. The DA was putting the murder weapon in David’s car, to match the body of his girlfriend in his apartment. There was no coming back from that scenario.

  Game over.

  ‘You used me,’ I said, my fingers curling into fists. My legs parted in a fighting stance and my heart kicked into rhythm with the adrenaline soaking through my blood – into my muscles.

  ‘And your wife,’ said Dell. ‘We don’t care about her now that we’ve got the partners. She can go. She won’t face any charges. She is no longer of use.’

  ‘He didn’t do it, Zader. We had a deal – the pen drive for the immunity agreements.’

  ‘You didn’t have a deal with me,’ said Zader. ‘You tried making a deal with Agent Dell, but he has no authority in relation to the Child case. I told you, we don’t make deals that set murderers free. Not in my office. Best I could do would be twenty years if he pleads guilty. Otherwise, see you in court.’

  As he swung away, toward the SUV, I started after him and then stopped myself. If I caught up with him I’d almost certainly lay him out. A night in the cage for assault wouldn’t help me defend David.

  ‘This is a joke, right?’ said Kennedy.

  ‘You’re a big boy, Bill. It’s time you started acting like one,’ said Dell.

  Kennedy tilted his jaw and strode up to Dell, who welcomed him with a burning glare.

  ‘You want to take a pop at me, kid? Go right ahead. I’ll kick your ass and take your badge,’ said Dell.

  Kennedy shook his head, turned to me, and said, ‘Eddie, I knew nothing about this, I promise you.’ He meant it. He looked even more haggard and disheveled than the day before. His hair was wet with rain, his shirt, too, and I got the impression that the only thing holding him upright was rage. Kennedy was a straight shooter – no way he knew I was gonna be played. And that ate at him.

  Dell stepped forward, inviting the attack. Kennedy backed off, got into his own dark sedan, and sped away.

  The ballistics report became a ball of paper in my hand as Dell and his men poured into their vehicles and drove out of the hangar.

  I’d done the very thing I’d promised myself I would not do. I’d given up an innocent man for my wife. A man who had risked his own neck to help Christine, who had paid for a helicopter to meet her coming off the plane in Virginia – a man I’d let down, badly.

  I called Christine’s cell, but it must’ve been powered down for takeoff. The rain beat a tinny drum on the roof. With only me in the hangar, it became an echo chamber for my breath and the tap of my shoe on concrete.

  Think.

  Dell didn’t need me anymore. He’d gotten the code, the evidence that led to the partners and the money. He would take down the firm tomorrow – as soon as the money landed. He would wait with a team outside their offices and swoop in at precisely the same second tha
t the first cent hit the firm’s account. He could be no help to me now.

  Zader wanted his high-profile murder. He was making a name for himself. A name that he hoped would carry the weight of his political ambitions far beyond district attorney – and on to mayor or governor.

  There was only one thing to do. Fight it out in court.

  Seemingly from a distance, I heard a ringing, as if it were underwater. When I took the cell phone from my pocket, the noise from the ringtone, ricocheting off the hangar, almost deafened me. It certainly shook me out of my own head.

  ‘Eddie, it’s Bill,’ said Agent Kennedy. He’d never used his first name in conversation with me before.

  ‘What Dell did was wrong and I’ll have no part in it. If we can’t be straight, what hope is there? I’m sorry, Eddie. I wanted you to know that. And I wanted you to know where I’m headed.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Federal Plaza. I’m going to check every police and prosecution file to make sure you’ve got everything for tomorrow. It probably won’t do your client any good anyway, but I want to help.’

  ‘He’s been set up.’

  ‘I know that’s what you think. Hell, you might be right. But look, what I can get for you – save it for trial. There’s no chance of a judge throwing this out for lack of evidence. And even if you did pull off some kind of Houdini stunt at the prelim, I hear Zader’s got a grand jury empaneled for tomorrow afternoon and they will definitely find a case against your client because you can’t even address them.’

  ‘Let me worry about the grand jury – there might be a way of swinging something, but I’m not sure yet. The main thing is that I get working on this now, and I need you to do something else for me, if you’re serious about helping me, that is.’

  ‘Sure, shoot.’

  ‘I need to know everything about the victim. Whatever you can find, I want it. Other than what may or may not be a fight in the elevator, the prosecution don’t have a clear motive for this murder yet, and I don’t want to be hit with one tomorrow. If I’m right, Child was set up.’

  ‘Sure. I can get background. I’ll have that to you ASAP. Anything else you need?’

  ‘I was going to ask you about something. I’m being followed. Hispanic guy with a tattoo on his throat – The Scream, by Edvard Munch. He warned me with a vial of acid that David should keep his mouth shut. I’m guessing he’s muscle, working for Harland and Sinton off the books. You know him?’

  ‘I only know the firm’s security team. Dell told me he already filled you in on Gill and his men. I haven’t seen anyone matching that description around the firm. I’ll look into it. If you see him again, call me.’

  ‘Thanks. If I see him, I’ll call.’

  Kennedy’s voice became heavy, slow.

  ‘I’m sorry, Eddie. I got you into this. I’d only joined the task force last month. They’d gotten nowhere and I was brought in to look over the evidence, see if there was something they missed. Despite what Dell told you just now, we were going to indict the associates if we couldn’t nail Harland and Sinton. We were all set to do it, too. Then Child fell into our lap over the weekend. Dell wanted Child to cut a deal, but we had to separate him from the firm and get him a new attorney. He asked me if I knew anyone who could handle it for a nice payoff. I suggested you. He said he’d heard the name before, and he pulled Christine’s file. He had deep background on all of the associates. You were the perfect fit for the job. Eddie, I’m sorry.’

  ‘I know you didn’t set me up. You can help me now. Get whatever files you can grab and meet me in my office in an hour. I need to start planning what the hell I’m going to say at the hearing tomorrow.’

  My thoughts became lost. Silence filled the line.

  ‘You know, you might be wrong about this. I know you think Child doesn’t have it in him, but the security camera footage from the apartment building puts him as the last person to leave that apartment and minutes later his girlfriend’s body is found. She’s dead from multiple gunshot wounds and the gun is in your client’s car. The facts make him good for the murder. Are you sure you’re on the right side of this?’

  ‘I’m a defense attorney, Kennedy. I don’t have a right side – I just have a client.’

  That was what Kennedy expected to hear. All law enforcement think the same thing about attorneys. How do they sleep knowing they set the guilty free? It’s even harder to sleep when you’ve got an innocent man in jail. Well, I was done with nightmares.

  ‘Don’t worry. I know I’m right on this one. I can feel it. I’ll see you in my office in an hour.’

  ‘Okay, but let me check it out first, make sure it’s safe. What are you gonna do for an hour?’ asked Kennedy.

  I thought it over. There was nothing to be gained from heading back to the Lizard’s house. Besides, I’d had an idea.

  ‘I’m going to fry Zader’s backup,’ I said.

  ‘What? The grand jury? What are you gonna do?’

  ‘I’m going to get my secret weapon, which’ll give us a chance at destroying the case if it ever gets as far as the grand jury.’

  ‘How are you going to do that?’

  ‘I’m going to hire Child another lawyer.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Finnegan’s Pub on Fifty-Sixth Street looked more like a flophouse for the blind than a public bar. A sign on the door read, WE NEVER CLOSE.

  I sat outside the bar in the driver’s seat of Holly’s Honda, the interior light shining on the new ballistics report from CSI Noble. From the unique markings and striations on the bullets found in the victim, he was able to confirm that those rounds could only have been fired from the gun found in David’s car. A slam dunk for the prosecution. Only one thing bothered me about the report; from Noble’s examination of the weapon, he’d found traces of soil on the grip and some of that soil had made its way into the tiny gap around the magazine, which slotted into the butt of the gun. I told myself I would think about it later, that it probably meant nothing, but all the same, little details like that tugged at my mind. I got out of the car and approached Finnegan’s.

  The windows of the pub were taped up from the inside, and a second door, just beyond the entrance, was always closed and shrouded in thick green curtains that smelled of rotten beer and cigarettes. It was almost as if the patrons were vampires and if any natural light penetrated the bar at any moment, the entire clientele would burst into flames. It had a reputation as a rough joint and the owner, Paddy Joe, tolerated all kinds of customers. Ten years ago it would not have been unusual to find a gang of bikers in one corner, the 58s in the other corner, the Bloods playing pool, and half of the 16th Precinct’s homicide squad hitting tequila slammers at the bar.

  ‘Is Cooch in tonight?’ I asked.

  Paddy Joe looked up from the bar and for a moment I couldn’t take in his face because his head seemed to be as big as a silverback’s. A steel-wool beard hung over his T-shirt and the end of that beard met my eye line at his stomach. Taking a step away from the bar, I was able to focus more clearly on his handsome blue eyes and row of capped teeth that looked like a stack of gold bars lying in the mouth of a dark cave.

  ‘He’s in his spot. Good to see you, Eddie. You want a Coke or somethin’?’

  When I was hitting the bottle, Paddy had made sure I got home from the bar in one piece – so he knew I’d kicked the booze, or was trying to.

  ‘No, thanks. I’m good. Nice to see you, too, man.’

  He held up his massive fist for a bump. I obliged him. It was like a marshmallow briefly touching a wrecking ball.

  I turned away from the bar, past the broken jukebox and up a small flight of steps to a large booth in the far left-hand corner of the pub. There, surrounded by three drunk lawyers, Cooch was holding court.

  ‘It’s like I always say, you never put your client on the stand. It’s suicide,’ said Cooch. ‘Take Gerry Spence, yeah, best damn trial lawyer I ever saw. Spence practiced for fifty damn years, never lost a c
ase and only once or twice put his client on the stand.’

  Two of the male lawyers at Cooch’s table were around his age, the third was a younger lawyer, blond, hanging on Cooch’s every word. I hung back to let Cooch finish. He was a little deaf and had problems with his volume. You could almost hear him in the street, he was so loud. Cooch also wore a hearing aid, which he tapped occasionally if he didn’t hear what you were saying. Like if you reminded him that it was his round at the bar.

  ‘Spence used to say you told your client’s story through your cross-examination. Attack the prosecution case. Attack, attack, attack. But pick your battles …’

  The two middle-aged lawyers had heard it all before – this was Cooch’s favorite topic – and they began their own conversation. Undeterred, Cooch switched his attention to the young lawyer.

  ‘Criminal law is war, kid. But don’t fight the system; fight the evidence. It’s like … what’s his name … Irving Kanarek. He’d fight over a coin toss. You ever hear of him, kid?’

  The young man shook his head.

  ‘He was a defense attorney out of LA. He represented Charles Manson. Almost got him off, too. But Irving took it too far. He objected to everything. He made objection after objection after objection. He objected during direct, during opening speeches – everything. He sure pissed off the judge plenty. In the Manson trial Irving got himself sent to jail for contempt, twice. He was just a belligerent guy. Once, the prosecutor called a witness and asked him to state his name for the record. Old Irving was on his feet in the blink of an eye. ‘“Objection, Your Honor. This answer is hearsay. The witness only knows his name because his mother told him!”’

  The young lawyer laughed out of politeness, then stared into his beer.

  Moving into the light, I nodded at Cooch.

  ‘Now, here’s a real talent, kid. This here is Eddie Flynn. You see him in court, you watch him. Learn from him. He’s the next Gerry Spence,’ said Cooch.

  I exchanged greetings with the other lawyers, who shook hands with Cooch, made their excuses and left. The young lawyer finished his Miller, thanked Cooch for the advice, and made his exit. I took a seat.