Lori made more notes, and on the next tape picked up Archer’s second call from Lewerke.
Archer: Yeah.
Pause.
Archer: Why bother me? No, I won’t plead. Now don’t call me again. Yeah, I’m sure he’s dead, they had it in the Worcester paper.
Pause.
Archer: A friend called me, he knew about me and Ricetti.
Pause.
Archer: No, I don’t know what day’s paper.
Pause.
Archer: Eddie something, or maybe Andy something, I don’t remember his last name. What’s the problem?
Lewerke wasn’t stupid, that’s for sure. He didn’t have to wait for Lori to tell him why she believed that Archer was behind Ricetti’s death. Lori arranged with the chief deputy for the security of the tapes and more listening in a couple of days. She returned to her office and called McNamara in Worcester. “Is there any way that Ricetti’s identity got out?” she asked him.
“None. It’s still right here in my desk, ready to go.”
“Do you have a local called Gonzo?”
“Yes. Gonzo Patreska. A bad one, hits for the drug trade to enforce payment.”
“Freelance?”
“Some, but mostly on staff.”
Lori pondered things. Then she said, “We have a tape that he’s with our boy up here, and seems to be paid, but it’s not really clear. And the warrant might not hold up. But that’s the way it is. You can focus on him.”
“I’ll let it out about Ricetti.”
“I’ll send out an affidavit when you put out the information on his identity. Change it as you like, then send it back right away, it’ll help me with my guy.”
Lori reached up and stretched. The pieces were in place. Now it was up to her to maneuver them. But first, a good night’s rest.
Lori called Lewerke at ten A.M. the next day.
“I have some bad news for you, Don. I’m thinking of dropping the assault charges, and filing a murder charge.”
“Did one of the men die?” He was keeping his cool.
“No. The witness, Ricetti, was killed the other night.”
“Accidents happen.”
Lori paused for several seconds.
“Tell me more,” he said.
“It was murder. We have your boy paying off the killer.”
“How so?”
“Gonzo Patreska, in Worcester. He was up here two nights ago.”
“Have him how?”
“You’ll find out at the arraignment.”
“Is that it?”
“Your guy will find out what else when he sees the trial information.”
“You’re bluffing.”
Lori sighed. She didn’t want to move too fast. “I wanted to dispose of this, but Archer was sure he had it beaten. When he turned down my offer, he probably told you that Ricetti wouldn’t testify against him. If he told you that, he knew that Ricetti was dead, but it hadn’t been put out by the Worcester police. In fact, it wasn’t released by them until last night. Maybe Archer didn’t tell you that Ricetti was dead, but that’s why he turned down the deal.”
The silence at the other end of the line was very informative. Finally he said, “You’re stretching, Lori.”
“Ask him, if you’re so sure. Then you’ll be called as a witness to confirm what Archer knew—”
“Attorney-client privilege.”
Lori licked her lips and steadied her harpoon. “He wasn’t alone when he told you that Ricetti wouldn’t testify and maybe that Ricetti was dead. That does away with the privilege. When you testify, and the cops bring in this Gonzo person, it’ll make a fine, tight case.”
“You’re building a house of cards.”
“All of the earlier offers are withdrawn. I’ll take guilty pleas on the two charges, seven years on each, consecutive, no parole.”
“Lori, be reasonable.”
“You have until tomorrow at noon, otherwise I file the information for murder one, and ask for no bail. With his record, and considering the facts, he’ll be in solitary, not even phone calls, until trial, which will be in about a year.”
The line was silent for several seconds. Then Lewerke asked, “Why will you let the homicide charge go, if you think it’s so strong?”
“You know what will happen. He’ll be under the gun, literally, by Gonzo and his cronies, whether he beats the rap or not. Tomorrow, noon, Don. Goodbye.”
Judge Robertson looked out over his half-moon glasses. He stated his intention to accept the plea bargain, went through the colloquy, recited into the record his conclusions that there was a factual basis for the two guilty pleas and that the defendant was aware of rights that he was freely and voluntarily giving up, and went through the immediate sentencing steps.
Lori stared at the shuffling Archer, leg irons and waistband shackles securely in place. She was satisfied that fourteen years of maximum security would at least protect the public from Archer’s depredations during the felon’s turbulent thirties and into his middle age, when she could hope that he and the demi-monde that spawned him might be out of sync.
“We’re finished,” Lori said to her clerk, who hefted most of the files left over from the afternoon’s business and returned to the office.
Judge Robertson rose and signaled to Lori that she should join him in his cramped chambers.
Lori walked past the courthouse personnel, who were milling around preparing to leave, and into the judge’s chambers. She rested on one leg for several moments, then on the other, while the judge hung up his robe.
He stopped and stood, flat-footed, legs spread, hands on hips. “A neat piece of work, Miss Prewitt.”
Lori ignored his old-fashioned form of address. “Thank you, Your Honor.”
“What magic did you work to cause Lewerke to cave in so thoroughly?”
“We had the goods on him.”
Judge Robertson shook his head and moved to stand in front of his desk chair. “No. But if that’s your story, that’s okay. I saw the eavesdropping warrant in the file.”
Lori felt a thrill in her chest. She wouldn’t have wanted that. But she realized that the clerk of court would have placed the warrant in the only court file open on Archer. She decided to say nothing.
“Your principal witness was dead, you blew a lot of smoke on a tired old judge to get him to issue a warrant of doubtful validity, and submitted a return on the warrant that was the essence of vagueness. The rest of the file, with the only eyewitness dead, isn’t enough to get past a motion to dismiss after the state’s evidence, and yet Lewerke comes in and rolls over for a long sentence. I might almost hear a habeas corpus proceeding coming this way, on the basis of inadequate lawyer representation.”
Lori still said nothing.
“Not to worry,” the judge said. He sank into his chair and formed a prayer clasp with his hands on the empty desk blotter. “Our little conversation about the defendant being satisfied with Lewerke’s representation of him has taken care of that. You recall that I insisted that Archer read the file, and almost twisted his arm into admitting that he knew he was pleading guilty to charges with a flimsy case, and yet that he was satisfied with Lewerke, and didn’t want to fight it. Neither one of them cracked. It’s all on the record, just in case that habeas corpus lands on this desk.”
Lori swallowed hard.
The judge leaned back and cupped his hands behind his head. He smiled, a friendly smile. “I was a prosecutor for twelve years before I took to defending, and then moved on to this job. What you did was the neatest job of railroading I’ve ever seen. And it couldn’t have happened to a better defendant, or defense attorney. I’d rather not know the details, unless it moves beyond today and here.”
“Your Honor, I... I... I—”
The judge held out his hands, palms open, fingers extended. He stood up. “I’m leaving. Justice takes many forms. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one with so many forms as this one. I’ll see you next court service day.” With an effortless motion, he was out the door in a moment.