Laura knocked on my door at one o’clock. “I’m going out for a walk, Alex. I’ll bring you back a sandwich.”
I took a bill out of my wallet and gave it to her. “Thanks. I’m starving.”
“Here are your messages. This guy named Luc has called three times.” She handed me the slips. “Should I have…? Never mind. Your expression says it all. Next time I’ll just ignore your directions and put him through.”
I waited until she closed my door and dialed his cell number.
“Bonjour, Alexandra. I hope I’m not bothering you with my calls?”
“My secretary just told me about them. I’m delighted you phoned.”
“Is it always this difficult to get through to you?”
“I think Laura will see that it’s easier from now on.”
“I want to thank you again for making the weekend such a pleasure. You may have heard by now that you have to charge me for another night.”
I laughed. “Vineyard fog, I assume?”
“Exactly. Nina and I waited together at the airport for almost four hours until they shut it down. The fog was so thick you couldn’t even see across the airstrip. We went back to the house and she grilled a couple of steaks that were in the freezer. I may know more about you than even you do.”
“Sunday night was included in the package deal, Luc. I’m delighted you both got to enjoy it.”
“So, I have some business dinners this week that I’ve got to attend, but one of my very dear friends has offered me the most impossible table in town. Will you be able to have dinner with me on Thursday, Alex? At Rao’s? Do you know it?”
I hoped Nina had explained to him what life was like for me in the middle of a trial.
“I absolutely adore Rao’s. And you’re right, it’s the hardest ticket in town.”
The twelve-table restaurant in East Harlem was run more like a club, only open for five meals a week-dinner from Monday to Friday-with so many high-profile regulars that there was hardly any way to snag a reservation without being given a personal invite.
“Will you say yes?”
I wanted my enthusiasm for seeing Luc again to register in my voice. “I want you to understand how much I’d love to have dinner with you-and how especially delicious it would be to do it at Rao’s-but Thursday night isn’t going to work.”
He was quiet, waiting for more of an explanation.
“We’ve lost time at the trial-my fault last week and with the funeral today-so the judge is going to start us earlier in the morning and keep us going until six, if he can, from now on. Prepping witnesses and all the catching up I have to do when we get out of court,” I said, tripping over my words, nervous that Luc wouldn’t understand the bind I was in, “I just can’t make a dinner date during this week.”
“Well, if I can rearrange my schedule to stay in New York over the next weekend, may I have the first bid on Saturday night?”
“Absolutely,” I said, knowing that as I worked myself through the heart of the prosecution case, with or without my cooperating snitch, I’d probably look like a zombie by the time Saturday rolled around.
“I’ll let you get back to work now. I’ll try to find you again tonight. Let you know if I can change my plans.”
“I look forward to that.”
When Laura returned, I ate at my desk and redrafted my closing argument. The original version included points about the testimony of Marley Dionne, so I needed an alternative summation in case his refusal to talk to anyone since his attack at Rikers extended to the witness stand.
Mike Chapman called at three fifteen. “Packed house, Coop. Duke filled the church this morning. Brendan even managed to shed a few tears.”
“Tell me he’s back behind bars. Under lock and key again?”
“I just delivered him to the Tombs.”
“Have you heard anything from Mercer?”
“Yeah. It took them five hours at the property clerk, but they found the evidence from Bex Hassett’s case. Looks like it was stored properly. No reason they can’t take a shot at analysis. He’s on his way to the lab.”
“The girl’s sweater?” I asked.
“Uh-huh. There’s a rough edge on the zipper. They’ll work up the blood for a profile.”
“Mike, I really need you and Mercer to go back at Marley Dionne. That’s got to be the first order of business. I’m planning to try to use him on Wednesday, and then follow him up with your testimony.”
“I didn’t ask for this funeral detail. The lieutenant just stuck me with it. We’ll pay a visit to Dionne tomorrow. Aren’t you even curious about why Brendan Quillian called Bex Hassett the day before his wedding?”
I swiveled in my chair and stared out the window. I didn’t want to snap at Mike, but I would take him on if he had jeopardized the case. “I’ve already had a rough day. Please tell me you didn’t ask him about that?”
Lem Howell would raise a stink if Mike had even tried to question his client.
“Temper, temper, Madam Prosecutor. There were two uniformed cops sitting right there in the front seat of the car. I didn’t ask him anything.”
“But you said-”
“Now there are no rules that say I can’t talk to the man, are there? Offer my condolences and the like.”
“So you told Brendan what?”
“I just thought he’d want to know that I found his name in an old case file. Probably a coincidence is what I thought. Another homicide. Another manual strangulation. A sixteen-year-old girl named Rebecca Hassett.”
I reached in my desk drawer for some aspirin. “If he responded to you, I really do not want to know what he said. Got it?”
“He didn’t speak at all. I was sitting on the wrong side of him, so all I was looking at was the walled-up eye of the Cyclops. But I’m telling you, Coop, his whole body twitched so bad, I think if he wasn’t cuffed to me, he would have thrown himself out of the car.”
26
Lem Howell was talking to Judge Gertz at the bench when Pat McKinney and I entered Part 83. Lem’s smooth voice boomed in the large, empty courtroom. “The big gun, the artillery, the cannon fire, Your Honor. It appears that Alexandra has had to call in the cavalry. Mr. McKinney, welcome to the fray.”
“Gentlemen, good to see you.”
Lem didn’t like Pat any better than I did. They had often tangled before Lem left the DA’s Office for private practice-Lem, the personification of great style, and Pat, who exhibited none. He was a fine investigator, but his lack of interpersonal skills didn’t translate well in front of jurors and adversaries.
“Everything go as planned today?” Fred Gertz asked me.
“Yes, sir. I understand the defendant has been returned to the custody of the Department of Correction.”
“Do you have your schedule for the week?”
I handed my witness list for the next day to the judge, with a copy to Lem. “These are the detectives I’m calling tomorrow. The rest of the week is a work in progress. You’ll know as soon as I do.”
Lem was pleased to see there were no surprises. I had turned over all my discovery for these cops when jury selection began.
“You here to pick up some pointers, Pat?” Lem asked, brushing some flecks of dandruff off McKinney’s shoulder. “For starters, whoever is choosing your ties is doing a badass job.”
McKinney looked down at the ugly brown paisley pattern and snorted at Lem.
“We’re starting at nine sharp, folks. Is that okay? Get this show back on the road,” Gertz said. “Artie called all the jurors today. They’ll be in early and ready to go.”
“That’s fine,” I said.
“Judge, I’d like to give you a heads-up about something,” Pat said, sidling up to the bench and squaring off to Lem Howell.
Gertz was already on his feet, taking off his robe to hang it in chambers for the night.
“What’s that? Something to do with Alex’s case?”
“Well, more to do with Brendan Quillian.”