Petrone is sitting behind his desk watching the Knicks. He smiles when we come in and then makes brief eye contact with Driver, who picks up the remote control and shuts off the game. It’s impressive, but although I could afford it, I wouldn’t want someone to operate my remote control for me. A real man does his own clicking.
Gorilla takes a seat on one side of the room, and Marcus sits on the other. Petrone stands up and greets me with a smile. “Andy, good to see you,” he says. “Thanks for coming by.”
“Thanks, Dominic,” I say. “I was in the neighborhood, so I figured maybe I’ll stop in and see my friend Dominic Petrone.”
He nods. “Glad you did. Glad you did. Have a seat.”
He motions me to a chair in front of his desk and walks back behind that desk and sits back down. “So I was watching the news, and all they’re talking about is how you mentioned my name in court today.”
“Think of it as free publicity.”
“Or I can think of it as very annoying.”
“Or here’s a third possibility,” I offer. “You can think of it as me defending my client.”
He considers this for a while, and the silence in the room is stifling. Finally, he says, “I don’t like too many people in this world. Maybe ten, outside of my family. Most people, I don’t care about them one way or the other.”
He pauses, and I can’t think of anything to say, so I don’t.
He continues. “But on that short list of people that I like, right near the top, was Linda Padilla. I would never have hurt her, ever. And I don’t want it suggested in public that I would.”
The arrogance of the man is mind-boggling. He actually seems to think that I will stop mentioning him in court simply because he’s announced that he finds it annoying. It is the insufferable attitude of a man who considers himself all-powerful. On the other hand, he could have me killed simply by making some more eye contact with Driver.
I decide to surprise him with my vast knowledge. “Are you saying you didn’t hire Tommy Lassiter?”
A flicker of surprise flashes across Petrone’s face, and I sense a slight reaction from Driver behind me. “Impressive,” says Dominic.
“Stop. You’ll make me blush. Did you hire him?”
“No.”
“Do you know where he is?” I ask.
“You become less impressive as you go along. If I knew where he was, we would be speaking of him in the past tense.”
“Do you know why he would have killed Linda Padilla?”
Dominic nods. “For money. Or to get back at me. Or both.”
“Why would Lassiter want to get back at you?”
“Suffice it to say we are not the best of friends. The ‘why’ is none of your business. And I am getting tired of your questions.”
“One more. Why would he kill the others as well?”
“Mr. Carpenter, I brought you here to tell you that I had nothing to do with these murders and that I insist you stop implying that I did. Once you do, I will help you in your efforts.”
This is a surprise, and too tempting to let go unexplained. “How will you do that?”
“That remains to be seen. I have the ability to influence events, which is all I will say about it.”
If he’s not going to be specific, I won’t either. “I can’t promise anything. My client’s life is at stake.”
He nods. “As is your own.” And just in case that was too subtle, he points to Marcus. “Even a man as imposing as this cannot protect you forever.”
Dominic leaves the room, effectively ending the meeting. Driver and Gorilla drive Marcus and me back to my house, leaving us without so much as a word about what a fun evening they had.
I see Laurie looking out at us through the front window. I immediately decide I would rather be in there with her than out here on the street with Marcus. But this guy may have saved my life, so I feel like I owe him something.
“Thanks,” I say to Marcus. “I really appreciate what you did tonight.”
He shrugs. “Yunh.”
“You want to come in? Have a drink or something?”
“Nunh,” he says, and walks away. I walk toward my house and Laurie, thinking that “nunh” is the most beautiful word in the English language.
• • • • •
LAURIE AND I STAY UP most of the night talking about my meeting with Petrone and whether it should or will have any impact on the trial. I ask her what she thinks he will actually do if I continue to point the finger at him.
“If he’s smart, he’ll wait a year or two and make your death look like an accident,” she says.
“And if he’s not smart?”
“He’ll have your brains blown out a few weeks after the trial.”
“He seems pretty smart,” I offer hopefully.
She nods. “Good. It gives you time to get your affairs in order.”
She’s kidding-at least I hope she is-and I move the conversation toward Petrone’s impact on the trial. I have a very real dilemma in that at the end of the day I believe Petrone. His fond feelings for Linda Padilla seem genuine and tie in directly with what her boyfriend, Alan Corbin, told me. I’ve never had any strong reasons to believe Petrone is involved in this, so I have some ethical problems with continuing to insist that he is, misleading the jury in the process.
I could switch my focus to Tommy Lassiter, but his name is not publicly known, and it will have far less psychological impact than Petrone’s. It would also have the secondary result of pissing off a crazed hit man, something my parents specifically warned me against as a youth. While the other kids were always being admonished to “be careful crossing the street” and “be home early,” my mom and dad would throw in, “and don’t go pissing off any crazed hit men.”
The real question is how much I should let my personal physical jeopardy get in the way of my client’s representation. Should I report what has gone on to Calvin? I don’t think so; I’m not sure that there’s anything he could do, and his knowledge would possibly inhibit my actions.
Our staying up so late talking leaves me a little bleary-eyed when I get to court in the morning. Tucker looks typically fresh and confident, easy to accomplish in light of his having an entire state full of lawyers to do his legwork, and a powerful case to present to the jury.
“Rough night, Andy?” he asks with a smile before Calvin enters the courtroom. For a moment I consider the possibility that Tucker knows about my session with Petrone, that perhaps he is having me followed. It’s unlikely; the more plausible explanation for his comment is that I look like shit.
I look around the courtroom and notice that Vince is in his place, as is the Cleveland contingent, minus Eliot Kendall. It’s the first day that Kendall has missed, though I doubt that it represents a crack in his support for Daniel.
Tucker’s first witness is Neal Winslow, the chief engineer for the cell phone company that Daniel uses. His appearance is to demonstrate that Daniel was lying when he said he was fifteen minutes away from Eastside Park when he received what he claimed was the phone call from the killer.
Tucker and Winslow have rehearsed this testimony well, and Winslow describes the process by which towers cover certain areas, and that a cell phone’s general location can be determined by the tower that “handled” the call. His presentation is clear and concise, and such that even a technological moron can understand it. I know this because I happen to be one.
Daniel’s apparent lie has two negative consequences, one of which has already taken place. It served as the impetus for the police to get a search warrant, which led to all the real evidence subsequently discovered.
The other consequence, almost as serious, will set in if I can’t shake Winslow’s testimony. The jury will ask themselves why Daniel would have lied about something like this, and their answer will be that it was to cover his guilt. It is something that I have grappled with since that night, and Daniel has never come up with a satisfactory explanation.