“Exactly. Well, she called nine-one-one an hour ago.”
“What for? Something happen to the baby?” That was my worst nightmare in a heated domestic.
“Not the baby. She was treated and released. You know how kids run high temps,” Mercer said. His son, Logan, was almost three years old. “I haven’t heard the tape yet but Salma was screaming that Leighton was going to kill her. Talking in Spanish, mostly.”
“Lem knew Ethan was going to be ROR’d today, after he left my office at two fifteen,” I said. A public official with no criminal history would be released on his own recognizance for anything short of murder. “But it’s not possible he got out of the courtroom, past the paparazzi, and all the way up to Ninety-first Street to get to Salma by an hour ago.”
“His behavior in the middle of the night wasn’t exactly what you’d have predicted either.”
“I’m not saying that after this performance he couldn’t be that stupid, but Lem would have corralled him for a sit-down the minute they left the building. You know how rigid he is about client control.”
“Did Howell talk to you about the woman at all?”
“Exactly this way. Says she’s high-strung and hysterical. Kelli thought Lem was just setting me up for Ethan’s defense. What happened when the cops got there?”
“Nineteenth precinct uniform responded.”
“She let them in?”
“Yeah, Alex. But she denied making the call. Said she didn’t do it. Two detectives took a ride over just to double-check that she was okay. Looked like she’d been napping, still wiped out from the night’s activity.”
“But the call came in from her phone number?”
“Definitely. Salma’s landline. That’s what shows up on the sprint report.”
“So, you’re suggesting she’s nuts too? Lem’s already laying that groundwork.”
I saw the door below open, and the aide poked his head out, probably looking for me. The guard who had shooed me away earlier pointed, and I held up a finger to ask for another minute.
“I’m only the messenger, Alex. I haven’t met her yet,” Mercer said. “I just think we’re going to have a handful with Salma. Maybe you ought to plan to meet with her pretty soon-nip this in the bud. Reach out to her before the problem officially lands in your lap. Just keeping you up to speed.”
“I’m at City Hall with Battaglia. About to meet Statler. Call you later.”
I went downstairs and the aide stepped aside so that I could enter the room.
Paul Battaglia had his back to one of the five large arched windows that overlooked City Hall Park. Tim Spindlis had tucked himself into a corner of the room, positioned to catch everything that went on. The DA lifted a hand to gesture to me, formally introducing me to Mayor Statler, who came forward to greet me.
“Want to close that?” he said, his deep voice resonating like a friendly growl as he gestured to someone behind me.
I turned to see that he was talking to Rowdy Kitts, standing behind the door, beneath the portrait of some long-forgotten politician. Not only was Rowdy back on the mayoral detail, but he was clearly welcome and trusted in the inner sanctum.
“Thanks for coming over, Alex. I know you’ve had a long, difficult day. Roland, here, told me you were out at the scene of the disaster quite early. He’s told me even more about you than your boss. You’ve done some fine work for the city, young lady. I can’t think of anything more despicable than men who abuse women and children.”
Kitts came around to stand beside the mayor, and I smiled to acknowledge him and his effort to make up with me, before I thanked Statler.
“You’ve been here before, I know,” he said, watching me take in the elegant appointments of the reception area. “It’s my favorite place in City Hall.”
The Governor’s Room, I had learned from many long waits through council testimony, had been named that because it was used almost two hundred years ago whenever New York’s governors were visiting the city from Albany. It boasted a brilliant collection of American portraiture, and had played host to everyone from the Marquis de Lafayette to Albert Einstein. It was the backdrop for both Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses Grant when they lay in state in the adjacent rotunda, and the desk that Statler sat at had belonged to George Washington, in the days when New York was the nation’s capital.
“Easy to understand why it is.”
“I’m going to have to give a press conference tonight, Alex. There’s been an enormous amount of pressure on my staff about both of these breaking cases, and for a change, it’s national media that’s wanting to know details. It’s not just a matter of the Post making up ridiculous headlines over nothing at all.”
“I think I’ve told you everything Alex knows, Vin,” Battaglia said, walking to the center of the room. “You’re not going to have her standing next to you for this media circus. It’s simply not appropriate.”
Battaglia didn’t like his assistants talking to the press. He was a genius at manipulating reporters himself-even entire editorial boards-on issues of great significance or on petty personal gripes, but he was right to expect us to try our cases in the courtroom, and not on the steps of the courthouse or City Hall.
Statler stared at me, not responding to the district attorney. “Roland has given me a pretty good idea of what went on with all the detainees this morning. And the poor victims who died. It would be very helpful if you were available to answer questions about trafficking and, well, sort of how these women are duped and used by the perpetrators.”
“I’m not going to expose her to that kind of publicity before the investigation is even under way, Vin.”
The mayor continued to stare at me. I felt stupid not being able to answer for myself, but those had been Battaglia’s orders.
“Roland says you’re the only person who has the experience and credibility on this issue to speak for me,” Statler said.
“He’s exaggerating, of course.” I didn’t think Battaglia would mind if I politely demurred.
“Use Donny Baynes,” Battaglia said. “It’s his goddamn task force.”
“What do you think happened to that one young woman on the boat, Alex?” the mayor asked, ignoring Battaglia. “The one who might have been killed on board ship.”
“Go on, tell him what you told me,” Battaglia said, removing the cigar from his mouth and pointing it at me with eyes as sharp as a cattle prod.
“I’ll know more by tomorrow. I think it would be premature for you to say anything about that victim’s specifics until there’s been an autopsy. I’m sure Detective Kitts has explained that the ME’s preliminary observation suggests some causality other than drowning.”
“I think they’re going to want more specifics than that, Alex. This isn’t going to be covered just by local kids on the crime beat. I’m talking Brian Williams and Katie Couric and Larry King. This is a major disaster on our beach, in our city. It’s an international story.”