“Was it Todavia in the alley with you, Alex?”
He looked at her with a look that told her she knew better. “C’mon, Shelly. You know it wasn’t.”
She did know. She had never truly thought so. She just liked the idea because it worked. It was convincing. But there was more here. You know it wasn’t, Alex had just said. Alex was admitting, without saying so, that someone was there. He was telling her they both knew who that someone was.
And truly, Shelly had known that, too. She had lived with the small residual doubt that Alex’s denials had given her. She had taken every morsel of rationalization she could to avoid what she knew to be true. Ronnie was the one in the alley.
A knock on the door. One of Morphew’s assistants poked her head in.
“One minute and we’ll be there,” Shelly said.
The door closed again.
“You were a confidential informant for Miroballi, weren’t you, Alex? The reason you met with him was you were trying to get him to bust Eddie Todavia. Right? Because if Todavia were arrested, you’d be free of your debt. That’s why you were meeting with Miroballi.”
Alex smiled. She couldn’t read the expression.
“Everything I say, you have a new story,” he said. “I guess that’s why you’re a good lawyer.”
Another knock on the door, and this time the assistant said, “We really need you out here, Counsel.”
“One second.” Shelly turned back to Alex as the door closed. “Listen to me, Alex Baniewicz. We are going to put Eddie Todavia in that alley with you. I will do that. I’ll make sure that kid never gets near you. You have my word on that. No one with any credibility is going to say that it wasn’t Todavia. I’ll make the jury believe that. And you don’t get an opinion on this.”
She opened the door and went into the courtroom, where all eyes at the prosecution table were fixed on her. Dan Morphew walked over to her and handed her a videotape and a file.
“We have a new witness,” he said.
67
Shelly looked at the videotape. It had a sticker on it that said DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTIONS. She looked back up at Morphew.
“We took it last night,” he said. “They’re not family, Shelly, in case you were going to argue confidentiality. We checked the D.O.C. regs last night. Before we even looked at it. Ronnie Masters isn’t related to your client any more than the prime minister of Japan is.”
She opened the file folder. It was a plea agreement between Ronnie Masters and the county attorney.
“I told the judge about this,” he said. “I told him you’d want to see the tape right away. There’s a VCR back there.”
They went through the same door the judge used, passed his chambers, and went to another room where a television and VCR were assembled. While Morphew worked the machine, Shelly looked through the file. She saw the form signed last night by Ronnie Masters-signed by every visitor to a corrections facility, in fact-acknowledging awareness that the government could record conversations unless the visitor was either the detainee’s counsel or blood relation.
“Nobody really reads these things before they sign them,” she said, hardly even pretending to accept her own argument.
“That dog won’t hunt,” he said. “Here we go.”
He stepped back and the screen came alive. The hidden camera in the detention center was angled so that the person in clearest focus was the detainee, who sat in the same spot every time-the end of the table where the chain from the prisoner’s handcuffs was locked down. Smart. Guaranteed that you’d get the prisoner on tape clearly.
She held her breath as she watched the tape.
Ronnie Masters walked over to Alex with a piece of paper rolled up in his hand. “What the fuck is this?” he asked, slapping the paper down on the table.
“I don’t know,” Alex answered, seated in the chair with his hands in manacles. “What is it?”
Ronnie kept a distance but pointed at it. He couldn’t stand still. “That’s the paper tonight. The Watch, on-line. Look at the fucking headline.”
Alex read it aloud. “‘Defense blames drug dealer in Miroballi trial.’”
Ronnie paced a small area and pointed at it again. “It says Shelly’s not going with self-defense anymore. When the fuck did that happen?”
Alex looked at Ronnie. “Take it easy-”
“I’m not gonna ‘take it easy,’ okay? I’m not gonna be the scapegoat here, got me? I’m not going to jail for you. I’ll tell them. I’ll tell them everything.”
“Ronnie”-Alex came out of his chair, as best he could with his hands shackled. “What the hell are you doing? They can-”
“I don’t care what you or your lawyer says. I’m not-”
“Ronnie, shut up! What the hell are you doing?” He nodded his head upward.
Ronnie looked around the room. He seemed to understand the reminder. He moved closer to Alex and pointed a finger at him. “Do not mess with me,” he warned in a softer, but no less firm voice that came through perfectly clear on the tape.
“What the hell are you-”
“Alex.” He moved away but kept his finger directed at Alex. “Don’t forget what I said. Don’t make me do anything here.”
He left the room. Alex called after him but to no avail.
Shelly fell back in her chair. “That tape isn’t coming in,” she said.
Morphew sat next to her in a chair. He was a gentleman, more or less, and he seemed above outright gloating. But he was awfully pleased. “Who needs the tape?” He pointed at her file. “The tape just explains how we first came upon him. It shows we’re not springing this on you.”
Morphew motioned to the plea agreement he’d given Shelly. “We got him last night and finalized the deal this morning,” he told her.
The plea agreement was signed, only an hour ago, by a public defender representing Ronnie. That answered the question of why Morphew had seemed preoccupied. In exchange for receiving immunity for obstruction of justice charges, Ronnie Masters agreed that he would truthfully testify to the following:
(1) That he was present at the place and time of the shooting of Officer Ray Miroballi, to wit, February 11, 2004, at approximately 8:00 p.m., in an alley intersecting the avenues of Gentry (200 south block) and Donnelly (200 south block);
(2) That the reason for his presence at that place and time was that he was driving to the City Athletic Club, at 155 South Gentry, to pick up the defendant, Alex Gerhard Baniewicz, from a basketball game;
(3) That at the aforesaid place and time, he witnessed the defendant, Alexander Gerhard Baniewicz, discharge a firearm that resulted in the death of Officer Raymond Miroballi;
(4) That at the aforesaid time and place, after witnessing said shooting, he drove his car back to his residence;
(5) That he was aware, after the fact, that the defendant, Alexander Gerhard Baniewicz, had met with Officer Raymond Miroballi but that he was unaware of the reason for these meetings;
(6) That on February 25, 2004, between the hours of 8:00 and 9:00 P.M. at the location of the defendant’s detention, the defendant, Alexander Gerhard Baniewicz, admitted to meeting with Officer Raymond Miroballi on more than one occasion in the past and stated that he had “been playing a dangerous game” with Officer Miroballi;
(7) That he knowingly and deliberately failed to disclose the aforementioned facts to law enforcement despite being asked for any information relating to this matter; and
(8) That he knowingly and deliberately lied to law enforcement about his whereabouts on the night of the shooting.