“Your Honor, I apologize, but let me explain. My client—”
“Do. Please. Now.” Vaughn simmered while Judy hatched a plan. She could still get Pigeon Tony out of the mess he’d gotten himself into.
“First, I am really sorry.”
“Really sorry?” Judge Vaughn ripped off his glasses and held them poised beside his face. “Really sorry? Can’t we do better than really sorry?”
“Very sorry. Extremely sorry. So very sorry.” Was this a game? Judy stopped guessing. “The problem, as you can see, is that my client is very emotional about this matter and is obviously under a great deal of strain. I apologize for his outburst, especially coming as it did, in front of the jury.”
“Disrupting my trial!” Judge Vaughn said, snatching a tissue from a box on his desk and wiping his forehead with it.
“Exactly, which brings me to my point.” Judy cleared her throat. “The fact that it occurred in front of the jury makes me concerned that prejudice has occurred, and I doubt the ability of this jury to fairly evaluate the facts of the case. Because the incident occurred so early in the trial, it would not be so great an imposition of the judicial system if the Court were to grant a mistrial at this point, and the defense so moves.”
Judge Vaughn’s blue eyes widened and a thick vein expanded in his neck. “Are you crazy?”
Judy hoped it was rhetorical. “Your Honor, I’m as unhappy about it as you are, but I see no alternative, given the outburst.”
Santoro fairly waved his hand. “Your Honor, the Commonwealth opposes any such mistrial. It is a terrible waste of resources. I have ten murder cases back at the office, and here we are, already on trial in this one, after it took almost two weeks to pick a death-qualified jury. In addition, Your Honor, I think defense counsel has incredible nerve, making this request after her own client acted out. How could there be any prejudice, when her client did most of his screaming in Italian? The jury has a right to evaluate this man for what he is, and he’s obviously not shy about his conduct.”
Judge Vaughn was shaking his head, and Judy knew it would be the fastest ruling in judicial history. “There will be no mistrial in this matter, and the defense request is denied. The defendant brought this on himself and he won’t benefit by it.” The judge pointed directly at Judy, his robe slipping back to reveal a white French cuff with a gold cufflink. “Ms. Carrier, tell your client to straighten up and fly right. I’ll give him the night to cool down, and we’re back in session at nine on Tuesday morning. Get your act together. Capisce?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Judy said. She capisced just fine.
But would Pigeon Tony?
Chapter 40
“I go to judge, I tell him police do nothing! Nothing! Pigs! Scum!
Bullies!” Pigeon Tony wasn’t any calmer three hours and two cartons of take-out lo mein later, and Judy wasn’t completely surprised. Bennie had gone back to her office, leaving Judy and an unusually quiet Frank in the main conference room at Rosato & Associates, which Judy had claimed as her war room. An expanse of windows, now black with night, reflected her agitated client.
“Why judge mad at me? I tell truth! I know truth!” Pigeon Tony’s face was still red with emotion. He couldn’t sit still in his tan swivel chair, in front of an oak credenza stuffed with accordion files for the Lucia case, mounds of legal research, and Judy’s notes. None of it had proved any help in the face of an Italian client. It was the English common law, after all, and had stood only for centuries.
“Pigeon Tony, please.” Judy glared at her client across the table. “You keep up what you did today, and that jury will turn against you. You’re playing with fire. The judge is already very unhappy with you, and the jury can sense that too.”
“Lies! All liars! No can believe!” Pigeon Tony’s eyes had gone bloodshot and he began to get winded. Judy was worried he’d have a stroke and passed him a can of Coke across the table.
“Take a sip. Please. Calm down.”
Pigeon Tony ignored her. “You tell judge. I tell judge! Liars! You hear what they say? All lies! He kill my son! My daughter-in-law!”
Judy’s stomach tensed as she watched Frank’s reaction. He was standing behind his grandfather, his forehead buckled with strain at the mention of his parents’ death. Judy had had enough. She stood up and folded her arms. “Pigeon Tony, quiet! Enough! Stop!”
Pigeon Tony startled, evidently accustomed to being the only temper tantrum in the room.
“We’ll go to court tomorrow and you will shut up! I almost got killed for you. You owe me.”
Pigeon Tony opened his mouth, then shut it.
“Now do I have your attention?”
Pigeon Tony fell silent, his leathery skin mottled. He hadn’t lost his tan from months of working outdoors with Frank, building a wall. Judy wished for just one rock.
“I promise you. The next peep outta you in that courtroom, you don’t have to worry about the jury. I’ll kill you myself.”
Pigeon Tony stopped fussing in his chair.
“You promise?”
“Promise.”
“Good.” Judy glanced at Frank, who forced a smile. She knew him well enough to know he was concerned by what had happened in court. “Now, time for you to go home.” She checked her watch. “It’s almost ten. You both need some sleep for tomorrow, and I have work to do, to prepare.”
Frank touched his grandfather’s shoulder. “Come on, Pop, she’s right.”
“S’allright,” Pigeon Tony said, rising as if he were suddenly weary, and Frank helped him to his feet, then stopped.
“Pop, gimme a minute alone with my girl, would you?” he asked softly, and Pigeon Tony nodded. Frank walked him out of the conference-room door, undoubtedly left him with the security guards, then came back in and closed the door behind him. When he returned, Frank’s brown eyes looked washed out, not with fatigue, but with something Judy couldn’t identify.
“What’s the matter?” Judy asked. “Besides the obvious?”
“Siddown a minute,” Frank said, but he didn’t meet her eye. He took a seat on one side of the table, and Judy sat across from him.
She watched him loosen his tie, tugging it from one side to the next.
“Are we having sex again? I really liked it the first and only time.” Judy smiled, but Frank didn’t.
“No.” He rubbed his chin, running his finger pads over his dark stubble. “But this is hard to talk about.”
Judy didn’t feel like joking, which left her speechless. “What?”
“My grandfather, today in court. He yelled at the detective.”
“Right.”
“First he yelled in English, then in Italian. You didn’t understand the Italian, did you?”
Judy felt a wrench in her chest. Suddenly she sensed where this was going. “No,” she said, but it wasn’t an answer. It was a wish.
“In Italian, what he yelled at the detective was ‘Coluzzi told me he killed my son, and that’s why I killed him. But you did nothing.’” Frank’s voice sounded soft, almost hoarse, as if the very words choked him. “At least that’s what I think I heard. I may be mistaken. The microphones to the gallery distorted his voice. And he was facing away from me. And my Italian isn’t that good.”
Judy didn’t breathe. “So then it probably isn’t what he said.”
“But it could be.”
Judy wanted this conversation to be over. “You know your grandfather thinks it was murder. You told me that.”
“But now he’s saying that Coluzzi confessed to it. Admitted it, that morning.” Frank looked at Judy directly, his dark eyes boring into her, making the connection between them real, reminding her again of their lovemaking. It mattered to her. “Do you know what he was talking about?”