Joe smiled. Tapping the gold Waterman pen on the desk top, he looked down briefly, and then back up at the camera.
“It’s also my redemption.” His eyes moved from the camera to the digital readout on the VCR next to him. “As you gathered by now, I wanted this message buried in the film—kind of like the Ark itself—so I’m going to have to finish.” He paused for a second, and then smiled. Nick, I know I haven’t been the greatest role model, but I’ve always given my clients my best. I’ve never concocted evidence, paid for false testimony…” He pointed to the manila file on the desk. “Or killed for a case.
“I always looked for the truth in every case and fought hard for it—to prove what I believed to be right and just. My failing was my misplaced generosity, and overindulgence in just about everything. Call it pride, stupidity, mental illness. I don’t know. But one thing I do know is that I don’t want you victimized by the greed inherent in this profession. Because you’re so like me, I fear for you. I fear that you will compromise your integrity and you’ll suffer as I have. Or that you’ll wind up dead like me. So get out.” Joe wiped his hands together. “Clean your hands and get out. Become a farmer, a fisherman. Paint houses if you have to. But get out while you still have your honor, and your life.”
He reached toward the off button on the video camera. There was a blue flash, and Joe Maglio was gone.
It was two o’clock in the afternoon on a cold, gray day in January. Nick Ceratto had been preparing the Riley case for trial for two solid weeks, and he needed a break. He had gone through piles of medical records, depositions, medical experts’ reports, autopsy reports and witness statements. As far as he was concerned, the case was still a slam dunk. He should have been ecstatic.
But he wasn’t. He really didn’t want to try this case. There was something wrong— something fishy about it. He couldn’t get a handle on why he felt this way. The doctor was too good. The chances of him doing a lousy job were slim to none. He had hoped for a call from John Asher with a settlement offer, but none had come. And he figured that it was because Manin had remained steadfast in his refusal to settle.
Nick admired Manin. He saw in him what he had rarely seen in other defendants—especially in the medical profession—a dedicated physician with a humility and a true concern for others, a kindness and gentleness that made it difficult for him to go after Manin the way he should. Manin was a nice guy as well as a brilliant doctor, and defendants were not supposed to be that way, according to what he had been taught—according to Joe.
He knew that if he got an excess verdict, a verdict above the policy limits, the excess would have to come out of Manin’s pocket. More than likely, it would destroy him. One more Good Samaritan down the tubes. Manin’s wife, Nick had learned, had walked out on him because he had refused to settle, and the results could cramp her lifestyle. Manin was not the same. He was barely hanging on to his practice.
Enough
, Nick thought. He wanted fresh air and a change of scene. He coaxed Maria away from the voluminous printout of the Maglio, Silvio and Levin bank account she had gotten from
Banco d’Italia on the pretext of doing a routine quarterly audit. She had been spending most of her time tracking credits, debits, and transfers from and to the firm’s account for the past ten years. She balked but was able to be pried away, her stomach telling her that it was mealtime. She was starving. She hadn’t eaten since noon yesterday, and it was noon again now—time for Sunday brunch.
They showered and dressed, barely speaking to each other as each thought and rethought about the trial, the bank accounts, the tape and the missing file, the deaths, and how nothing made any sense. Nothing tied together. Each event seemed a piece of an incomplete puzzle—each a mystery unto itself. Still lost in thought and not speaking, they hailed a taxi and headed for the Four Seasons Hotel.
Nick chose a table facing a large window looking out on the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. The Four Seasons had the best brunch in town, and even on a cold, gray Sunday the view was awesome. Traffic was minimal. A brownstone Victorian gothic cathedral loomed up on the other side of the Parkway. The view reminded Maria Elena of a winter scene in Paris. Large Sagamore trees, now skeletons, spread their powerful arms skyward as if to pull everything into their reach. To the left, the Parkway split to encircle a now dry fountain surrounded by bronze nudes covered with verdigris. They reclined on its edge, clutching struggling swans. Maria wondered,
Why swans?
Perhaps because of their grace, perhaps they represented something the viewer should know. She didn’t know. They were just beautiful and that was enough. Their powerful bronze captors were composed and unfazed by everything around them, the traffic, the cold. They were eternal, like statues in Rome. They would never die. They were perfect, unlike herself.
Her eyes then moved to Nick. He hadn’t shaved in two days, and she was worried. Although he was strikingly handsome with his five o’clock shadow, he looked tired. No, he
was
tired, she thought. She recognized the conflict in his eyes—conflict about whether he should try the case, withdraw from the case. Resign. She saw his
eyes as he considered each option. Back and forth and then back again to the beginning.
He poured himself a third glass of chilled Pinot Grigio and stared at the razor-thin tuna carpaccio carefully arranged over baby greens on his plate. He wasn’t hungry, and was feeling the wine.
“He didn’t do it,” she said.
“Who didn’t do what?” knowing full well
who
and
what
she meant.
“Manin. He’s innocent.” She skewered a seared scallop.
“How do you know?” Nick played with his tuna, swirling it in the olive oil dressing.
“Eat. You’re going to get sick,” she said, avoiding the question. “Here.” She lifted a scallop from her plate with her fork and put it to his mouth. “Open. You haven’t eaten in two days.”
Nick took the scallop and washed it down with a large swallow of wine. “I should have ordered the scallops. I don’t know what I was thinking,” he said smiling. “I hate raw fish.”
“Here, take mine. I like raw tuna.” Maria stood, leaning over the damask covered table, careful to avoid the burning candle and floral arrangement. She switched her plate with Nick’s.
Nick knew he had no choice. She’d never accept no. So he ate the switched appetizer and actually felt better. “How
do
you know? You never answered my question.”
“Know what?”
“Come on,” he said. “You know what I mean. Don’t play games.”
“You play games, too. So why can’t I?” She took a sip of her wine and blotted her full lips with her napkin.
“OK, you’re right. Let’s be straight with each other. I’m trying this case in less than two weeks, and you’re telling me that you know Manin didn’t malpractice. I’ve got to convince a jury that he
did
. So what do
you
know that I don’t?”
“It’s simple. I know because I feel it in here,” she said, pointing to her heart. “And here,” pointing to her head. “I know by his face that he’s telling the truth. A liar doesn’t have a face like his. He never took his eyes off you when you questioned him—no matter
how you turned and twisted what he said. He always had the same answer.
“Is that all you have?” he mocked. “That the doctor looked honest and kind, and sounded truthful? Maria, do you know how many defendants should get Academy Awards when they lie on the witness stand?”
“He’s not lying.” She stood and pushed her chair back. “And you’re going to lose. No jury is going to find him guilty.”
“You
want
me to lose?” he asked rising from his chair, throwing his napkin down on the table.
Two waiters turned and stared as the couple argued. The conversation fascinated them and they couldn’t help listening.
“No, I don’t
want
you to lose.
Tu se matto
. You’re crazy!” she yelled. “All I want is for you to find the truth—the truth about this case. This innocent is depending on you to be fair and honest.”
“It’s not my job to be fair and honest. It’s my job to win,” he yelled back, his jugular bulging from his neck. “What about Sean Riley? What about his wife? His kids? Who was fair and honest to them? It’s my job to represent them to the best of my ability. They hired
me
to fight for them and to come home with the bacon.”
“For you and your crooked partners, you mean.” She slapped him across the face. “The ones who killed my cousin.”
Nick turned away. His anger told him to choke the bitch, or at least give her a good back hand. Instead he threw his American Express card on the table and stormed out of the Fountain Room to the coat check area in the lobby.
She followed, throwing up her hands, yelling a string of obscenities. Too bad that no one understood what she said. She followed the headwaiter, who had chased Nick to the curb with his credit card. Nick put twenty dollars on the line of the charge slip for gratuities. The waiter scuttled away leaving Nick and Maria to continue their screaming match.
“You swore to uphold the law. The truth is first, isn’t it?” Her eyes flashed. “Are you going into that courtroom just to crucify this
innocent man—a doctor who cares about people? Isn’t your job to find the truth? Isn’t that winning?”
“No.” Nick gritted his teeth. “
My job is to win for my clients
. Asher’s job is to win for
hi
s.” Nick pointed a finger directly at her.
She didn’t budge an inch. “You didn’t hear anything Joe Maglio said in that tape, did you? You don’t care about anybody but yourself. You don’t care about finding Joe’s murderer, do you? You just want to make money for those bloodsucking thieves. That’s all you care about—money is everything to you. I know this now. The tape meant nothing to you. You’re doing nothing about it. That’s why I went to Mike Rosa with it. Because he’s a man—a man of honor and
he
cares about the truth.”
“And you?” Nick snapped. “Does he care about you, too?”
“Yes, he does,” she answered. “And he’s going to help me— because you won’t.”
“Fuck you.” He waved at a passing cab which immediately slid next to the curb. In a flash Nick opened the door and was in. The door slammed shut and he was gone. All before Maria could say, “He was great.”
His study was dark except for one small light that illuminated the papers in front of him—reams of medical records.
The telephone rang loudly, startling Nick out of his trance. His gaze was fixed on the lengthy autopsy report he had stopped reading half an hour ago. He refused to pick up the phone.
“This is Nick Ceratto. Leave me a message.”
“Mr. Ceratto, this is Ralph Kirby of homicide. Please call…”
Nick quickly changed his mind and snatched the receiver. “Yes…”
“Mr. Ceratto?”
“Yes.”
“This is Ralph Kirby.”
“Yes, I know. I heard you. What can I do for you?”
“Ah.” Kirby paused, typically reaching for the appropriate words to phrase a request. “I wonder if you could help me. The chief wants me to wrap up the Lopez case. All the final reports are due this coming week. The DA, Muriel Gates, you know…”
“Yes, I know…”
“Well, she’s got this thing about concluding this case. She wants all investigation suspended. She says we’ve got other murders to solve. She thinks this was an open-and-shut street murder, a drug-related case. And the perpetrator will show up sooner or later murdering someone else in the neighborhood—hopefully another doper…”
“And I still don’t know what you want from me,” Nick broke in impatiently.
“Well, I want to know if there’s anything else you could tell me about Ms. Lopez that might be relevant to her case.” He paused. “You know, before we close the case.”
Nick thought for a moment, wondering what the detective might be up to. What could he tell him? Nothing, except about the tape and the file which Celia was supposed to have had. Maybe Kirby was playing cat-and-mouse with him. Maybe the old detective knew about the tape and was setting him up. He decided to play the same game.
“I don’t believe there’s anything I can tell you that you don’t already know, Detective.”
“I didn’t think so. But,” he chuckled. Nick could hear him drawing on his cigarette and inhaling the smoke. “I thought I’d try.”
“Is that all…?”
“Ah,” Kirby inhaled again. “One more thing…”
Nick sighed loudly, purposely, hoping Kirby would get the message that he was annoyed and at the end of his rope.
“Would you have happened to have found a key?”
“A key?”
“Yes, a small key, like a luggage key. It was in Ms. Lopez’s safedeposit box. It was on my desk with other contents of the box. Now
it’s gone I thought maybe I picked it up inadvertently with the film when I was bringing it to your apartment. Maybe it dropped out of my pocket when I took out the film.”
“No, Detective. I haven’t seen any key” Nick didn’t like this. Kirby was asking too many questions, and Nick didn’t believe in coincidence.
“Well, would you look for it? I’d really appreciate it.”