O
UR POST-TRIAL VICTORY
celebration is at Charlie’s. It’s a tradition, and as always, we are given a private room in the back. In this case the privacy is more necessary than usual because the press and public somehow became aware of the location, and they’ve shown up en masse.
We limit the party to the core group: Kevin, Laurie, Vince, Daniel, and myself. We are more subdued than usual, possibly because there is no explosion after the tension of waiting for a jury verdict. Relief is etched on Daniel’s face; he claims never to have been so scared in his entire life.
He raises his glass in a toast. “To the best legal team and the best lead lawyer a man could ever have.”
There seems to be no dissent from that opinion, so I’m not about to quibble. I’ve gone from the worst lawyer on the face of the planet for putting Eddie on the stand, to America’s finest legal mind. All because a maniac committed a brutal murder.
The gathering breaks up fairly early, and Daniel gives us each a final hug as we leave. I tell him that we will need to get together to go over my final bill, and he smiles and says, “Anytime. No problem.”
Vince comes up to me and for a moment seems to be readying for a hug himself. At the last moment he veers off, and it becomes a handshake, which is fine with me. “I knew you could do it and you did,” he says. “You did.”
The fact is that I didn’t, but I don’t bother saying that to Vince. Laurie and I head home, and when we’re in bed, she asks, “You okay, Andy?”
“I’m fine. I’m glad it’s over.”
“Are you going to go away?” She’s referring to my traditional post-trial break, where I take Tara and get away for a couple of weeks to decompress.
“I’m not sure. I’m not sure I need to.”
“I thought maybe we could go together,” she says. “The three of us.”
“That sounds nice.”
My reaction sounds less enthusiastic than I actually feel about her suggestion, and she picks up on it. “Unless you don’t want to,” she says. “I know you like to be alone.”
“Laurie, getting away with you sounds wonderful. But not for too long. I was thinking under five years.”
She smiles and kisses me, but we wait until morning to tell Tara the good news.
Kevin is in the office in the morning when I arrive. We go over the hours we put in, and prepare a final bill for Daniel. It’s very substantial; Lassiter could have saved Daniel a lot of money by committing another murder a couple of months earlier.
When we’re finished, I call Daniel to set up a meeting to go over the charges. He’s not yet back working at the paper, so he asks if we can meet at his house at six
P.M
., which is fine with me.
Kevin and I haven’t really had a chance to discuss the sudden ending to the case, and I can tell he shares my rather disoriented feeling about it. He’s more of a legal purist than I am and is very uncomfortable with the fact that the determining event of the trial happened in a back alley in downtown Paterson.
No matter what angle we look at things from, the actions of Lassiter make no sense. He went to huge trouble to frame Daniel for the murders, only to save him when his efforts were about to be rewarded. Even more puzzling is Lassiter’s motive for the entire murder spree: Could someone be paying him to do this? And if so, why? Is it simply that he is insane?
Kevin thinks that Lassiter is a psychopath who gets off on making fools of the police and is unconcerned about how many people must die to make that happen. The fact is that the only way we are going to get any of these answers is if Lassiter gets caught, and hopefully, that will be accomplished before other women are killed.
I head home and take Tara for a long walk in the park. Laurie and I have decided to rent a house on Long Beach Island for a couple of weeks, and Tara seems fine with that. Tara and I have been there a number of times; it is beautiful and peaceful, especially outside the summer season.
I leave a note for Laurie, suggesting that we have dinner at Charlie’s after my meeting with Daniel. I then drive over to Daniel’s house, which is in a very expensive, heavily wooded section of Englewood Cliffs.
As I pull up to the house, I can see Daniel looking out at me through his front window and smiling. He is dressed casually and seems the picture of comfort, a far cry from the agony of confinement behind bars.
Moments later the front door opens, and he comes out on his porch to greet me. As I walk toward his house, I hear what seems like a small clap of thunder from behind me and to the right. I turn but don’t see anything, then look back toward the porch.
Daniel is still standing there, but he no longer has a face. It has been replaced by a bloody mask, and I watch, transfixed, as he slowly topples over onto a small table and then to the floor.
It takes my mind a split second to process what has happened, and I realize that a shot must have been fired from the wooded area behind me and across the street. I dive behind Daniel’s car, parked in his driveway, and try to peer into the trees. It’s getting dark, but I doubt that I would be able to see anyone even if it were broad daylight.
In my panic I briefly consider trying to make it to those woods, in the hope of at least getting a look at the shooter, but it seems futile. If he has taken off, he’s had plenty of time by now, and I won’t be able to catch him. If he’s still there, I’ll be a sitting duck and his next victim. My logical decision to stay put does not have to overcome any latent heroic streak residing inside me, so I stick with it.
It is unlikely anyone in this sparsely populated area saw or heard anything, so I am going to have to make the next move, whatever that move might be. Staying low and under cover as best I can, I make it to the porch to check on Daniel’s condition. It doesn’t take a physician to know that he is dead; it is one of the most horrible sights I have ever seen.
The door to the house remains open, and I decide to go inside to get out of the possible line of fire. I make a break for the door and half dive, half trip into the foyer, sprawling on my stomach. It’s not pretty, but unfortunately, no one around is alive to see it.
I find a portable phone and call 911, reporting the crime and making sure they alert Captain Millen. As I do this, I occasionally peek out the front window, though there is no sign of the shooter. Clearly, Daniel was the sole target; if the killer wanted to get two for the price of one, I was an open target as I approached the house.
The next thought to enter my stressed-out mind is that Vince must be told that his son is dead. I consider the possible ways to do this, and none seem right. I don’t want him to hear it from the media or from the police, and it doesn’t feel right to tell him over the phone, certainly not from here.
Instead, I call Laurie, and fortunately, she hasn’t gone to Charlie’s yet. “Laurie, it’s me. Something terrible has happened.”
I go on to describe my situation, and I’m not two sentences in before she’s yelling at me to “stay down.” I tell her that the shooter has gone, that there’s no longer anything to worry about, but she keeps saying it, until I sit down on the floor to continue the conversation.
I bring up the subject of Vince, and she immediately says, “I’ll tell him.” I mention that Vince is usually still in his office at this time of day, but she cuts me off, telling me not to worry. “I’ll find him and I’ll tell him,” she says. “You just be careful. And call me as soon as the police get there.”
At that moment sirens can be heard in the background, so I peek out the window. “They’re here. Thanks.”
By the time I get outside, the street is filled with police cars, ambulances, and every flashing light in New Jersey. Patrolmen, with guns drawn, approach the house and order me to lie down with my hands outstretched. I let them search me, all the while identifying myself and telling them that I’m the one who called 911. In answer to their questions, I describe how this happened and where I think the shot came from.
I’m brought back into the house and led into a den near the back. As I go, I see medics rushing to attend to Daniel. If they can do something for him, we’ve made greater strides in medicine than I was aware of.
Two patrolmen sit in the den with me, but neither asks me any questions. My guess is that Millen has sent instructions that he wants to be the first to question me. It’s a good guess, because Millen arrives five minutes later, with two other detectives.
I describe what happened in my own words, then answer a number of questions from Millen designed to bring out more detail. He’s good at it; he gets more out of me than I realized I knew. Nothing earth-shattering, but maybe it will be helpful to him.
My assumption is that this was Lassiter, finishing up a deadly game with Daniel that I’ve never understood. I tell this to Millen, and rather than blowing me off, he seems to consider it. “Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe some looney-tune citizen thought justice wasn’t done in court and figured he’d take care of it himself.”
I write out a detailed statement and sign it, promising to make myself available to Millen. He tells me I’m free to go, and when I stand up, I’m surprised and a little embarrassed to find that my legs are shaky. This has been a rough night.
I go outside, and it’s still just as much of a madhouse as before. I start to walk to where I left my car when I see Laurie and Vince, standing next to a police car. I instinctively look to where Daniel had been lying on the porch and am glad his body has been removed. I hope it was done before Vince got here.
I walk over to them and put my arm on Vince’s shoulder. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Vince.”
He just nods, and Laurie hugs me as hard as I’ve ever been hugged. “Are you okay, Andy?” she asks.
I confirm that I am, after which Vince starts asking me questions, probably as many as Millen did. Laurie makes eye contact with me, and this time I know we’re thinking the same thing: Vince is trying to attack this problem logically, trying to immerse himself in the effort to catch the killer, so that he will not have to deal with the emotion.
I patiently answer every question Vince has, until the crowd is starting to thin out and there’s just no reason to stay there anymore. I ask him if he wants to come to my house and stay with Laurie and me, but he doesn’t.
He wants to be someplace where he feels comfortable, but no such place exists.
T
HE CROWD AT
D
ANIEL
’
S
funeral could fill Madison Square Garden. Vince asks Laurie and me to sit up front with him, so it’s not until it’s over that I get a full appreciation for the size of the crowd. Daniel had a lot of friends, though the overwhelming majority of the attendees are there because of Vince. Vince knows everybody and everybody knows Vince, and it’s apparent today that they like him as well.
Vince sits stoically throughout the service, much as he’s been the last three days. Laurie and I are worried about him, but all we can do is watch him try to deal with this nightmare as best he can.
Vince invites about a dozen people back to his house afterward, and Laurie views this as a healthy sign. She and I are included in the group, and she has the foresight to call ahead and order some platters of food to be delivered there when we arrive. It’s not something Vince thought of, and he’s grateful for her thoughtfulness.
There do not seem to have been any developments in the search for Lassiter, and as I sit at Vince’s, my mind wanders back to the circumstances leading up to Daniel’s murder. There’s got to be an answer to the question of why Lassiter would get Daniel off his legal hook only to gun him down. Hatred is not the likely motivation; it’s fair to say that Daniel would have suffered more if the state had put him to death after years of miserable confinement on death row.
Vince’s boss, Philip Brisker, comes over and sits down with Laurie and me. Philip is in his early seventies and has been publisher of the paper since taking over from his father twenty years ago. The paper has been in the Brisker family for as long as I can remember, and that family has been well respected for a lot longer than that.
Philip wants to discuss our mutual concern for Vince. He thinks it would be good for Vince to come back to the paper sooner rather than later, and Laurie and I agree. I say that I’ll talk to Vince and gently suggest it but that he needs to do what feels right for him.
“It’s ironic,” Philip says, “all that time, with all everybody went through . . . for it to end like this. You win your case, and then . . .”
He doesn’t finish his thought, but I wouldn’t know if he did because my mind is racing. I’m realizing why I won my case and why Daniel lost his life.
Laurie and I stay for a short while longer and then say our goodbyes to Vince. I drop Laurie off at home, though she wants to stay with me.
Where I’m going I have to go alone.
I arrive at Dominic Petrone’s house at about five in the afternoon. I have no idea if he is at home, but I didn’t think calling ahead would be possible or productive. I could have had Vince arrange the meeting, since Vince knows Petrone along with everyone else, but I didn’t want him to know about it.
I pull up to the gate that we went through the night Driver and Gorilla brought Marcus and me here. Once again three enormous men are on duty, though I don’t recognize them as having been there that night. It doesn’t matter; any one of them could handle me quite easily.
“Yeah?” says one of them when I open my window.
“I want to see Dominic Petrone,” I say.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Andy Carpenter.”
He picks up the phone and calls in, reacting with some surprise a few moments later when he gets an apparently positive response. “Park behind the house and wait,” he says, and the gate opens.
I park where I’m told, and in less than a minute Driver and Gorilla come out to meet me. “This brings back a lot of memories, doesn’t it?” I say as Gorilla frisks me. They don’t answer, but then again I don’t expect them to.
I’m brought into the same room as on my previous visit, except this time Dominic is not there when I enter. Gorilla, Driver, and I sit and wait for almost twenty minutes, without a word being spoken. It’s not the most comfortable twenty minutes I’ve ever spent.
Dominic enters and comes over to shake my hand, ever the gentleman. “Andy, sorry to keep you waiting. You should have told me you were coming.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, “but I didn’t figure things out until about an hour ago.”
He seems amused. “Is that right?”
I nod. “Dominic, I just want you to confirm what I believe. We both know there’s nothing I can do about it legally, so I give you my word it won’t leave this room. I just have to know for sure.”
He sits down at his desk. “I’m listening.”
I lay it out for him. “You came to believe that Daniel had Linda Padilla killed, and maybe he did . . . I don’t think so, but I don’t know for sure. You wanted him dead, but you had promised me your help if I kept your name out of the trial. When I did so, you sent me Eddie as a witness, but that blew up in my face. To make good on your promise, you made sure I won my case by having another murder committed.”
“Andy . . . ,” he says, but I’m almost finished, so I continue.
“Once I had my victory, you got your revenge on Daniel for Linda Padilla’s death.”
He shakes his head in apparent sadness and looks at Driver, who mimics the shake. “Andy, you believe I would have an innocent woman murdered for no other reason than to let you win your case?”
I nod. “I do.”
“You are entirely wrong. About everything. I would not and did not have that woman murdered, I doubt very much that your client had anything to do with Linda’s death, and I did not have him killed. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
“I don’t believe you,” I say, and immediately regret it.
“You flatter yourself,” he says. “You are not important enough to lie to.”
“Then tell me the truth. All of it. Please.”
He considers this for a few moments, then, “I’ll tell you what I know and what I believe. And if any of it is spoken outside this room, you will long for a death as quick and painless as your client’s.”
There isn’t much to say to that, so I just wait.
“Tommy Lassiter killed Linda and the other women. I believe he was out for revenge against your client, which is why he framed him. I also believe he shot and killed him.”
“So Linda Padilla was randomly picked like the others? She was in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
He shakes his head. “No, she was killed because Lassiter knew how much I valued her friendship. He killed her to hurt me . . . to show he could.”
I understand this completely; he also shot me with the paint ball on the street simply to show he could. But there is much I don’t understand. “Why would Lassiter commit that other murder, the one that got Daniel set free?”
Dominic shrugs. “I have no idea. He’s not the most stable of men.”
“And why would he want revenge against Daniel?”
“Daniel,” he says, pronouncing the name with distaste, “hired Lassiter to kill his wife and make it appear as if someone else committed the murder. The man Lassiter framed turned out to have an alibi that Lassiter failed to anticipate, and the case fell apart. Daniel was dissatisfied and withheld some of the payment.” He shakes his head. “Not a smart thing to do.”
My mind is spinning, a fairly common occurrence these days. I believe Dominic; he would have no reason to lie to me. He is saying that my client, Daniel, was a murderer all along, though he was not guilty of the crime for which he was on trial. He arranged for the murder of his wife in a business transaction and then was stupid enough to renege when it came time to pay up.
The more I think about it, the more incredulous I get. “Lassiter killed five women, strangled them and cut off their hands, to get revenge against someone who didn’t pay him enough money? That’s what this was all about? Money?”
Dominic smiles a slight smile. “That’s all it’s ever about.”