Authors: John Nicholas Iannuzzi
“I know, I know. There's also the Italian woman. And I need a doctor.”
“If it's for one of your girls, maybe Asunta can help you out.”
“Very funny. I need a narcotics doctor.”
CHAPTER XXV
Mike stood at Sandro's side, studying the photographs spread out on the conference table.
“These are great shots,” said Sandro. “We've got every house, every store, every roof. No matter what any witness talks about, we'll have a picture of it. Come on into my office, and let's go over what we still need.”
Mike sat across from Sandro. Elizabeth brought in the second mail. Sandro's eye was caught by one of the envelopes. It had the district attorney's return address on it.
Sandro shook his head slowly as he read.
“What's up?” Mike asked.
“This is a copy of the D.A.'s motion papers to have a special panel sent over for the Alvarado case.”
“Does that mean we'll be going right to trial?”
“Not immediately, I don't think. This has the county clerk send over two hundred jurors instead of, say, fifty. Because it's a capital case. A lot of jurors don't want to get involved with the electric chair.”
“So what does it mean? When do we go?”
“Soon. I'd better call Sam and ask him.” Sandro swiveled and buzzed Elizabeth.
“Yes, sir?”
“Would you get Sam Bemer for me?” Sandro asked. “Mike, do you know Sam?”
“No.”
“Why don't you get on the extension in the conference room, and I'll introduce you.”
“Okay.” Mike left the door between the two rooms open. He was clearly in sight at the conference table. The phone buzzed.
“Mr. Bemer on seventy-five.”
“Sam? How are you?”
“Okay, Sandro. How are you?”
“Tired.”
“Well, with your other practice and the way you've been working on this Alvarado case, you should be. If that guy Alvarado had a million bucks, he couldn't have a better defense than we're giving him.”
“
We
sure are, Sam.”
“Well, you know I've been tied up. But I'll be with you on the trial.”
“There's still a lot more to do, Sam. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed, working alone.”
Mike pulled a large handkerchief from his pocket and began to dab at his eyes. Sandro smiled.
“Sam, I've got someone on the other phone I'd like you to say hello to. Mike Rivera. He's been working with me on the investigation.”
“Hi,” Sam said, “I've been hearing about you.”
“Well, you can't believe that stuff.” Mike was smiling.
“No, no. The pleasure is all mine.”
“Sam,” Sandro said, “we received a motion for a special panel of jurors this morning.”
“We did? Oh, oh. That means we'll be coming on for trial. Are we ready to go?”
“If we have a few more weeks, yes. Do we?”
“Sure. They're just starting to prepare. That's the first thing out of the way. We should go to trial around three or four weeks from now, around the middle of March, maybe even the beginning of April.”
“What do you want to do with this motion then?” Sandro said, feeling relieved.
“We'll have to get answering papers together,” said Sam. “When is the motion on?”
“The twenty-sixth of February.”
“Let me look at my calendar. February twenty-sixth, February twenty-sixth. Damn! I've got to be in Queens that day on a burglary case. You'll have to handle the motion. Is that okay? You won't have to go to court, no sense going in to argue. They'll grant this anyway.”
“Okay. You draw the papers. I'll submit it.”
“Well, my secretary is out this week. I haven't a girl.”
“Sam, you're getting paid as much as I am for this assignment. Try and do a little bit, will you?”
“Don't take it like that, kid.”
“Okay, I won't. But draw the opposing papers for the motion, Sam.”
“Okay, Sandro.”
“And we'll finish up this investigation. I want to go over it with you as soon as we're finished. I think you'll be pleased by some of the evidence we have.”
“I'm sure I will. Okay, Sandro, Mike, I'll talk to you.”
“Yeah. See you in court,” Mike said. They all hung up.
Sandro swiveled in the chair and buzzed Elizabeth.
“Yes, sir?”
“Dr. Travers gave us the name of a Dr. Waxman who was on duty in the prison ward the night Alvarado went there from the Tombs. Call him and arrange an appointment at his earliest convenience.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And send to the weather bureau and get a copy of the weather report for last July third. I know it was raining that day, but I'll need the official weather report for court.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And remind me in about two days that Sam Bemer has to send over some answering papers on the motion for a special panel.”
“Yes, sir. Do you want some tea?”
“No, we're going to the Athletic Club to get a massage. If you need me, call me there. After that we'll be investigating over in Delancey.”
“You have the Joseph Train case on in Part Thirty in the morning.”
“I'll handle that before I come to the office.” It was a burglary case.
“Yes, sir.”
Sandro turned back to his desk.
“I don't know why the hell I'm taking you to an athletic club,” said Sandro.
“I hope they have boxing gloves there,” said Mike. “I'll paste that fine Roman schnoz of yours all over your face.” They laughed as Sandro started a quick glance through the papers on his desk. The intercom buzzed again.
“Yes?”
“It's Robert Soto on seventy-four, sir.”
“Soto,” Sandro said to Mike. “Get on the other phone. When I count three, we both pick up.” Mike went back to his post.
“Ready?”
“Yeah,” Mike answered, nodding.
“One, two, three.” They raised the receivers.
“Hello?” said Sandro.
“Hello, Mr. Luca. I'm at work, a phone booth outside. I wanted to call you because I think I know a girl who lived in the same building where the cop was killed. She moved now, but she's a friend of my wife. And she was talking to my wife, and she said she knows something about this case.”
“You know that fellow Salerno you told me about,” Sandro interjected. “He was in jail the day the cop was killed.”
There was no sound on the other end. “I'm just trying to help,” Soto explained. “I can't help a guy acts funny. I'm just trying to tell you everything I hear. I didn't know.”
“Okay. Who is this other woman? What's her name?”
“I think she's called Concepcion. She's a friend of my wife,” Soto repeated.
“Was she at the station house that night?”
“I didn't see her when I was there.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
“I'm going to find out for you. I thought if you could come over to my house, I'd get the information, and I'd go with you to her house.”
“Fine. Let's see when I can make it.” Sandro looked at his appointment book.
“And then, remember,” Soto added, “you said once that maybe you and me, we'd go speak to some of the witnesses so that I could translate for you, or something?”
Sandro thought for a moment. He could remember no such conversation. “Yes?” he said tentatively. He glanced in to Mike. Mike shrugged, shaking his head.
“Well, maybe we could do that, too, when you come here,” said Soto. “I've got some time. I could go with you.”
Sandro still remembered no such conversation. “Perhaps we could do that,” he said, stalling. Mike was riffling through a small notebook he had pulled from his pocket and was now gesturing to Sandro.
“We could, ah, maybe talk to some, I don't know, witnesses, something like that, you said. Can you come over to my house tonight? About eight o'clock?”
“Can you hold it just one minute, Robert. I've got another call coming in. I'll just tell them I'll call back.” Sandro pushed the Hold button, and Mike hung up.
“Do you know what the hell he's talking about?” Sandro asked.
“There's nothing in my notes about that,” Mike answered. “There's something fishy. I don't trust this guy.”
“I can't figure him out.” Suddenly, Sandro felt a flush of anger. “I'll be a son of a bitch!”
“What?” Mike asked.
“I'll lay my life on a bet that this little bastard in his dumb way is trying to pump
me
for information.”
“How come?”
“I don't know, but he's fishing for something. Let's not keep him waiting too long.”
They picked up their phones.
“Now, where were we?” Sandro asked calmly. “Oh, yes, about getting together to do that investigating. I'm not sure I can make it tonight, Robert. I'm all tied up.”
“Well, er, maybe you can make it tomorrow night?”
Sandro's mind was working logically again. If it's information he wants, Sandro thought, that's just what he'll get. “I'll have to call you on it, Robert. You see, I'm so jammed up with work trying to get some kind of defense for Alvarado that I can't even see straight. I'm trying to find an alibi for him, find some people who might know where he was the day of the killing. But I can't find a single person, not a single one, to testify for him.”
He looked over to Mike. Mike nodded approvingly.
“You see,” Sandro belabored it as much as he dared, “I haven't been able to find one person who can testify where Alvarado was the day of the killing. I'm very worried, and I'm trying desperately to find some kind of story I can tell the court when we have the trial. Right now it looks impossible. I haven't any alibi. But I need your help, too. You've been terrific till now. I'll call you the minute I get a break. Then I'll come over, and we can see this woman you're talking about, okay?”
“I guess so. When do you think you can make it?”
“I'll call you, Robert. Perhaps the beginning of next week. Meanwhile, if you hear anything else, please let me know right away, okay? It's very important to Alvarado.”
“Okay.” They hung up.
“I never liked that little fink,” Mike said.
“What would you say if I told you that's Mullaly's work?” Sandro asked quietly.
Mike took that in. “Sure,” he said at last.
“Soto's working both sides of the street. No wonder he acted funny when we wanted to take a statement from his wife. Did you notice that?” Sandro asked.
“Yeah. That fink, spic bastard.”
At another time Sandro would have laughed.
“I thought he was just worried about her being involved. He was afraid she'd let something slip.” Sandro sat in his chair, staring at Mike.
“That's the explanation for that crazy Salerno story!” Mike exclaimed. “How about the rest of it?”
“Mullaly. Feeding us bullshit. Every time we see Soto, he runs and tells Mullaly.”
“Son of a bitch,” Mike said. “That Mullaly has been screwing us good.”
“That's his job. He's not dedicated to making our life easier.”
“Listen, Sandro, I know cops, and he's doing a job all right. On us. Every rock we look under, he crawls out. All the pawnshops. He put a hold on all the stolen goods, the signature cards. You didn't see him take that stuff to headquarters for evidence. He's just leaving it there to rot. He's screwing around with this case.”
“If he really wanted to screw around, he could take the evidence and destroy it.”
“But then it'd look worse if anyone found out,” Mike countered. “And he knows Hernandez's alibi, knows he wasn't on Stanton Street when Lauria was killed. And these false leads he's throwing us.”
“He's outmaneuvered us, that's all. We'll have to try harder.”
“No. I don't buy it. Mullaly's trying too hard, you know? He's over there all the timeâSoto told us and Mrs. Salerno and even Hernandez's wifeâtalking, investigating. It's not the only case he's got.”
“It's probably the only cop-killing.”
Mike looked at Sandro with exasperation. “Will you stop, already? He's breaking his stones for some reason, and it's not his job.”
“Let me see your notes from the first night we spoke to Soto,” Sandro said abruptly. Mike handed him the notebook.
“There. That's what I'm looking for,” Sandro said, sliding the book to Mike. Mike read where Sandro pointed.
“I wrote here that an Italian girl was at the station house, and she said she saw Alvarado on the fire escape.”
“That's right. That was before Mullaly got into the fantasy game and started filling Soto's head.”
“How do you know when Mullaly got into this game?”
“We saw Soto the first time about three days before the arraignment. See, the date on the notes is August second. About two weeks later, I went to the station house and told Mullaly I was going to knock some holes in this case. Now look at the date for the next time we saw Soto. August thirty-first! He called to say he'd been going around gathering information for us. And he even told us he had been talking to Mullaly.”
“So, what's that prove?”
“Come on, Mike. You're my Sherlock. Part of Soto's story still stands up. The first part he told us. Mullaly just shoveled bullshit on top of it. So we've still got to cover the Italian woman, and Asunta, and all the rest, just like it's all for real. Nothing has changed, except we'll be a little more careful.” Mike didn't look mollified.
“At least Soto is still working for us,” Sandro said.
“He's what?”
“Passing on information. If he runs to Mullaly with the story that we still haven't got an alibi, we've hurt them more than they've hurt us. Cheer up, things could be worse.”