The Hidden Man (19 page)

“How ya been, buddy?” Joel and I hadn’t been particularly close, having just met when I was added to the
Almundo
defense team. But you get to spend a decent amount of time with a guy in the heat of trial, and Joel was one of those who could command a room with his stories. Many a late night, prepping for tomorrow’s day of trial, Lightner would have us in stitches.

He’d come to Talia’s and Emily’s funeral and even called one time a month after, asking about lunch. But it didn’t happen, and we hadn’t talked since.

“Riley told me you resurfaced at your own shop. He was sorry to see you go. You didn’t have to, you know. I mean, after
Almundo
? You were a rock star at that firm.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Change of scenery, I guess.” There were times when I second-guessed my decision to leave Shaker, Riley. I hadn’t been around to hear the verdict in the case but I have no doubt that Paul Riley took many a victory lap through the office. How often does a public official beat the rap on federal corruption charges? But I couldn’t imagine working within those walls again. It would be a constant reminder of old failings.

I paced around the conference room, trying to find the proper introduction to the tale I had to tell.

“Try the beginning,” Lightner suggested.

“Okay.” I exhaled a long, nervous breath. “You’re never going to believe this.”

“About five years back,” he said. “We’re tailing a cheating spouse. One of my guys is working it, but he’s sick, so I cover for him. I see the guy with the woman. They’re in the kitchen of this lady’s house. I’ve got the telephoto lens and I’m snapping away. Then the guy drops down, disappears out of camera shot. I’m figuring, okay, this is something kinky, maybe he’s sucking her toes or something, because she’s just standing there shouting something at him.” He shook his head. “He wasn’t sucking her toes. He was eating dog food out of a bowl.”

I took another breath. “There are some people—a guy named Smith, not his real name—who are very interested in the outcome of a murder trial I’m handling. So interested, Joel, that they set up my brother for an arrest on gun and drug charges, and now they’re holding it over my head. They say if I don’t do what I’m told, my brother goes down. If I behave, they’ll find a way to clear him.”

Lightner, who had begun writing, stood perfectly still. “Okay, that beats the Puppy Chow story.”

I laid it all out for him, from Audrey Cutler’s abduction to Griffin Perlini, to Sammy’s arrest, to my visit to Mrs. Perlini and the discovery of the bodies, to my visit with my old neighbor, Mrs. Thomas, to everything I knew about Smith, to Pete’s arrest.

Joel was a good listener. It was his job. He didn’t interrupt, only jotting notes on his pad to save for the end.
Listen and learn
, a quality he knew well. When I was finally done, over an hour later, Joel leafed through his notes.

“Best bet, Smith is representing one of Perlini’s victims. Someone who’s very happy that Perlini got what was coming to him and doesn’t want Sammy Cutler to pay the price.”

I nodded. “Maybe a victim we know, maybe not. We know of four people who complained against him, and Audrey Cutler makes five victims. But there are obviously more—the four kids buried behind that school. And he’s a pedophile, so he probably had a continuous stream of victims.”

“Bottom line, it’s one of his victims, or their families, but we don’t know who. Okay.” Joel scribbled something on his pad. He seemed to be enjoying the mental exercise. If he didn’t, he was in the wrong business. “So here’s a question, Jason. If these guys are so interested in the outcome of this case—”

“Then why did they wait until one month before his trial to show up? And why are they so concerned about this trial happening on schedule? So much so that they’re willing to go to such drastic measures. I mean, this is bizarre, Joel.”

“Right. Right. Timing. Timing is a question.”

It was
the
question. These guys took their sweet time in getting involved, but suddenly time was of the essence, even if it deprived Sammy’s lawyer of sufficient time to prepare.

Joel said, “It makes me wonder—”

“If maybe they
don’t
want him acquitted.”

Joel looked at me. “It makes me wonder if you’re going to stop finishing my sentences.”

I laughed. “Sorry, man. I’m bouncing off the walls here.”

“No problem. But you’re right, Jason. If they’re willing to bankroll a defense and apparently do whatever it takes to help Sammy, why be sticklers about timing?”

It brought me back to a previous thought. “I’m wondering if Smith is representing the person who killed Perlini, and they want to control the defense to make sure nobody discovers who that is. They offer to help me, and maybe they mean it. They don’t care if Sammy can beat the case—they just want to make sure they’re not implicated. The more time I have, the more likely I’ll figure it out. So they hand this to me at the last minute and dole out assignments to make sure I’m not looking under certain rocks.”

“That works.” Joel popped a mint in his mouth. “Fine with them if Sammy beats the rap, but the principal concern is that they’re not discovered.” He nodded at me. “So, Counselor, does that mean you have an innocent client?”

Sammy hadn’t directly told me one way or the other, I told Joel, but he’d certainly implied that he’d killed Griffin Perlini. I’d followed the tried-and-true path of the criminal defense attorney who doesn’t ask the million-dollar question.

“Maybe you should,” Lightner suggested.

He was right. Sammy and I would need to have a heart-to-heart.

“So tell me about Smith,” Lightner said.

“I think he’s a lawyer,” I ventured. “The way he talked.”

“He said a lot of words that don’t mean anything? Lied to your face?”

I was in no mood to trade wisecracks, but I felt reassurance amid Lightner’s calm.

“Well, he’s obviously intelligent,” I said, “so I ruled out a cop.”

Lightner winked at me. It felt good, some humor in the face of everything.

“The way he talked,” I explained. “From day one. He talked about ‘noticing up a motion,’ and ‘presenting’ a motion, and the ‘empty chair.’ Phrases lawyers use. And he seems to have a pretty good handle on how to engineer a criminal defense.”

“Okay, so Smith is a lawyer. That it?”

So far, it was. If I could figure out how to find this guy, I was a long way to where I needed to be.

“Then let’s talk about your brother.”

“John Dixon—J.D.—is the guy who’d sell to Pete,” I said. “I need his record, his address, anything you can get. Then there’s this other guy, ‘Mace.’ Only know the nickname.”

“J.D., I can handle. Mace will be tough.” Lightner made a note. “Especially if he’s this cop’s CI.”

“Yeah, but how confidential can he be?” I asked. “They’re going to have to disclose his name to me in discovery.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Lightner thought about that. “So why do you need me? You’ll get his info, and J.D.’s info, too. If you want it now, do a
Brady
motion.”

Joel was right. The defense had the absolute right to receive all relevant information from the prosecution. I already had drafted the motion requesting it. But I’d decided against filing it, at least for the time being.

Joel was also right to wonder why I wanted this information beforehand—before I officially requested it. He was putting one and one together, and it was looking a lot like two: He was concerned that I might be seeking this information about J.D. under the radar because I had plans for that gentleman that exceeded the boundaries of the law.

“Listen, Jason. You lost your family, and now your brother’s ass is on the line, too. You’re scared, justifiably so. But you should let someone else handle the case for your brother, and you should let go of it completely. Don’t try to play hero for your brother.”

“He needs a hero,” I said.

“Then someone else can do it. Hell, ask Riley. I’ll bet he’d be happy to help you out with Pete.”

He was right, of course. Under the best of circumstances, I should think twice about handling a case for Sammy, much less my brother. And these were not exactly the best circumstances.

“I need names, addresses, and criminal backgrounds,” I said again. “Please, Joel.”

Lightner thought about further protest but ultimately conceded. “How do you know Smith isn’t bluffing? He sees your brother get pinched; he decides to take credit for it.”

I’d considered that possibility. But the timing made me think otherwise. “He comes into my office issuing ultimatums, I tell him to go scratch, he tells me I’ll change my mind, and the next night my brother’s being accused of selling uncut rock cocaine and running guns?”

“I guess.” Lightner couldn’t argue with the logic. “I’ll take a look at this cop, DePrizio. Maybe he’s with them. Or maybe it’s just the CI, Mace.”

Right. It could have worked either way. If somehow Smith’s people owned a cop, the whole thing would be easy. If not, they could get hold of someone like Mace, who would contact DePrizio and tell him he had a buyer. DePrizio could have thought the whole thing was legit. I didn’t know. But I could try to find out.

“These guys are following me, Joel. That’s why we’re not meeting in my office. We need to keep our communications under the radar.”

Lightner looked concerned. I ignored his look, but Joel isn’t one to hold back. “I can help you out however you need, Jason, but look. It’s bad enough you’re representing an old friend. But your brother, too? It can skew your priorities, is all I’m saying. You’ve got a long career ahead of you, and whenever you feel the urge, you could have a dozen law firms vying for your services. After
Almundo
? You’re a star. I’d hate to see you throw it all away.”

I waved Joel off, but we both knew he was making sense. I obviously wanted information on the people involved with Pete’s case without making a formal, official request. I wanted maximum flexibility in how I dealt with these customers. I wasn’t planning on letting legal boundaries limit my actions. I needed Joel Lightner’s covert assistance, but I couldn’t let him get too close to what I was doing.

“You own a gun, Jason?”

I laughed. “You think I need one?”

He didn’t answer. Maybe that was part of the reason he asked, a concern for my ability to defend myself if things got hairy. But I suspected there was another reason, too, and it was that other reason that prompted his frown. It was a serious question that deserved, but would not receive, a serious answer.

The answer was yes, I did own a gun. And no, I’d never used it. But yes, I knew how. I’d taken some training along with some other ACAs when I was a prosecutor.

And yes, I’d be willing to use it, but I didn’t mention that to Lightner.

25

I
TURNED TO MY COMPUTER and finished drafting a motion I would file in Sammy’s case. It was a motion for expedited DNA testing of the four bodies found behind Hardigan Elementary School. In the alternative to expedited testing, I would ask for a continuance of the trial until DNA testing could be completed. That continuance, any veteran attorney like Smith would know, could last up to six months, maybe even a year. This ran directly against Smith’s adamant desire that the trial proceed as scheduled.

Then I ran through the list of Griffin Perlini’s known victims, in particular the two for whom Perlini went to prison. I made a couple of calls to set up meetings. This, too, ran counter to Smith’s instructions.

I wasn’t wasting any time testing the limits of my leverage.

I noticed that Shauna was in, which wasn’t unusual for a late Sunday afternoon. As a one-person shop, she had to handle the business end of things, too, and she often came in on the weekend to handle payroll, revenue projections, and other nonlegal tasks. I walked down the hall to her office and poked my head in. She was on the phone, so I waited, as Shauna spoke authoritatively to a client, assuring them that she was giving it hard to the “idiots” on the other side of the litigation. Clients like it when you call the other side disparaging names. It shows an attorney’s investment in the case.

When she got off the phone, I closed the door behind me.

“I need your help, Shauna,” I said.

I SPENT the evening at home with Pete. We ordered in pizza and drank cheap beer. Pete was wearing one of my sweatshirts, too large for him, and a haggard expression. His sleepy, bloodshot eyes kept drifting off, maybe thinking back to the arrest, or thinking forward to many years in the pen.

I was kicking around what to tell him. He’d told me he thought he’d been set up, and now I had information that he was probably right. What good would it do to tell him what I knew? On the other hand, he had a right to know.

We ate mostly in silence, Pete enjoying the comfort of my house, contrasted with the jail cell. He was placing his faith in me. He was making the assumption that I’d come to his rescue, the big brother with the Midas touch, not realizing that I was probably the reason for his problems in the first place.