“Who’s a vegetarian—you or Mickey?”
“He is. And for two and a half years now, I’ve been trying to get the toxins out of my life and diet.” Catch Talbot stopped. “Now, wait a minute, you don’t think Mickey could …”
“What would you say Mickey’s attitude was toward Corey Lyle?”
“Unmitigated adoration.”
“Which puts him in a tough situation now, since he’s testifying against Lyle.”
“
Against
him? That’s not possible. There’s no way on earth Mickey would ever—”
“The government may have made him an offer he couldn’t resist. Or they may have pressured him into it. Either way, he still would want Lyle to get off. Which gives him a motive to make that call to Mrs. Talbot. And to kidnap your son.”
“No way.” Catch Talbot shook his head. “Mickey Williams and I are
friends
.”
Cardozo observed Talbot. He saw a man who was exhausted and frightened, a man whose defenses were coming apart and whose emotions were beginning to sluice through the cracks. A man who—like a million others in times of stress—clung to the familiar: old habits, old convictions, old friends.
“Would you happen to know where your old pal Mickey is living at the moment?”
“At the moment?” Talbot considered. “I don’t recall.” He glanced at his watch. “But I could ask my secretary.”
Cardozo pushed the phone across the desk. “Dial nine.”
Talbot phoned Seattle. “Peggy? It’s me. What’s the most recent address we have for Mickey Williams?” After a moment he reached for a ballpoint and pad. “You’re sure? Thanks. Talk to you later.” He hung up the phone and jotted. “Scandinavian Seamen’s Residence, Fifteen White Street.”
“White Street, New York?”
“Seattle. He lived there during the suit. Then he came to New York.”
“Where in New York?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why did he come here?”
“Because a dying friend was asking for him.”
“I don’t suppose that dying friend was John Briar?”
“It was, and I’ve seen the news reports. But the Mickey I knew was a decent guy and a man of honor. He’d never harm another human being—let alone a dying old man or a defenseless child.”
After reading Mickey Williams’s criminal record, Cardozo found Talbot’s faith hard to swallow. But he didn’t mention the record. It was better to hold out some hope. “Have you thought of checking whether the precincts and hospitals have any record of Toby?”
Talbot made another notation on the scratch pad, pocketed the sheet of paper, and pushed quickly to his feet. “Incidentally, I haven’t been able to get hold of Kyra’s sister—Anne Bingham. Have you?”
Cardozo glanced up. “Anne Bingham is Kyra Talbot’s sister?”
“Her twin sister.”
“Miss or Mrs.?”
“Mrs.”
“Would you excuse me just a second? I’ll get those hospitals for you.”
Cardozo stopped by Greg Monteleone’s desk in the squad room. “Check out any charge cards belonging to a Mrs. Anne Bingham, 118 East Eighty-first Street. And while you’re at it, check out Kyra Talbot’s.”
Greg scowled. “How do you spell
Kyra
!”
Cardozo spelled it. “And do me a favor. I’m sending Catch Talbot to check out hospitals. Keep an eye on him. Discreetly. He’s in worse shape than he realizes.”
THIRTY
12:40 P.M.
“M
RS. LOPEZ,” TESS DIANGELI
asked, “two years before you became an agent for the government, did you bring your seven-year-old daughter into the Corey Lyle cult?”
Yolanda Lopez sat with her head angled down. “I did.”
“Why?”
“Lisa had emotional problems. She needed a father. I felt Corey could help.”
“Would it be fair to say that at the time Lisa joined the cult, you trusted Corey Lyle?”
Yolanda Lopez nodded. “With my life.”
“And after your daughter joined, did your trust continue?”
“I began to have doubts when he separated Lisa and me. He said Lisa needed the open air—so he moved her to John Briar’s estate in Connecticut. I stayed in New York in cult headquarters.”
“When did you next see your daughter?”
“A year later.”
“Where was this?”
“In the burn center at St. Vincent’s Hospital in Manhattan.”
“Objection.” Dotson Elihu shoved wearily to his feet. “Irrelevant.”
“Your Honor, the People will demonstrate relevance.”
“Overruled.”
DiAngeli turned to the witness. “Why was your daughter in the burn center?”
“Because she wore a belt of explosives into the IRS building. The explosive leaked and she got third-degree burns over a quarter of her body.”
“Who instructed her to wear the belt?”
“Objection. Relevance.”
DiAngeli whirled. “Your Honor, this goes straight to the character of the accused.”
“Overruled. Witness may answer the question.”
Yolanda Lopez’s gaze pinned the defendant. “Corey Lyle told Lisa to wear the belt or she wouldn’t get to heaven.”
“Objection. Hearsay.”
“Ms. diAngeli,” the judge said, “lay a foundation or I’ll have to sustain.”
“
They’re near death
.” The voice resonating from the tiny tape recorder filled the courtroom like a genie from a bottle. “
We have to keep a vigil over them. We want his wife to live forty-eight hours longer than him.
”
Tess diAngeli stopped the machine. “Mrs. Lopez, do you recognize the tape?”
“Yes. I recorded it August tenth.”
“Do you recognize the woman’s voice on that tape?”
“It’s my voice.”
“Who were you speaking with when you recorded that tape?”
“With Corey and Mickey Williams.”
“And whose was the last voice we heard?”
“That was Corey.”
“Did Corey Lyle tell you the names of the elderly couple who were near death?”
“John and Amalia Briar.”
“Objection!” Dotson Elihu leaped to his feet. “Those names are nowhere mentioned on that tape!”
“Overruled. The witness may testify from her memory.”
Tess diAngeli approached the witness box. Her voice became compassionate and caring. “Mrs. Lopez, could you tell the court what happened on Labor Day weekend following this conversation?”
“Corey told me and Mickey to come to the Briars’ apartment midnight Friday. He said the Briars’ maid had to go to Pakistan for a family funeral, and he didn’t want them to be alone.”
“Did you know at that time if there was any plan on the part of Corey Lyle and Mickey Williams to kill John and Amalia Briar?”
“At that time I knew there was a plan that the Briars had to die before September fifteenth.”
“Objection.” Dotson Elihu stood. “No such plan has been established.”
“Your Honor.” Tess diAngeli appealed to the bench. “People’s exhibit demonstrates—”
“A hope,” Elihu cut in, “is not a plan.”
“Objection overruled.” Judge Bernheim glowered. “Mr. Elihu, you’ll get your chance in cross.”
DiAngeli faced her witness. “Mrs. Lopez, how did you get into the apartment?”
“Corey let us in.”
“Were John and Amalia Briar alive when you arrived?”
“Yes.”
“Did Corey Lyle give you specific instructions at that time?”
“He told Mickey to sit with John, and he told me to sit with Amalia. He told us to feed them carrot puree and carrot juice.”
“Did you hear Corey Lyle give Mickey Williams any other instructions?”
“No. Corey took Mickey into John’s bedroom. I didn’t go with them.”
“Did he leave you and Mickey Williams in the apartment?”
“Yes. He left us at two
A.M.
”
“Were the Briars alive when he left?”
“Amalia was. I don’t know about John.”
“When did you next see John Briar?”
“Around seven
A.M.
I heard Mickey chanting in the living room. He sounded crazy, so I—”
“Objection.” Elihu jumped up. “Conclusion. This witness is not an expert. Not remotely.”
“Sustained, but Mr. Elihu, spare us your footnotes.”
“When did you next see John Briar?” diAngeli repeated.
“Around seven
A.M.
I went to John’s bedroom to make sure he was all right, and …” She faltered.
“And what condition was John Briar in when you found him?”
“He was lying on the floor.” Yolanda Lopez drew in a long breath. “Dead. I could see there’d been a fight, and I knew Corey had somehow flipped Mickey out.”
“Objection!” Dotson Elihu rose shouting. “This kind of tabloid conjecture by a paid government
informer
has no more place in a court of law than outright perjury!”
Yolanda Lopez crumpled against the partition of the witness box. A stir passed through the spectators’ benches.
“Your Honor,” diAngeli cried, “would the bench instruct my colleague to temper his attacks on this witness? She’s been through a horrible ordeal.”
Judge Bernheim whispered to the bailiff. He helped Yolanda Lopez to her feet and guided her out of the court.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Judge Bernheim said, “it sometimes happens that witnesses do become overexcited or collapse during direct or cross-examination. This is not to affect your standards of judgment in evaluating their testimony.”
Little West Twelfth Street looked like a bomb-testing site. Most of the storefronts were boarded up. Skeletonized car wrecks lined the curbs.
Cardozo found number 526, a four-story brick tenement with peeling blue paint. A timber buttress running from the cobbled gutter braced an ominous second-story hernia. A hand-lettered card spelling
SPOOK BOUTIQUE
had been shoved partway into one of the buzzer slots. He pressed the button.
The steel door opened with a ratchety buzz. A moldy smell floated in the air. He took the dark, narrow staircase two flights up till he saw light.
A tinkling bead curtain swayed at the end of the landing. He stepped through and looked around him. A poster solicited funds for the Corey Lyle Defense Fund:
FOR THE LOVE OF LIBERTY, CONTRIBUTE!
Electronic gear was arranged in glass cabinets. Bookshelves lined two walls. He took down a book:
Spooking Big Sam
—
How to Find Out if He’s Spooking You and What to Do About It.
The door behind him closed. He wheeled around.
A short, heavyset woman with close-cropped, iron-gray hair stood smack in his path. She must have been hiding behind the door. “Help you?”
He replaced the book on the shelf. “Who’s Big Sam?”
“The hybrid progeny of Uncle Sam and Big Brother.” Her tone was mild, matter-of-fact. Her T-shirt said:
LET GO AND LET GOD.
Cardozo took his time making a selection. He could feel the clerk watching him and he didn’t want it to look random. He bypassed books on crystals and past-life therapy and chose
Freak the Fiend: Establish and Document Your Alternate Identity and Drive Big Sam Bonkers.
The clerk rang the book up on the computerized cash register. “With a ten percent discount for hardcover, that comes to twenty-four seventy-five.”
Cardozo realized his NYPD shield would get him nowhere in this environment. He took out his Visa card. “And I’d like to make a contribution to the Corey Lyle Defense Fund. Twenty dollars. Can you put it on the card?”
“Can do.”
“I’ll make that forty dollars,” Cardozo said, “if you can give me some information.”
Suspicious eyes fixed on him. “What kind of information?”
“A man by the name of Catch Talbot made a twenty-four-hundred-dollar purchase from you last Wednesday. Would you by any chance recall the gentleman?”
“Sorry. Wednesday’s my day off.”
“Could you tell me what he bought?” Cardozo gave her the order number.
The clerk went to the bead curtain and glanced into the hallway. She sat at the computer. She punched up a file and searched the data. “Mitchelson Medusa-type microminiaturized solid state block-defeater with redirecting capability. Bell and Howard signal inverter.”
“What’s a signal inverter?”
“Disguises the voice.”
“And a block-defeater?”
Her eyes flicked up. “It bypasses blocked telephone lines and redirects caller I.D. to a false number or no number at all.”
Which, Cardozo reflected, might explain how Kyra Talbot got her threatening phone call and why there was no record of it. “Could I see Mr. Talbot’s order?”
The clerk pressed a key on the computer and a small dot-matrix printer spat out a length of two-inch-wide tape.
Cardozo studied the print. It was almost too faint to make out. “Does this say
head cleaner
!”
“Triple-X VCR head cleaner.” She tapped the display case where several pale blue canisters had been piled in a pyramid.
He crouched to read the label.
A deep inhalation is required to clean the head. Saturdate cloth and apply to nose and mouth. Do not use paper towel.
“Saturdate?” he said.
“They’re from Mexico.” She winked. “The government doesn’t allow us to sell chloroform.”
“After you found John Briar dead,” Tess diAngeli said, “what were your actions?”
Yolanda Lopez, back in the witness box after a half-hour absence, looked drained and exhausted. “I locked myself into Amalia’s room. I phoned the BATF. A machine answered. I left a message. But it was a holiday weekend—so I phoned 911. They said an ambulance would be over in twenty minutes. I waited an hour and phoned again. They said the ambulance had come and no one was at the address. So I went to the police. I told them John Briar was dead and Amalia was in danger.”
“Did the police help you?”
Yolanda Lopez shook her head. “Sergeant Bailey phoned the apartment. She spoke with a man who said he was John Briar. He said he was fine. She spoke with Amalia, and Amalia was fine too. So there was nothing the police could do.”
There was a flurry of movement at the defense table. “Your Honor!” Elihu sprang to his feet. “I demand that you declare an immediate mistrial! John Briar was alive and spoke to the police a good twelve hours
after
the time the People’s coroner has alleged he died. The People have been in possession of this evidence and they have knowingly withheld it.”