Wild Justice (5 page)

11 Milton County sheriff Clark Mills, a sleepy-eyed man with shaggy brown hair and a thick mustache, struggled valiantly to maintain his composure when Vasquez showed him the severed heads. Both belonged to white women. One head was oval in shape and covered with blond hair that was stiff and stringy from the extreme cold. It leaned against the interior wall of the refrigerator like a prop in a horror film. The second head was covered with brunette hair and leaned against the first. The eyes in both skulls had rolled back so far that the pupils had almost disappeared. The skin looked like a pale rubber compound created by a special-effects wizard and was ragged and uneven where the neck had been severed from the body. Jake Mullins, Mills s deputy, had blinked furiously for a few seconds before backing out of the room. The person who seemed the least affected by the horror in the refrigerator was Fred Scofield, the Milton County district attorney. Scofield, a heavy man tottering on the brink of obesity, had been in Vietnam and was a big-city DA before burning out and moving to the peace and seclusion of the mountain community of Cedar City. What should we do, Fred? the sheriff asked. Scofield was chewing on an unlit cigar and staring dispassionately at the heads. He turned his back to the refrigerator and addressed the shaken lawman. I think we should clear out of here so we don t mess up the crime scene. Then you should get on the horn and have the state police send a forensic team up here ASAP. They collected the deputy, whose complexion was as pale as the heads in the refrigerator. While Sheriff Mills phoned the state police and the deputy collapsed on the living room couch, Scofield led Bobby Vasquez outside onto the deck and lit up his cigar. The temperature was in the low thirties, but the cold country air was a welcome relief after the close, fetid smell in the makeshift operating room. What brought you to this house of horrors, Detective? Vasquez had worked on his story while waiting for the police, and he had it down pat. He figured he could get it past anyone if he could get it by the flinty district attorney. I ve been investigating an anonymous tip that a doctor named Vincent Cardoni was planning to sell two kilos of cocaine he had purchased from Martin Breach, a major narcotics dealer. I know who Breach is, Scofield said. The cocaine was supposed to be hidden in this house. I assume you corroborated this tip before barging into Dr. Cardoni s domicile? There was not much of a moon, but Scofield could see Vasquez s eyes in the light from the living room. He watched them carefully while Vasquez answered his question. The vice cop s gaze never wavered. Art Prochaska, Breach s lieutenant, was arrested recently by the DEA. I leaned on him, and he agreed to talk about Cardoni if I helped him with his federal case and kept him out of this one. But you re not keeping him out of it. No, sir. Not now. We re talking serial murders. That changes a lot of things. Scofield nodded, but Vasquez thought he saw a glimmer of skepticism in the older man s features. Prochaska confirmed that Cardoni had been buying small, personal-use quantities from one of Breach s dealers until a few weeks ago, when he suddenly asked for two kilos. Cardoni checked out, so Breach sold him the dope. Prochaska told me that the doctor had a buyer and the sale was going down today. Scofield s jaw dropped and he almost lost his cigar. You mean Cardoni and his buyer could be on their way here right now? I don t think so. I think we missed the sale. I searched everywhere. The only cocaine I found was the small amount in the refrigerator. Scofield puffed on his cigar thoughtfully. We just met, Detective. The only thing I know about you is that you re a sworn officer of the law. But I do know a thing or two about Martin Breach and Art Prochaska. Frankly, I am having a hard time believing that Prochaska would give any police officer the time of day, much less discuss Martin Breach s business. That s what happened, Mr. Scofield. Prochaska is going to deny everything. Probably, but it will be my word against his. The word of an experienced police officer against that of a scumbag dope dealer, Scofield reflected, nodding thoughtfully. Exactly. Scofield did not look like he was buying anything Vasquez was selling. Why didn t you put all of this information in an affidavit and present it to a judge, who could give you a warrant to search Dr. Cardoni s home? There wasn t time. Besides, I didn t need a warrant. I had exigent circumstances here, Vasquez said, naming one of the exceptions to the rule that searches must be conducted with a warrant. Prochaska said that the sale was going down today, but he didn t know when it was going down. I figured that I might miss the sale if I took the time to get a warrant. As it turned out, I missed it anyway. Why didn t you bring backup or call ahead to Sheriff Mills or the state police? I should have done all those things, Vasquez said, looking properly chagrined. It was bad judgment on my part to handle this alone. Scofield looked off into the forest. The only sound was the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. He puffed on his cigar. Then he broke the silence. I guess you know that I ll be prosecuting this mess right here in Cedar City and you re gonna be my star witness. Vasquez nodded. Do you want to add to anything you ve told me or correct anything you ve said? No, sir. All right, then, that s it. And I hope it is what happened, because this whole case will go down the toilet if I can t convince Judge Brody that he can rely on your word.

12 Sean McCarthy came to the crime scene because of an inquiry by Bobby Vasquez, who remembered that Cardoni had recently assaulted a nurse who had disappeared. McCarthy was forty-seven, meticulously dressed and as pale and cadaverous as the corpses that were the subject of his homicide investigations. The detective s red hair was spotted with gray, the freckles that dotted his alabaster skin were dull pink and his eyes were rimmed with dark circles. Detective McCarthy stood inches from the open refrigerator and gazed at the severed heads thoughtfully while Vasquez and Scofield looked on. Then he took out a stack of snapshots and raised a Polaroid to eye level. He studied it, then he studied the heads. McCarthy had shown none of the revulsion or shock expressed by the other officers who viewed the remains. Instead, his lips creased, forming a smile that was as enigmatic as it was out of place. When he was satisfied he closed the refrigerator door. Those fucking heads don t bother you? Vasquez asked. McCarthy did not answer the question. He glanced at the forensic experts who were photographing and measuring the basement room. Let s get out of here so these gentlemen can work undisturbed. McCarthy led Vasquez and Scofield upstairs and onto the deck. Vasquez was exhausted and wanted only to sleep. Scofield seemed edgy. McCarthy gazed at the morning sky for a moment, then held up one of the Polaroids so that Vasquez and Scofield could see it. One of the victims is Mary Sandowski. I don t know the identity of the other one. McCarthy was about to continue when a deputy emerged from one of the hiking trails that led into the forest. Sheriff, he called to Mills, who was conferring with two men at the side of the house. We found something. Ah, McCarthy said, I ve been expecting this. Expecting what? Vasquez asked, but the homicide detective set off after Mills and the deputies without answering. Vasquez looked at Scofield, who shrugged and followed the lanky detective into the woods. The men marched silently along a narrow trail. The sound of their footsteps was dulled by the thick dark soil. A loamy scent mixed with the smell of pine. A sign announced that the men were entering national forest; a quarter of a mile later, the trail bent right and they were suddenly in a clearing. A shovel was sticking out of a pile of dirt in the middle of the field. It looked like the earth had been turned recently, the deputy explained, so I got a shovel and came back out here. He stepped aside so that the other men could see his discovery. Vasquez walked over to the narrow hole that the deputy had dug. At the bottom was a human arm. Dr. Sally Grace, an assistant medical examiner, arrived shortly before the last of nine bodies was exhumed from the damp ground. All of the corpses were naked. Two were headless females. Of the remaining corpses, four were female, three were male and all but one appeared to be young. After a cursory examination, Grace informed the law enforcement officials gathered around her that, with the exception of the middle-aged male, all of the victims showed evidence of torture. Furthermore, Grace told them, one of the headless females had been ripped open from the breastbone to the abdomen and was missing her heart, and one of the males and another female had midline cuts from the area beneath the sternum to the pubic bone and were missing kidneys. While Dr. Grace talked, Vasquez studied the corpses. All of the victims seemed pathetically frail and defenseless. Their rib cages showed. Their shoulder blades looked sharp and visible under their translucent skin, more like wire hangers than bones. Vasquez wanted to do something to comfort the dead, like brushing off the clumps of dirt that clung to their pale skin or laying a blanket over them to keep them warm, but none of that would help now. When Dr. Grace finished her briefing, McCarthy wandered up and down the row of corpses. Vasquez watched him work. McCarthy gave eight of the bodies a cursory examination, but he squatted next to the seemingly untouched middle-aged male and withdrew another Polaroid from his jacket pocket. McCarthy glanced back and forth between the photograph and the corpse, then spent a few moments in deep thought. When he stood up he summoned the medical examiner. Vasquez could not hear what the detective said, but he watched Dr. Grace squat next to the corpse and examine the back of its neck. She beckoned McCarthy and he squatted next to her, nodding as she pointed to an area of the neck and gestured with her hands. Thank you, Dr. Grace, McCarthy said to the medical examiner. He stood up. Want to fill us in, Detective? Scofield asked, making it clear that he did not appreciate mysterious behavior in a fellow investigator. McCarthy started back toward the cabin. About a month ago, a detective from Montreal contacted me with information about an ailing Canadian millionaire who was negotiating with Martin Breach to secure a heart on the black market. Do you know who Breach is? Scofield and Vasquez nodded. We ve long suspected that Breach has a small but lucrative sideline: the sale of human organs on the black market to wealthy individuals who are unwilling to wait for a donor. We also suspected that the organs are frequently obtained from unwilling donors. The investigation in Canada included wiretaps. Dr. Clifford Grant was mentioned several times. He was a surgeon at St. Francis Medical Center. McCarthy showed them the photograph he had examined earlier, then nodded back toward the bodies. He s the middle-aged victim who bore no marks of torture. Scofield and Vasquez examined the picture, and they walked in silence for a while. When Scofield returned the photo the homicide detective continued. We put Grant under twenty-four-hour surveillance as soon as we learned he was going to be involved in harvesting the heart. A few evenings after we received the tip, Grant was observed picking up a cooler from a locker at the bus station and placing it in the trunk of his car. If the cooler contained the heart, Grant could not have been the person who harvested it. You ve only got a leeway of four to six hours between removing a heart and transplanting it into the body of the new recipient, and Grant was under constant surveillance. That meant that Grant had a partner. Cardoni, Vasquez said. Possibly. Scofield lit a cigar and took a few puffs. The smoke curled up and spread out until it disappeared. I was one of several officers who followed Grant to a private airfield. We observed Art Prochaska, Martin Breach s lieutenant, place an attachase in Grant s car. Grant spotted us and took off before giving Prochaska the cooler. A few days later his car was discovered at the long-term parking lot at the airport. And now we ve found Grant and the operating room where the organs were harvested, Vasquez said. And since we found Grant here, Scofield added, it s not much of a stretch to say that Grant s partner probably killed him. They walked in silence for a few moments. As they came in sight of the cabin, Vasquez put out his hand to stop McCarthy. I want to ask you a favor, he said. I want Breach, and I want Cardoni. I want to be part of this investigation. It was my case to begin with. I don t want to be cut out. What about it? McCarthy nodded thoughtfully. Let me talk to some people. I ll see what I can do.

13 Frank Jaffe was an excellent storyteller. Amanda s favorite tale was the account of her miraculous birth, which Frank told her for the first time on her fifth birthday during a visit to Beth Israel cemetery. It was terribly cold that afternoon, but Amanda didn t notice the raw wind or the stark gray and threatening sky, so intense was her concentration on the grave of Samantha Jaffe, born September 3, 1953, died March 10, 1974. The headstone was small because Frank had not been able to afford elegance when he purchased it. The grave lay beneath the swaying leafless branches of an ancient maple tree, third in from a narrow road that roamed through the graveyard. Frank had gazed with sad eyes at the headstone. Then he had looked down on his little girl. Amanda was all that was good in the world and the reason that Frank persevered. In his mid-twenties Frank had been tall and strong, but a single father who worked all day and struggled in law school each night needed more than strength and youth to keep from folding. You were born on March the tenth, Frank had begun, coincidentally the very same day as today, at three-oh-eight in the afternoon, which is almost the time it is now, in the year nineteen hundred and seventy-four. At three-oh-eight in the afternoon? Three-oh-eight on the dot, Frank assured her. Your mother was lying in a wide bed on soft white sheets. . . . How did she look? She was smiling a wonderful smile because she knew you were about to be born, and that smile made her look like an angel the most beautiful of angels. Except, of course, she didn t have wings yet. Did she get wings? Certainly. It was part of the bargain, but the angel and your mother did not make their bargain right away, so your mother had to wait for her wings. When did the angel come? She appeared in the hospital in your mother s room just as you were about to be born. Now, angels are usually invisible, but your mother could see this angel. Only my mother? Only your mother. And that was because she was so like an angel herself. What did the angel say? Samantha, she said, in a voice that sounded like a light rain falling, God is very lonely in heaven and he wants you to visit. Thank God for me, your mother said, but I am about to bring a wonderful baby girl into the world, so I must stay with her. God will be very sad to hear that, the angel replied. It can t be helped, your mother told the angel. My little girl is the most precious little girl in the world, and I love her to bits. I would be very sad myself if I couldn t be with her always. What happened then? The angel flew back to heaven and told God what your mother had said. As you can imagine, God was very sad. He even cried a few tears. But God is very smart and an idea occurred to him, so he sent the angel back to earth. Did the angel tell Mother God s idea? She certainly did. Would you come and visit God in heaven if you could be with your little girl always? she asked. Of course, your mother answered. She was a wonderful person and never liked to see anyone sad. God has an idea, the angel told your mother. If you will come with me right now, God will put your soul in your little girl, right next to her heart. Then you will be with her always. It will even be better than the way other mothers are with their children. You ll be with her everywhere she goes, even if she is at school or on the playground or on a trip. How wonderful, Samantha said, and she shook hands with the angel to seal the bargain. Then what happened? A miraculous thing. As you know, you can t get to heaven unless you die, so your mother died, but she didn t die until the second that you opened your mouth and took your first breath. When your mouth was its widest, the soul of Samantha Jaffe jumped right inside of you and went straight to a spot next to your heart. Which is where she is today? Which is where she is every minute of every day, Frank had answered, giving Amanda s hand a gentle squeeze. Amanda remembered the story of her miraculous birth every time she and Frank made their birthday pilgrimage to the cemetery. For years Amanda really believed that Samantha lived next to her heart. As a small girl, at night, snug in her bed, she talked to Samantha about the things daughters confide to their mothers. As a teenager, it became a ritual before she mounted the blocks in each swim meet for Amanda to press her fist against her heart and silently ask her mother for strength. Frank had never remarried, and an older Amanda wondered if her father really believed that Samantha dwelt with them. She had asked him once why he never married again. Frank told her that he had come close twice but had backed out in the end because neither woman could make him forget the love of his life. This saddened Amanda, because she wanted her father to be happy, but Frank always seemed at peace with himself, and she guessed that someone as strong as Frank would have married again if he had fallen in love. Frank s sacrifice, if it was one, also impressed upon Amanda the power of true love. The emotion was not something to be trifled with, and she did not give herself easily. Love was very serious business. It was, as she learned from her father s example, something that could truly last forever. Frank and Amanda had been lucky. A hard rain had fallen on the morning of March tenth, but it quit a little after noon and never resumed. The sun had even come out for a while when they were visiting Samantha s grave. As usual, Frank and Amanda were silent after leaving the cemetery. March tenth was always a hard day for both of them, and they used the drive home as a time to think. A Porsche was idling in their driveway. As soon as Frank pulled next to it, the door to the Porsche opened and Vincent Cardoni started toward them wearing loose-fitting sweatpants and a faded UCLA sweatshirt. He was six-two and well muscled, with long black hair combed back from a high forehead. Cardoni s jaw was square and his nose classically Roman, but his complexion was washed out and his cheeks were sunken, as if he was not eating properly. A hard edge showed in the doctor s eyes, and anger forced his lips into a tight line. There are cops at my house, Cardoni said as soon as Frank s door was open. It s a bit cold out here, Vince, Frank said with a friendly smile. Why don t we talk inside? Did you hear me, Frank? I said cops. More than one. I counted three cars. They were looking in the bushes around my house. The door was open. They were inside. If they re in your house, the damage is done. We ll need to discuss this calmly if I m going to repair it. I want those motherfuckers out of my house, now! Frank s face darkened when Cardoni swore. I don t believe I ve ever introduced you to my daughter. Amanda is a fine attorney. She s just finished a clerkship at the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals. That s a very prestigious job. Now she s lowered herself and is working in my firm. Amanda, this is Dr. Vincent Cardoni. He s a surgeon at St. Francis. Cardoni stared at Amanda as if seeing her for the first time. Pleased to meet you, Dr. Cardoni, Amanda said, extending her hand. Cardoni gripped her hand hard, and his eyes stayed on hers for a brief moment before sliding down her body. Amanda felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She released Cardoni s hand. His eyes held hers for a moment, then shifted back to her father. Let s go inside, Cardoni said in a tone that made the words sound more like an order than the acceptance of an invitation. Frank led the way, and the doctor followed. Amanda hung back to allow a bit of distance between her and Frank s client. Inside, Frank turned on the lights and escorted Cardoni into the living room, where he indicated a couch. Tell me what s going on, Frank said when they were all seated. I have no idea. I was out for a run in Forest Park. When I drove back, I saw cops swarming over my yard and my house. I didn t stop to ask them why. He paused for a moment. This can t have anything to do with the scrape you got me out of last year, can it? Doubtful. The case was dismissed with prejudice. Then what s going on? No use speculating. What s your phone number at home? Cardoni looked puzzled. I m going straight to the horse s mouth. The police are probably still at your house. I ll ask the man in charge what s going on. Cardoni rattled off his number, and Frank left the room. Amanda did not like being left alone with Cardoni, but he showed no interest in her. He fidgeted, then stood and began to pace around the living room, glancing briefly at the artwork and fingering curios. Cardoni walked behind Amanda and stopped moving. She waited for Cardoni to move again, but he did not. When she could not stand the stillness any longer, Amanda turned sideways on the sofa so she could see the surgeon. He was standing behind her, his eyes on the painting across the room from him. If he had been watching her, there was no way Amanda could prove it. We re going to drive over to your house, Vince, Frank said as he reentered the living room. Did they tell you what s going on? No. I spoke with Sean McCarthy, the detective in charge. He wouldn t answer any of my questions. Vince, Sean is a homicide detective. Homicide? Frank nodded, watching Cardoni for his reaction. Sean is a sharp cookie, very sharp. He said he wants to talk to you. When I hemmed and hawed, he threatened to get an arrest warrant. You re kidding. He sounded very serious. Is there something we need to worry about? I don t like walking a client into a meeting with a homicide detective when I m not fully prepared. Cardoni shook his head. Okay, then. Listen up. I have lost damn few cases, but when a client of mine has been convicted it is usually his mouth that s done him in. Do not speak unless I give you the okay, and when you do respond to questions, listen to what you re asked. Do not volunteer anything. Do you have that straight? Cardoni nodded. Then let s go. Frank turned to Amanda. I ll ride with Vincent. You follow in our car. On the ride to Cardoni s house, Amanda decided that she did not like Frank s client. She didn t appreciate the way he had moved his eyes over her when Frank had introduced her. It was unnerving to be examined so clinically, without lust or friendliness. The speed with which the doctor had switched off his anger while he studied her was also unsettling. However, Amanda s concerns about the doctor were quickly forgotten in the excitement of being included by Frank in what might be a murder investigation. Since joining Jaffe, Katz, Lehane and Brindisi, Amanda, like most first-year associates, had been given the jobs no one else wanted to do. She liked legal research, so she had not resented her time in the law library. But she really wanted to try cases, and the bigger the stakes, the better. She wasn t certain if Frank had asked her along because he wanted her involved in Cardoni s case or because he might need a ride home. She didn t care. Either way, she would be in at the start of a murder case. Cardoni lived in a sprawling yellow-and-white Dutch Colonial on half an acre of land shaded by beech, oak and cottonwood. When Amanda drove up she saw black-jacketed PPB officers scouring the grounds. Police cars were blocking the garage, so Cardoni parked his Porsche in the street and Amanda parked behind him. Sean McCarthy was waiting for them at the front door. Frank, McCarthy said with a smile. Good to see you again, Sean. This is Dr. Cardoni, and this is my daughter, Amanda. She s an attorney with my firm. McCarthy nodded to Amanda and extended a hand toward Cardoni, which the surgeon ignored. McCarthy seemed unconcerned about the rebuke. I apologize for the intrusion, Doctor. I ve given strict orders to my men to respect your property. If there s any damage, please notify me and I ll see that you re compensated. Cut the bullshit and get your men out of my house, Cardoni responded angrily. I can understand why you re upset, the detective answered politely. I d be too if I found strangers prowling through my home. McCarthy withdrew a document from his jacket and handed it to Frank. However, we do have court authorization to search. All I can promise is that we ll be out of your hair as soon as possible. Is that legal? Cardoni asked. I m afraid so, Frank answered after reading the search warrant. You have a very pleasant den. Why don t we go in there and talk? It will be warmer, and we won t be in the way of my men. That will speed up the search. Cardoni glared at the detective. Frank placed a hand on his arm and said, Let s get this over with, Vince. McCarthy led them down a hall and into a comfortable wood-paneled den where several other men waited. McCarthy introduced them. Frank, this is Bobby Vasquez. This is the Milton County sheriff, Clark Mills. And this is Fred Scofield, the Milton County district attorney. Gentlemen, this is Dr. Vincent Cardoni and his attorneys, Frank and Amanda Jaffe. Dr. Cardoni, why don t you have a chair? Thanks for inviting me to sit down in my own home, Cardoni replied. Amanda heard the edge in his voice but wasn t certain if it came from anger, fear or both. What s going on here, Sean? Frank asked. I ll answer you in a minute. First I d like to ask your client a few questions. Go ahead, Frank said to McCarthy. Then he turned to Cardoni and told him to wait to answer each question until after they consulted. Dr. Cardoni, do you know Dr. Clifford Grant? I believe he also practices at St. Francis. Cardoni and Frank leaned toward each other and had a whispered conversation. I know who Dr. Grant is, Cardoni said when they were through. I ve even spoken to him a few times. But I don t know him well. Do you know a woman named Mary Sandowski? Cardoni looked disgusted. He didn t bother consulting with Frank before answering. Is this about Sandowski? What happened? Did she swear out a complaint? No, sir. She didn t. Cardoni waited for more explanation. When it did not come, he answered McCarthy. I know her. In what capacity? She s a nurse at St. Francis. That s it? Vasquez pressed. The interruption seemed to annoy McCarthy. Cardoni s eyes swung slowly between the vice cop and McCarthy. Cardoni was so focused and tight that it made Amanda uneasy. What s going on here? the surgeon demanded. When was the last time you were at your cabin in Milton County, Dr. Cardoni? McCarthy asked. What the fuck are you talking about? I don t own a cabin in Milton County, and I m not going to play this game anymore. Either tell me why you re ransacking my home or get the fuck out. Frank raised his hand to quiet Cardoni. I m going to instruct my client not to answer any more questions until you explain the reason for them, he said. Fair enough, McCarthy replied. He walked over to a television and VCR that sat in a gap between books in a floor-to-ceiling
bookshelf and turned on the TV. There was a videocassette on top of the VCR. McCarthy took the cassette out of its case and put it in the machine. We found this cassette in your bedroom, Dr. Cardoni. I d be interested in your comments on the contents, if your attorney gives you permission to give them. It appears to have been shot in a basement room in a house in the mountains in Milton County. We found several items at the house that bore your fingerprints. One of the items is a scalpel that looks a lot like the scalpel you ll see on the tape. By the way, the cassette has already been dusted for prints, and yours are on it. So what? I have dozens of videocassettes in the house. Vincent, from this point on, I don t want you talking to anyone but me unless I say it s okay, Frank said. Understood? Cardoni nodded, but Amanda could see that he was upset by the restriction. McCarthy turned on the set and the VCR. Amanda noticed that none of the law enforcement officers was looking at the TV; they were all focused on Cardoni. A woman s terrified face filled the screen. She was saying something, but there was no sound on the tape. The camera panned down her naked body. She was gaunt, as if she had not eaten in days. The camera focused on her breasts and zoomed in on the woman s left nipple. It was flaccid. A gloved finger moved into view and stimulated the nipple until it became erect. The finger withdrew, and the woman s face filled the screen again. Suddenly her eyes grew impossibly wide and she screamed. Amanda froze. The woman screamed again and again. Then her eyes rolled back in her head and she passed out. The gloved hand slapped the woman s cheeks until she came around. She began to sob. The camera was still tight on her face, and Amanda could read her lips. They formed the word please, and she said it repeatedly as tears streamed down her cheeks. The camera moved, and the woman s face disappeared from the screen as it panned the surroundings. Amanda saw concrete walls, a sink, and a refrigerator. Then the camera returned to the woman. It pulled back and showed her from a side view. Blood was trickling down her heaving ribs. The camera shifted upward for a shot above the woman. There was a red puddle on her chest. The camera moved in. The nipple was missing. Amanda s breath caught. She squeezed her eyes shut, and only a great effort of will kept her together. When she was under control, Amanda opened her eyes, making sure that she was not looking at the screen. All the blood had drained from her father s face, but Cardoni s complexion had not changed. The detective switched off the set. Cardoni turned slowly until he was looking directly at McCarthy. Will you please tell me what the fuck that was all about? he asked in a hard, emotionless voice. Recognize the woman? the detective asked. Frank regained his composure. He reached out and grabbed Cardoni s forearm. Not a word. Then he stared at McCarthy. I thought better of you, Sean. This is a cheap trick, and this interview is at an end. McCarthy did not look surprised. I thought you d be interested in the type of person you re representing. Frank stood. He still looked shaky, but his voice was steady. I didn t see Dr. Cardoni in that horror movie. I assume you didn t either or you would have shown us a different segment. You ll receive full discovery, including a copy of this tape, at the appropriate time. McCarthy switched his attention to the doctor. Vincent Cardoni, I must inform you that you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford to retain an attorney, one will be appointed to represent you. Do you understand these rights? Cardoni stood up and glared at McCarthy. You can kiss my ass, he said slowly and distinctly. Frank stepped between his client and McCarthy. Are you arresting Dr. Cardoni? Sheriff Mills is placing Dr. Cardoni under arrest. Multnomah County may have its own charges in the near future. Is Dr. Cardoni charged with the murder of the woman on the tape? Frank pressed. Fred Scofield stood up and answered Frank. Sheriff Mills will be arresting Dr. Cardoni on the charge of murdering Mary Sandowski and for possession of cocaine, which was found in the doctor s bedroom, but I ll be going to a grand jury very soon to ask for indictments on eight other charges of aggravated murder. I anticipate that Dr. Cardoni will be spending a lot of time in Milton County in the near future. I d like you to step aside, Mr. Jaffe, Sheriff Mills said. We re going to cuff your client. Cardoni switched into a fighting stance. Vasquez reached for his weapon. Frank laid his hand on Cardoni s arm. Don t resist, Vince. I ll deal with this. Then deal with it. I m not going to jail. You have to. If you resist, it will make things worse. It could affect release, and it can be used against you at a trial. Amanda could see Cardoni processing this information. He relaxed instantly, again amazing Amanda at the speed with which he could change his emotions. Can I speak with my client in private for a few moments? Frank asked. McCarthy thought about the request, then nodded. You can do it in here, but I want Dr. Cardoni in handcuffs. Cardoni s hands were cuffed behind his back, and Sheriff Mills conducted a pat-down search of the prisoner. Do you need me? Amanda asked, trying to sound casual. It would be better if Dr. Cardoni and I talked alone. We ll only be a minute. No problem, Amanda answered, smiling to mask her disappointment. I m not going to pull any punches, Frank said as soon as the door closed. You re in a lot of trouble. Aggravated murder is the most serious crime you can face in Oregon. It carries a potential death sentence. For the first time Cardoni looked worried. Where are they going to take me? Probably to the Cedar City jail. How quickly can you get me out? I m not sure. There is no automatic bail in a murder case, and I don t want to move for a bail hearing until we re in the best position to get you out. I m not some car mechanic who can afford to sit around and collect unemployment. I m a physician. I have patients scheduled for surgery. I know, and I ll try to get the administration at St. Francis involved on your behalf. Those bastards won t help me. They ve been trying to get rid of me. This will give them their opening. Do you have any idea how long it takes to become a doctor? Do you know how hard I ve worked? You ve got to keep me out of jail. I m going to do everything I can, but I don t want to lie to you and build up your hopes. Scofield said that they were thinking of adding eight more counts of aggravated murder to the indictment. That could mean that they have eight other bodies. This is not going to be simple, like your assault case. Now listen to me. Following my instructions could save your life. I mean that literally. You will be in a police car and then the jail, where they will process you in. Do everything they tell you. Do not resist. But do not, under any circumstances, discuss this case with anyone. I m talking about cops, DAs and other prisoners, especially other prisoners. You re going to feel isolated and in need of a friend. There are going to be prisoners who will be your friend. They ll get you to feel comfortable. You ll unburden yourself to them. The next time you see your friend he will be testifying against you in exchange for having his case dropped. Do you understand what I just said? Cardoni nodded. Good. I ll be out to see you tomorrow. Try to think of people who can vouch for you at a bail hearing, and see if you can figure out why McCarthy wanted to know if you knew Dr. Clifford Grant. Frank laid a gentle hand on Cardoni s arm. One last thing, Vince. Don t give up hope. Cardoni looked directly into Frank Jaffe s eyes. His voice was steady and hard. I never give up, Frank, and I never forget, either. Someone has set me up. That means that someone is going to pay. So, Frank asked Amanda when they were alone in the car and headed home, what do you make of all that? Amanda had been very quiet since the videotape started to roll, and she was subdued when she answered Frank s question. The police seem pretty certain that Cardoni is guilty. What do you think? Amanda shivered. I don t like him, Dad. Any specific reason, or just your gut? His reactions aren t normal. Have you noticed that he switches emotions the way you and I switch TV channels? One second he s in a rage, the next he s cold as ice. Vince isn t Marcus Welby, MD. That s for sure. What was the other case you handled for him? An assault. Vince was trying to score some cocaine. Amanda s eyebrows raised. He was in a bar that doesn t usually cater to members of the medical profession. He also tried to score with someone s girlfriend. When the boyfriend objected, Vince beat him so badly that he had to be taken to the hospital. Fortunately for Vince the man was an ex-con, and no one in that type of bar has decent eyesight or much of a memory when it s the police asking the questions. The mention of violence made Amanda flash on Mary Sandowski s tearstained face. She felt a little dizzy and squeezed her eyes shut. Frank noticed that Amanda s face was drained of color. Are you okay? he asked. I was just thinking about that poor woman. I m sorry you had to see that. Amanda grew thoughtful. When I was a little girl, you never took me to court when you tried the really bad cases, did you? You were too young. You didn t even do it when I was in high school. I remember asking you about the Fong case and the one where the two girls were tortured, but you never seemed to have the time. You didn t need to hear about stuff like that at that age. You always did shelter me when I was growing up. You think it was easy for me raising a little girl by myself? Frank answered defensively. I always tried to figure out what your mother would have done, and I could never see Samantha letting me take an eleven-year-old to a rape trial. No, I don t suppose she would have, Amanda answered with a brief smile. Then she thought about the videotape again and grew somber. I guess it doesn t get much worse than what I just saw, she said. No, it doesn t. I never really understood what you did, until now. I mean I knew intellectually, but. . . There s nothing intellectual about criminal law, Amanda. There are no ivory towers, just tragedy and human beings at their worst. Why do you do it? Good question. Maybe because it is real. I d be bored silly closing real-estate deals or drawing up contracts. And every once in a while you do make a difference in some poor bastard s life. I ve represented a lot of very bad people, but I ve also freed two people from prison who were sentenced to death for crimes they didn t commit, and I ve kept people out of jail who didn t deserve to be there. I guess you can say that I spend a lot of my time in the shit, but every so often I come up with a pearl, and that makes the bad stuff worthwhile. You don t have to take every case, though. You can turn some away. Frank glanced at his daughter. Like this one, you mean? What if he s guilty? We don t know that. What if you knew beyond any doubt that Cardoni tortured that woman? How could you help a person who could do what we saw on that tape? Frank sighed. That s the question every criminal lawyer asks at some point in his or her career. I expect you ll be mulling it over while we work on this case. Those who decide they can t do it switch to some more refined type of law. Are there enough pearls to justify working for someone like Cardoni? Do you remember the McNab boy? Vaguely. I was in junior high school, wasn t I? Frank nodded. I fought that case and fought that case. He was convicted in the first trial. I cried after the verdict because I knew he was innocent. I wasn t experienced in handling death cases. I truly believed that the verdict was my fault. Guilt drove me, and I didn t stop until I d won the appeal and a new trial. The jury hung at the retrial. I couldn t sleep, I lost weight and I charged every moment that poor boy spent in jail to my soul. Then my investigator talked to Mario Rossi s mother. The snitch? Frank nodded. Rossi s testimony kept Terry McNab on death row for four years, but he confessed to his mother that he lied to get a deal for himself. When Rossi recanted, the prosecutor had to dismiss. Frank was silent for a moment. Amanda saw the color rise in his cheeks and his eyes water. When he spoke again, Amanda heard his voice catch. I can still remember that afternoon. We ended the hearing around four, and Terry s father and mother and I had to wait another hour for Terry to be processed out of jail. Terry looked stunned when he stepped outside. It was February and the sun had gone down, but the air was clear and crisp. When he stood on the steps of the jail Terry looked up at the stars. He just stood there, looking up. Then he took a deep breath. My plane didn t leave until the morning, so I was staying at a motel on the edge of town. Terry s folks invited me to dinner, but I begged off. I knew they were just being polite and that the family would much rather be alone. Besides, I was wrecked. I d left everything in the courtroom. Frank paused again. Do you know the thing I remember most about that day? It was the way I felt when I entered my motel room. I hadn t been alone until then, and the enormousness of what I had done had not sunk in. Four and a half years of fighting to do the right thing, the lost sleep, the tears and the frustration . . . I closed the door behind me and I stood in the middle of my motel room. I suddenly understood that it was over: I had won, and Terry would never have to spend another moment caged up. Amanda, I swear my soul rose out of my body at that moment. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back and felt my soul rise right up to the ceiling. It was only a moment, and then I was back on earth, but that feeling made every moment of those horrible four years worthwhile. You don t get that feeling doing anything else. Amanda remembered how she had felt when she heard Not guilty in LaTricia Sweet s case. It had been so heady to win, especially when she hadn t thought she would. Then Amanda remembered what she had seen on the tape, and she realized that there was no comparison between LaTricia Sweet s case and the murder of Mary Sandowski. LaTricia wasn t hurting anyone but herself. No one had to fear her after she was set free. It would be totally different to help free the person who tortured Mary Sandowski. Amanda had no doubt that her father meant what he had said. What she didn t know was whether she believed that the chance to save a few deserving people would ever be enough compensation for representing a monster who could coldly and cruelly cut the nipple off a