Wild Justice (7 page)

16 Every weekday morning Carleton Swindell rowed the Willamette, then showered at his athletic club. His hair was still a tad damp when he entered the anteroom of his office at seven-thirty sharp a few days after Vincent Cardoni s bail hearing. As soon as the hospital administrator walked in the door, Sean McCarthy stood up and displayed his badge. I hope you don t mind my waiting in here, Dr. Swindell, McCarthy said while Swindell inspected his identification. There wasn t anyone around. No problem, Detective. My secretary doesn t get in until eight. McCarthy followed Swindell into the administrator s office. Diplomas from several prestigious universities, including a medical degree and a master s in public health from Emory University, were prominently displayed next to photographs of Swindell posing with President Clinton, Oregon s two senators and several other dignitaries. A tennis trophy and two plaques for rowing victories graced a credenza under a large picture window with a view of downtown Portland, the Willamette River and three snow-capped mountains. McCarthy did not see any family photographs. I don t have any overdue parking tickets, do I? I wish it were that simple. I assume you know that one of the doctors at your hospital has been charged with murder. Swindell s smile disappeared. Vincent Cardoni. He shook his head. It s unbelievable. The whole hospital s been talking about nothing else. So you were surprised by the arrest. Swindell looked thoughtful. Why don t you sit down? he said as he walked around his desk. When he was seated, Swindell swiveled toward his view, leaned back and steepled his fingers. You asked if I m surprised. The type of crime a mass serial killing of course that shocks me. How could it not? But Dr. Cardoni has been a problem for this hospital since we hired him. Oh? Swindell looked pensive. Your visit presents me with a problem. I m not certain I can discuss Dr. Cardoni with you. Confidentiality and all that. McCarthy took a document out of his inside jacket pocket and held it out across the desk. I had a judge issue a subpoena before I came. It s for Dr. Cardoni s records. Yes, well, I m sure it s in order. I ll have to have our attorneys review it. I ll expedite the matter, of course. Thank you. Shocking. The whole business. Swindell hesitated. May I speak off the record? Of course. Now, I don t have proof of anything I m going to tell you. It s what I believe you call deep background. McCarthy nodded, amused by the TV cop lingo. A week or so ago, Dr. Cardoni attacked Mary Sandowski, one of our nurses. Swindell shook his head. I read that she was one of the poor souls you found in that mountain graveyard. McCarthy nodded again. He s a violent man, Detective. Last year he was arrested for assault, and I ve had complaints of abusive behavior from our staff. And there are rumors of drug use. Swindell looked grim. We ve never substantiated the rumors, but I ve got a gut feeling that there is something to them. Another doctor who worked here was found in the graveyard. Ah, Clifford. Swindell sighed. You know, of course, that he was in danger of losing his privileges here? No, I didn t. Drinking, Swindell confided. The man was a hopeless alcoholic. Did Cardoni know Clifford Grant? I assume so. Dr. Grant was supervising Justine Castle s residency until we convinced him to take a leave of absence. Dr. Castle is married to Vincent. Interesting. Is there anything else that would tie Grant to Cardoni? Not that I can think of right now. McCarthy stood. Thank you, Dr. Swindell. Your information has been very helpful. And thank you for expediting the subpoenas. Swindell smiled at the detective and said, My pleasure. As soon as McCarthy was out of the office, Swindell phoned Records. He wanted to make sure that the police received anything on Cardoni as soon as possible. It was the least he could do to thank them for taking care of a very annoying problem. Walter Stoops made a living scrambling after personal injury clients and pleading out drunk drivers. Three years earlier Stoops had been suspended from the practice of law for six months for misusing client funds. Late last year the thinnest of technicalities had enabled him to avoid a count of money laundering when a Mexican drug ring was busted. Stoops practiced out of an office on the top floor of a run-down, three-story building near the freeway. The cramped reception area was barely big enough to accommodate the desk of the secretary/receptionist, a young woman with stringy brown hair and too much makeup. She looked up uncertainly when Bobby Vasquez stepped through the door. He guessed that Stoops did not have many clients. Could you please tell Mr. Stoops that Detective Robert Vasquez would like to talk to him? He flashed his badge and dropped into a chair beside a small table covered with year-old issues of People and Sports Illustrated. The young woman hurried through a door to her left, returned a moment later and showed Vasquez into an office not much larger than the reception room. Seated behind a scarred wooden desk was a fat man in a threadbare brown suit wearing tortoiseshell glasses with thick lenses. His sparse hair was combed sideways across the top of his head, and the collar of his white shirt was frayed. Stoops flashed Vasquez a nervous smile. Maggie says you re with the police. Yes, I am, Mr. Stoops. I d like to ask you a few questions in connection with an investigation that I m conducting. Mind if I sit? No, please, Stoops said, pointing to an empty chair. But if this is about one of my clients, I may not be able to help you, you understand, he said, trying hard to sound nonchalant. Sure. Just stop me if there s a problem, Vasquez answered with a smile as he pulled a stack of papers out of a briefcase he was carrying. Are you familiar with Northwest Realty, an Oregon corporation? Stoops s brow furrowed for a moment. Then a light went on. Northwest Realty. Sure. What about it? You re listed as the corporate agent. Would you mind telling me a little about the company? Stoops suddenly looked concerned. I m not certain I can do that. Attorney-client confidence, you know. I don t see the problem, Mr. Stoops. Vasquez thumbed through the printouts. For instance, it s public record that you purchased a three-acre lot in Milton County in 1990 for the company. Your name is on the deed. Well, yeah. Have you purchased any other property for the corporation? Uh, no, just that one. Can you tell me what this is about? What other things have you done for Northwest Realty besides buying the land in Milton County? Stoops twisted nervously in his chair. I m very uncomfortable discussing a client s business. I don t think I can continue unless you explain why you re asking these questions. That s fair, Vasquez answered cordially. He pulled two photographs out of his briefcase and tossed them on the blotter. The photos were upside-down for Stoops. He leaned forward, not yet processing what he was seeing. He reached out gingerly and rotated the snapshots. Then his face lost all color. Vasquez pointed to the photograph on the right. These heads were found in a refrigerator in the basement of the house you bought for Northwest Realty. Stoops s mouth worked, but no sound came out. Vasquez pointed at the other photo. This is a picture of a graveyard we found. It s a short distance from the house. There are nine corpses. Two of them were decapitated. All of these people were probably tortured in the basement room where we found the heads. Jesus, was all Stoops managed. He was sweating profusely. Why the fuck didn t you warn me? I didn t know if that was necessary. I thought you might have seen these bodies before. Stoops s eyes widened, and he bolted upright. Wait a second here. Wait one second. I read about this in the paper this morning. Oh, no. Now wait a minute. You can t come into my office and show me pictures like these. Let me ask you again: What can you tell me about Northwest Realty? The lawyer sank back in his chair. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped his brow. I ve got a heart condition. Did you know that? Stoops glanced at the photographs again, then pulled his eyes away. What did you think you were doing? Vasquez leaned forward. Let s not play games, Walter. I usually work narcotics. I know all about your arrangement with Javier Moreno. You re a fucking crook who got lucky. You owe one to the criminal justice system, and I m here to collect. Talk to me, now, or I ll bring you in as an accessory to murder. Stoops looked shocked. You can t think . . . Hey, this is bullshit. Vasquez stood up and took out his handcuffs. Walter Stoops, the law requires me to advise you that you have a right to remain silent. Anything you say Stoops held out his hands, palms out. Wait, wait. I wasn t involved in that, he said, pointing toward the photographs. I don t know a thing about these murders. I overreacted, that s all. It was a shock seeing those heads. I m gonna see the goddamn things in my sleep. Stoops wiped his brow again. Go ahead and ask your questions. Vasquez sat down, but he set the handcuffs on the desk where Stoops could see them. Who owns the Milton County property? I can t tell you. Vasquez reached for the cuffs. You don t understand, Stoops said desperately. I don t know who owns it. The guy contacted me by mail. I can t even say it s a guy. It could be a woman. The deal was that I was supposed to find rural property with a house on it. It had to be isolated. There was a whole list of conditions. I would have said no, but . . . Well, to be honest, I was in trouble with the IRS, and I was suspended for a while from practice, so there was hardly any money coming in. And, well, the price was right and there didn t seem to be anything wrong with what the buyer was asking. It was just a real-estate transaction. Where did the corporation come in? That was the buyer s idea. I was supposed to set one up and use it to buy the property. The deal was I would get cashier s checks, money orders and stuff like that to set up the corporation. Then I would send pictures and descriptions of properties I thought would work to a box number. When the client found a place he wanted, the corporation would buy it. It sounded peculiar, but it didn t sound illegal. That was the only transaction I was ever involved with for Northwest Realty. After I bought the land I never heard from the guy again. Does the name Dr. Vincent Cardoni mean anything to you? Just from the morning paper. Would you have any objection to my seeing your file on Northwest Realty? No, not now. Stoops stood up and opened a gray metal filing cabinet that stood in one corner of his office. He handed a file to Vasquez and sat down. Vasquez thumbed through the documents. The only thing that interested him were photocopies of cashier s checks and money orders, all in amounts less than ten thousand dollars, that added up to almost three hundred thousand dollars. The significance of the amount of each money order was obvious to anyone who dealt with drug dealers. Selling dope was easy; using the cash you got for it was the hard part. The Bank Secrecy Act required banks to report cash transactions of $10,000 or more and to keep records of individuals who engaged in such transactions. In order to avoid this problem drug dealers structured their cash transactions in amounts less than $10,000. Can I get a copy of the file? he asked. I can t give you copies of the correspondence, but I can give you everything else. Vasquez could have pressured him for copies of the few letters in the file, but there was nothing in them of use. All of the letters of instruction were unsigned and written on a computer. He settled for the rest of the file. Vasquez sat in the waiting room while Stoops s secretary brought the material down the hall to a copier. He was disappointed. He had counted on Stoops to link Cardoni to the land, but it looked as though Cardoni had covered his tracks. It probably didn t matter. There was overwhelming evidence against the surgeon. There were the items with his prints that had been found in the cabin and the videocassette that had been found in his house in Portland. Once the jury saw that videotape, Cardoni was dead. Still, Vasquez thought, it would have been nice to have another piece of evidence tying him to the killing ground.

17 Seven years ago a white grocery clerk had mistakenly accused Herb Cross, an African-American, of robbing a convenience store. Cross hired Frank Jaffe to represent him. When Frank s investigator failed to find witnesses to support Cross s alibi, Frank s client took matters into his own hands and used his contacts to track down the real robber. Frank was so impressed that he offered his client a job. I ll ask the questions, Cross instructed Amanda as they walked down the fifth-floor corridor of St. Francis Medical Center toward the conference room in the Department of Surgery where Justine Castle was waiting. You listen and take notes. If there s something you think I haven t covered, chime in when I m through. Our object today is to get as much information as possible from Dr. Castle, so let her talk. And don t defend Cardoni, no matter what she says. We want to see how she feels and what she knows. We re not here to convert her to our cause. Cross got no argument out of Amanda. She had never interviewed a witness before and was relieved that Herb would be doing the questioning. The windowless conference room was narrow and stuffy, and the air was permeated by the faint smell of sweat. A flickering fluorescent light fixture hung above shelves of medical books and journals. Justine Castle was sitting on one side of a conference table sipping a cup of black coffee. She had been in surgery for a good part of the afternoon, and Amanda thought that she looked worn out. Her hair was swept back in a ponytail, and she was not wearing makeup. I m Herb Cross, Frank Jaffe s investigator. We spoke on the phone. This is Amanda Jaffe. She s an attorney with the firm. We met at the Y, Amanda reminded Castle, who showed no sign of recognition. You were with Tony Fiori. Oh, yes, Castle answered dismissively. Tony s high school friend. The cold response surprised Amanda, but she did not show it. I want to thank you for seeing us, Dr. Castle, Herb said. I only agreed to see you to be polite, Mr. Cross. Nothing I say will help your client. Our divorce is not amicable, and I find Vincent repulsive. Yet you married him, Cross said. You must have seen something good in him. Justine smiled ruefully. Vincent can be charming when he s not coked up. Amanda and Cross sat opposite Dr. Castle. Amanda took out a pad and prepared to take notes. You ve read the newspaper account of the murders in Milton County, Herb began. Had Dr. Cardoni ever said or done anything that made you suspect that he was killing these people? Mr. Cross, if I had any idea that my husband had done something like that, I would have called the police immediately. Do you think he s capable of this type of violence? Vincent is a violent man, she answered without hesitation. I assume you know about my testimony in court. You testified that he beat you and raped you. It s not a far stretch from rape and assault to murder. The murders in Milton County were not acts of passion, Cross said. They were well-thought-out acts of sadism. Vincent is a sadist, Mr. Cross. The rape was very methodical. The beating was not administered in some sort of insane rage. Vincent looked very satisfied with himself when he was through. Dr. Cardoni denies raping or beating you. Of course he does. You don t expect him to admit it, do you? Did you report the rape to the police or seek medical assistance? Justine looked disgusted. You mean, can I prove Vincent raped me? It s my job to check the facts in a case. Let s not kid each other, Mr. Cross. It s your job to trick me into saying something that will help Vincent escape the punishment he deserves. But to answer your question, no, I did not report the rape or seek medical assistance. So it s Vincent s word against mine. That possibility does not intimidate me in the least. Dr. Castle, did you know that your husband owned a home in Milton County? The police asked me about that. If he does own that place, he never told me. Your divorce lawyer never ran across a reference to it or property owned by Northwest Realty when you were trying to discover Dr. Cardoni s assets? No. Did you know Dr. Clifford Grant? Justine s anger faded away and was replaced by a weary sadness. Poor Clifford, she said. He was my attending until the administration started taking his responsibilities away from him. Not that I can blame them. He couldn t stop drinking. That s why his wife left, and that made him drink even more. Then there was that incident in surgery. He almost killed a four-year-old boy. And yet I get the impression that you liked Dr. Grant. Justine shrugged. He was going through his divorce while he was supervising me. We went out for dinner every now and then. He trusted me and unburdened himself on occasion. She stopped talking, and her eyes grew distant. I can t help wondering if I m responsible for his death. Why would you say that? Vincent and Clifford didn t become friendly until we were engaged. The papers say that they were harvesting organs for the black market. I wonder if Clifford would have trusted Vincent if I hadn t brought them together. What can you tell us about the incident with Mary Sandowski? Cross asked. I was there when he attacked her. The poor woman was speechless with fright. He had her by the arm and he was screaming at her. Do you know why he was so angry? Mary told me that Vincent screwed up during an operation and became furious with her when she tried to warn him. I m certain she was right. Why is that? I saw Vincent s eyes. He was coked to the gills. What s your husband s reputation among the other doctors at St. Francis? I can t speak for them. If you want gossip, you might want to talk to Carleton Swindell, the hospital administrator. I do know that the Board of Medical Examiners is looking into several complaints of malpractice that are probably legitimate. If it was up to me I would never let him in an operating room. I think he s a drug addict and an incompetent. He s also rich, isn t he? Justine raised an eyebrow suspiciously. What if he is? I don t want to offend you, Dr. Castle, but isn t it true that you d come away from the divorce with a lot of property and money if your husband is convicted of murder? Justine pushed away from the table and stood up. Anything I take out of this marriage I ve earned, believe me. And now I m afraid that I have to end this interview. I ve been working since early this morning and I need to get some rest. What do you think? Amanda asked as they headed toward the elevator. I think that Dr. Justine Castle is one pissed-off lady. Wouldn t you be if you were the victim of rape and assault? Then you believe her? Amanda was going to answer when she noticed Tony Fiori walking toward them. He was wearing green surgical scrubs under a white coat that looked as though it had never been washed. Scraps of paper poked out of the jacket s bulging pockets. Tony! Fiori looked puzzled for a moment. Then he smiled. Hey, Amanda. What are you doing up here? We just finished interviewing a witness in a case. This is Herb Cross, our investigator. Herb, this is Dr. Tony Fiori, an old friend from high school. Herb shook Tony s hand. Do you have time for a cup of coffee? Tony asked Amanda. I got bumped out of the OR by an emergency and I ve still got half an hour before I have to be back. I don t know, Amanda said hesitantly, looking at Cross. That s fine, the investigator replied. You re sure you don t need me? I m just going back to the office to write my report. We ll catch up later. Okay, then. I ll see you at the office. She turned to Tony. I can use a caffeine fix. Let s go. It was raining when Amanda and Tony walked outside. They sprinted across the street to Starbucks, and Amanda found a table while Tony ordered for them. One grande skinny caramel latte, he said, placing the drink in front of Amanda. That looks like regular coffee, Amanda said, pointing to Tony s cup. Hey, I m a barbarian. What can I say? Amanda laughed. It s strange we don t see each other for years, and now we bump into each other twice in less than a month. It s fate, Tony answered with an easy smile. You look like you re working hard. Like the proverbial dog. Fortunately, my senior resident is a good guy, so it s not as bad as it could be. What are you doing? I ve been on the surgical intensive care rotation for two months, but I ve been doing elective surgeries for the past two days hernias, appendectomies. It s two-for-one day today. Let me take out your appendix and I ll remove your spleen for free. No, thanks, Amanda answered with a laugh. I gave at the office. Tony took a long drink of coffee. Man, I needed that. I ve been at it since six this morning without a break. I m glad I came along. Tony leaned back and studied Amanda. You know what I remember about you? he asked with a smile. The swimming. You were so great at the state meet my senior year, and you were only a freshman. Did you keep it up in college? All four years. How d you do? Pretty well. I won the two hundred free in the PAC-Ten my junior and senior years and placed at nationals. Impressive. Did you try for the Olympics? Yeah, but I never really had a chance to make the team. There were three or four girls who could kick my butt on my best day. To tell you the truth, I was burnt out by my senior year. I didn t swim at all when I was at law school. I m just getting back to it now. Where did you go to law school? NYU. The last two years I had a clerkship at the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals in San Francisco. You went to Colgate, right? Only for a year. My dad died and it hit me hard. Tony s eyes grew moist, and he looked down at the table. Now Amanda remembered. Dominic Fiori had been Frank s law partner. He was raising Tony after a bitter divorce. During winter break of Amanda s sophomore year in high school, Dominic had died in a fire. The sudden death of a parent was bound to be traumatic. Anyway, I dropped out for a while and bummed around Europe and South America for a year after that, he continued in a subdued tone. Then I was a ski instructor in Colorado for a while before I got my act together and went back to school at Boulder. My grades weren t good enough for an American medical school, so I ended up in Peru. I took some tests when I graduated and was accepted at St. Francis for my residency. That s a tough road. Tony shrugged. I guess, he answered, looking a little embarrassed. So you were interviewing Justine for your case? he asked, changing the subject. How did you know? I have amazing psychic powers. Also, I read the papers. Your father and Cardoni have been all over the news since they found those heads. Tony was suddenly serious. You know, I was there when Cardoni had his run-in with Sandowski. No, I didn t. Did he really decapitate her? Amanda s legal training reared its head. I can t really talk about that. Sorry, I didn t mean to be nosy. It s just . . . I knew em both. He shook himself, as if trying to clear away an unpleasant image. Amanda hesitated, then made a decision. I guess I can tell you. It ll come out at the trial anyway. There s a videotape of Mary Sandowski being killed. Whoever did it operated on her while she was conscious. She shivered. You re probably used to seeing people in pain, but I ve never seen anything like that. I haven t seen anything like that either, Amanda. A doctor tries to ease suffering. I d have been just as upset as you. Tony glanced up at the clock on the wall. I m going to have to get back. He hesitated. Uh, look, he asked nervously, do you want to get together sometime? You know, dinner, a movie? Amanda flashed a reassuring smile. Sure. I d like that. Tony grinned. Great. Give me your number. Amanda took out a business card and wrote her home number on the back. Tony stood up. Don t rush off, he told her. Finish your latte. I ll call soon. Amanda watched Tony duck into the rain and jog back toward the hospital. She wondered if he d really call. It would be tough giving up an evening in the library to go to dinner with a drop-dead gorgeous doctor, but Amanda believed she was woman enough to make the sacrifice. And she sent us on our way, Herb Cross told Frank Jaffe as he concluded his account of the Justine Castle interview. What was your opinion of her? Frank asked. Cross slouched in the client chair in Frank s office and stared at the West Hills through the window at Frank s back while he gathered his thoughts. She s very bright and very dangerous. She hates our client and will do everything she can to put him on death row if she s called as a witness. Cardoni thinks she set him up. Cross looked surprised. He thinks Castle is a serial killer? That s what he says. She s a surgeon, she knew Grant. Cross looked skeptical. I don t buy it either, Frank said, but we have to worry about Castle. I need to know if there s some way to get to her if she testifies. Go to the jail. Talk to our client. Get as much background on her as you can, then go after her.