Accused: A Rosato & Associates Novel (6 page)

Mary squeezed her eyes shut. “Nervous.”

“How nervous?”

“Very.” Mary opened her eyes. “Wrong answer, right?”

“No, truthful. So you’re just not sure.”

“Right.” Mary brightened. It was good to be understood even when you were crazy, which is why there were best friends and psychiatrists. “I’m not sure. I feel unsure.”

“It’s natural to be unsure before such a big decision. I’m sure nobody walks down the aisle a hundred percent sure.”

“I did, with Mike.”

“You did?”

“Totally.” Mary could remember the day she married Mike. She had been so happy and excited, a sunny sky of a person. Her family had cried like babies, which was how she knew they were really happy, the line between joy and agony being hair-thin with the DiNunzio family. The Tonys, Mike’s family, and the entire neighborhood had been there, since Mary was the Girl Who Made Good. Mike had been an elementary school teacher, and his third-grade class had come to the church, giggling and fidgeting. She’d felt blessed and happy, and thinking about it now, she fell silent, mulling it over.

“Okay, well, that aside, how unsure are you now? Quantify it.”

“Like a percentage?”

Yep.” Judy nodded, sipping her coffee, and Mary felt oddly as if she were describing symptoms to a doctor.

“I’m 50 percent sure, and 50 percent unsure.”

“Yikes.” Judy grimaced.

“I know. I can’t help it.” Mary rubbed her forehead. “I couldn’t say no.”

“I get that. So what now?”

“I said yes, and I’m hoping my feelings will catch up, like my nervousness will go away.”

“You didn’t set a date, did you?”

“No.” Mary had avoided doing that, and as soon as the possibility of sex came up, Anthony forgot about wedding plans. “Honestly, that would feel like a deadline. A trial date.”

“Ugh. That’s not good.”

“I know.”

“All right, don’t worry. You want to hear what I think?” Judy eyed her with a sympathetic smile.

“Tell me, doc. What’s your diagnosis?”

“The fact is, you’re a baby-steps kind of girl. You take things slow, you
process.
I’ve known you forever, and you’ve always been that way. And coming right after becoming a partner, getting engaged is too much. You overloaded.”

“You think?” Mary straightened up.

“I know.”

“That’s sounds right.” Mary felt her heart ease, just a little. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I am. If you don’t start to feel more sure, as time goes on, you shouldn’t go through with it.”

“No?”

“No.”

Mary sensed she was asking permission, even from Judy, but it was nice to have the assist. “When do I make the call?”

“Not yet. Take your time.”

“Do I tell him?”

“Don’t, no. Let it cool. Chill.”

“Right, agree.”

“Trust yourself. You haven’t made any wrong moves yet.” Judy reached out and squeezed her arm. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Mary went to the sink, turned on the faucet, and poured some water into a styrofoam cup. She sipped it, and it tasted like styrofoam, but it wasn’t the cup. Philadelphia water tasted like styrofoam when it came out of the tap. In fact, styrofoam improved the taste of Philadelphia water.

“Also, I thought about that meeting with the Gardners, and I think you were right. We should meet the parents before we go forward.”

“Good.” Mary had thought about it, too, and decided she was right. “It’s good to play nice.”

“So I hear. That’s why I dressed so boring, in case we can see them today.” Judy gestured in disgust at her perfect outfit. “Look at me, in white and blue. I’m so nautical, I’m practically a yacht.”

Mary smiled. “They’re probably too busy to see us, him being a captain of industry.”

“A mogul’s work is never done.”

“We’ll have to call Allegra, to make sure she’s okay with it.” Mary’s phone started ringing. “This will be my parents, screaming with joy.”

“Put it on speaker.” Judy grinned. “I love to hear them happy. It adds years to my life.”

Mary slid her phone from her blazer pocket and hit the speaker button.

But it wasn’t her parents at all.

Chapter Seven

“Ms. DiNunzio?” said a man’s voice, which was too stern and authoritative to be anything but a bill collector.

“If you’re calling again about the Verizon bill, I told you, I paid it.”

“Am I speaking with Mary DiNunzio?”

“You guys always pull this. I never give any information over the phone, and I’m supposed to be on a do-not-call list.” Mary set the phone down on the counter to show Judy what a badass she had become overnight, coincidentally the same night she said yes to a marriage proposal when she really meant to say maybe. “You’re just bullies, and you picked on the wrong girl.”

Judy shot her a thumbs-up.

“Ms. DiNunzio, excuse me, this is John Gardner, Allegra’s father.”

Gulp.
“Oh, sorry.” Mary cringed, and Judy’s eyes flared. “I didn’t realize, here, I have you on speaker. Mr. Gardner, I’m here with Judy—”

“Call me John. I understand your law firm is representing Allegra.”

“Yes, and we were about to call to set up a meeting with you.”

“Excellent. How about today? I’m at the house, and you can come here. I’d like to keep this away from my offices in town, which as you probably know, are at the Delaware River Complex.”

Mary did know. That was where Fiona was murdered, which was why the Philadelphia police had jurisdiction and the trial was in Common Pleas Court, here. She caught Judy’s eye. “Perfect, when are you free? We’d like to meet with your wife as well.”

“Of course, she’ll be there.”

“And Allegra?”

“Yes. We live in Townsend. When can you get here?”

Mary looked at Judy, who nodded, so she answered, “We can leave now. How long does it take from the city?”

“An hour and a half, at this time of day.”

Mary would have to get her car, too. “We’ll leave right away, and be there in two hours. We’ll talk with Allegra first to ascertain that she’s okay with our meeting with you.”

“Of course she is. She’s our daughter.”

“I understand that, but she’s our client.”

John paused. “Frankly, we’d like to meet you without Allegra.”

“Why?” Mary asked, and Judy shook her head, no.

“We feel that we can speak more freely. We don’t want to upset her any more than she already is.”

Mary didn’t like the sound of it. “She didn’t seem upset to us.”

“Allow me to suggest that her mother and I know her slightly better than you do.”

Mary didn’t like the new edge to his tone, either. “We’ll meet with her first and discuss this with her. It will be her decision.”

“We’ll sort this out when you get here. Our address is 947 Springhill Lane. Buzz at the gate and look for the sign that says Houyhnhnm Farm.”

Mary thought the word sounded familiar, then realized it was from
Gulliver’s Travels.
She couldn’t begin to spell it. She’d recognize the sign because it would look like Greek.

“Call if you get lost, which is very easy to do. My cell number is 610-555-0363, but I may be on a conference call. If you can’t reach me, my wife Jane’s cell is 555-0364 and Allegra’s is 555-0365.”

“Will do. Thanks so much, see you soon. Good-bye, now.” Mary pressed End Call, troubled. “Tell you something interesting.”

“What?”

“The cell number that he gave us for Allegra is different from the one she gave me yesterday. Hold on, let me see if I’m right.” Mary scrolled to her address book to double-check, and confirmed what she remembered. “I am. So Allegra has two cell phones.”

“She’s baller, for a middle-schooler.” Judy set down her coffee. “Let’s go. I’ll get my notes on the file. I made some when I copied it.”

“Good idea. We’ll take my car. It’s cleaner.”

“You got that right.”

Half an hour later, Mary had called Allegra but hadn’t been able to reach her, so she’d left a message, picked up the car, and hopped on the expressway heading west, speeding out of the city in Mary’s blue BMW 325, which replaced Mike’s ancient green BMW 2002. She stopped driving the green one only after it turned 100,000 miles, and even so, she couldn’t junk it, but left it parked on the street, moving it occasionally so the Parking Authority didn’t tag it as abandoned. Sometimes she found notes on the car windshield, offering to buy it, but she never responded. Mike had loved that car, and she couldn’t bring herself to sell it. She wasn’t the most insightful woman on the planet, but even she knew Mike’s old BMW was all bollixed up with Anthony, the proposal, and the meatball ring.

“Okay, I’ll brief you on the way, since you’re a partner now.”

“Sounds good,” Mary told her, coming out of her reverie. The expressway was clear and sunny, the sky a bold blue over the Schuylkill River to their right, and on its far bank stood a line of brightly-painted Victorian boathouses, flying bright pennants that flapped in the gusts. Crews rowed past in sculls as long and skinny as toothpicks, and Mary couldn’t understand why Bennie loved to row, when you could so easily drown.

“I’ll take you through the trial, it’s cut short by the guilty plea, when the jury was dismissed. Prosecution calls nine witnesses, defense calls two.”

Mary hit the gas. “Who was Stall’s lawyer? Was he a public defender?”

“No, a private lawyer. I never heard of him. Bob Brandt.”

“Never heard of him either. Was he court-appointed?”

“No.”

“So they went out of the system. Too bad.” Mary knew that Philadelphia had a fairly decent system for representing indigent murder defendants, in that 80 percent would get a well-qualified lawyer appointed by the court, and the remainder went to the Public Defender’s Office, which was staffed with experienced and committed criminal defense lawyers.

“His firm is the Law Offices of Bob Brandt.” Judy slid her iPhone from her purse and hit a few keys on the touch screen. “Here’s Brandt’s website. It doesn’t say he practices criminal law except DUI.” She pinched the screen to enlarge it. “He looks young, even now. Five years ago, he must have been very young. Went to Temple Law and Penn State. Okay, so he graduated law school three years before he tried Stall’s case. Wanna bet it was practically his first murder case?”

Mary was already thinking they could attack the conviction based on ineffective assistance of counsel. It was a tough argument to win, but the law was that if trial counsel was incompetent and his incompetence made the difference between conviction and acquittal, Stall could get a new trial. Mary asked, “Who was in for the D.A.?”

“The district attorney himself. Mean Mel Bount.”

“For real?” Mary looked over.

“Of course. It’s so high-profile, a résumé case. I read that Mel’s about to run for governor. Bet it helps to have a check from the Gardner clan. Okay, here we go.” Judy scanned the legal pad on her lap. “Day one of the trial. The Commonwealth’s opening is that Stall was seen by three witnesses running from the building and was caught by the guests with blood on his shirt and hands. He was distraught and scared. He had to be tackled and tried to get away. He had a cut on his hand consistent with a knife that’s slick with blood, common in knife murders. His blood, hair, and skin cells are found on Fiona’s body. When the cops come, he asks immediately for a lawyer.”

Mary kept her eyes on the road. She wasn’t Pollyanna enough to think that race didn’t matter, but she wasn’t jumping to any conclusions. “You know that Philadelphia juries tend to be mostly African-American.”

“True, and blacks can be racists, too.”

Mary let it go.

“First Commonwealth witness is the arresting cop who testifies that Stall is five foot ten and right-handed, and that he asks for a lawyer, even before his interview.”

“Did they videotape the interview?”

“Such as it was, yes. The cop testifies about the knife wound found on Stall’s right hand, and he is right-handed. After the cop, the second witness is the coroner, who testifies that Fiona’s death occurred from a single stab wound through the heart, from a slight downward angle, as if from a taller person, probably right-handed.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Right. Also he testifies that the wound looks like it was made by a common kitchen knife, though the weapon was never recovered. He also says that the knife wound on Stall’s hand was made by the same knife, and here’s where he also says it’s common in knife murders for the killer to get cut. Gruesome.”

“Really.”

“Yep, and hold that thought. The third witness is a blood expert who says that the blood found on Stall’s shirt, hands, and under his nails was Fiona’s blood type, which is Type O. By the way, Stall’s type is A, so by process of deduction it’s not his.”

Mary switched to the fast lane, bypassing the traffic backing up at the Montgomery Drive exit.

“Blood expert also says that it’s Stall’s blood on Fiona’s shirt, presumably from the cut on his hand. Still day one, fourth witness is a DNA expert, who says he has a match on the blood on Stall’s shirt, and it is Fiona’s.”

“So they got her blood on him, and his blood on her.”

“Yep. Plus, DNA expert also testifies that they find Stall’s DNA on Fiona’s clothes, in the form of skin cells and hair.”

“Hair ID’s not that reliable.”

“It’s just icing. The cake? They find his saliva in her mouth, identified by DNA.”

Mary groaned. “No sexual assault though.”

“No.”

“Thank God. Did you see whether Brandt scored any points on cross?”

“No, I didn’t have time to read the trial transcripts.” Judy flipped to the next page of her pad. “Second day. Three witnesses testified that they saw Stall hurry up a back stair to the small conference room where she was killed, minutes before she was killed, and one saw him come back down again. They pick him out of a lineup, which appears to be properly conducted.”

“They’re not really eyewitnesses. They didn’t see the crime.”

“True, and still, even properly conducted eyewitness IDs are suspect. And also, keep in mind, that this one is cross-racial.”

“What does that matter?” Mary glanced over, intrigued.

“There’s cases that say that cross-racial IDs are especially unreliable. White people can’t tell black people apart, and black people can’t tell white people apart.”