Blind Man's Alley (52 page)

Leah’s anger appeared genuine enough. “That’s an outrageous accusation.”

“Are you denying it?”

“I am absolutely denying it,” Leah said. Duncan thought she probably seemed convincing to someone who didn’t know she was lying.

“Did there come a time when you learned that your brother was being blackmailed?”

“No.”

Duncan tilted his head skeptically. “It’s your sworn testimony that you had no knowledge your brother was being blackmailed?”

Leah look was filled with contempt. “I understood I was under oath the first time I answered the question.”

“Isn’t it true, Ms. Roth, that Sean Fowler was killed because he was blackmailing your brother?”

“That’s an absurd question.”

“Please answer it, rather than giving your opinion on its merits.”

“I thought I had answered it by calling it absurd. No, it’s not true.”

Duncan wasn’t going to get anywhere by pressing the point. She’d made her denials, and that was what he was going to have to work with. It was time to shift tacks. “How did you first hear of Rafael Nazario?” he asked.

“I guess when I read in the paper about his getting arrested for murdering Mr. Fowler.”

“Didn’t you and I have a conversation about Rafael Nazario prior to the murder?”

Leah’s confusion looked real enough, Duncan thought. “Why would we have talked of Mr. Nazario?”

“I was handling his eviction case. You and I discussed it briefly the first time we spoke, and then at length the second time we spoke.”

Blake stood. “Your Honor, clearly the conversations in question were privileged.”

“I’m not disclosing anything relating to my representation of Ms. Roth or her company,” Duncan protested. “Just that she and I discussed, in broad strokes, my representation of Mr. Nazario.”

“I’ll allow it,” Judge Lasky said.

“I vaguely recall your mentioning something about a pro bono case,” Leah said. “All I remember about it was that you seemed to feel it was too small-time for you.”

All right, Duncan thought, left myself open for that one. He smiled slightly at Leah, acknowledging the blow. “Once Mr. Nazario had been accused of this crime, my then firm sought permission from you as to whether or not we could keep his case, correct?”

“That clearly gets into work product,” Blake objected.

“I’m going to allow it, at least in general terms,” Lasky said. “Especially in light of the conflict issue that arose, I think any work-product privilege has been vitiated.”

“Yes, I had a conversation with Mr. Blake about it.”

“And you originally gave Mr. Blake permission for his firm to take the case?”

“Yes, I did.”

“You instructed my firm to try to reach a quick plea bargain for Mr. Nazario, correct?”

Leah glanced over at Blake. “My only concern was that I didn’t want a lot of extraneous bad publicity to hobble the work we were doing at Jacob Riis. But I certainly didn’t offer any instruction as to legal strategy. Nor did I suggest that the firm do anything that wasn’t in your client’s best interest.”

“Did there come a time when you told Mr. Blake that you no longer wanted his firm to represent Mr. Nazario?”

Leah was growing increasingly uncomfortable, the pauses longer between each answer. “Yes,” she finally said.

“Why?”

“As Mr. Blake alluded to earlier, there were allegations regarding the security staff who were working at Jacob Riis relating to evictions that were taking place. Mr. Blake expressed concern about whether his firm could investigate that aspect of the case without the risk of creating a conflict with our company. If evidence emerged showing that Mr. Nazario’s eviction had been set up by security guards in our employ, he could potentially have had a lawsuit against us, for example.”

Bulllshit, of course, but not bullshit Duncan could disprove. “Do you have an understanding of the motive that has been alleged for why Mr. Nazario would want to kill Mr. Fowler?”

“I understand that it concerns the eviction.”

“Specifically, that Mr. Fowler had claimed to catch Mr. Nazario smoking marijuana, which led to the Nazario family facing eviction?”

“I don’t recall the details, but that sounds right.”

Duncan entered Candace Snow’s article about the Riis evictions into evidence, then presented a copy to Leah. “Did you read this article when it was published?”

“Yes,” Leah said. Duncan thought it was the first truthful answer she’d given in some time.

“Were the private security guards at Jacob Riis planting drugs on people?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“The fewer existing residents your company had to move back into the project, the more room there’d be for market-rate tenants, true?”

“It’s a good deal more complicated than that,” Leah said, shifting slightly in her seat. While Duncan knew this issue wasn’t directly relevant to Fowler’s murder, it was one where Leah had little plausible deniability.

“Did your company, Roth Properties, know that security guards were looking to cause people to be evicted from Jacob Riis?”

“I certainly did not. I can’t speak for my entire company. And I have no personal knowledge that our security guards did anything inappropriate. Just because something is printed in the newspaper doesn’t make it true.”

“After this article appeared, did you investigate the allegations in it?”

“I did not, no.”

“Did your company?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You didn’t think it was worth checking out?”

“We’ve had previous dealings with this particular reporter,” Leah said. “We know her to be unreliable and inaccurate.”

“The newspaper article quotes Riis residents accusing Mr. Fowler of being one of the security guards who planted drugs on people in order to secure their evictions?”

“I think that’s right.”

“Would you like a chance to review the article?”

Leah glanced over at the judge before looking back at Duncan. “There are accusations regarding Mr. Fowler, yes,” she said with a slight shrug.

“The city announced it was investigating the evictions in which the security guards were involved, correct?”

“I believe they did, though there haven’t been any charges or anything out of it.”

“In fact the city has suspended the pending evictions where the security guards had a role?”

“While they were looking into it, yes. I don’t think any final decision has been made.”

“Have you ever met Chris Driscoll?”

“Not that I recall.”

Duncan wondered if that could be true. He supposed it was possible: there was no reason to think Leah had actually sat down with Driscoll and hatched out a plan. “You do know that Chris Driscoll worked at the Aurora as a security guard, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re aware he is the state’s sole witness against Mr. Nazario?”

“I’m aware he saw the shooting,” Leah said. “I don’t know whether your characterization is correct.”

“Did you ever discuss Sean Fowler with Mr. Driscoll?”

“Like I said, to the best of my knowledge I’ve never had a conversation with Mr. Driscoll about anything.”

“But you do know, as you sit here today, that Chris Driscoll is not telling the truth when he claims to have seen Rafael Nazario shoot Sean Fowler?”

“I do not,” Leah said without hesitation. It wasn’t obvious by looking at her that she was lying, and Duncan assumed the judge didn’t think he was getting anywhere.

“Do you know a man named Darryl Loomis?”

“He’s the head of a private security company that does a lot of work for us. Sean Fowler was one of his employees.”

“Did you ever discuss my representation of Mr. Nazario with Mr. Loomis?”

“Yes. Your firm asked whether we objected to your representing Mr. Nazario on the murder charges and I in turn raised the issue with Mr. Loomis, given that Mr. Fowler was his employee.”

“You and Darryl Loomis ever discuss the fact that Sean Fowler was blackmailing your brother?”

Leah leaned her head back, as if repulsed by the question. “Of course not.”

“Isn’t it true that you and Mr. Loomis came up with a plan to kill Mr. Fowler and frame Mr. Nazario for the crime?”

“Absolutely not,” Leah said immediately, maintaining eye contact with Duncan.

“Are you aware that Darryl Loomis arranged to have Sean Fowler killed?”

“No. I don’t believe that he did.”

Blake stood. “Your Honor, what is the point of all this? The witness has repeatedly and emphatically denied every accusation that she has any knowledge relevant to the criminal case here. Mr. Riley has not presented any documentary evidence that contradicts her denials.”

Judge Lasky nodded, turning to Duncan. “I must agree, Mr. Riley. If your only goal here is to ask accusatory questions while getting blanket denials in response, then your mission is accomplished and the court’s patience is at an end. Do you have any evidence to present to this witness that will actually establish that she has taken part in a fraud upon this court?”

“I believe I have already laid the groundwork for establishing that, Your Honor,” Duncan said. “Ms. Roth’s answers have been untruthful in the extreme.”

“She has denied your accusations in no uncertain terms,” Lasky replied. “Unless you have some evidence that establishes she is not being truthful, Ms. Roth is excused.”

“I do have evidence, Your Honor,” Duncan said. “I have one more witness to call.”

79

T
HERE WAS
nothing Candace hated more than sitting on big news. She’d promised to keep quiet about the Nazario hearing until Duncan called her after it was over. Candace was braced for a dull day of waiting around, but that was before she received an e-mail from Tommy Nelson. Candace’s surprise grew as she read it: Nelson said he had something to show her. He asked her to meet him in Tompkins Square Park in one hour, and instructed her not to call him.

This felt wrong. Candace remembered what Nelson had said to her the last time they’d spoken, how she should believe her own alarm bells. After a moment she picked up her office phone and called ADA Sullivan. “I think someone’s about to try to kill me,” she said.

A HALF
hour later she found herself in a conference room off the newsroom with Sullivan and a Detective Gomez. Gomez had given her a small wireless transmitter, instructed her on attaching it to the clasp of her bra.

“We’re going to have a dozen plainclothes all over the park,” Sullivan said. “We’ll have sharpshooters on a roof. We’ll be able to hear every word, will come in once we’ve heard enough or if you seem to be in any danger. If you want us to break it up just say, ‘Enough is enough.’”

“What do you think their play is here?” Candace asked.

Sullivan shrugged. “I assume they really want to talk to you, find out what you know. They could just try to do that through subterfuge, or they could try something worse than that. As long as you’re in a public place with us all over it, you should be okay.”

“Should be?” Candace said. She was scared, and didn’t mind if Sullivan knew it.

“If they just wanted to shoot you, there’s no reason to set up a meeting, but obviously this isn’t risk-free. You don’t really need me to tell you that.”

CANDACE TOOK
the N train down to the East Village, then walked down Saint Marks Place to the park. While even Saint Marks wasn’t immune from gentrification, the mohawked street kids and punk rock T-shirt stores were still the same as when Candace was a teenager, though now they were interspersed with Japanese restaurants and tourists.

Tompkins Square bore virtually no resemblance to the place Candace remembered from twenty years ago. Back in the late eighties the park had been full of a volatile mix of anarchists and hard-core addicts, largely surrounded by dilapidated squats. Now the park was surrounded by condos, and the people gathered in it looked little different from those in Central Park.

Candace walked over to the benches near the chess tables. All of her senses were on high alert, and fear had knotted her stomach into a tangled ball. Candace noticed every passing face, the wind through the trees, the angry sounds of city traffic. She’d been sitting there for about five minutes, scanning the crowd, when a well-dressed middle-aged black man came and sat down beside her. Candace glanced over at the man, who looked back, smiling.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Are you Candace Snow?”

Candace gave the man a long look. She couldn’t swear to it, but she was pretty sure he was Darryl Loomis. They’d never met, but Candace had looked up a photo of him while writing the eviction story. If she was right, Candace was surprised Darryl would show up himself—it seemed like an unnecessary risk. “Do I know you?” she asked.

“I’m a friend of Tommy’s. He sent me to come get you.”

“Come get me?” she said, stalling. The plan was for whatever was to happen to take place in the park. It was risky enough to be here, even with police surveillance in place and a mic under her shirt; it was something else entirely to leave with this man.

“To take you to Tommy, and what he’s got to show you.”

“Tommy didn’t say anything about any friend,” Candace said, still thinking it through. It would be dangerous to go, obviously. But Candace thought it didn’t make sense for Darryl to go about it this way if all he wanted was to kill her.

“He’s worried that you’re still being followed,” Darryl said. “The last time he talked to you, he ended up with his ankle broke. Besides, what he has to show you, it’s not portable. You got to go to the source.”

“Where’s the source?”

“The building he used to work at, down in SoHo.”

This came as a surprise to Candace. “The Aurora?” she asked.

“That’s it, yeah.”

Candace wanted to get Darryl talking here at the park, but she wasn’t sure how. “This seems awfully cloak-and-dagger,” she said. “I mean, no offense, but I don’t have any idea who you are.”

“The name’s Reggie Watson,” Darryl said, putting out his hand. Candace looked at it for a moment, then shook.

“Can I call Tommy and find out what the deal is?”

Darryl shook his head. “No phones. Whoever these people are you’re looking into, they’ve got Tommy more spooked than I’ve ever seen him.”

“So what’s the idea, exactly?”

“My car’s parked over on C. We drive a little, make sure nobody’s following; then I take you to the Aurora, Tommy shows you what he’s got to show you.”

“Which is?”

Darryl shrugged. “Just the messenger.”

Candace made no attempt to hide her discomfort. Darryl smiled at her. It was clear he wasn’t going to say anything while they were here. If she was going to get him to incriminate himself, she was going to have to go along with whatever he was up to. After a moment Candace stood. “All right,” she said. “Let’s go.”