Capture (Butch Karp Thrillers) (39 page)

Rosenmayer looked over at the defense table. “Any problem with that?”

“I don’t understand what purpose is served, but no objection,” Leonard responded.

“Thank you, Mr. Leonard,” Karp said. “The purpose is that this demonstration will involve two of us.”

Okuza smiled and hopped down from the witness stand like he’d been invited to participate in a game show. As he approached, Karp picked up one of the chairs from the prosecution table and moved it into the well facing the spectator section. He looked over his shoulder and said, “Mr. Okuza, would you mind getting the gun for me?”

“Sure, no problem.” The witness walked over to the prosecution table and picked up the gun.

“Have a seat, please,” Karp said, and gestured to the chair.

Okuza complied with a grin. He was facing the spectator section, with his right side to the jurors.

“Mr. Okuza, before we get started, I noticed that you picked up the gun from the table with your left hand,” Karp said. “Are you left-handed?”

Okuza nodded. “As a matter of fact I am.”

“But you’ve since transferred it to your right hand.”

“I assumed we were going to reenact the scenario,” Okuza said.

“We are,” Karp agreed. “I was just noticing that you had to make a conscious effort to put the gun in your right hand, even though you’re left-handed.”

“I didn’t really give it much thought,” Okuza replied, his smile fading. “But the trajectory of the bullet—”

“Yes, we’ve heard, Mr. Okuza,” Karp said. “The bullet tracks from center to left. So, Mr. Okuza, if you would, please show the jury again how you believe Miss Perez placed the gun in her mouth.”

“Like this,” Okuza replied, and put the gun in his mouth.

“Mr. Okuza, I notice that you turned your head slightly to the right when you did that, is that simply the most natural way to do that?”

“Yes, I guess so,” Okuza agreed.

“And so according to the scenario you worked out, Miss Perez then pulled the trigger and the force of the bullet made her jerk her head to the left.”

“Yes.”

“And a few flecks of blood strike the sleeve of the jacket worn by the defendant, who is standing some distance back but reaching forward with his right hand.”

“That’s correct.”

“What if Miss Perez was left-handed?”

Okuza furrowed his brow. “What?”

“I asked, ‘What if Miss Perez was left-handed?’”

“I don’t understand,” Okuza replied.

“Well, let’s do this, then,” Karp said. “Put the gun in your left hand and let’s try that scenario.”

“But…”

“Just humor me,” Karp said.

Okuza shrugged and transferred the gun into his left hand. He then put the gun in his mouth.

“I notice that you’ve turned your head slightly to the left,” Karp said.

“Yes, as you said before, it’s natural to do that rather than sit looking straight forward and trying to bend your wrist around to the front.”

“According to the evidence, Mr. Okuza, what’s wrong with the scenario you just demonstrated?”

“Well, in this scenario, I would expect the bullet to have a trajectory traveling from center to slightly over to the right,” Okuza said, “the opposite of what happened.”

“Okay…oh, when you picked up the gun from the prosecution table with your left hand, was that because you do most things left-handed?”

“Sure. Like most people I have a dominant hand.”

Karp held out his right hand for the gun, which Okuza delivered with a smile. “Okay, Mr. Okuza, now I’m going to act out a somewhat different scenario. I’m going to put the gun in your mouth. But first, put your hands up in front of your face like you are pleading for your life or trying to defend yourself.”

Okuza’s eyes rolled, but he managed a half smile. “No problem,” he said. “Just try not to chip the crowns.” He raised his hands as requested.

“I’ll do my best, Mr. Okuza,” Karp replied. “Open your mouth.”

The little man did as he was told, looking at Karp like he was a dentist with a drill. Karp then jammed the gun into Okuza’s mouth—not hard, but enough to make him sit back in the chair.

“Okay Mr. Okuza, on the count of three, I’m going to pretend to shoot. One. Two. Three…” Suddenly, Karp shouted, “
Bang!
”

Startled, Okuza jerked his head toward his left, away from the gun.

Okuza looked back at Karp, his eyes wide with surprise and fear. He tried to force a smile but it was halfhearted.

“Mr. Okuza, do you know what you just did when I shouted ‘bang’?” Karp asked.

“I moved my head like this,” Okuza said, turning to the left.

“And if this had been a real gun, and I’d pulled the trigger when you did that—and remember I was holding the gun in my right hand—would blood hemorrhaging from your mouth strike your hands?”

Okuza thought about it and nodded. “Sure. It happens very quick, almost instantaneously.”

“And by turning your head to the left, away from the pressure and threat of the gun, would most of the blood miss me standing in front of you?”

Again, Okuza stopped and thought about it. “If I turned my head far enough to the side, yes, just as it would if the force of the bullet had jerked her head to the left.”

“So it’s possible that a few flecks of blood would have landed on the outside of my right sleeve, and the rest on the floor to your left?”

“It’s possible.”

“Mr. Okuza, when you were coming up with your conclusion for Mr. Leonard, did you follow the scientific process and attempt to verify or dismiss a scenario in which Mr. Maplethorpe held the gun in his right hand and stuck it in Miss Perez’s mouth as she held her hands up to resist?”

“No…I…I didn’t consider the possibility that she turned her head as the gun was fired.”

“Mr. Okuza, do you think that a left-handed person would probably use her left hand to hold the gun if she was going to put it in her mouth and pull the trigger?”

“Objection,” Leonard said without getting to his feet. “Calls for speculation.”

Karp laughed. “The entire defense case calls for speculation,” he said. “Every defense witness on the stand has speculated…. They’ve speculated about whether Hilario Gianneschi heard what he heard and understood what he heard; they’ve speculated that because he’s an illegal alien, he’s also a liar. They’ve speculated about Miss Perez’s moral character and her mental stability. They’ve speculated about everything, except whether Mr. Maplethorpe killed her.”

Judge Rosenmayer thought about it for a moment. “Overruled. I believe that the witness testified to being able to make his determination regarding a number of variables, including the positioning of objects during the event. Surely, the position of the gun could conceivably be one of those variables.”

“So, Mr. Okuza, would you think that a left-handed person would be more likely to shoot herself using her left hand?”

“I’d say it’s probably more likely,” he agreed. “But it’s not an absolute certainty. She may have used her right hand, or both hands for that matter.”

Karp pointed at the witness as if he’d made an excellent point. “That’s right, Mr. Okuza, it’s just one of at least two and maybe more possibilities, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Okuza acknowledged.

“And the truth is that while you and I can look at the bloodstain pattern and come up with different possibilities about what actually happened, we don’t know with absolute certainty, do we? As a matter of fact, you cannot state to a reasonable degree of medical certainty that she used her right hand, left hand, or both hands, isn’t that true?”

Okuza bit his lower lip and looked over at the defense table. “I believe that one fits what I know about the scene more than the others, but no, I don’t know with absolute certainty.”

“Thank you, Mr. Okuza, for an honest answer,” Karp said.

T
HE CELL PHONE ON
K
ARP’S DESK BUZZED WITH WHAT
seemed an unusual degree of urgency.
Or is it just that I’m getting jumpier by the minute,
he wondered as he reached for it.

Following Okuza’s testimony, Leonard had suddenly and unexpectedly rested the defense case with a half dozen of the witnesses he’d called in the first trial still waiting in the wings.
“I think he may be on to us,”
Karp had said with a wink to Katz.

Karp was glad that the trial phase was just about over. However, he was a little disappointed; he’d hoped that he’d provoked Maplethorpe into taking the stand. But after some angry muttering over at the defense table, the defendant had slumped back into his seat with his arms folded across his chest and allowed his attorney to rest the defense case.

Rosenmayer had looked at his watch and dismissed the jury for the rest of the day.
“We’ll return tomorrow morning and the attorneys will present their summations, after which I will charge you on the law and then you’ll be asked to begin your deliberations.”
The judge and the attorneys in the absence of the jury had then spent another hour going over his instructions to the jury, which would follow the summations.

Karp returned to his office to go over his summation one last
time. Murrow, who had listened, then stepped out to place another call to the U.S. embassy in Trinidad. The poor guy was going crazy. He hadn’t heard from Stupenagel in more than a week, which was not entirely unusual for the investigative reporter when she traveled to Third World countries on assignment, but Trinidad was a modern country with lots of oil and gas money pumping up the economy. She hadn’t said anything about going undercover or not calling him, and Karp’s aide was getting a little frantic and was trying to get the U.S. embassy involved in looking for her.

Karp looked at the cell phone’s caller ID and immediately hit the button to connect with Jaxon.

“Yeah, Butch,” the agent answered immediately.

“I’m getting a call from Lucy’s phone,” Karp said.

“We’re on it.”

Karp answered the phone. “Lucy?”

“Dad! You need to listen to me!”

It was at once a relief to hear her voice and know she was alive, but he could also hear the fear and urgency in her words. “I’m here, honey, what do you need?”

“I’m sitting here with Andy,” she replied. “You remember Andy? He’s Kane’s little brother?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you remember how he helped me when his brother was going to hurt me in St. Patrick’s Cathedral?”

Karp picked up on the game she was playing. “Yes, that was good of him. Is he helping you now?”

“He’s helping all of us,” she replied. “But Dad, we don’t have much time before his big brother comes back.”

“Lucy, get out of there!” Karp said, trying to keep his voice calm.

“I will, Dad, but I can’t right now,” she said. “There’s going to be an attack. Today, I think.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know that yet,” she replied. “Or how.”

“Ask Andy if it’s the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel…it’s the same at both ends like ‘Casa Blanca’ and ‘art of war.’ Or is it one of the bridges?”

“He says that’s for him to know and you to find out,” Lucy replied. “He’s acting very immature. But Andy likes riddles and you’re going to have to solve his or he won’t help. But he says we’re going to have to hurry because his big brother is coming back.”

Karp felt a fresh wave of fear for his daughter wash over him. “The next answer was the movie
It Happened in Brooklyn.
Same at both ends, Brooklyn—the Brooklyn-Battery Tunnel. Or one of the bridges. What am I not getting?”

“He says that to start with that wasn’t the next riddle.”

Karp frowned. There was the note in his pocket. The riddle about Casa Blanca and art of war. “He told me to ask you about Dagestan?”

“That’s not it either. Hurry, Dad, Kane could show up at any moment.”

Puzzled, Karp tried to recall every word he’d heard since the beggar stuck the note in his pocket. Then it dawned on him. Andy kept repeating his warning using the same curious phrasing. “He said, ‘It’s the worst that could happen.’”

“Right, that was the next riddle. And because you didn’t get that one, Andy says you haven’t figured out the correct answer for the movie riddle.”

“Ask him for another clue. Lucy…”

“Dad…Kane’s back.”

Karp heard a bellow of rage and a blow being struck. “Give me that, you bitch!”

The next sound Karp heard was the lisping voice of Andrew Kane. “You want another clue, Karp?” the sociopath screamed. “I’ll give you a call when I think you’re ready for one.” Then the cell phone went dead.

Karp leaned back in his chair. The father in him wanted to scream in rage and fear for his child. But now was not the time. “Did you find her, Espey?” he asked.

“Not quite,” said the voice in his ear. “But definitely Brooklyn Heights. We’re getting close. Sounds like he’s going to call again. We’ll be waiting. Any idea on the riddles?”

Karp looked down at the words on his legal pad. “Casa Blanca.
Art of war.
It Happened in Brooklyn.
Tunnel? Bridges? And now he added: It’s the worst that could happen.” “Not yet,” he replied. “I’m going to think about it for a bit.”

“We’ll do everything we can to get her back, Butch,” Jaxon said. “He’s keeping her alive for a reason. We have time.”

“I hope, Espey,” Karp replied. “But it’s more than about Lucy. If I know Kane, something big and bad is coming at us. A lot of people could get hurt or killed, and it’s likely to be the start of a whole lot worse. Find Lucy, but let’s make sure we stop Kane first.”

The little voice in his ear was quiet for so long that Karp wondered if Jaxon had gone off air. “Espey?”

“Yeah, Butch, I’m here,” the agent said. “Just, uh, having a moment. Where’s Ned?”

“He’s in the outer office reading a magazine,” Karp said. “I’m going to let him know that I heard from Lucy. He seems to be doing pretty well, though…I’d say he’s, oh, what’s the word I’m looking for?…Grim. Grim and determined.”

“Good. Knowing Lucy was able to make a call will keep him focused. I think he’ll be okay, but keep him close.”

“I will,” Karp replied.

“Okay, then, let’s keep the transmitters on full-time now,” Jaxon said. “I don’t want to take any chances with missing something. Tell Ned to turn his on, too. If Kane calls again, keep him on as long as possible.”

“Sure,” Karp said.
If he calls again…
Tears threatened to come to his eyes but he willed them away. “I’m going to give some thought to these riddles now.”

Karp paused for a moment and then wrote something on a note card that he placed in an envelope, then he pressed the intercom button. “Darla, would you have Ned come in here, please?”

A few seconds passed before there was a knock on the door followed by the appearance of Ned Blanchett. It was obvious the young man wasn’t getting much sleep; his startling blue eyes had dark circles beneath them and his cheeks were flushed. But those same eyes were clear and his jaw set.

The night before, after Ned had retired to Lucy’s old room to try to get some sleep, Marlene had wondered aloud if the young man
should still be on duty. Karp had not been convinced himself at first. But as he’d realized and said to Marlene,
“There are only two things we can do for Ned right now. Sedate him so that he doesn’t know what’s happening. Or keep him involved. I think he’d choose the latter. And you know, not to sound too much like our daughter, ever since Ned came into Lucy’s life, it’s been his fate to be her knight in shining armor. I’m not in a place at the moment to think that’s just coincidence.”

“Yes, sir?” Blanchett asked.

“Whatever happened to ‘Dad’?” Karp asked.

Blanchett smiled. “Maybe away from the office, sir.”

“Fair enough. I wanted to let you know that I just got a call from Lucy.”

Blanchett’s eyes immediately lit up and a slight smile came to his face. “She escaped?”

Karp shook his head, sorry to see the effect it had on Ned. “No. But she called of her own volition. I think she’s okay for now. And Jaxon says he’s close; we’re hoping that we get another call so he can pinpoint the location. Keep your head up, Ned.” He decided not to tell Blanchett about the blow he’d heard delivered over the phone.

“You, too, sir,” Blanchett replied. “Anything else?”

“Oh, yeah,” Karp said, holding out the envelope, “would you take this down to that little news vendor in front of the building on Centre Street?”

“The one who cusses up a storm all the time,” Blanchett said with a smile. “Warren?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Karp said. “See that he gets it right away. Tell him it’s from me and it’s for David.”

Blanchett tilted his head to the side to look at Karp but didn’t say anything more. He took the envelope and left the office.

Karp closed his eyes and put his shoes up on the desk.
“The worst that could happen.” What is it with that particular phrasing? Jesus, this really is a riddle wrapped in an enigma…a difficult puzzle.

Suddenly he sat upright. Using his office phone, he dialed the number to his house.

“Karp and Ciampi residence, Zak speaking,” a bored teenage voice answered.

“Zak, is that you?”

“Who else would answer the phone ‘Zak speaking’?”

Karp rolled his eyes. “This is Dad. Where are you?”

“My room,” Zak replied. “By myself. Giancarlo’s hanging out with what’s-her-name somewhere. I hope she dumps him.”

“That’s the spirit. After we get off the phone you might want to make one of those voodoo dolls and stab it with pins,” Karp said. “But I need your help right now, Zak. This is important.”

Karp almost felt Zak’s interest snapping to attention. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Remember on Thanksgiving when we were playing that riddle game?”

“You mean, when you and Giancarlo were showing off in front of everyone?”

“Yeah, that time,” Karp replied. “Anyway, Giancarlo plugged some words into the Internet or something and came up with the correct quote.”

“So what,” Zak replied. He was beginning to get the idea that this was going to be an “isn’t Giancarlo wonderful” session and the wall was going up.

“Well, I need you to search for a phrase for me,” Karp said.

“Why don’t you wait for Giancarlo to come home. He’s the brainiac.”

“Zak, I don’t have any more time for this, lives are at stake, do you understand?” Karp said firmly.

“Lives? Yeah, sure, what do you need me to look up?” Zak said, suddenly all business.

“‘It’s the worst that could happen,’” Karp said. He could hear Zak typing in the background.

“Well, you’re in luck, there’s only a few million hits,” Zak replied.

“Like what?”

“Let’s see, there’s an ad from a divorce lawyer that says ‘Divorce is the worst thing that could happen to you in your life.’”

“No, the word ‘thing’ isn’t part of the phrase,” Karp said. “What else?”

“Well, there’s a lot of websites that start off with ‘What’s the worst that can happen?’ Such as this Dale Carnegie course that starts off,
‘First ask yourself: What’s the worst thing that can happen?’ Does that sound right?”

“Not yet. And it’s got to be all the words in that order: ‘It’s the worst that could happen,’ see anything exactly like that?”

“Here’s some old song called ‘It’s the Worst That Can Happen.’ Geez, it was from 1968…that’s practically the Stone Age.”

“Hey, watch it, kiddo,” Karp growled. “What’s it say about it?”

“Let’s see, it was written by a guy named Jimmy Webb.”

“Doesn’t click with anything,” Karp said, drumming his fingers on the desk. “What else? Any lyrics?”

“The first line…‘It might be the best thing for you but it’s the worst that could happen to me.’ OMG, you really listened to stuff like that?”

“OMG?”

“Oh my God,” Zak said, verbally rolling his eyes at his dinosaur father.

“Forgive my ignorance,” Karp replied.
Let’s see, what’s the next clue. Oh yeah,
It happened in Brooklyn.

“Anything in there about Brooklyn?”

“Only if you’re interested in boring trivia, like Jimmy Webb wrote the song but the guys who made it famous were Johnny Maestro and the Brooklyn Bridge. What a dumb name—”

Zak was interrupted by his father’s excited shout. “Zak, you got it! You’re a genius!”

“I do okay?”

Karp recognized the insecurity in his son’s voice and for a moment all the terrorist bombs in the world didn’t matter. “Zak, I love you more than you’ll ever know. I think you may have just saved the world. I gotta go—I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Zak replied, and Karp could almost feel the glow over the phone.

Karp punched in Fulton’s number. “Clay, it’s me, and Jaxon’s listening in,” he said. “I think the target is the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“I’ll call it in as a bomb threat,” Fulton replied, “and get the bridge cleared.”

“I have a federal response team on the way, too,” Jaxon added.

As Karp hung up, something was still nagging at him. With all
the clutter, he wasn’t quite seeing what he needed to see. He was sure he was right that the Brooklyn Bridge was the target. It made sense with the other pieces of evidence, including what Lucy told Treacher about believing that she was being held in Brooklyn,
“Somewhere with a view. He said I’d have ringside seats.”
The Heights certainly had the best view of the Brooklyn Bridge on that side of the East River.

“View,” he repeated aloud. There was a second part of the
“It Happened in Brooklyn”
riddle, according to Dirty Warren.
“Oh, and he said to tell you to think about the…motherfucking…view.”

Somewhere from the recesses of his memory, Karp recalled as a little boy watching
It Happened in Brooklyn
with his mother on a Saturday afternoon. It was not as good as a Western for a kid, but his mother had hummed the title song for the rest of the day and talked dreamily about Frank Sinatra, who’d sung it.

Many years had passed since, but Karp could hear the Chairman of the Board crooning the words:
“What a lovely view from…heaven looks at you from…the Brooklyn Bridge.”