Double Jeopardy (4 page)

Donny leaned off the edge of the sofa. His voice was high-pitched and tended to squeal. “Has anyone noticed he’s missing yet?”

“Oh yeah,” Kramer said. “But they don’t know what happened to him.”

“Then he hasn’t been found. Officially,” Mario said.

“No. Not yet. But he will be. That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. That was the plan.”

“You know how stupid cops are,” Donny said. “Maybe we should do something to help them along. Leave them a clue, maybe.”

By silent agreement, Mario and Kramer jointly ignored Donny. Donny simply had no brains, Mario reflected, not for the first time. Mario loved his sister, but there was no hope for her pitiful progeny.

“I’m glad you put out your cigarette, Uncle Mario. Those cancer-sticks’ll kill you. If they haven’t already. And I could get lung diseases from the secondhand smoke.” Donny coughed. “See? I’m sick already.”

“I appreciate your concern, Donny,” Mario said slowly. He thought about that for a moment. “In fact, I don’t appreciate your concern, Donny. You’re a fucking pain in the ass. So sit quietly and speak when you’re spoken to.”

Donny lowered his head. “Yes, sir.”

Just to rub salt in the wound, Kramer snatched a cigarette from Mario’s desk case and flicked his lighter. The flame flared out; Kramer’s eyes glowed. Eventually, he lit his cigarette.

Mario suppressed a shiver. If Kramer loved anything, it was the red flame that danced before his eyes. “Word is Seacrest will be replaced by some guy named Travis Byrne,” Kramer said, breaking out of his trance.

“What do we know about Mr. Byrne?”

“Not much yet. He’s a decent attorney—young, but effective. Gets people off. More than that I don’t know yet. But I’m workin’ on it.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah. He’s an ex-cop.”

Mario stroked his chin. “That could present a problem. We don’t need some law-and-order fanatic on the case. Find out everything you can about him.”

“Like I said, I’m workin’ on it. I also thought we might try to consider some means of controllin’ Mr. Byrne. Maybe screw up his squeaky-clean rep.”

“Do you think that’s necessary at this time?”

“Nah. But if the time comes, it’ll be best if we’ve already stockpiled our ammo.”

“So what did you have in mind?”

Kramer shrugged. “The usual. Unexpected guests. Candid cameras. A few sensational stories that can be leaked to the press on a moment’s notice.”

Mario waved his hand in the air. “Whatever you think. I leave it to you. It also might not be a bad idea for some sort of … incident to occur to Mr. Byrne. Just so he knows where he stands.”

“Incident?”

“Something subtle. But not too.”

Kramer grinned, obviously relishing the suggestion. “I can handle that.”

“You might involve Donny in this,” Mario said hesitantly. “He needs … experience.”

Kramer’s displeasure was evident. “I have my own men who—”

“That’s not the point.” Mario drummed his fingers lightly on his desk. “This is a family venture. It’s best if a member of the family is along for the ride. Just send Donny with someone capable of providing the necessary … guidance. I would consider it a personal favor.”

Kramer frowned. “You’re the boss. Anything else?”

“Has Moroconi said anything? About us, I mean.”

“Not yet. But we can’t rule out the possibility. Especially if he becomes desperate.”

“We’ll play it by ear. The risk seems slight. A dumb ex-cop plodding in at the last second—how much could he learn?”

“That all depends. Seacrest learned too much.”

Mario nodded. It was an unpleasant, but nonetheless accurate, reminder. “Watch Byrne carefully. If you see anything that gives you cause for alarm, act without hesitation. If he gets too close, eliminate him. Just like you eliminated Seacrest. Understood?”

“Understood.” Smiling, Kramer headed toward the door. On his way out, he pulled one of Donny’s suspenders and popped it against his chest. Just for the hell of it.

T
RAVIS FOUND STACI AT
the lighted, outdoor basketball court behind John Neely Bryan Junior High School playing a little two-on-one. A pair of black teenage boys were the two; she was the one.

“Travis!” As soon as she saw him, she tossed the ball to one of her friends, who was at least a foot taller than she was. She ran to meet Travis at his car. “I thought you weren’t coming!”

“I was delayed. Sorry. Big new trial.”

“
Another
trial? You just finished one.”

“I know. Popular, aren’t I?”

“You never spend any time with me anymore.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You know what I mean.” She sat down on the curb, her fists under her chin.

Travis sat beside her. “What’s wrong, Staci? Trouble at home?”

“Oh, just the usual. Nobody likes me.”

“That’s not true, Staci. Your aunt Marnie is crazy about you.”

“Aunt Marnie was crazy about my mother. She puts up with me ’cause she thinks she has to.”

“That isn’t—” He stopped short. No point in offering superficial denials. Staci knew the score. “Look, how’s school going?”

“Oh, same old same old.”

“Yo, Staci!” It was one of her two friends on the basketball court. “Let’s go!”

“You guys play without me for a while,” Staci shouted back. “I’m okay.” She smiled. “They’re worried ’cause you’re some big old white guy they don’t know. You must look like a suspicious character. Maybe they sense that you used to be a cop. Doc and Jameel aren’t too keen on cops.”

“Any reason in particular?”

“Well … they’ve been arrested twice for breaking and entering.”

“That’ll do it.” He watched Doc effortlessly toss the basketball into the hoop from half-court. “Well, I’m glad you’ve made some friends.”

“Yeah, Doc and Jameel are okay. They just like me ’cause I’m good on the court. But that’s okay. They’re way cool.”

“Kind of late for basketball, isn’t it?”

Staci shrugged. “Gotta stay in practice.”

“When I stopped by the house, your aunt was pretty grumpy. Thought you should be at home.”

“What else is new?”

“How are your grades?”

“Oh …” Staci picked up a rock and threw it across the street. “ ’Bout the same. A’s and B’s in art and gym. My grades in English suck.”

“Like how bad?”

“C-plus, C-minus.”

“That’s not so bad,” Travis said. Especially for a girl diagnosed with ADD—Attention Deficit Disorder. It caused Staci to have problems with concentration; she was also prone to procrastination and forgetfulness, and she was easily distracted. The doctors weren’t sure if the disorder was caused by a malfunction within the inner ear—the most common cause of ADD—or if it was simply an emotional problem stemming from the traumatic loss of her mother.

“You should hear what Aunt Marnie says about me. How stupid I am, how lazy I am. She thinks I’m pond scum.” Staci clasped his hand. “Let’s go camping, Travis. Like that time last spring at Robbers’ Cave.”

“You’re not listening. I can’t go to Robbers’ Cave. I’ve got a new trial. It’s going to last at least a week. Maybe longer.”

She kicked a tin can. “Figures.”

“As soon as this trial is over, we’ll do something together. I promise.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Aw, cheer up. Wanna see a magic trick?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Look, there’s something in your ear.”

“Oh, Travis, please.” He reached behind her ear. “I’ve seen this trick a million—” She looked down at his opened palm. “It’s a charm! For my Disney bracelet!”

She reached out, but just before she got the charm, Travis closed his fists, whirled them around a few times, then extended his opened palms. “Look! It disappeared!”

“Puh-leese, Travis. It didn’t disappear. It’s up your sleeve.” She grabbed his arm, shook it, and caught a tiny gold Goofy.

“That trick fooled everyone back when I was in the third grade.”

“That’s the problem, Travis. You haven’t learned any new tricks since you were in the third grade.”

“Oh yeah? How about this one?” He took two large blue marbles from his coat pocket and extended his hands, knuckles up. He swirled his hands around in a confusing blur. “Okay, which hand are the marbles in?”

“Really, Travis, who cares?” She snapped the Goofy figurine onto her bracelet. “My mom gave me this bracelet,” she said quietly.

“I know.”

“Aunt Marnie hid my picture of her. She said it was making me all sad and moody. Maybe she was right.” She wrapped the bracelet around her wrist. “You’re gonna laugh, Travis, but sometimes, late at night, I imagine Mom’s talking to me. Not just a word or two. Whole big long conversations.” She looked down at her sneakers. “She says a lot of nice stuff. In my head, I mean. Acts like she really likes me or something.”

Travis smiled. “She does, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, right.” Staci hesitated, as if there was something she wanted to say but couldn’t. “Travis, this is real stupid. I know it’s been four years, but … I still miss her.”

Travis opened his arms and Staci crawled inside. He felt a cold saltwater sprinkle on his neck. “That’s not stupid, honey,” he said, hugging her tightly. “I still miss her, too.”

T
RAVIS SAT IN THE
holding cell reviewing the Moroconi file while the guards fetched his client. It was a familiar routine. They insisted that the lawyer be in place first. Maybe they wanted to make the lawyer uncomfortable, Travis speculated. To let him experience a few moments of the foreboding the guards lived with on a daily basis.

The guards made no secret of how much they hated attorney-client conferences, during which they were required by law to afford the defendant and his counselor privacy, if only for a brief period. They seemed convinced lawyers took advantage of the privacy to smuggle weapons or other contraband to their clients. Travis couldn’t blame them. Four years ago he knew he would have harbored the same suspicions.

He buried himself in the file, trying to pass the time as profitably and painlessly as possible. It didn’t work. He kept staring at the photographs, wondering what kind of monster could do that to another human being.

The cell door abruptly swung open and two uniformed guards escorted Alberto Moroconi into the cell. Travis was introduced to a medium-sized man with a wispy mustache and a day’s stubble. Travis was surprised, although he wasn’t sure why. What was he expecting, Frankenstein?

The guards planted Moroconi in his chair and handcuffed him to the table.

“We don’t need the bracelets,” Travis said. “Please remove them.”

The guard closest to him shrugged. “Warden says leave ’em on.”

“There are several documents and photographs I need him to examine.”

“Ain’t that a shame.” The guard closed the cell door behind him. “Maybe he can hold them with his nose.”

Thanks bunches. Once the guards were out of earshot, Travis addressed his new client. “My name is Travis Byrne. I’ve been appointed to represent you at the trial today—”

“You’re a cop,” Moroconi said curtly.

“I’m a lawyer,” Travis replied. How on earth—“I used to be a cop.”

“Same diff’rence. I knew it was somethin’ like that. It shows.”

Travis didn’t know what that meant, and he didn’t plan to kill precious time finding out, either. “I need to ask you a few questions—”

“You ain’t one of these cops-and-robbers screwballs with a secret game plan, are you? Like playin’ good cop to my face while you’re fixin’ to send me up the river.”

“I assure you I’ll do everything the law permits to obtain an acquittal.”

Moroconi scrutinized Travis intently. “A cop doin’ me favors. Go figure.”

“Mr. Moroconi, our time together is limited. Can we discuss your case?”

Moroconi folded his arms across his chest. “Shoot.”

“Did you know the victim, Miss Mary Ann McKenzie?”

“Oh, yeah. I knew the bitch.”

Travis bit down on his lower lip. “And … how did you know her?”

“I was at the bar where it all started that night. You know, O’Reilly’s. She comes struttin’ in, tryin’ to get some action, swingin’ her cute little ass around. Personally, I think she got what she deserved, the stupid cunt.”

Travis felt his heart beating faster. Cool off, he told himself. You’re the man’s zealous advocate. “Did you see what happened?”

“At the bar, yeah. After she’d flung her fishy smell all over the place, she sashayed out the front door. A gang of studs sittin’ in the corner decided they wanted a piece of that and followed her. Didn’t surprise me what happened. I knew it was comin’.”

“Did you attempt to warn Miss McKenzie?”

“Why? Hell, I don’t care what the little twat says. She wanted it.” He laughed. “Maybe not exactly what she got, but she wanted it.”

“And what did you do when you saw these men follow her out of the bar?”

Moroconi shrugged. “I had another Scotch and soda.”

Travis redirected his eyes to the file. “Miss McKenzie says you were one of the men who attacked her.”

“She’s fucked in the head.”

“She picked you out of the lineup.”

“She remembers me from the bar. So what?”

“She says you urinated on her and forced a Coke bottle—”

“Well, she’s wrong, goddamn it! Don’t you see?” Moroconi leaned across the table. “The stupid slut had been fucked blind! She couldn’t tell me from Elvis!”

Travis coughed. “She also states that you suggested tying her to the bumper of her car—”

“Look, you shit-faced shyster, I’m innocent. Are you going to help me or not?”

“I’m—” Travis took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His stomach was churning like the ocean during a storm. “It’s not necessary for you to plead your innocence to me. In fact, I wish you wouldn’t. I’m simply trying to uncover facts that could assist your defense.”

“Shee-it.” Moroconi blew air through his teeth. Bits of spittle flew across the room. “All you’re interested in is covering your ass. Just like everybody else.”

“I assure you that isn’t—”

“Just keep the goddamn trial going. Can you do that?”

“I’m not sure I understand—”

“Just keep the trial going, asshole! How long will the feds’ case take?”