Sleepers (39 page)

Father Bobby stared straight ahead, as he had for the past hour, only his eyes registering any change. He blew out a mouthful of breath and then looked toward the ceiling, his hands resting on the soft edges of his chair.

“It’s getting late,” he finally said. “You should go. You both look tired.”

He stood up and placed a hand on my arm.

“I’ve got a decision to make,” Father Bobby said. “All I can do is pray that it’s the right one.”

“It will be, Father,” I said. “Whichever way you go.”

“The boys were on target about you,” Father Bobby said, reaching out for Carol and holding her in his arms.

“About what?” Carol asked, lifting her head.

“They always said you had balls,” Father Bobby said. “And they were right.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Carol said. “Especially coming from a priest.”

11

M
ICHAEL SMILED AT
the witness, a dark-haired, handsome woman from New Jersey. She had her legs crossed under the chair, her skirt pleated, her white blouse buttoned to the throat. Her hands were folded on her lap.

“Mrs. Salinas, how often have you had dinner at the Shamrock Pub?” he asked.

“Just that one night,” she answered, her voice assured, speaking in the manner of a woman with nothing to hide.

“What night would that be?” Michael asked.

“The night of the murder,” she said.

“What time did you get there?”

“Near seven-thirty,” Mrs. Salinas said. “I met a friend for dinner.”

“What’s the name of your friend?”

“David,” she said. “David Carson.”

“Who was the first to arrive?”

“I was,” she said. “But only by a couple of minutes.”

“You waited for Mr. Carson outside?”

“No,” she said. “By the coatrack. As I said, it wasn’t much of a wait.”

“Okay,” Michael said. “You and Mr. Carson go in, sit down, order a drink, start catching up on your day. That right?”

“Pretty much,” Mrs. Salinas said. “We hadn’t seen each other for a few weeks. David had been away on a business trip.”

“Who decided to eat at the Shamrock Pub?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“I read about it in a magazine,” she said. “They said it was colorful.”

“And was it?”

“Up until the shooting,” Mrs. Salinas said.

I looked over at the defense table and caught a smirk from John and a smile from Tommy. Their lawyer, head down, was furiously scrawling notes on a legal pad.

“What’s he taking notes for?” Carol whispered. “He knows the questions he’s supposed to ask.”

“Maybe he forgot them,” I said. “Left them on a barstool.”

“She’s good,” Carol said, indicating Mrs. Salinas.

“We want her to be,” I said.

“Had Mr. Carson ever been there before?” Michael asked now. “With or without you?”

“No,” she said. “It was the first time for both of us.”

“Where were you seated, Mrs. Salinas?”

“In a booth,” she said. “The one closest to the door.”

“Was that by choice?”

“Yes,” she said. “All but one of the booths was free, so we could have sat anywhere. But David likes fresh air and I don’t mind it either.”

“Do you remember what you ordered?”

“I asked for the lamb chops,” she said. “It was one of the specialties mentioned in the magazine. David had his usual.”

“For those of us not familiar with Mr. Carson’s eating habits, could you tell us what his usual consists of?” Michael asked, throwing Mrs. Salinas a wide smile.

“Steak,” she said. “David
always
orders steak, baked potato, and a tossed salad.”

“Did you have anything to drink?”

“We ordered a bottle of red wine,” Mrs. Salinas said. “A Chianti, I believe.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes,” she said. “That’s all.”

“Did you notice the number of people in the pub?”

“There were only a few scattered about,” she said. “It was quiet. A good place to meet someone and talk.”

“Did you notice the victim, Sean Nokes?”

“No,” she said. “I did not.”

“You didn’t even see him when you walked in?” Michael asked.

“No,” she said. “Our table was right near the coat check and I didn’t bother looking around.”

“Your attentions were focused on Mr. Carson,” Michael said.

“Yes, they were,” Mrs. Salinas said. “As I said, I hadn’t seen him for a while.”

“Which way were you facing?” Michael asked. “Which side of the booth were you sitting on?”

“The one facing the rear of the pub,” she said.

“The side facing down the row of booths?”

“Yes.”

“The side facing Mr. Nokes’s booth,” Michael said.

“I believe so,” Mrs. Salinas said. “Yes.”

“But you couldn’t see him from where you were sitting?”

“I wasn’t looking to see him,” she said. “I knew there was someone sitting in the rear booth. I just didn’t notice.”

“Did you notice the two men who walked in shortly after you sat down for dinner?”

“I heard them come in,” she said. “You couldn’t help but hear them.”

“Why’s that?”

“They were loud,” she said. “They caused a commotion. I’m sure everyone noticed.”

“Did you see their faces when they came in?”

“No,” she said. “Not when they came in.”

“Why not?”

“I was talking to David,” she said. “When I finally looked up, they had moved past me.”

“Did you notice their faces when they went to the bar?”

“From the side,” she said. “I could see them in profile.”

“Both of them?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Salinas said, the confidence in her voice never wavering. “Both of them.”

“Did you see them approach the booth where Mr. Nokes was sitting?” Michael asked.

“I noticed it,” she said. “Yes.”

“Did you hear what was said between them?”

“No,” she said. “I didn’t.”

“Did you see them pull out their guns?”

“No,” she said.

“Did you hear the shots?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Salinas said. “I heard the shots.”

“What did they do after the shooting?” Michael asked.

“They walked out of the pub,” she said. “As if nothing had happened.”

“Did you see their faces then?”

“Yes,” she said. “I looked up as they walked by.”

“Are you positive of that, Mrs. Salinas?”

“Yes,” she said. “Very positive.”

“And are the two men you saw in the Shamrock Pub in this room today?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Salinas said. “They are.”

“Can you point them out to me, please?”

“They’re sitting right over there,” Mrs. Salinas said, aiming a finger at John and Tommy.

“Your honor, will the record reflect that Mrs. Salinas identified defendants John Reilly and Thomas Marcano as the two men in question.”

“Noted,” Judge Weisman said.

“I have no further questions,” Michael said.

“Counselor?” Judge Weisman said, lifting an eyebrow in Danny O’Connor’s direction. “Are you ready to proceed?”

“Yes, your honor,” Danny O’Connor said. “The defense is ready.”

“It better be,” Carol whispered.

D
ANNY
O’C
ONNOR WAS
wearing a charcoal-gray suit that needed cleaning and a white shirt tight around his neck. His shoes were scuffed and his blue tie stopped at an Oliver Hardy length.

“He’s got that Columbo look down,” I muttered. “All he’s missing is the cigar.”

“It’s probably in his pocket,” Carol said. “Still lit.”

“Good morning,” Danny O’Connor said to Mrs. Salinas.

“Good morning,” she said.

“I just have a few questions,” he said. “I won’t take up too much more of your time.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“You said you had only wine to drink with dinner,” O’Connor said, looking away from Mrs. Salinas and making eye contact with the jury. “Is that correct?”

“Yes,” she said. “That’s correct.”

“Are you sure about that?” O’Connor asked. “Are you sure that was all you ordered, one bottle of wine?”

“Yes,” she said. “A bottle of red wine.”

“Had you had anything to drink prior to that?”

“What do you mean, prior?” Mrs. Salinas asked.

“At lunch, maybe,” O’Connor said. “Did you have anything to drink at lunch?”

“Yes, I did,” she said. “But that was hours earlier.”

“What did you have, Mrs. Salinas?”

“I went shopping and stopped for lunch at a place on Madison Avenue,” she said.

“I didn’t ask where you went,” O’Connor said. “I asked what you had to drink at lunch.”

“A martini,” she said.

“And what else?”

“And some wine,” she said.

“How much wine?”

“One glass,” she said. “Maybe two.”

“Closer to two?” O’Connor asked.

“Yes,” Mrs. Salinas said, her cheeks turning a light shade of red. “Probably two.”

“What time did you have lunch, Mrs. Salinas?”

“Objection, your honor,” Michael said without standing. “What Mrs. Salinas did on the day of the murder has nothing to do with what she saw the night of the murder.”

“How much she had to drink does, your honor,” O’Connor said.

“Overruled,” Judge Weisman said.

“What time, Mrs. Salinas,” O’Connor said, “did you have lunch?”

“About one-thirty,” she said.

“And what did you have for lunch?”

“A salad,” she said.

“A martini, two glasses of wine, and a salad,” O’Connor said. “Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Salinas said, her eyes looking to Michael for help. “Yes, that’s correct.”

He gave her none.

“And then you had wine at dinner,” O’Connor said. “About six hours later. Is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” she said.

“How much wine did you have to drink by the time my clients allegedly walked into the Shamrock Pub?”

“Two glasses,” she said, anger now undercutting the confident tone.

“Do you drink this much every day, Mrs. Salinas?”

“No,” she said. “I do not.”

“So would you say four glasses of wine and a martini in a six-hour period is a lot for you to drink?” O’Connor asked.

“Yes, it is,” Mrs. Salinas said.

“Are you married, Mrs. Salinas?” O’Connor asked.

“Yes, I am,” she said.

“Happily?”

“As happy as anyone married for fifteen years can expect to be.”

“I’ve been divorced twice, Mrs. Salinas,” O’Connor said, smiling at the jury. “Fifteen years sounds like a lifetime to me. How happy would that be?”

“I’m still in love with my husband,” Mrs. Salinas said.

“Objection,” Michael said. “This line of questioning is out of order.”

“I’ll allow it,” Judge Weisman said, looking at O’Connor. “But get to your point.”

“Yes, your honor,” O’Connor said. “Thank you.”

The defense attorney now walked alongside the jury, one hand inside the pocket of his wrinkled pants, his thin brown hair combed straight back.

“What is your relationship with Mr. Carson?”

“I’ve already said.”

“Tell me again,” O’Connor said. “Please.”

“We’re friends,” she said. “Very old and dear friends.”

“Is Mr. Carson a friend of your husband’s as well?” O’Connor asked.

Mrs. Salinas paused and pursed her lips before she answered.

“No,” she said. “He isn’t.”

“Mrs. Salinas, what were you talking about at dinner?”

“The usual,” she said. “Catching up on things.”

“What things?”

“His family,” she said. “Mine. Things like that.”

“And did you and Mr. Carson have any plans beyond dinner?” O’Connor asked.

“What do you mean?” Mrs. Salinas asked.

“I mean, was your evening going to end with just a dinner?” O’Connor asked.

“No,” she said, her eyes cast down. “It wasn’t.”

“Sounds romantic,” O’Connor said.

“Objection,” Michael said. “The twice-divorced counsel seems to have an overactive imagination.”

“Sustained,” Judge Weisman said. “Let’s get on with it, Mr. O’Connor.”

“Had you ever heard a gun fired, Mrs. Salinas?” O’Connor asked, shifting his questioning and walking closer to the witness stand. “Prior to the night in question, that is.”

“No, I hadn’t,” she said.

“How would you describe the sound?”

“Loud,” she said. “Like firecrackers.”

“Did the sound frighten you?”

“Yes, very much,” she said.

“Did you close your eyes?”

“At first,” she said. “Until the shooting stopped.”

“Did you think the men who did the shooting were going to kill everyone in the pub?”

“I didn’t know what to think,” she said. “All I knew was that a man had been shot.”

“Did you think
you
might be shot?” O’Connor asked. “Shot dead by two cold-blooded killers?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Salinas said, nodding her head firmly. “Yes, I did.”

“Yet, despite that fear,” O’Connor said, “despite the risk to your life, you looked at their faces as they left the pub. Is that right?”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Is it?”
O’Connor said, his voice rising. “Did you really look at their faces?”

“Yes.”

“Did you, Mrs. Salinas, really
look
at their faces?” O’Connor asked, now standing inches from her.