The Mayor of Lexington Avenue (45 page)

“Silence! Silence!” he shouted. “I’ll have everyone removed from this courtroom if I have to!” The murmuring stopped. “Mr. DiCarlo, you may proceed.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. And what were you disbarred for, Mr. Peterson?”

“Drunkenness.” There was another gasp from the pews. The judge rapped his gavel.

“I’m warning you, people.” But they were already silent again, some of them leaning forward expectantly, apparently eager for the next revelation.

“You were a drunk?” Jimmy DiCarlo proceeded. He was in Charley Peterson’s face now. Charley’s shoulders slumped.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“And were you a drunk when you represented Rudy Kelly?”

“Yes.”

Jimmy DiCarlo walked back to his table and retrieved a document and handed it to Charley.

“Take a look at that document, Mr. Peterson. We’ve marked it as defense exhibit number one.” Charley looked at the document and then looked back at Jimmy DiCarlo.

“Before you came into this courtroom today several witnesses testified about the method Mr. Brume used to question Rudy Kelly. That document you now have in your hand is an order by Judge Wentwell, the judge in the Rudy Kelly suppression hearing, saying that you could put on evidence at Rudy Kelly’s trial about how his confession was obtained, is it not?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Did you put on that evidence? Did you call his principal, Mr. Yates, or his employer, Mr. Dragone, as Mr. Tobin did in this case?”

“No, I did not.”

“Wouldn’t that have been helpful to Mr. Kelly’s defense?” Jack had no idea where Jimmy DiCarlo was going with this line of questioning.

“Yes, it would have.”

“Did you fail to do that because you were drunk at the time?”

“Probably.”

Jimmy DiCarlo picked up the coroner’s report. “And this coroner’s report, which you just testified on direct examination was so flawed. So flawed that you had never seen anything like it in all your years of practice. Did you bring that to the attention of anybody at the time?”

“No.”

“Did you ask the coroner when he was on the stand where the rest of the report was—specifically the toxicology results?”

“No.”

“Did you ask the state attorney, Mr. Evans?”

“No.”

“And you didn’t do so because you were drunk at the time, is that accurate, Mr. Peterson?”

“Probably.”

“Did you participate in any of the appeals of Rudy Kelly’s conviction?”

“No.”

“But you knew there would be at least one appeal?”

“Probably.”

“Probably? Do you know of any first-degree murder case where there was not at least one appeal?”

“No.”

“So you knew there would be an appeal?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever offer by affidavit or sworn testimony to anyone that you were incompetent at the time you represented Rudy Kelly?”

“No.”

“Ever at any time before Rudy Kelly was executed?”

“No.”

“You more than anyone were responsible for his conviction and execution, weren’t you, Mr. Peterson?”

It was Jack’s turn to jump up. “I object, Your Honor. Mr. Peterson is not on trial here.”

And it was Jack’s turn to feel Harry Stanton’s wrath. “Overruled. The witness will answer the question.”

“I guess I was,” Charley replied. He was now slumped low in the witness chair, his chin almost touching his chest.

“Has anyone charged you with a crime?”

Jack was on his feet again. “Objection!”

“Sustained. The witness will not answer that question,” Judge Stanton directed.

“I have no further questions for this
witness,
Your Honor,” Jimmy said with a sneer, turning his back on Charley and walking back to his table.

“Redirect?” the judge asked. Jack hesitated but only for a moment.

“Mr. Peterson, did Clay Evans know you had a drinking problem before the Kelly trial?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know that?”

“He said things to me over the years.”

“Like?”

“One time he told me he heard I was a pretty good lawyer until I climbed inside the bottle. Another time he told me that a client having me for a lawyer could kiss his ass goodbye.”

“And this was all before the Rudy Kelly case?”

“Yes.”

“So they were banking on you being drunk?”

“Objection.”

“Sustained. The witness will not answer the question.” But Jack had gotten what he wanted: He had to put that issue in the jury’s mind.
You can’t unring a bell,
Jack thought, remembering Jimmy’s own words from a couple of days before.

“No further questions, Your Honor.”

“You may step down, Mr. Peterson. Counsel, call your next witness.”

Jack looked at the bailiff, who let him know by shaking his head that Maria had not arrived yet.

“Your Honor, may we approach?”

“Come on,” the judge said, waving his arm at them.

When they reached the bench, Jack lobbied once again for the video confession of Geronimo Cruz. “Judge, I only have one more witness besides Mr. Cruz and she’s not here. We haven’t had any time to work out a stipulation of facts. The video confession is thirty-four minutes. I daresay that working out a stipulation and typing it up to read to the jury will take twice that long. So, using Mr. DiCarlo’s own concern for efficiency, it will be much faster to show the video deposition.”

The judge wasn’t in the mood for a long discussion. “All right, Mr. Tobin, put the tape in and let’s get it done. Your last witness better be here when it’s finished, though. If speed and convenience are the reason we’re using this tape, then you are not going to be able to delay this trial for one second because of a witness problem. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

After he had set the television in front of the jury and put the tape in, Jack motioned to Pat, who was sitting in the back of the courtroom.

“You’ve got to go to the hospital and find out what’s keeping Maria. If she’s not here in thirty minutes, this case is over.”

“All right, I’ll run over there,” Pat said, turning to go.
Thank God she’s a runner,
Jack said to himself.
And that the hospital’s only three blocks away.
Dick had their only car and he was already at the hospital. All Jack could do now was wait.

He concentrated on watching the jury as they watched Geronimo Cruz’s video confession. They were paying close attention, which was good.
Now if Maria can only get here, we might convict these bastards.

Three blocks away another drama was taking place. Earlier that morning, Joaquin had taken a turn for the worse. His heart had stopped and a Code Blue was called. Dick arrived while it was in progress. Doctors and nurses were crowded around Joaquin’s bed. Maria was standing in the corner and appeared to be praying. There was no way he was going to convince her to leave at that moment. He couldn’t even ask.

They put the paddles to Joaquin’s chest several times before his heart started again. Minutes later all the doctors and nurses vanished as if they had been ghosts. Dick had seen many Code Blues in his day but he never got used to them. Still, this one was different—that was his best friend in the world lying on the bed being jolted around like a rag doll.

When Pat arrived, they were both standing over the bed saying the Hail Mary. She was out of breath from running and stood to the side until they were finished.

“What happened?” she asked.

“His heart stopped,” Dick said.

“Is he okay now?”

“He seems to be. The nurse says his vital signs are stabilized.”

Pat knew it was going to be next to impossible to get Maria to leave his bedside, but she had to try.

“Maria, we have fifteen minutes to get to the courthouse or the case is over. Everything Joaquin, you, Dick and Jack have worked for will be for nothing if you don’t testify.” She left herself out of the equation even though she was as much a part of it as they were.

“I can’t leave him,” Maria said desperately.

“You have to. Joaquin would want you to.” She hated using Joaquin like that, but there was no other way.

Maria looked at Dick.

“Go,” he told her. “I’ll stay here. Pat’s right, he’d want you to go.” He pulled his keys from his pocket and started to hand them to Pat.

“We don’t have time to get the car. We’ll have to run to the courthouse and hope we arrive in time.”

The bailiff was moving the television from in front of the jury when they jogged into the back of the courtroom breathing hard. Pat could see the relief come over Jack’s face.

“Call your next witness,” the judge told Jack.

“The state calls Maria Lopez,” Jack announced.

Maria walked to the front of the courtroom and took the oath from the clerk.

“Please state your name for the record,” Jack said. Maria did not answer. She had a distant look on her face.

“Ma’am,” the judge leaned toward her, “you must answer the question.”

“Maria Lopez,” she said, still looking dazed.

“And Ms. Lopez, where are you presently employed?”

“I’m a secretary at the state attorney’s office.”

Jack decided to lead her a bit. “You are presently my secretary, is that accurate?”

“Yes.”

“And before you worked for me you worked at the Bass Creek police department, is that accurate?”

“Yes.” She was still in a fog.

“And you worked specifically for the defendant, Wesley Brume, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“As his secretary?”

“Yes.” The leading questions were over. She had to focus now.

“How long did you work at the police department, Ms. Lopez?”

No answer. Jack repeated the question. “How long did you work at the police department, Maria?”

“Objection, Your Honor.” Jimmy DiCarlo was out of his chair again. “Counsel is becoming too familiar with the witness.” Maria looked at Jimmy DiCarlo and then at Clay Evans beside him and then at Wesley Brume, the son-of-a-bitch she knew had shot her Joaquin.

“Fifteen years,” she said before the judge could rule on the objection.

“Counsel, you will refrain from calling the witness by her first name,” the judge told Jack. “And ma’am, you will wait to answer the question once an objection is made. Do you understand?”

Maria turned and looked at the judge. “Yes, sir.” In that moment, Jack could tell that she was back.

“Could you tell the jury, Ms. Lopez, what positions you held at the Bass Creek police department?”

“For the first seven years, I was a receptionist. Then I became a secretary. Eventually, I became Mr. Brume’s secretary.”

“Ms. Lopez, I want to take you back to January 24, 1986. What was your position on that date?”

“I was the receptionist”

“And what were your job duties at that time?”

“I answered the phones, opened the mail, filed, did some light typing—that sort of thing.”

“Do you recall what happened on that date?”

“Yes.”

“And why do you recall that?”

“I testified about it in a hearing in March of that year, I think, and you showed me a transcript of my testimony just recently.”

“What happened on that date?”

“Mr. Brume brought Rudy Kelly in for questioning, and later his mother, Elena, came to the police station and demanded to see her son.”

“Do you remember what time she arrived?”

“Yes. It was 3:16 p.m.”

“And why do you remember the specific time?”

“Elena made me write it down. It’s in my notes, which are part of the investigative file, I believe. I also recently read it in my testimony.”

“Did you let Elena in to see her son at that time?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I was told not to by Detective Brume. Eventually another detective, Del Shorter, came out to talk to her, but she was never allowed to go back and talk to her son. Detective Brume was questioning him in the interrogation room.”

Now Jack switched gears. He had a letter marked as exhibit number six, which he handed to Maria. It was Joaquin’s copy of the May 2, 1986, letter from Tracey James to Clay Evans. Joaquin had mentioned it to Maria one day at the house and she told him she had seen it in Wesley Brume’s office. They then told Jack about it. Up to that point, Jack did not know how he was going to get the letter into evidence. Tracey was dead; Clay probably was not going to take the stand. Joaquin had received his copy, but Joaquin couldn’t verify that Tracey had sent it to Clay or that Clay had received it. Maria seeing the letter in Brume’s office made that connection. Still, Jack knew admissibility was going to be a major hurdle.

“Have you ever seen this, exhibit number six, before?”

“Yes. I have.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a letter dated May 2, 1986, from Tracey James to Clay Evans.”

“And who is Tracey James?”

“She was a private attorney who represented Rudy Kelly before the public defender took over the case.”

“And when did you see this letter?”

“Right around the time it was written, probably a few days later. Clay Evans came to the police department to see Mr. Brume, something he had never done before. They were talking in his office and I came in because Detective Brume had to sign something that needed to go out right away. The letter was on the desk. While Mr. Brume read through the document he was about to sign, I read the letter. I was standing over his left shoulder. As I was walking out of the room I heard Mr. Brume comment, ‘She can’t be serious.’ Mr. Evans didn’t reply, or if he did, I didn’t hear his reply.”

Jack addressed the judge. “Your Honor, I’d like to offer exhibit number six into evidence.”

“I have several objections, Your Honor,” Jimmy DiCarlo interjected.

“Approach,” the judge said.

When they were at sidebar, Jimmy began his litany of reasons why the letter should not be admitted into evidence.

“I’ve never seen this letter before, Judge.”

“I sent it to you,” Jack said, “when I responded to your Request for Production. It’s on my pre-trial list of exhibits.”

“Any other reasons?” the judge asked.

“It’s hearsay, and besides, the only way he can introduce this letter is through either my client or Ms. James, and my client is not testifying.”