The Shadow Man (40 page)

Espy Martinez didn’t reply. Instead she scanned the story. There were few details, other than the essential one that Leroy Jefferson was cleared of killing Sophie Millstein and was expected in court that morning. The story didn’t directly link his cooperation to the investigation of her death, but that inference was obvious. There was a predictable statement from Abe Lasser about preferring witnesses to be holy men, but sometimes being forced to take what was available. She recognized his comment for what Lasser termed midnight quotes — which were colorfully phrased truisms that sated some Herald reporter who called late at night, long after office hours.

She grimaced. It wasn’t a long story, but it was more than enough to draw attention to something she’d wanted handled quietly.

‘Damn,’ she said again. ‘Damn your eyes, Tommy Alter. Couldn’t keep your mouth shut.’ She looked at the three old people. ‘Have you seen the Herald reporter? Or any television crews …?’

They all nodded in unison.

‘Already inside,’ the old woman said.

‘Come on.’ The old man tugged at her sleeve. ‘We won’t get seats. It’s packed in there and I want to get a seat.’

The trio of buzzards hopped across the corridor, leaving her standing outside, clutching the paper. She squeezed it

tightly, hoping to force some of the fury she felt out through her fingers, hoping to maintain her composure. Then she turned abruptly and followed the old people into the courtroom.

A single television camera lurked in one corner. The cameraman spun and tracked her like a determined sniper as she pushed her way down the center aisle. It was a dark place, a sort of hybrid between the old churchlike style of some courtrooms, with wooden pews and deep, brown oaken benches and railings, and the ultramodern, offset lighting, theater style that was becoming increasingly prevalent. The effect was of a high-ceilinged room with a limpid off-white light, that was neither auditorium nor living room. It was as if the courtroom had been designed to make everyone sitting in it uncomfortable, forced to strain to see properly in the dim light and lean forward to catch the words spoken amidst the poor acoustics. In Florida, she understood, it just went to show that on any public construction project, it makes much more sense to hand your inevitable bribe money to actually competent workmen and not waste it paying off the vast number of inept contractors, regardless of how many city councilmen they might happen to be related to.

She saw Tommy Alter sitting behind a defense table with two other public defenders. She stepped up behind him. ‘You son of a bitch,’ she whispered. ‘This wasn’t supposed to be a goddamn carnival.’

He spun around to face her. ‘Well, good morning to you too, Espy.’

‘You promised me,’ she said bitterly. ‘This was going to stay quiet until we’d finished with Jefferson. I’ve half a mind to walk on the whole deal. Reinstate the charges, you bastard. Let your precious client spend some more time waiting in jail. How about that? Maybe let him do six

months in county lockup while I screw around with the case? Would he like that?’

Alter eyed her narrowly. ‘As usual, you leap to a conclusion and it’s incorrect.’

‘What’s incorrect?’

‘I didn’t call the fucking Herald, Espy. And when they called me, I wouldn’t talk to them.’

‘Then who would? Who knew?’

Tommy Alter smiled slowly. ‘Well, I’ve got one guess. It’s your guy, Espy.’

‘Walter? Don’t be crazy, he wouldn’t—’

‘No,’ Alter interrupted. ‘Not Walter Robinson. How about your friend and mine, the Lumberjack? He’s the one quoted in the paper saying he’s none too happy about all this. Think maybe he made that call? Think maybe he doesn’t care what he screws up, as long as he gets his precious opinion heard?’

She stopped, still clutching the newspaper in her hand.

Alter’s smile slid into a grin. ‘Good guess, huh?’

She straightened up, nodding. ‘AH right,’ she said. ‘We’ll do it. But no comments to the press afterward. Got that, Tommy? You’ve been doing such a fine job keeping your tongue from flying about uncontrollably. Let’s try to keep it up, okay?’

Alter lost grip of his grin and flushed. He started to reply angrily, but stopped himself. ‘Let’s just get it on the record,’ he said after a moment.

Behind her the bailiff was singing out, ‘All rise,’ and without replying, she stepped over to the prosecution table. She watched as the judge, a small, wiry man with a bald, monkish pate and an upper lip that seemed surgically fixed into a sarcastic leer, swept into the courtroom like some emperor in a hurry. After seating himself, the judge peered out at the cameraman, one eyebrow shooting up,

then took in the filled courtroom. The raised eyebrow degenerated into an irritated scowl. He motioned to his bailiff, whispered something to the man, and then waved at Alter and Martinez to approach, with much the same motion one might use with a poorly trained puppy who’d made a mess on an Oriental carpet.

They dutifully gathered at the front of the bench.

‘All right,’ the judge said. ‘I’ve got a heavy calendar today and I want to get through it quickly because I’m in trial this afternoon. You two are the main show. Let’s do your Mr Jefferson first. This is a plea, I gather?’

Martinez nodded. ‘Yes, Your Honor. A plea contingent upon cooperation with investigators. It was supposed to be quiet.’

‘I understand, Miss Martinez. You’d prefer not to let slide too many details of your ongoing investigation into the waiting notebooks of our local champions of the First Amendment. Correct?’

‘Correct.’

‘All right, then, if this is satisfactory with you, Mr Alter, we’ll limit the plea colloquy simply to what needs to be on the record. I will give my standard “If you do not cooperate, I will send you to Raiford or Hell” speech, and then I can get on with business and you can take the circus out into the hallway, so that you can successfully lie to, Mislead, or deceive the press out of my presence.’

“That’s fine, Your Honor,’ Alter said.

‘I will postpone any sentencing on the plea until I receive memos from the two of you detailing the cooperation Mr Jefferson provides. That’s the sword you hold over his neck, Miss Martinez. But likewise, I understand that in return for his cooperation, Mr Jefferson receives a makable cash bond and then one of those lovely get-out-of-jail-free cards, correct, Mr Alter?’

‘That’s the arrangement.’

The judge expelled a burst of air. ‘I hope he’s worth it, Miss Martinez.’

The judge rocked back in his high-backed leather chair as the bailiff intoned, ‘The State versus Leroy Jefferson.’ Espy Martinez turned to take her place at the prosecution’s table and saw Jefferson being wheeled into the courtroom through a side door by a corrections officer. Jefferson frowned at her, but greeted Tommy Alter with a soul-shake.

‘We’re here on a plea?’ the judge asked loudly.

‘Correct, Your Honor,’ she replied. ‘Because Mr Jefferson has agreed to provide substantial cooperation on several unrelated cases, and because our office has developed information indicating he was not responsible for the homicide he was initially charged with, a plea agreement has been worked out.’

‘Is that your understanding, Mr Alter?’

‘Yes, Your Honor.’

‘All right, Miss Martinez. Please read the charges.’

She did this swiftly, racing through the assault, robbery, resisting arrest with violence, and a few other, incidental charges designed to pad out the length of the plea, but which would not change the actual nature of the agreement. The idea was to have him say guilty enough times that the actual meaning of the arrangement was obscured. She watched as the court stenographer’s fingers flew above her recording machine. She finished and the judge gestured at Leroy Jefferson. Alter maneuvered the wheelchair to the center of the courtroom.

‘All right, Mr Jefferson. For the record, please state your name and address.’

‘Leroy Jefferson. King Apartments. Number thirteen.’

‘How long have you lived there?’

‘Couple of years.’

‘Mr Jefferson, are you currently on any narcotic substance?’

‘Just what they give me for the pain in my leg.’

‘How much education do you have?’

‘I went to high school.’

‘How far?’

‘I got my diploma.’

‘Really? Do you suffer from any mental impairment or illness that would prevent you from comprehending the arrangement your attorney has entered into with the State?’

‘What?’

‘You sick, Mr Jefferson? Are you crazy? Do you understand the plea?’

‘I done pleas before, Your Honor. I know what they are.’

‘Good. You understand that by failing to live up to your part of the agreement, that I can rescind the plea and lentence you to over one hundred years in prison? I want you to have no doubt at all, that’s what I will do.’

‘I’m gonna help them, best I can.’

‘Good. But you understand that in order to obtain the benefit of this agreement, you must help them to their satisfaction.’

‘They’ll be satisfied. I promise that.’

‘Good. Now you’re pleading guilty, because you are guilty, correct, Mr Jefferson?’

‘Yes. ‘Cept I didn’t do what they said I did when they came for me. Had nothing to do with that killing …’

‘I understand.’

“I ought to sue them for shooting me.’

‘Talk to your lawyer, Mr Jefferson. But personally, I think you’re lucky to be standing here today.’

‘Ain’t standing, Your Honor.’

The judge smiled, caught in a sarcasm he appreciated. ‘True enough. All right, Mr Jefferson. As the clerk reads the charges, you say the word guilty. Miss Martinez, I assume you have plans for Mr Jefferson?’

‘Yes, Your Honor.’

‘Well, you can pick him up at your convenience at the jail. Madam clerk, start reading. And you, Mr Jefferson, one thing …’

‘What’s that, Your Honor?’

‘Don’t let me see you again. Don’t screw up. You’ve got an opportunity here, don’t mess it up. Because the alternative is a very long time in a very unpleasant place, and I will send you there just as quickly as you can curse out my name. Do you understand that, Mr Jefferson?’

He nodded.

‘Good. Then let’s hear some guiltys.’

The clerk began reading and Leroy Jefferson began answering. Espy Martinez took a quick glance back over her shoulder at the packed courtroom. Her eyes fell on the trio of old people, and she saw that they were surrounded by a dozen other retirees, all staring at her or Leroy Jefferson, hanging on every word. She swept her gaze about, lingering on other defendants, witnesses, policemen, and attorneys occupying every seat or leaning against every inch of free wall space, all waiting for her case to finish so they could get on with their own. She thought the justice system was like the sea; her own small wave had curled up and crashed against the sand, and now it was dissolving, racing back toward the ocean, while another wavelet was gathering to make its own assault on the shore. She heard the last guilty, turned back and saw Jefferson being pushed out of the courtroom, and she gathered her papers, stuffing them into a briefcase, aware that the

camera was tracking her again, feeling oddly as if it was not the only eyes following her path. She ignored this sensation.

Walter Robinson and Espy Martinez sat in the front seat of his unmarked cruiser, while Leroy Jefferson and Tommy Alter occupied the back. The midday sun filled the interior, glistening off the white hood. The air conditioner labored to overcome the heat. The bay stretched out on either side of them, reflecting shafts of sunlight. Robinson took a quick glance in the rearview mirror and saw that Jefferson was uncomfortably squirming in his seat - there was little room to stretch out his leg, which was still heavily wrapped in bandages. His wheelchair had been jammed into the trunk.

Robinson knew there was a large pothole in the right-hand lane of the Julia Tuttle Causeway, so he steered directly
or it. The worn shock absorbers on the car thumped as he dumped the right tire into the pothole. Leroy Jefferson grimaced.p>

‘Hey, Leroy,’ Robinson said cheerfully. ‘What number bus runs over the causeway to Liberty City?’

‘That’s the G-75,’ Jefferson answered.

‘That’s right. That’s the one you rode that night, right? After you saw Sophie Millstein get waxed, right, Leroy? Rode it right back to Liberty City. All that hot stuff in your hands. What were you thinking, Leroy? What’d you think about what you saw?’

‘Don’t answer that,’ Tommy Alter said quickly.

‘He’s gonna have to answer. That’s the deal.’

Alter hesitated. ‘Okay,’ he said slowly. ‘Go ahead.’

“Didn’t think nothing,’ Jefferson replied.

‘Not good enough, counselor. I think you’re going to have to inform your client that he’s to be forthcoming.

Expansive. Descriptive. A veritable poet, a wordsmith, when it comes to Sophie Millstein’s murder and everything he saw that night. You tell him that, Tommy. Don’t want to have to turn right around and head back to the judge’s chambers.’

‘He’ll tell you what you want to know. When we get there.’

Espy Martinez said nothing, but watched Walter Robinson’s face. The detective nodded.

‘Okay. I can wait a few minutes. So, how’s it feel to be free, Leroy? You got some plans for tonight? Little celebration, maybe? Got some friends gonna come over, have a little party?’

‘Ain’t got no friends. Ain’t got no party.’

‘Oh come on, Leroy. Not too many folks are slick enough to talk their way out of shooting a policeman. You’re gonna be an important man on your block. People likely will look up to you. I’m sure there’ll be some sort of celebration.’

Robinson’s cynicism filled the car. Jefferson merely shrugged.

‘Come on, Leroy. Not even a little one? Maybe invite over your friends from the Helping Hand?’

‘I told you, they ain’t my friends.’

‘Well, then how about an-all-by-yourself party, what do you think?’

‘What you mean?’

‘I mean, I know you’ve got some little stash hidden so good we couldn’t find it when we tossed your apartment. Under a false board maybe or behind a loose cinder block. It’s somewhere in that apartment, ain’t it, Leroy? Just waiting for you, right? Nice and patient and ready, just like some really good and faithful friend, right? I mean, who needs other folks when you’ve got that pipe, right? That’s