Bad blood

“Well, if I can rearrange my schedule to stay in New York over the next weekend, may I have the first bid on Saturday night?”

“Absolutely,” I said, knowing that as I worked myself through the heart of the prosecution case, with or without my cooperating snitch, I’d probably look like a zombie by the time Saturday rolled around.

“I’ll let you get back to work now. I’ll try to find you again tonight. Let you know if I can change my plans.”

“I look forward to that.”

When Laura returned, I ate at my desk and redrafted my closing argument. The original version included points about the testimony of Marley Dio

Mike Chapman called at three fifteen. “Packed house, Coop. Duke filled the church this morning. Brendan even managed to shed a few tears.”

“Tell me he’s back behind bars. Under lock and key again?”

“I just delivered him to the Tombs.”

“Have you heard anything from Mercer?”

“Yeah. It took them five hours at the property clerk, but they found the evidence from Bex Hassett’s case. Looks like it was stored properly. No reason they can’t take a shot at analysis. He’s on his way to the lab.”

“The girl’s sweater?” I asked.

“Uh-huh. There’s a rough edge on the zipper. They’ll work up the blood for a profile.”

“Mike, I really need you and Mercer to go back at Marley Dio

“I didn’t ask for this funeral detail. The lieutenant just stuck me with it. We’ll pay a visit to Dio

I swiveled in my chair and stared out the window. I didn’t want to snap at Mike, but I would take him on if he had jeopardized the case. “I’ve already had a rough day. Please tell me you didn’t ask him about that?”

Lem Howell would raise a stink if Mike had even tried to question his client.

“Temper, temper, Madam Prosecutor. There were two uniformed cops sitting right there in the front seat of the car. I didn’t ask him anything.”

“But you said-”

“Now there are no rules that say I can’t talk to the man, are there? Offer my condolences and the like.”

“So you told Brendan what?”

“I just thought he’d want to know that I found his name in an old case file. Probably a coincidence is what I thought. Another homicide. Another manual strangulation. A sixteen-year-old girl named Rebecca Hassett.”

I reached in my desk drawer for some aspirin. “If he responded to you, I really do not want to know what he said. Got it?”

“He didn’t speak at all. I was sitting on the wrong side of him, so all I was looking at was the walled-up eye of the Cyclops. But I’m telling you, Coop, his whole body twitched so bad, I think if he wasn’t cuffed to me, he would have thrown himself out of the car.”

26

Lem Howell was talking to Judge Gertz at the bench when Pat McKi

“Gentlemen, good to see you.”

Lem didn’t like Pat any better than I did. They had often tangled before Lem left the DA’s Office for private practice-Lem, the personification of great style, and Pat, who exhibited none. He was a fine investigator, but his lack of interpersonal skills didn’t translate well in front of jurors and adversaries.

“Everything go as pla

“Yes, sir. I understand the defendant has been returned to the custody of the Department of Correction.”

“Do you have your schedule for the week?”

I handed my witness list for the next day to the judge, with a copy to Lem. “These are the detectives I’m calling tomorrow. The rest of the week is a work in progress. You’ll know as soon as I do.”

Lem was pleased to see there were no surprises. I had turned over all my discovery for these cops when jury selection began.

“You here to pick up some pointers, Pat?” Lem asked, brushing some flecks of dandruff off McKi

McKi

“We’re starting at nine sharp, folks. Is that okay? Get this show back on the road,” Gertz said. “Artie called all the jurors today. They’ll be in early and ready to go.”

“That’s fine,” I said.

“Judge, I’d like to give you a heads-up about something,” Pat said, sidling up to the bench and squaring off to Lem Howell.

Gertz was already on his feet, taking off his robe to hang it in chambers for the night.

“What’s that? Something to do with Alex’s case?”

“Well, more to do with Brendan Quillian.”

Lem glanced at me and I looked away. “What would that be?” he asked.

Gertz sat down again and McKi

“What do you mean, came across it?” Gertz asked.

“I don’t think we’re prepared to tell you exactly how that happened right now. But the important thing to know is that one of the persons of interest in that matter…”

Pat McKi

“…one of the persons of interest in the manual strangulation of this teenager was Brendan Quillian.”

Lem Howell scowled at McKi

“Tell me what you know,” Gertz said, cocking his head and letting McKi

“Ask Alexandra why she’s so quiet,” Lem said. “Something tells me she doesn’t have a dog in this fight.”

Gertz checked me out, then turned back to McKi

“I just thought you ought to know, Judge, that Battaglia may ask the Bronx district attorney to-um-to re-autopsy the case. New forensic technology, a more careful examination.”

Lem’s outrage was growing. For the eight hundred fifty dollars an hour that Brendan Quillian was paying for his services, the defendant would get more than his money’s worth, whether he was here to see the action or not. There was no trace of Lem’s good humor as he pointed his finger at McKi

“Re-autopsy? Is that some kind of euphemism for digging up a body in the middle of my client’s trial? Maybe happen to have a reporter trailing along with you, a photographer or two to make sure you hit the tabloids? Have you lost your mind, Pat? Alex, you’ve got better sense than this.”

“I’m not saying it’s going to happen, Lem,” McKi

“Weasel words, Your Honor. Not the first time I’ve heard them from Mr. McKi