Deadlock

It was no secret who Ambrosi was, a made guy for the Calibresi family, which had moved into the five-borough vacuum created when the feds put Gotti away. The feds knew who he was – A

“You want to go see a show or something?” Ambrosi asked.

“I don’t want to go to a show,” A

“You got it, babe,” Ambrosi said.

They had a studio apartment in Gramercy Park, the place Ambrosi crashed when not at home in Queens. He was not often home. His wife, he assured A

Outside the restaurant window, A

“What’s it like?” she asked.

“What?”

“You know. Whack.”

Ambrosi’s eyes darted toward the adjoining table. “Hey, keep it down, will you?”

That only made A

“I also like walking around.”

“So tell me.”

“What do you want to know for?”

“Part of my education.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Plus it will make me very excited, if you know what I mean.”

Ambrosi’s straight white teeth gleamed between his lips. “Siete del diavolo.”

She frowned.

“You little devil.”

A

“It’s no big deal, after the first time,” Ambrosi said. “You ever see that movie, the one where DeNiro plays a Mafia guy and that other guy, what’s his name, the little comedian, plays a shrink?”

“Analyze This.”

“Yeah, that’s it. And the shrink says it’s good to hit a pillow when you’re feeling stressed out, so DeNiro whips out his gun and shoots a pillow. And the shrink says, ‘Feel better?’ and DeNiro says, ‘Yeah, I do.’ I cracked up. But that’s what it’s like.”

“Really? Shooting a person is like shooting a pillow?”

“Once you get used to it.” Ambrosi nabbed another piece of shrimp and sent it into his mouth.

“Don’t you ever worry about someone finding out?”

“How would they?”

“What if I was wearing a wire?”

Ambrosi looked at her, unconcerned. “You wouldn’t be alive if you were,” he said, as smoothly as if ordering Peking duck.

A

CHAPTER EIGHT

1

Charlene watched as Beau Winsor circled her client. People sometimes called lawyers sharks. In Winsor’s case, it was apt, though he did not once raise his voice or seem upset with Sarah Mae. It was not the sort of cross-examination one saw on TV shows. This was a surgery in which the patient hardly notices both legs being amputated.

“Now, Sarah Mae,” Winsor said, sounding like he was addressing his own daughter, “when you went into the clinic that morning, you knew they performed abortions there, didn’t you?”

“I guess so,” Sarah Mae said.

Winsor gave a quick glance to the jury. “Now, we don’t want you to guess, Sarah Mae.” Her name dripped like molasses off his tongue. “You need to tell us what you know for certain. Now, did you know they performed abortions?”

“Yeah.” In her i

“You had been thinking about having an abortion, hadn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“And that wasn’t an easy decision, was it?”

“Oh, no.”

Charlene watched and listened carefully. Winsor was spreading some sort of net, and priming Sarah Mae to stroll right into it.

“So would it be fair to say, Sarah Mae, that you had really gone over and over this in your mind?”

“I didn’t want to,” Sarah Mae said, her eyes suddenly wide.

Winsor put his hand up, as a comforting uncle would. “We’ll get to what you wanted in a moment, Sarah Mae. I understand you’re nervous. So I’ll ask my questions really simply, and you just do your best to answer them, okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“We’re just interested in the truth here,” Winsor added. Charlene almost objected, but didn’t. How could anyone object to that? While it was technically an improper use of cross-examination – Winsor was simply making a statement for the jury – it wouldn’t look good. The man was an absolute master.

“All right, when you went to the clinic,” Winsor said, “how did you get there?”

“Walked.”

“How long did it take you?”

“I don’t rightly remember.”

“Was it a half hour or so?”

“I think.”

“So you had that time all the way there to think about where you were going, right?”

“I guess.”

“We don’t want you to guess, Sarah Mae. You just do your best to tell us rightly the way it was, okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Now when you got to the clinic, you didn’t hesitate, did you?”

“Huh?”

“You walked right in, didn’t you?”

Sarah Mae swallowed. “I think I did.”

For a moment Beau Winsor looked confused. Charlene realized immediately it was an act. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Sarah Mae, do you remember giving a deposition in this case?”

“I think.”

“You think? Don’t you remember that you and your lawyer came to my office, and I asked you questions, and a reporter, like the one sitting over there, took down what you said. Do you remember that?”

“Yeah.”

“And then your lawyer got a copy of that, what we call a transcript, and went over it with you, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“And you had a chance to make corrections at that time.”

“I think.”

“Well, I’m looking at the transcript here.” Winsor slipped on some reading glasses and flipped open the document. “I’m looking at page 34. Now, Sarah Mae, do you recall my asking you this question: Did you hesitate before you went into the clinic? And do you remember giving this answer: No. Do you remember that, Sarah Mae?”

“I guess.”

“You don’t remember?”

“Uh-uh.”

“I guess it’s pretty difficult for you to remember what happened that day, isn’t it?”

Sarah Mae started to speak, but her mouth got stuck on open.

“Pretty difficult, isn’t it?” Winsor’s voice was like warm honey. Sarah Mae seemed drawn to it, almost stuck in it, and she began to tremble. Judge Lewis said, “You’ll have to answer the question, Miss Sherman.”

Shaking her head, Sarah Mae said, “I don’t know. I don’t!”

Charlene could not object to this. She could ask for a break, but that would look even worse.

“It’s all right, Sarah Mae,” Winsor said. “Just catch your breath for a minute. You need some water?”

Sarah Mae shook her head.

“Now, when Miss Moore over there was asking you questions, do you remember her asking you about meeting with Dr. Sager?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And there was that one question where she asked you if Dr. Sager had inquired about your feelings. Do remember that question?”

“I think.”

“And you said, let me see here, I jotted it down. You said this: He said something like that, meaning he asked how you were feeling, isn’t that right?”

“I guess. Yeah.”

“Now I was a little confused about that. I think the jury would like to hear a little bit more.”