The Hidden Man

The wind was whipping up, dropping the temperatures to near freezing. I thought of Talia. I thought of Sammy. And Audrey. I thought about justice and fairness and how rules we put forth to guide a criminal justice system don’t always get it right. There was something larger at play here, a higher ethic. If Sammy killed Griffin Perlini, he didn’t deserve to spend his life in prison. And if he didn’t do it, he sure as hell didn’t deserve a single day inside. No rule of law could alter that truth.

“I found the guy,” I said. “But you didn’t hear me say that.” I handed him a copy of the photo of Ke

He took the photo and didn’t even look at it. “Okay, then. I didn’t hear you say that.”

I told him to keep the photo, which was a subtle direction for him to study it, to commit details to memory. I told him the prosecution would fight his testimony hard and probably try to exclude it prior to trial. Then I left him to his construction project, retreating to my car, safe from the wind. I drove off, secure in the knowledge that I now had two legitimate suspects, Ke

“ HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, happy birthday to you.”

Talia sits patiently at the table, wearing that sweet smile and a party hat we have forced her to don for the celebration. I’ve acquiesced in letting Emily carry the cake, dominated by lit candles, from the kitchen to the di

“Mommy, how old are you?” Emily asks, taking a seat like a big girl at the table.

“Old enough, honey.” She laughs in her self-deprecating way.

“You don’t get any more birthdays,” says Talia’s mother, Gi

I am cutting the cake, screwing it up as usual, as Justine is handed over the table to Talia. I pause a moment to watch them, mother, daughter, granddaughter, the shared olive complexion and dark Italian features.

When her parents have left and the children are in bed, I take Talia in my arms and drink in the smell of her shampoo, the silky skin of her neck, the dark, watery eyes that always seem to project multiple colors, the forming lump in her belly. My heartbeat pounds against my chest, against her body joined to mine, and it feels like I love you doesn’t even begin to cover it.

I BREATHED a sigh of relief when the clock passed midnight, as if there were something magical about the passing of a minute or hour. Sammy’s trial was only two weeks away, and I had many things to do. I had to disclose to the prosecution the additional evidence about Archie Novotny—the photocopies of the checks he wrote to Music Emporium. I had to disclose Ke

I had to find Smith and the people he represented, because they would probably try to kill Pete and me once Sammy’s case was over.

Two days from now—Tuesday—I would appear in court to argue for the expedited DNA testing of the girls found behind that school, or otherwise a delay in the trial. Smith hadn’t been shy about voicing his objection, and I was still hoping he might back down on Pete—call off his witnesses and let Pete off the hook in exchange for my dropping that motion. Or maybe Smith would make a wrong move and somehow expose himself. It wasn’t much more than a long shot, but it was all I had.

Other than De

Question marks. I had plenty of them. And I was ru

43

SMITH FINGERED A BREADSTICK, considering it but unable to bring himself to eat. The private room in Locallo’s was dark but warm, a comfortable setting, and the rigatoni was the best he’d ever had in the city, but his appetite eluded him this evening. He replayed the entire course of events leading up to today, wondering if he could identify a particular misstep on his part. The only misstep, he decided, was in underestimating Jason Kolarich.

“The fuckin’ guy knows how to play poker,” he said. “That motion he filed for the DNA testing and to delay the trial. He knows he’s hit a nerve. He’s trying to force our hand.”

“He’s desperate.”

“Yeah, but so the fuck are we,” Smith said. He drained his Scotch and felt worse for doing so. “The question is, does he know why we’re desperate?”

“No.”

“You don’t know that. You hope that.” Smith looked squarely at Detective De

“I’m telling you,” said DePrizio. “He doesn’t know which way is up. He’s desperate, but he doesn’t have a clue. He basically told me he was waving the white flag. He said you had him boxed in. He said he had no way of finding you, unless you accidentally left your fingerprints on that briefcase or the cash inside.”

Smith didn’t know his adversary sufficiently. That had been his problem all along. Jason Kolarich hadn’t been his choice; he was Sammy Cutler’s pick. And Kolarich was proving to be more difficult to manipulate than he’d thought.

“That guy’s a stubborn prick.” Smith looked at DePrizio. “I don’t think we have a choice now. Do we? I think he’s going forward with that motion in court. The judge is going to move the trial date and let him do DNA testing. With all the publicity after those bodies were found? Of course she will. We don’t have a choice.”

“He’s bluffing,” DePrizio said. “He’s taking a free shot at getting you to let his brother off the hook. He won’t go through with it.” DePrizio scooped up a healthy fork full of linguine and shoved it into his mouth.

Smith pushed away the plate of rigatoni, which now revolted him. “Goddammit. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. All that asshole had to do was follow instructions and we’d be fine. Now look at us. Look what we’re thinking about doing here. This was never supposed to happen.” He looked over at DePrizio, who was dishing more food into his mouth. “De

DePrizio shrugged. “Hey, nobody asked me if this was a good idea.” He swallowed and wiped his mouth. “This whole thing, from day one, was pretty much a clusterfuck, right?”

That didn’t make Smith feel any better. He reached for another stomach pill and washed it down with water. “What other choice did we have? You tell me, De

“Okay, it was the only thing you could do.” DePrizio poured himself some more wine. “I mean, I get you. You want to control the outcome of this trial and keep the spotlight off Carlo. So you do what we do, right? You throw some money at him. Only that didn’t work, he still does whatever he wants. So then you apply pressure. That’s how it works. Only you got this lawyer who isn’t being real compliant.” He took a healthy drink of the Merlot, a nice bottle from 1994. “So yeah, I think you’re right, you don’t have much of a choice now. You gotta up the pressure. You gotta move on that brother of his.”