Death on a High Floor (48 page)

“Mr. Broder,” Oscar began, “you’re lying, aren’t you?”

“Objection!” Benitez had stood up and raised his voice.

“What’s your objection, Mr. Benitez?” Judge Gilmore said.

“Argumentative,” Benitez said.

“Overruled.”

“No,” Stewart said, “I’m not lying.”

“When did you first go to the police, sir?”

“Yesterday morning. I called the DA’s office and
spoke
to a deputy DA Then I went down
there
and was interviewed.”

“What time was that?”

“About 11:00 a.m.”

“Your Honor,” Oscar said, “the prosecution should have notified us immediately of this witnesss’s changed testimony. There’s nothing at all about this in their earlier interview of Mr. Broder that was turned over to us. I move that his testimony be struck, in its entirety. And that the District Attorney’s office be sanctioned.”

Benitez was on his feet, and started to reply, but Judge Gilmore cut him off. “I agree that the circumstances here are peculiar at best. But I want to postpone dealing with your sanctions motion, Mr. Quesana, until the cross-examination is completed. Please proceed.”

“Mr. Broder,” Oscar said, “didn’t you already lie once before to the police in this case?”

“No,” Stewart said.

“Didn’t you tell Detective Spritz, the morning of the murder, that you were the deputy managing partner of the firm?”

“I don’t remember saying that.”

“So if Detective Spritz were to say you did say that, he’d be lying?”

“I, uh, don’t know how to answer that.” He shifted in his seat. “All I can say is that I don’t remember saying that to him.”

“Well, in any case, you weren’t the deputy managing partner that morning, were you?”

“No.”

“But you did talk to Detective Spritz the morning of the murder, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I just told him I needed to
call
the other offices about the phone situation, and that since I
was
there early,
I thought
I should do it, especially with the
managing
partner dead.”

“Did you go into Mr. Tarza’s office while you were at the firm that morning?”

“No.”

“Sir, is there a secret compartment in a bookcase in your office?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“Where did you get the bookcase that’s in your office?”

“Objection,” Benitez said. “Relevance.”

“What is the relevance of this, Mr. Quesana?” the judge asked.

“I’ll link it up shortly, or drop it, depending on the witness’s answer.”

“Okay. Overruled. You may answer, sir.”

“
When
Harry Marfan
left
the firm, I inherited it.”

“So if it turned out to have a secret compartment, you’d be shocked?”

“Yes.”

I could see what Oscar was trying to do. Cast doubt on a lot of little things about Stewart’s testimony, so that at the trial the shadows cast by all those little doubts might dim the bright sun of his big lie about our meeting. It was a good tactic. The problem with the tactic was that a meeting between me and Stewart at the
DownUnder
had actually taken place, and there were lots of witnesses to it. Unfortunately, only Stewart and I knew what had really been said there.

And now I finally understood that e-mail Stewart had sent me two days after the murder. The one that “confirmed” our meeting at the
DownUnder
,
even though the e-mail had arrived
before
Stewart actually called me to request the meeting. The e-mail would be read, in retrospect, to suggest that I had asked for the breakfast meeting, not him. Oscar’s note was right. I was fucked.

“Mr. Broder,” Oscar said, “you testified that you protected Mr. Tarza out of friendship, right?”

“Yes.”

“Have you protected any other friends from the police?”

I thought I saw Stewart blink. “No.”

“What about Harry Marfan?”

“Pardon?”

“Harry Marfan. You knew he was dealing drugs through the firm’s offices, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t
know
that.”

A few more Blob elements hit the doors and exited.

“Didn’t you go down to Manhattan Beach and kill him last night, to silence him?”

“Objection!” Benitez said. “Unless there’s some good-faith basis for these questions, this is outrageous conduct.”

“It’s outrageous all right,” Oscar said. “Outrageous that this witness is being put forward by the People as a truth-teller, when, by his own admission, he hid this supposed key fact from everyone for weeks.”

Judge Gilmore leaned forward, looked over at the witness, then looked at me, then looked at Benitez, and finally fixed her gaze on Oscar.

“Osc . . . Mr. Quesana, what is your basis for asking these questions?”

“I’d prefer not to say in open court, Your Honor.”

“I can understand that,” Judge Gilmore said, “but why don’t you at least give me a little hint, okay?”

“Okay,” Oscar said. “Daniel Boone.”

“Oh,” Judge Gilmore said. “I see.”

“I don’t see at all,” Benitez said.

“That’s because you were too lazy to interview him when you first got the chance, Charlie,” Oscar said.

“Mr. Quesana! That’s enough. You will address the Court, not Mr. Benitez. I will not have counsel arguing with one another in my courtroom.”

“Sorry, Your Honor,” Oscar said. The word was there, but in fact he sounded not the least bit contrite.

I could not restrain myself. I wanted to see what the Blob was making of all this, so I turned fully around to look. For the most part, those who remained were stock still, staring at what was going on in front of them. A few were scribbling madly in their notebooks. What really caught my eye, though, was Daniel Boone. He was grinning his loopy grin, staring straight at Stewart. I wondered if Stewart had noticed him.

“I’m satisfied, for the moment, with the good-faith basis of the questions,” Judge Gilmore said. “You may proceed, Mr. Quesana. But before Mr. Benitez does the redirect of this witness, I’m going to order you to turn over to him your notes of your interview with Mr. Boone.”

“I will,” Oscar said, “although under protest.”

“Noted,” Judge Gilmore said. “Now let’s get on with it.”

“I’ll ask the court reporter to read back the pending question,” Oscar said.

It was a nice touch. He could just as easily have put the question again himself. But it is somehow more dramatic to have the court reporter read the question back, in that oh-so-neutral tone court reporters employ. In the old days, the court reporter would have had to pick up the white tape coming out of her steno machine and search methodically for the passage. Instead, she just scrolled quickly back through the pages displayed on the small computer monitor that was hooked to her steno machine, found the passage and read it out loud: “
Didn’t you go down to Manhattan Beach and kill him last night, to silence him?”

“No,” Stewart said. “I didn’t.”

“Well,” Oscar said, “did you go down to Manhattan Beach last night for any reason?”

Stewart paused. “No.”

“You were in the courtroom yesterday afternoon when court ended, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I
was
.”

“Where did you go when you left the court?”

“I went home and spent the evening there, watching TV.”

“What did you watch?”

“A couple of movies.”

“Which ones?”

“I don’t recall right now. They were bad ones, and I didn’t see either of them from the start. I don’t even know if I ever learned their names since my screen guide wasn’t working. One was a war movie of some kind, and the other was a mystery. That’s all I recall.”

Now there was a clever answer. On any given night on TV, there are always war movies and mysteries playing on some channel, somewhere. Stewart looked increasingly nervous though. He was beginning to sweat, and the sweat was beading on his face.

“Do you,” Oscar asked, “have any witnesses who saw you enter your house or can prove you were at home last night?”

“Objection,” Benitez said. “Again. To this whole line of questioning. Mr. Broder isn’t on trial, so he doesn’t need an alibi. And I don’t know what any of this has to do with Boone. What he told Mr. Quesana couldn’t have had anything to do with the murder of Harry Marfan. The interview with Boone was in early afternoon. Marfan wasn’t murdered until last night.”

“It has everything to do with it,” Oscar said.

“Mr. Benitez has a point,” Judge Gilmore said. “These questions are quite far afield. I’ll let the witness answer the pending question, but then, Mr. Quesana, I think you should move on to a new topic.”

She turned to Stewart. “The question, sir, is whether you know of anyone who saw you enter your house or can prove you were home last night.”

“Not off the top of my head,” Stewart said. “Maybe some neighbors saw me come home. I’d have to check.”

Oscar resumed. “Mr. Broder, do you know someone named Daniel Boone?”

“I don’t think
so
.”

“How about someone named Top Quark?”

I heard someone in the Blob giggle at the name.

“Yes, I did
know
someone by that name,” Stewart said.

“Did he call you yesterday?”

Stewart paused, started to speak, then stopped and paused again. Oscar’s question was a brilliant shot in the dark. Because if Boone had in fact called Stewart as he had threatened to do, then Boone could put the lie to Stewart if he denied the call. I glanced over my shoulder again at Boone. He was still grinning. I looked back at Stewart and saw that his eyes were now fixed on the back row. He had seen him.

Stewart answered. “Uh,
yes
he did.”

“What did he say?”

“That he needed to
talk
to
me
.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I was busy and to
call
me back in a couple days. He said
he
would.” I saw Stewart’s eyes flick toward Boone.

“If Mr. Quark were to come in here and testify under oath that he saw you, Harry Marfan, Susan Apacha, and a fourth person in the law firm, on the eighty-fifth floor, shortly before Simon Rafer was murdered, would it be a lie?”

“Objection,” Benitez said. “Compound, no foundation, improper hypothetical.”

“Overruled.”

Stewart flicked his eyes again at Boone. Then he said, firmly, “Yes, it would be a lie.”

Oscar looked down at his notes. I knew exactly what his problem was. He had roughed the witness up a bit, but he hadn’t proved him a liar. If it could be done, it would have to await the trial. Maybe Boone could testify and put the lie to Stewart, but who knew if Boone would be believed. Doubtful. Now there was no doubt that what Oscar had said to me earlier was true. I was fucked.

Oscar tried a new tack. “Sir, do you make it a habit to cover up serious crimes?”

“Objection! Argumentative. There is no evidence Mr. Broder covered up a crime. He just didn’t report it. It’s hardly the same.”

“Mr. Quesana,” the judge said, “why don’t you rephrase that?”

“Okay,” Oscar said. “Sir, do you make it a habit not to report serious crimes you stumble on?”

“No,” Stewart said.

“You were aware, weren’t you, that there was drug dealing going on in the firm? Why didn’t you report that?”