The Finishing School (14 page)

“Related to the Holbrooke junkies case?” Gabriel asked, rotating the digits on his stamper to a new docket number and beginning to mark her papers.

“You know about that, too?”

“It’s all over the courthouse that you caught that one,
mami
. And some curious eyes been watching you since you walked in. Normally I’d think it’s just your pretty legs they’re interested in, but I’ve had some inquiries.”

“Who from? The press?” Melanie asked, resisting a powerful urge to turn and look over her shoulder. The whole thing about knowing when you were being watched was a complete myth. Whenever she’d been watched—and it
had
happened in other cases—she’d never had a clue until way too late.

“Mostly press,” he was saying. “But a couple of guys I didn’t like the looks of, too. Came in claiming to be friends of the victims. Looked like bad news to me. I pointed ’em out to the marshals just in case. Anyways, I don’t see ’em now,” he said, eyes scanning the spectator benches.

“Can you describe them?” Melanie asked.

“Real bruiser types. One black, the other white with a scar from a bullet
aquí en la cara
,” he said, touching his finger to his cheek. “They asked if we had anything come in on the schoolgirls case. I didn’t tell ’em a thing.”

Melanie felt a prickling sensation run down the back of her neck. She tried to tell herself it was because the courtroom was drafty, but she didn’t believe herself. Why would two thugs be looking into this? Esposito, maybe?

“They sound familiar?” Gabriel asked, eyeing her with concern.

“Not really, no. But let me know if you see them again, okay?”

“Sure. Meanwhile, be careful. Watch out if you go to the little girls’ room.”

“Don’t worry about me, Gabe. I can take care of myself.”

Nooo
problem. She could take on a couple of huge, hulking bruisers. Melanie wiped her suddenly sweaty palms against her skirt, feeling slightly ill. She gathered up her papers, now stamped with docket numbers, and turned away. But after collecting her thoughts for a second, she turned back. If these goons were still here somewhere watching, they would see Trevor Leonard get arraigned.
Think about someone other than yourself
, she told herself. Melanie had plans for Trevor. He’d make a great informant in an investigation against Esposito. Arraigning him in open court would blow that possibility sky high. Not to mention that he seemed like a decent kid, and she would never want any harm to come to him.

“Any chance the judge would entertain a motion to close the courtroom?” Melanie asked, already knowing the answer.

“From the
government
? Get over yourself,
mami
! There’s gotta be a hundred people in here we’d have to clear. Besides, you know how the judge feels about Big Brother stomping on the public’s right to know.”

She knew how the left-wing Judge Warner felt about the government, was what she knew. Deny the prosecution’s every request, even if it meant getting a witness killed.

“At least take the arraignment in chambers instead of in open court?” Melanie wheedled.

“Not a chance.” Gabriel shook his head firmly but then stopped after seeing the stricken expression on Melanie’s face. “Why? You got a cooperator?” he asked.

“Possibly.”

“He been threatened?” Gabriel asked.

“Not yet, but he probably will be. And he’s young. I’m not sure he can handle himself.”

“The judge likes to see evidence of actual threat on the defendant’s life before he takes anything in camera,” Gabriel said.

“That’s not required by the statute.”

“The statute is interpreted differently in this courtroom. The judge has his own rules. You know that.”

“You can’t always produce evidence of a threat, Gabe, even when it’s real and the witness is at risk.
You
know
that
,” she said.

Gabriel was Dominican, from the Bronx. He knew how the streets worked. “Yeah, okay, I know.” He drummed his fingers on the desk, thinking. “It might be different if the motion came from the defense.”

“Who’s on duty from Legal Aid today?” she asked.

“Ah, what am I saying? No good. It’s Stewart Steinberg.”

“Shit. That totally sucks.”

Stewart Steinberg was a short, stocky defense lawyer–slash–ideologue–slash–prima donna, a sixties throwback, intimate of Kunstler and Kuby, who hated prosecutors on principle. He argued every point to his last wheezing breath no matter how counterproductive for his client. People he represented refused to cooperate and turned down sweet plea bargains, mesmerized by his angry rhetoric, never realizing what a disservice their lawyer had done them. It was said that Stewart Steinberg got more people locked up for longer time than the FBI and NYPD put together.

“Not your day, huh,
mami
?” Gabriel said.

“Well, with Stewart representing him, at least I don’t need to worry about death threats. The kid’ll never cooperate,” she said bitterly.

“You know, it pains me to see a beautiful woman look so unhappy. You’re gonna give yourself wrinkles, and that would be a tragedy. So
papi’
s gonna take care of you.”

Gabriel picked up his phone and dialed Legal Aid.

“Yeah, Sandra?…Gabriel from Judge Warner’s chambers. How you doing,
mami
?…Sure, I’d be into that, especially the part about the cute chicks. You send me the invitation in the interoffice, okay?…Listen, I got a little problem. A new case came in. Stewart Steinberg’s up, but he’s nowhere to be found. Is he there?…Yeah, I’ll hold.” He covered the receiver with his hand, smiling at Melanie with sparkly white teeth. “Don’t worry. Fat Stewie went over to the mob diner for his afternoon snack fifteen minutes ago,” he said, referring to a diner across the plaza frequented by organized-crime figures. “He won’t be back anytime soon.”

Gabriel held up his hand for silence. “Yeah, Sandra?
What
? What you mean, woman? The case is getting ready to be called. The judge ain’t gonna be happy, and he’s in a worse mood than usual today. I hate to see him take it out on the entire Legal Aid Society…Okay, okay, tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna cover for you. I’ll appoint other counsel under the Criminal Justice Act. How’s that?…Yeah, you owe me one, baby. Tell Mr. Disappearing Steinberg that, too. Fat Stewie owes me big time. Bye, now.”

Gabriel hung up and grinned broadly at Melanie, then pulled a typed list of names from a folder on his desk. “As if
papi
ain’t do you mad favors already.” He dialed a pager, punched in a callback number, and hung up. “I’m gonna give you Patty Atkins to represent your cooperator. Just don’t forget who’s your candy man, babe,” he said, winking at her.

IN JUDGE WARNER’S private chambers, everything went according to plan.

They stood before the judge’s imposing walnut desk. Gabriel Colón turned on the tape recorder, called the case, and placed Dan O’Reilly under oath. Dan raised his right hand and attested to the truth of the information in the search and arrest warrants. Judge Warner signed the warrants with a flourish and handed them to Melanie. Trevor Leonard, who stood shackled between Patty Atkins and two burly deputy marshals, looked young and remorseful and spoke in a tiny voice. He’d been ferried up in the back service elevator just in case those thugs were still lurking around somewhere. And Melanie made her carefully rehearsed pitch, seconded enthusiastically by prosecutor–turned–defense lawyer Patty Atkins, who knew a good deal when she saw one.

“I hereby find that the defendant poses neither a risk of flight nor a danger to the community,” Judge Warner intoned into the tape recorder, peering severely over his half-glasses. “This finding is made on the joint motion of the government and the defense, and takes into account that the defendant has agreed to cooperate with agents of the Elite Narcotics Task Force as requested. Mr. Leonard is ordered released on a twenty-thousand-dollar personal-recognizance bond, secured by his own signature. He will remain within the five boroughs unless permission to travel is sought and granted by this court. Anything further, Ms. Vargas?” Judge Warner asked, glaring at Melanie.

“Nothing from the government, Your Honor,” Melanie said.

“Ms. Atkins?” Another glare.

“No, Judge.”

“Very well. All records of this proceeding, including this audiotape, shall be sealed for Mr. Leonard’s protection. So ordered.”

And he smacked his gavel resoundingly on its base, suppressing a slight smile when they all jumped.

MELANIE, Dan, and Bridget were waiting outside Melanie’s office door. Trevor Leonard was inside conferring with his lawyer and his father, trying to decide whether to go forward with the debriefing. The risks of cooperating in this case were obvious, given Jay Esposito’s suspected history of witness killing.

“I have some real doubts about whether we should use this kid even if he wants to cooperate,” Melanie admitted, tapping her foot nervously.

“You mean because he didn’t come clean about the money in the airport locker?” Dan asked. His eyes were lingering on her face in a way that only made her more antsy.

“No, it’s not that. Trevor actually strikes me as a good kid. But he’s so young, so green. I’m not sure he can handle himself out there.”

“That’s our job,” Bridget piped up in a squeaky voice. “If we do a drug buy or something, we’ll supervise Trev real closely, keep him out of trouble.”

Melanie and Dan exchanged glances. As usual, she knew just what he was thinking: Fine, but who would supervise Bridget?

“Let’s take it one step at a time, okay?” Dan suggested. “The kid obviously has good information. Let’s debrief him and see where it goes. As we talk more, we’ll get a better sense of what his capabilities are.”

Melanie nodded. “I agree about the debriefing. It’s only the undercover I’m worried about.”

“I’d take a wait-and-see on that, too,” Dan said. “Kid could be valuable infiltrating Esposito’s organization. And I’m starting to think Expo’s a good target. Did I tell you there’s information linking him to that Golpe stamp found with the dead girls?”

“No. What kind of information?”

“A reference in the NADDIS database from an old DEA report. I’m trying to track it down.”

“That’s excellent. If there’s something solid linking Expo to the stamp…”

“Yeah, I know. It would make our case.”

Just then Patty Atkins opened the door. She was a no-nonsense, no-frills woman in her forties, with pleasant brown eyes and short, graying hair, wearing a navy suit.

“Could you come in, Melanie? We have a couple of questions.”

“Sure.”

Melanie walked in and sat down behind her desk. Trevor had been bailed out, so they were meeting in Melanie’s office rather than the gloomy prisoner-interview rooms on the sixth floor. Trevor and his father, who was thin and tired-looking with an aggrieved air, sat in her guest chairs. Patty took a seat beside them as Dan and Bridget filed in and stood in the back of the room.

“I have one major concern,” Patty began.

“Your client’s safety?” Melanie guessed.

“You got it.”

“That’s what I’d be thinking about if I were you. I have to admit, I’m worried about it, too.”

“I calculated the sentence. Four to ten months, max. Not enough, in my opinion, to justify taking many risks.”

“You’re basing your calculation on the weight Trevor was carrying at the time of arrest,” Melanie said. “But he’s already admitted to a steady gig selling ecstasy and ketamine. He’s looking at a lot higher, maybe up to three years.”

“You’re not going to make him plead to all that?”

“Come on, Patty, you know I don’t have a lot of leeway when it comes to making plea offers. There are rules.”

“Times have changed. The Sentencing Guidelines are only advisory now.”

“A lot of the judges still follow them. Trevor needs to understand what his exposure is so he can make an informed decision.”

“An informed decision requires more than numbers, Melanie. Don’t I recall something in the papers a couple of years back about a decapitated corpse washing up on Roosevelt Island, linked to Esposito?” Patty asked.

“Oh, now, wait one minute! I don’t like the sound of this,” Trevor’s father exclaimed. Trevor said nothing but went even paler under his tattoos and piercings.

“Nobody’s hiding the ball here,” Melanie said. “Trevor is facing two felony convictions and real jail time. Enough to derail him at this point in his young life. On the other hand, the target we need his cooperation against is undeniably dangerous.”

“Exactly what kind of cooperation are you looking for?” Patty asked.

“At a minimum we want to debrief him and have him testify to any relevant information. Beyond that there’s a possibility we’ll want to use him as an undercover. If we were to do that, we’d make sure all proper precautions were taken. We care very deeply about Trevor’s safety. But still, it’s never possible to eliminate every risk,” Melanie said.

“You bet. You know that firsthand, don’t you, Melanie?” Patty turned to Trevor. “She had a witness killed on another case.”

“That’s a low blow!” Dan exclaimed. “Typical sleazy defense-lawyer tactic. That other case has nothing to do with this one.”

Trevor stared at Melanie, who sat in stunned silence behind her desk, seeing Rosario Sangrador’s face. Rosario’s murder haunted Melanie. Rosario had been the very definition of innocent bystander, a middle-aged housekeeper who’d witnessed her wealthy employer brutally tortured and murdered at the hands of a sadistic killer. Melanie had gone to great lengths to persuade Rosario to cooperate and testify, on the assurances of the FBI and the PD that she would receive round-the-clock protection. The killer’s ability to infiltrate their ranks and find out where Rosario was sequestered could not have been predicted by Melanie or anybody else. But that didn’t make Rosario’s death excusable. It wasn’t okay and never would be.

“Patty’s right,” Melanie said, meeting Trevor’s eyes, speaking with quiet intensity. “A witness was murdered on a case I did a while back. Agent O’Reilly’s upset because he knows how much her death affected me. All I can say is, that experience made me understand in a very personal way how much is at stake when somebody cooperates.” She shook her head slowly. “You know, we can probably make this case without you, Trevor. Maybe you
should
just eat the jail time and not take the risk.”