The Vendetta Defense (23 page)

Judy nodded. It was possible.

“They destroyed your client’s home! You just gonna take that? What kind of lawyer are you? Sue ’em civilly for the damages! We’ll subpoena the whole goddamn neighborhood. That’ll make a stink. Make them take the time to fight you, and get your profile higher, so they’ll be less inclined to strike again. Fight them on all fronts. What else you got?”

Judy took heart. “They killed those pigeons. I’m sure there’s an animal cruelty statute in Pennsylvania. It might even be criminal, and the press would be terrible.”

“There you go! It ain’t a home run, but it’s all good. Nobody likes bird-killers. Remember those jerks who killed the flamingos at the zoo?” Bennie’s eyes glittered. “Now. The Coluzzis are also businesspeople. Coluzzi is one of the biggest builders in the construction industry.”

“A sixty-five-million-dollar company.” Judy was remembering the newspaper article.

“They build strip malls, mainly.” Bennie nodded, obviously thinking aloud. “I’ve heard of them. They did the one in West Philly, they got the contract over a minority business, and they did one also in Ardmore, I think I read recently. I wonder how many they do a year.”

Judy fetched the newspaper from her desk. “They have the contract on a mall at the waterfront pending.”

Bennie snapped her fingers. “That’s right! So they’re politically well connected. They’d have to be to get that big a city contract.” She thought a minute. “They must have labor work, tax work, all sorts of business advice. I think they’re represented by Schiavo and Schiavo.”

Judy would have no reason to doubt it. Bennie knew most of the lawyers in town. The Philadelphia legal community was small, so if you screwed somebody, they could screw you back, and sooner than you thought. It encouraged good lawyer karma.

Bennie faced Judy directly. “Carrier, if we can’t make some trouble for a major business like that, we should burn our law degrees.”

Judy tried to think. Her gaze fell on the article on her laptop. “At this point I’m only an expert on price-fixing.”

“Okay, start there!” Bennie grinned. “These jokers are in the construction business and they get an awful lot of contracts. It’s an extremely competitive business. The economy is good, and everybody’s building, including the city. I wonder how they do so well.”

“You think they rig bids?”

“Anything is possible. They could pay off Licenses and Inspections. They could excavate pools free for union officials. They could inflate their T and E expenses for the IRS. Pour too much sand in the concrete foundations. Keep their mistresses on the payroll. Have mob connections.” Bennie’s eyes glinted evilly. “Somebody really should investigate these matters. A lawyer, for example.”

Judy laughed, delighted. “But what about Rule Eleven? You have to have a factual basis for filing a lawsuit in federal court.”

“So get one! You gonna tell me the building trades are
clean
?” Bennie walked to the open door. “I’ll handle the torts suits and the animal cruelty. Get busy. We have work to do.”

“We have to file soon, huh?”

“No.” Bennie paused at the door. “We have to file tomorrow. Lock and load. Any questions?”

Judy thought about it. “How do I thank you?”

Bennie smiled and left, and Judy watched her bounce off in her sneakers. Then she cleared her desk and set to work. She worked all morning and afternoon, breaking only for hoagies they had sent in and for more coffee; Bennie’s was even stronger than Starbucks. Judy researched cases on the construction industry, discovering the typical patterns of misconduct that gave rise to damages. It was an education.

Bennie had been right. The construction industry wasn’t the cleanest, and Judy’s online factual research discovered a number of websites devoted to encouraging contractors to report suspected bid-rigging, fraud, and kickbacks, guaranteeing their anonymity. So there was a clear potential for abuse, but that didn’t mean Judy had a sufficient factual basis to sue Coluzzi. A complaint had to be true and specific, especially if it was going to have the maximum terroristic effect on the Coluzzis. For that Judy would need facts, from an insider’s perspective.

She checked her Swatch watch. It was almost seven o’clock at night. She didn’t have any time to lose.

And she knew just who to call. Or as her mother would remind her, whom.

An hour later Judy was barreling down the expressway in a rented Saturn. She had left Frank’s truck parked near the office; she hadn’t wanted to risk taking it in case the Coluzzis had wired it for sound, and she also wanted to avoid being spotted by the press. Their numbers had grown outside the office building as the day had progressed, on the correct assumption that Judy would have to come out sooner or later. It had been all she could do to get out of the building through a service entrance in the back, while Bennie gave a diversionary press conference on the sidewalk out front. Bennie could give nonanswers to their questions forever. She was a great lawyer.

Judy hit the gas. She was heading back out toward Chester County. Judy didn’t know much about Philadelphia suburbs, but she was learning that all the rich people lived in Chester County and none of them seemed to mind sitting forever on Route 202 South. Judy had finally gotten free of that mess and could breathe again. She was almost there. Frank had agreed to help her, and Judy had to admit to herself she wouldn’t mind kissing him again.

Make that
seeing
. She meant
seeing
him again.

23

I
t was dark by the time Judy found the address, or more accurately the mailbox, since the house couldn’t be seen for the hedge and trees that blocked it from the road. She turned onto an unpaved drive next to a verdigris mailbox embossed with running horses, and when she saw the white sign that read HIGH RIDGE FARM, Judy knew she wasn’t in South Philly anymore.

The Saturn’s tires rumbled down a gravel road lined with trees and ending in a circular driveway in front of a huge fieldstone mansion. Judy cruised to a stop in front of the house, which reached three stories and had two wings, one at either end, its banks of windows framed by black shutters. The night was cool and filled with the chirping of crickets. The setting was lovely but Judy was too preoccupied to notice. Where was Frank? How was he getting here, since he was truckless? The springhouse wasn’t far on country roads, but it was too far to walk. She cut the Saturn’s ignition and climbed out, which is when she got her answer.

Parked in the circular driveway were a midnight-blue Bentley, a champagne-colored Jaguar sedan, and a faded John Deere tractor. Frank was walking toward her with a grin. “Hey, lady,” he said softly, reaching to hug her, and Judy wasn’t objecting.

“Hey back at you.” She let herself be enfolded in his arms and pressed against the warmth of his chest, inside the same thin gray T-shirt he had on yesterday. It smelled faintly of sweat but she secretly liked that; it was a distinctly male scent and at least it wasn’t onion. Judy felt her body relax unashamedly in his embrace. It seemed like days since she’d felt this comforted. “If I didn’t have to sue somebody, I’d stay here forever.”

“You won’t get any argument from me.”

Judy held him tighter. “How’d you get here? Found a tractor and drove it over?”

“Hell, no. Dan picked me up in the Bentley.”

Suddenly the front door opened, and a tall, thin man appeared on the threshold. “Frank, that you out here?” he called, and it broke their embrace.

Frank turned. “Here we come, Dan,” he called back. He gave Judy a quick kiss on the cheek and took her hand.

Soft light emanated from a Waterford lamp with a cut-glass pineapple for a base, glowing expensively on Judy, Frank, and Dan Roser as they sat on leather-covered chairs in his book-lined study. Built-in cherrywood shelves ringed the room, while a flat-screen TV, a compact stereo, and a large-screen computer sat recessed in a custom entertainment center, and a wet bar with gleaming nickel fixtures waited to lubricate everybody. It would wait forever. Nobody was in a partying mood, Judy least of all.

A fresh legal pad rested on her lap. “Mr. Roser, tell me something about yourself.”

“Please, call me Dan.” Roser, in Gucci loafers and pressed suit pants, with a white tailored shirt worn tieless, crossed his legs. Judy judged him to be about fifty-five years old, though he looked younger, with a golfer’s tan setting off hazel eyes and light brown hair, worn fashionably long. “If Frank gets away with it, you can.”

Frank snorted, and Judy smiled. “Okay, Dan. Gimme the summary.”

“Well, I’m a real estate developer,” he said, with the easy confidence of the highly successful. “I develop shopping centers, or strip malls if you prefer, in Chester County, Montgomery County, and other Philadelphia and Wilmington-area suburbs. My company does about two billion a year. I ain’t Rouse, but I’m getting there.”

“So you’re not in the construction business, per se.”

“God, no.” Roser brushed off the thought as if it were lint on his pants. “I hire builders to build my shopping centers. Frank gave me a call because he knew that I hired Coluzzi to build a center for us recently, in South Philly, and it’s been nothing but a nightmare.”

Judy’s pen was poised. “Tell me why.”

“The project has been a comedy of errors from start to finish. All along the subs weren’t performing—”

“Subs?”

“Subcontractors. See, Coluzzi is the general contractor, and he hires the subs to do the electrical, HVAC, plumbing, and the like. Also site prep, that is, excavation and compaction to receive foundations.”

“Compaction?”

“Soil compaction. If the soil isn’t compacted properly, it’ll fail over time, due to superimposed loads on the foundation.” Roser caught himself. “In other words, it’ll fall down someday. And in this South Philly shopping center we had an environmental issue, too, because it was on city-owned land, right near the waterfront. Delaware Avenue, or whatever they renamed it to. Soil runoff during construction had to be controlled or the EPA would be all over us.”

Judy made a note. “So this was a public contract.”

“Yes. It was our first contract with Philly and I hoped to do more, since Rendell and Cohen turned the city around. This was supposed to get me in good with the city. Get my foot in the door. Instead it ended up in my mouth.”

“How?”

“I hired Coluzzi because their bid came in lowest, but they didn’t lowball me, and I knew they had connections in South Philly.”

“Connections?”

“If you mean mob, I’m not goin’ there. I got no proof of that.” Roser patted his hair back quickly. “But I can and will talk to you about what I know, which is what they did to me. Because I got proof out the wazoo. My tenants are screaming their heads off.”

“Like what?”

“Major structural problems.” Roser leaned forward and started counting with an outstretched thumb. “The walls crack in the dry cleaners, the floors buckle in the Japanese restaurant, the joints are twisted in the entrance area. The shopping center looks like a fuckin’ cartoon. Excuse me.”

“No problem.” Judy hurried to write it all down.

“The windows were installed improperly, so a breeze goes through the Szechuan restaurant, around table five. The support stairs sag in Blockbuster Video, and an employee fell down last week and broke his leg. The ceilings for all of the tenants—there are fifteen businesses who lease from me—leaked almost from the beginning. We’re already on our third roof.” Roser picked up a leather portfolio from beside his wing chair and slid from it a thick manila folder. “This is the file I keep of complaints. Hefty, huh? Quite a way to make a reputation with the city.” He handed it to Judy, and she opened it up.

NOTICE OF NON-RENEWAL, it said at the top, and Judy skimmed the document. It was a written notice by a tenant, given pursuant to a lease agreement. “The tenants are bailing, huh?”

“Correction.” Roser pointed at the top. “The
anchor
tenant, Philcor drugstore, is bailing. Now they’ll all jump ship. That is, if I’m lucky. If I’m not, I’ve got the sequel to Society Hilltop on my hands, and it all comes tumbling down.”

Judy closed the folder, deep in thought. By Society Hilltop, Roser was referring to a dance club on the waterfront that had collapsed, killing ten people. It had been reported that the tragedy was caused by structural failure. Only one problem. Although what Roser was telling her was terrible, it didn’t help her. Shoddy workmanship was only breach of contract, and a contract suit didn’t have the counterpunch she needed. But there was still one thing Judy didn’t get.

“If the Coluzzis do such lousy work, how do they make so much money?” she asked.

Roser shot Frank a how-naïve-is-your-girl look, then faced Judy. “They’re dirty, dear. I looked into those subs they hired, and no way were they qualified to build for us. They got the job because they kicked back to Coluzzi and his sons. Then in order to make any profit on the job at all, they had to cut corners in the construction of my center. They didn’t build according to plans and specs. I got left holding the bag.”

Judy brightened. Kickbacks trumped breach of contract. She tried to sound more savvy. “What’s up with the inspectors? Are they paid off as well?”

“Have to be.” Roser nodded. “In any construction project, there are two levels of inspectors. City inspectors, who know what they’re doing but don’t care, and bank inspectors, who care but don’t know what they’re doing.”

Judy didn’t ask if he was kidding.

“Bottom line, Coluzzi pays off the city inspectors at least. The bank inspectors are only a possibility.”

Judy was too excited to make any more notes. The city was involved, and major banks. “How do you know this?”

“One of the subs, McRea, who paved the parking lot, just built Marco Coluzzi a new driveway in his house down the shore, in Longport. I heard about it from a friend of mine, so I drove by and saw it. It’s got storm drains and all. That’s a $130,000 driveway. Now, when I hear it’s my sub, who’s doing a shit job for me, I put two and two together. The Coluzzis won’t hire Irish or black unless they have to. McRea’s been ignoring my calls all week.”