Dead Even Page 13

  “The number fifty-two!” Guff said, now excited. “I know that code!”

  As Sara started laughing, so did Pop.

  “What’s so funny?” Guff asked. The two struggled to catch their breath. “Wait a minute—you told him about my deck of cards thing, didn’t you?”

  “And you fell for it!” Pop said.

  “I’m sorry,” Sara added, “but when you got so excited, I couldn’t help myself.”

  “That’s beautiful,” Guff said, picking up a menu and putting it in front of his face. “Just pick on the new guy. If it makes the Tate family feel good to be bully for the day, be my guest.”

  Outside the deli, the man with the sunken cheeks leaned on a silver parked car. He was in his early thirties, but his stark features made his age hard to guess. From his vantage point he had a clear view of Sara, Guff, and Pop. For five minutes he stared at them, lingering over Pop’s features. There’s another chink in her armor, the man thought as he crossed his arms.

  “So how are you enjoying your new job?” Pop asked as he picked up his pastrami and corned beef sandwich. “Fun or dreck?”

  “Fun,” Sara said.

  “And about to get even funner,” Guff said. “Tell him about the case.”

  “What case?” Pop asked.

  “Nothing…”

  “Tell me,” Pop insisted. “Listen to your friend.”

  “It’s not that big a deal,” Sara said. “In my first case, Jared and I are going up against each other.”

  “So that’s it,” Pop said. “No wonder he’s not here. You’re at each other’s throats?”

  “No, not yet,” Sara said, picking at a potato pancake. “He’s just been working hard, which makes me—”

  “It makes you nervous, doesn’t it?” Pop asked.

  Sara put down her fork and pushed away her plate. “Not only is he a great lawyer, but he knows me better than anyone.”

  “Well, you have nothing to worry about. When it comes to convincing a jury, you’re much more believable than he is—no matter how much preparation he does. He’s had it easy his entire life, and people notice those things.”

  “Pop, please don’t say that. He’s worked very hard to get where he is—he hasn’t had it easy.”

  “He has. He had it easy when I first met him, with his hotshot Yale cuff links, and he has it easy today. I love him like a son, but he doesn’t know what it’s like to struggle. He has no sense of appreciation.” Turning to Guff, Pop added, “First day I met him, we came right here, to my favorite deli, and he tries to pick up the check. Then he eats only half his sandwich, and I tell him to have it wrapped up so he can take it home. He says, ‘Why don’t you have it? It’ll just go to waste if I take it.’ Can you believe the gall?”

  “I’m surprised you let him marry Sara at all,” Guff said.

  “Guff, don’t encourage him,” Sara begged. “And Pop, please drop it.”

  “Fine, fine, consider it dropped. But believe me, a jury won’t buy what he’s selling. They’ll be more impressed with you—you’re real people. Real, hardworking American people.”

  “That’s great, Pop. Now if you could only tell that to my boss.”

  At half past ten, Sara finally arrived at home. She hung up her coat in the closet and walked into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, she stared inside, looking for nothing in particular. Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her and felt a hand on her shoulder. She grabbed the neck of a bottle of wine. Spinning around, she swung it through the air, but stopped herself short. It was Jared.

  “Don’t do that!” Sara said as she lowered the bottle. “You scared me!”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Jared said, embracing his wife.

  “What? Now you’re suddenly being nice to me?”

  “I missed you. I was worried about you.”

  “Then why were you such a jerk on the phone before?”

  “I was just really busy,” Jared said. “You know how I get when I’m working.” As he continued to hug his wife, he added, “Do you know how much I love you?”

  “Of course.”

  “No, really,” Jared said, looking intently in Sara’s eyes. “Do you know how much I care about you? And how much I worry about you? Do you know I’d do anything for you?”

  “Absolutely,” Sara said, wondering what had brought on this rush of emotion. “Jared, are you sure everything’s okay at work?”

  “It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”

  “Good. That’s what I like to hear.” She gave him a kiss. “I just don’t want to see this case come between us.”

  “It won’t,” Jared said, holding his wife tight. Over her shoulder, he caught a glimpse of the six portraits that Sara had done of him. The broken glass was long swept away, but the pictures were now unprotected. Staring at the vulnerable images of himself, Jared pulled her closer. “Nothing’ll happen,” he whispered. “I promise.”

  “Can you get Barrow on the line for me?” Jared asked Kathleen the moment he walked into the office the following morning. “It’s important.”

  “He really has you scared, doesn’t he?” Kathleen asked.

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “Kozlow. That’s what you want from Barrow, isn’t it? You want him to take a deeper look at Kozlow?”

  As always, Kathleen was on the mark. But that didn’t mean he was going to tell her the rest. That would only put her at risk. “Why would I want to investigate my own client?” he asked.

  “C’mon, Jared, don’t treat me like an imbecile. You can’t hide the bags under your eyes—you haven’t slept well in days. Since the day you met him, you’ve been running yourself ragged. And you’re getting to work so early, you’re almost catching up with me. Besides, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the guy is bad news.”

  Jared looked around the office. No one would hear. “What makes you think that?”

  “Haven’t you read his old file yet?”

  “I know he’s got two arrests, but I haven’t had a chance to get through the rest of it. I’ve been busy with everything else.”

  “Or maybe you’ve been putting it off because you’re afraid of what you’ll find.”

  His jaw shifted. “Just tell me what it says.”

  Checking the hallway herself, Kathleen leaned forward on her elbows. “If I were you, I’d be careful with him. The guy’s a walking time bomb. Two years ago, he had a run-in with a Brooklyn lowlife named Joey Gluck. According to the file, Joey comes home from a night of heavy drinking, arm in arm with a local prostitute. They quickly get undressed, but what they don’t know is that Kozlow, the little maniac, is hiding under the bed. As Joey is about to jump in the sack, Kozlow takes a switchblade and nails Joey’s bare foot to the floor. Then he crawls out and pushes Joey backwards, just to make it hurt a bit more. The scary thing is that when the case goes to trial, Joey unexpectedly decides to change his testimony. Says he suddenly can’t remember anything.”

  “What about the prostitute?”

  “They found her body the night after the attack. Heroin overdose, if you believe the autopsy.”

  “You think Kozlow killed her?”

  “You tell me. Here’s case number two: A construction worker named Roger Hacker comes home after a long day of work, heads straight for the bathroom, and takes a seat on the toilet. Suddenly, Roger thinks he hears a noise in the shower. Before the poor guy can even stand up, the shower curtain flies open and Kozlow jumps out. From what they could piece together, Kozlow punches Roger in the Adam’s apple and sends him to the floor. Kozlow kicks him in the face, and the head, and then one final one right in Roger’s shoulder. Collarbone shattered. For Kozlow, the message has been sent. Then our boy Roger does something stupid. He climbs to his feet, grabs a screwdriver from his nearby tool belt, and lunges at Kozlow as he’s leaving the apartment. Poor Roger never knew what hit him. The next-door neighbor, who of course wound up changing his testimony at the trial, said it sounded like someone w
as torturing a cat. And when the police finally arrived, they found the screwdriver jammed straight into Roger’s throat, while his eyes—”

  “I don’t want to hear any more,” Jared interrupted.

  “Let me just finish the last part: When they did the autopsy on Roger, they found at least a dozen wounds that they identified as postmortem blows—which means that even after Roger was dead, Kozlow kept tearing him apart just for fun.”

  “I said I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Jared, I know it’s not the best news, but you’re dealing with a killer. You have to—”

  “Please don’t tell me what I have to do. Just call Barrow and let him know I want two people checked out. The first one’s Kozlow; the second one’s Oscar Rafferty.”

  “Who’s Oscar Rafferty?”

  “That’s what I want to find out.”

  “Then that’s what we’re doing,” Kathleen replied. “I’ll make sure we get everything: backgrounds, bank accounts, wives, club memberships, anything that’s revealing.”

  “And tell him to keep it close to his chest. I don’t want Rafferty getting wind of it.”

  She wasn’t used to seeing Jared so paranoid. “This really isn’t safe, is it?”

  “Not if they find out.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Jared paused. “No. Not now.”

  Kathleen stared at her boss. In the four years she’d known Jared, she had learned to tell the difference between when he was serious and when he wanted her to pry further. Today wasn’t a day to pry. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here,” she said. Down the hallway, Kathleen noticed Kozlow walking toward them, led by one of the firm’s receptionists. She motioned to Jared, and then, in a loud voice, announced, “…and after that, I’ll have them pull all the cases that deal with burglaries. You’ll have it by lunch.”

  “Thanks,” Jared said, eyeing Kozlow.

  Dressed in his standard three-quarter-length leather jacket, Kozlow strolled into Jared’s office. A small metal chain dangled from the front pocket of his faded jeans. “So what are we doing today? More legal stuff?”

  “Yeah, more legal stuff.” Jared followed Kozlow into his office as Kathleen thanked the receptionist. “Now get in here so we can get started. Today, we work on your testimony.”

  “I’m testifying? At the grand jury?”

  “Without a doubt,” Jared said, taking a seat at his desk. “If we can get your story into a more believable form, we might be able to convince the grand jury not to indict. And if by some miracle they like you, chances are, they won’t vote against you.”

  “Everyone likes me,” Kozlow insisted as he took a seat across from Jared’s desk. “Now what do I have to do?”

  “First, I want you to get a good suit.”

  “I have a good suit.”

  “I’m sure you do, but I want you to have a business suit. Like mine.”

  Kozlow looked at Jared’s pin-striped navy-blue suit. “Why would I want to dress like you?”

  “There’s a good reason,” Jared said. He hit the intercom button on his phone. “Kathleen, can you come in here one second?” When Kathleen entered the room, Jared continued, “At about ten o’clock, I’d like you to take Mr. Kozlow shopping. He’ll need a conservative business suit, a nice understated tie, some loafers, and some wire-framed glasses. He needs to look believable.”

  “I’m impressed—I haven’t been dressed that nice since the service,” Kozlow said.

  “You were in the military?”

  “Yeah, army for a bit. Now tell me who’s paying for all this.”

  “It’s billed to Rafferty as an expense,” Jared said. “Nothing we do here is free. But if you want to convince people you’re innocent, the first step is looking the part.”

  When Kathleen left, Jared pulled a legal pad from his briefcase. He was trying his best to treat this as if it were any other case, but he could feel his impatience growing. “Let’s go over your story. Tell me your version of it.”

  “I was walking down the street, minding my own business, and some cop grabs me and tells me I’m under arrest,” Kozlow explained, his hands waving to accentuate his point. “Then he takes me to this woman’s house and says to her, ‘This is the guy that robbed your house, isn’t it?’”

  “Is that the way he asked the question?” Jared asked as he made some notes. “Was it leading like that?”

  “Oh, yeah. She couldn’t say anything but yes.”

  That’ll work, Jared thought. “Now, where did you get the Ebel watch?”

  “I found that on the street as I was walking.”

  “And what about the silver golf ball?”

  “I found that in the garbage. I thought it was my lucky night.”

  Jared stared angrily at Kozlow. “You’re going to have to come up with some better answers than that. The grand jury isn’t that stupid.”

  “How about this: He planted them both on me.”

  “If the cop has a sketchy background, that may work. Now what about the four hundred and seventeen dollars?”

  “That was my money,” Kozlow insisted. “It was even in my money clip when the cop pulled it from my pocket. Ask him—he’ll tell you.”

  “Fine, I’ll ask him,” Jared said impatiently. “Now what about this: If you live in Brooklyn, what were you doing on the Upper East Side at three in the morning?”

  Kozlow stopped. “That’s a pretty good question. I hadn’t thought of that before.”

  Jared threw his pad on the desk. “Well, think now! We need a good answer. Without that, we’re going to get eaten alive in there.”

  “Why? Rafferty said there’s no cross-examination in a grand jury. If that’s how it goes, then ask me all the softball questions.”

  “There’s no cross-examination because only one lawyer is allowed to talk in a grand jury. And that lawyer is the assistant district attorney. Sara can ask you whatever she wants, and I can only sit there.”

  “Then maybe I shouldn’t testify.”

  Jared leapt from his seat and strode around the desk. “Listen carefully to what I’m saying. I’m the lawyer here. Not you. Now if you were any other client, I wouldn’t give a damn if you lost this case. But I’m going to do everything I can to win it, and I’m not letting some dumb monkey wreck it for me. So if you’re not serious about this, tell me and I’ll—”

  Kozlow jumped up and shoved Jared, sending him crashing into the wall. Grabbing him by the lapels, Kozlow pressed his elbows into Jared’s rib cage. “What’d I tell you yesterday? I’m not an idiot, so stop treating me like one.”

  As the adrenaline wore off, Jared knew he was in trouble. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “I know exactly what you meant,” Kozlow said, letting go of Jared. While Jared readjusted his shirt and tie, Kozlow silently stared out the window, pressing his head against the glass. He lightly tapped the window with his forehead. “If I testify, do we really have a better chance of winning?”

  “If you testify and you’re believable, we can start learning the victory dance tonight. Misidentification cases are some of the easiest cases to confuse a jury on. Come up with a rational reason for why you were there, and the rest is easy. You know how many New Yorkers are running around in dark jeans and a dark leather coat?”

  “Half a million?”

  “At least,” Jared said. “Now let’s start over so we can get your story straight.”

  “So Victor has never prosecuted Kozlow before?” Sara asked, leaning over Guff’s shoulder and staring at the computer screen.

  “That’s what it says,” Guff replied. “Both of Kozlow’s cases were done by ADAs who no longer work here. But that doesn’t mean Victor and Kozlow don’t know each other. For all we know, Victor might’ve used Kozlow as a witness, or an informant, or for any other reason.”

  “Can we check that through here?”

  “Not really. AJIS is mostly an abridged database—just the main facts. There’s a section for
witness lists, but most of them aren’t filled in. If we want to see every person involved, we have to go through the files manually.”

  “Fine. Let’s do it.”

  “Sara, Victor’s been in this office for almost fifteen years. We’re talking close to a thousand case files—each of them six inches thick. Just to pull the files will take at least a week.”

  “I don’t care. I want those files.”

  “But—”

  “Guff, if there’s a connection between Victor and Kozlow, I’m going to find it. And I don’t care how long it takes me or how many pages I have to read.”

  “It’s your eyesight.”

  “Actually, it’s yours, too,” Sara pointed out. “Now we’ve got until one o’clock, when Doniger gets here. If you can get the most recent files, we can start now and work our way backwards.”

  “So I shouldn’t get them all at once?”

  “No—I don’t want Victor finding out about this. If he realizes what we’re doing, we’re dead. Order fifty of his cases, fifty of Conrad’s and fifty of some other hotshot’s. If anyone asks, tell them we’re studying how the best ADAs win in court.”

  Guff smiled wide. “You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?”

  “Damn right I am. For the first time since this started, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  “What the hell am I doing?” Sara groaned four and a half hours later, her desk and most of her office submerged under piles of case folders and storage boxes. “This is absolutely hopeless.”

  “I warned you,” Guff said. “But did you listen? No. Did you trust me? No. Did you go off on your own, and act all cocky, and think you were going to save the day with one simple idea? Yes, yes, and yes. And what do we have to show for it? Dust. Dust on our hands, dust on my tie, dust in my lap. I’m serious, missy, I’m not happy about this. Not happy one bit.”

  “Guff, did anyone see you put in the request for these?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “And is there any way to tell if someone else checked them out before us?”

  “There should be, why?”

  “I’m just trying to figure out if Victor knows what’s going on. I mean, maybe he already went in and altered some of the files.”