Dead Even Page 14

  “Now you’re being neurotic. The sad truth is that there’s no mention of anyone. Not Kozlow, not Doniger, not Doniger’s neighbor, nobody.”

  “Speaking of which, where is Doniger?” Sara asked, looking at her watch. “She was supposed to be here at one.”

  “She’s only a half hour late,” Guff said. “Give it time. She’ll be here.”

  “I don’t know,” Sara said, leafing through the file on her lap. “I have a bad feeling about this. This is just another thing that stinks.”

  “Why? Just because your prime witness is late for her interview? Big deal. We can’t find the witness in the pickpocket case either.”

  “Guff, you know it’s different.”

  “Listen, we’re hunting through every file in this building. That’ll tell us if Victor has any other ties to Kozlow or Doniger. But until that happens, you can’t keep thinking everyone’s a boogeyman.”

  “But what if everyone is a boogeyman?”

  “Forget about the imaginary monsters and focus on the real ones. You still have four other misdemeanor cases to deal with, as well as this felony and its big bad grand jury. And since the misdemeanor courts are backlogged beyond capacity, this may be the only one where you’re going to get a chance to strut your stuff. So if you don’t get the grand jury to indict, you’re not getting to trial. And if you don’t get to trial, it doesn’t matter how suspicious everyone is acting.”

  “I know, I know—you’re right—if I mess up this trial, there’s no way I’m saving my—” Sara’s thought was interrupted when her phone started ringing. “ADA Tate,” she answered.

  “Sara, this is Claire Doniger.”

  “Of course, Ms. Doniger,” Sara said. “Where are you? Is everything okay?”

  “I’m fine, dear. I just wanted to have a word with you about this burglary case. I was thinking about it last night, and I realized that I really can’t spare the time that you require. For that reason, I’ve decided that I don’t want to press charges. Considering that I got all my belongings back, I’m willing to turn the other cheek.”

  “Turn the other cheek?” Sara asked, stunned. “That doesn’t make any—”

  “I know it’s short notice, but that’s how I feel,” Doniger interrupted. “So you can just call the case off.”

  “Actually, it doesn’t work like that. Once we arrest someone, we’re the only ones who can decide to drop a case. And that’s our decision to make, not yours.”

  “Well, then I guess you know exactly what you’re doing,” Doniger said, sounding insulted. “Hopefully, though, you’ll stop interfering with my life.”

  “Ma’am, I never meant—”

  “We don’t need to get into it. I’m busy enough as it is. Good-bye.”

  As Sara hung up the phone, Guff asked, “What’s going on? She wants you to drop the case?”

  “So she says.”

  “Do you think she’ll still testify?”

  “I’m not sure,” Sara said, reaching for the phone. “But just in case she doesn’t…”

  “Who’re you calling?”

  “Doniger’s next-door neighbor. If we can’t get the victim, I want to make sure we still have Patty Harrison. And truthfully, she’s our best witness—she’s the only person who saw Kozlow actually leaving Doniger’s house.” Sara quickly dialed Harrison’s number.

  “Hello?” a voice answered.

  “Ms. Harrison, this is Sara Tate from the district attorney’s office. I know we were supposed to meet this afternoon, but I was wondering if we could move your appointment to some time earlier today.”

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry, Ms. Tate, but I can’t give that testimony anymore.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I can’t do it,” Harrison stuttered. “I’m far too busy—you’ll have to find someone else. I’m very sorry. Have a nice day.” With that, Harrison hung up.

  Sara looked up at Guff. “What the hell is going on?” she asked.

  “Don’t tell me she’s out, too.”

  “If she is, we’re in serious trouble,” Sara said as she redialed Harrison’s number. The phone rang five times before Harrison picked up.

  “Hello?” Harrison said, her voice soft and anxious.

  “Ms. Harrison, this is Sara Tate calling again.”

  “I’m sorry, but—”

  “Listen to me, Ms. Harrison,” Sara interrupted. “I’m not sure who threatened you, but I want you to know that if you give us their names, you’ll never hear from them again.”

  “No one threatened me,” Harrison shot back. “No one at all. Now please leave me alone.”

  “Ms. Harrison, yesterday you said you’d be happy to testify. Today, I can’t keep you on the phone for thirty seconds. Now, I understand you’re scared, but if you don’t testify, you’re only encouraging this kind of behavior. If you truly want to feel safe, tell me who approached you, and I’ll have our officers pick them up within the hour. There’s no reason for you to be afraid.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  “How about if I come over there right now? That way we can talk and—”

  “No!” Harrison insisted. “You can’t come over here. Now, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’ve made up my mind. Good-bye.”

  As Sara put down the receiver, Guff said, “I can’t believe you just confronted her like that.”

  “Oh, c’mon,” Sara said. “There’s no reason to tiptoe around. Kozlow’s done this two times before—there’s no way he’s not responsible now.” Hearing a knock on the door, she shouted, “Who is it?”

  Victor opened the door and stepped inside. Sara and Guff simultaneously closed the folders they were holding and fell silent.

  “Can I help you?” Sara asked, straightening a pile of files and trying her best to block Victor’s view of her desk.

  “Just came to see how things were going,” Victor said. He looked around the office. “What’s with the old cases?”

  “Extra research,” Sara stammered. “Trying to be as thorough as possible.”

  “Whatever makes you feel secure. Just be sure you don’t lose track of the real problem.”

  “Thanks for the advice. Now is there anything else? I’m incredibly swamped.”

  “I think that’s it,” Victor said, tapping his knuckle against one of the file boxes. “Be careful, though. I know it’s a hard idea to swallow, but you’re not as smart as you think.” When Victor left the room, Sara waited until the door slammed behind him.

  “What was that about?” Guff asked.

  “He knows,” Sara said, collapsing in her seat.

  “Knows what?”

  “That we have his old files. That’s why he came in here—to tell us that he’s watching. He knows about the files, he knows about the case, and even though he’d deny it, he knows what happened to our witnesses.”

  “What do you mean they’re not testifying?” Jared asked.

  “Just what I said,” Rafferty answered, his voice sounding grainy as it came through the telephone. “They’re not testifying. For some reason, they’ve both had second thoughts.”

  Looking up at Kozlow, who was riffling through a magazine in the back of the office, Jared felt suddenly light-headed. “Can you hold on a second?” he asked Rafferty. Before Rafferty could reply, Jared put down the phone and went out to Kathleen’s desk. “What time were you done shopping with Kozlow this morning?”

  “About a quarter to twelve, why?”

  “And then what’d you do?”

  “He said he had some errands to run, so I went to pick out some ties,” Kathleen said hesitantly. “We met up about an hour later. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “So he was alone for at least an hour?” Jared asked.

  “He came back late, so it was actually almost an hour and fifteen min—”

  “Jesus,” Jared said. He rushed back into his office and picked up the phone. “You shouldn’t have threatened them,” he said to Rafferty.

  “Threaten them
? I did no such thing,” Rafferty said. “That would be against the law.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “Just be happy and enjoy the good news. It should make your case that much easier.”

  As Rafferty hung up, there was a knock on Jared’s door. “Come in,” Jared said.

  Sticking her head into the room, Kathleen said, “I’m really sorry. I didn’t—”

  “Don’t worry—you couldn’t have known.” Noticing the pink message sheet in her hand, he added, “Did someone call?”

  “Lubetsky wants to know if you’re finished with the AmeriTex motions.”

  “Oh, shit,” Jared said, shuffling through the pile of papers that covered his desk. “Tell him he’ll have them first thing in the morning.”

  “He said to remind you that it has to be filed by five o’clock this afternoon.”

  Startled, Jared looked up at Kathleen. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Okay,” Jared said as he glanced at his watch. “That gives me three and a half hours.” Turning on his computer, he opened the AmeriTex file. “I’m going to need two paralegals to do some research and a third- or fourth-year associate for the procedural issue. Have them meet me in a conference room in a half hour.”

  “Any associates in particular?” Kathleen asked.

  “Anyone who’s good,” Jared said as Kathleen shut the door.

  “I’m impressed,” Kozlow said. “But what makes you so sure everyone else is going to drop what they’re doing?”

  “This is a big law firm,” Jared said. “With 168 partners, 346 associates, and a hundred-something paralegals, we can always find someone. That’s what you pay the big money for.”

  “Is that why you do it? The big money?”

  “That’s part of it.”

  “And what’s the other part?”

  Surprised by the interest in Kozlow’s voice, Jared took a second to respond. This was his chance to break through, he thought. If anger hadn’t worked this morning, maybe honesty would work now. “You want to know the real reason I keep doing defense work? It’s because I think there’s enough justice to go around,” Jared explained. “All I’m doing is distributing it to the side that sometimes gets shut out.”

  “You sound like a Boy Scout.”

  “That’s what Sara says,” Jared replied. Hoping to stay on topic, he added, “Speaking of which, why don’t you tell me what happened with Doniger and Harrison?”

  Kozlow fell silent and shut his magazine. His eyes narrowed in anger. “Don’t ever do that again.”

  “What?” Jared asked, taken aback.

  “Don’t play fuckin’ stupid, Jared—I’m not going to be your little friend.”

  “I just thought we were—”

  “Shut the hell up!” Kozlow shouted, his voice booming through the office. “Shut up and do your job.”

  “You must be kidding me,” Conrad said, leaning forward on the front of Sara’s desk.

  “Not a bit,” Sara said. “He walked in right as I hung up with Harrison. The files were everywhere.”

  “I knew I should’ve stopped you on this. There’s no reason for you to be investigating someone like Victor.”

  “I’m not going after Victor—I’m just trying to figure out why he wanted the case.”

  “Either way, you better be careful. He’s not someone you mess with. If he finds out what you’re doing—”

  “I know. I’ve been thinking about that all afternoon. And even if I can handle Victor, I still don’t know what to do with Doniger and Harrison. Both of them said they won’t testify.”

  “They’ll testify,” Conrad insisted, pushing himself away from the desk. “They just don’t know it yet.”

  “Uh-oh—here he goes,” Guff said. “Make way for the testosterone parade.”

  “I’m serious,” Conrad said. “They can cry and whine all they want, but they’ll be there Monday morning. Guff, have you prepared a travel kit for Sara?”

  “Had it ready the day she got here,” Guff said proudly. He left the office, then returned with a brown accordion file that he placed in front of Sara.

  “Open it,” Conrad said to Sara.

  The file was divided by alphabetical tabs. “It’s under S,” Guff said.

  She reached into the S section of the file and pulled out the small stack of papers.

  “Know what those are?” Conrad asked.

  “Blank subpoenas,” Sara answered.

  “You got it, Clarence. When you completed your paperwork on your first day here, you gained the power of the pen, also known as subpoena power. Sign two of those, serve them on our witnesses, and by the order of the law of the state of New York, they’ll have to have their asses sitting in that grand jury on Monday. Terrified or not.”

  “I don’t know,” Sara said. “Doniger was a bit rude, but Harrison really seemed scared. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to—”

  “Don’t ever do that again,” Conrad interrupted, raising his voice.

  “Do what?” Sara asked.

  “Go on the defensive like that. You’re an assistant district attorney—you don’t back down to threats. Bringing them in is part of the job. I’d never want you to put a witness at risk, but giving up isn’t the solution.”

  “Then what is?”

  “You tell me. Solve the problem.”

  “Conrad, enough with the lecturing-lawyer shtick.”

  “Then you’d better come up with a real solution. Solve the problem.”

  “You want me to solve it? Then this is what I’m doing: Instead of hitting her with the subpoena tonight, I’ll have a couple of officers serve it on her early Monday morning. That way, if there’s any trouble, the officers are there to protect her. And they’ll also be there to make sure she comes in.”

  Conrad was silent for a moment. Finally, he said, “Good. That’s a nice start.”

  “Then let’s discuss how this happened in the first place. I assume we all agree it was Kozlow?”

  “Hey, boss,” Guff interrupted. “It’s two-thirty.”

  “Are you serious?” Sara asked, looking at her watch. She stood up. “I’m sorry, but I really have to run. I have an appointment I can’t miss.”

  “What about preparing for the grand jury?” Conrad asked. “You’ve barely scratched the surface.”

  “Trust me, that’s my top priority,” Sara said, grabbing her jacket from the coatrack. “Grand jury means indictment, which means trial, which means win, which means happily ever after. There’s no way I’m losing in the first round—especially when there’s still so much to dig up.”

  “That’s a wonderful use of the transitive property, but when are you actually going to prepare for this miraculous event?”

  “We have tomorrow, and Guff said we could all meet this weekend.”

  “Really?” Conrad asked, looking at Guff.

  “What’s the big fuss?” Guff said. “You’re here every weekend.”

  “I’m busy tomorrow, but I can do Saturday,” Conrad said. “Let’s not forget I have my own cases to deal with.”

  “I know—and I really appreciate the help,” Sara said, dashing for the door. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

  “Hold on,” Conrad said. “Don’t run out just yet. What’s so important that you have to leave right now?”

  “I have a meeting with my little sister.”

  “You have a sister?”

  “Not a real sister,” Sara said. “I volunteer as a mentor through the Big Sisters program.”

  “Really?” Conrad asked. “What do you do on the weekends? Donate blood or feed the homeless?”

  “That’s original,” Sara said sarcastically.

  “How long have you been doing it?”

  “Since about a month after I got fired from my law firm. That was about how long it took for me to get sick of sitting around waiting for the phone to ring. I figured this was better for my psyche than paying for that extra ses
sion at the therapist—not to mention far more fun.”

  “Well, I think it’s nice,” Guff said. “Good for you.”

  “Thanks for the approval,” Sara said. “And while I’d love to recruit you both to the cause, I’ve really got to go. I’m late.”

  “One last thing,” Conrad said. “When you get home tonight, talk to your husband about your witnesses. Tomorrow morning, we have to figure out what the hell is going on.”

  “Consider it done,” Sara said as she ran to the door.

  At twenty after three, Sara crossed 116th Street and ran up Amsterdam Avenue. On her right were the modern, state-of-the-art facilities of her alma mater, Columbia Law School, and on her left were the timeworn, regal buildings of Columbia University. As she headed north, however, the buildings became far less majestic, and in the span of one block, marble statues, Gothic architecture, and sculpted archways gave way to run-down storefronts, beat-up automobiles, and the worst of the city’s potholed streets. At 121st Street, Columbia University officially ended. And as Sara had learned during her first year at the law school, there was a clear line between the Ivy League and Harlem, New York.

  When Sara reached Ralph Bunche Elementary School, the front entrance of the battered brick building was humming with hundreds of kids glad to be done with the school day. As she turned the corner and made her way through the crowd of students, Sara heard a voice yell, “You’re late.” Sitting on the trunk of a white car was Tiffany Hamilton, Sara’s little sister. Sara knew that Tiffany was tall for a seventh-grader, but her recent decision to start wearing lipstick made her look far older than thirteen. She had wide eyes, dark brown skin, and a long, immaculate braid that ran down her back. She also had an attitude that hit like a truck.

  “I said, you’re late,” Tiffany repeated.

  “I heard what you said,” Sara said as she reached the car. “I just chose not to respond.”

  “Where were you?”

  “At my job.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Tiffany said, hopping off the car. Her pink lipstick was shining in the afternoon sun. “I forgot you started. Can you arrest people yet? Do they give you a badge?”