Dead Even Page 37

  Still, Jared didn’t say a word.

  “What’re you, deaf?” Kozlow asked, digging his thumb into the cut on Jared’s chin. “Say the damn sentence.”

  Glaring at Rafferty, Jared growled, “Rafferty, we’re going to win this case. Without a doubt, I’m going to win this case for you.”

  “That’s great news, Mr. Lynch,” Rafferty said. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

  Standing outside the courtroom, Sara nervously searched the hallway for Conrad. Although it was still twenty minutes before they were supposed to meet, she’d long become accustomed to Conrad being early. And if he wasn’t early, in Sara’s mind, he was late. Too anxious to wait around, she went to the women’s rest room and ran the water until it was warm. She stuck her hands under the faucet, leaving them there for almost a minute. It was a trick Pop had taught her for her first law firm interview: the only known cure for sweaty hands.

  As Sara held her hands under the water, she thought she heard a noise from one of the four stalls on the opposite wall. Shutting off the water, she looked in the mirror. No one was behind her. She bent over and took a quick glance under the stalls. No one in sight. Not again, she thought. Cautiously, Sara approached the first stall. She held her breath as she pushed open the door. Empty. Slowly, she pushed open the second door. Empty. As she moved to the third door, her heart was pounding. She carefully nudged it open. Again, empty. Finally, she reached the last door. She knew this was it. Over her shoulder, she thought she saw something behind her. Spinning around, she realized it was nothing. Just her imagination. Once again, she faced the door. With a quick thrust of her leg, she kicked it wide open. Empty. Shaking her head, Sara tried her best to pull it together. Don’t let him do this to you, she told herself. But no matter how hard she tried to ignore him, she couldn’t help but notice that her hands were once again covered in sweat.

  After another regime of warm water on her hands, Sara returned to the waiting area outside the courtroom. Conrad still wasn’t there. Finally, at ten to nine, she saw him turn the corner of the hallway. With his usual confident, determined pace, he brusquely marched toward the courtroom. “Ready?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. Am I supposed to feel like I’m about to lose consciousness?”

  “It’s your first case—and it’s a hell of a case at that. It’s okay to be jittery.”

  “Jittery’s one thing. Vomitous is another.”

  “They’re both normal. Now put it out of your head and move on,” Conrad said. “Believe me, the moment the judge bangs his gavel, you’ll get in your zone. Every great litigator has the same reaction. A trial makes you more decisive than usual; the emotion hits later.”

  “I hope you’re right,” Sara said as she opened the door and stepped into the courtroom. “Because if you’re not, you’re going to be carrying me back to the office.” As she walked down the middle aisle, toward the front of the room, Sara looked around. Doniger wasn’t there. Neither was Officer McCabe. The only people in the courtroom were the court clerk, the stenographer, and two court officers.

  Approaching the prosecutor’s table on the left-hand side of the room, Sara put down her briefcase and turned toward Conrad. “You don’t think…” She stopped when she saw Jared and Kozlow enter the courtroom.

  Shooting a cold stare at his wife, Jared made his way to the defense table and set down his briefcase. He then turned his back to Sara and Conrad.

  “Aren’t you going to say hello?” Kozlow asked.

  “Shut up,” Jared said, opening up his briefcase.

  For the next ten minutes, both parties sat silently at their respective tables, waiting for Judge Bogdanos to arrive. Periodically, Sara looked over her shoulder, scanning the crowd. “This is bad,” she said to Conrad. “I think we’re in trouble.”

  Before Conrad could reply, the clerk of the court announced, “All rise! The Honorable Samuel T. Bogdanos presiding.”

  Rubbing his well-trimmed beard, Bogdanos took the bench and motioned for everyone to return to their seats. After checking to see that both parties were present, he asked if there were any final motions or anything else to discuss before jury selection took place.

  “No,” Sara said.

  “No, Your Honor,” Jared said.

  “Then let’s begin. Mitchell, please bring in the jurors.”

  The taller of the two court officers walked to the back of the room and stepped out to the hallway. He returned with twenty prospective jurors. As the prospects filed into the jury box, Guff came running into the room with a panicked expression on his face. He rushed to the front row of the spectator section and got Sara’s attention. “I need to speak to you,” he said.

  “Why?” she said. “I thought you were going to—”

  “Forget about that,” Guff said, his voice deathly serious. “We’ve got problems.”

  Seeing that the jurors still weren’t seated, Sara got out of her seat and approached her assistant. “This better be good. We’re trying to make an impression on—”

  “Claire Doniger is dead,” Guff interrupted.

  “What?” Sara asked, her mouth agape. “That can’t be.”

  “I’m telling you, she’s dead. They found her body early this morning. She’s a real mess—throat slashed, knife jammed in her skull—she was completely mutilated.”

  “Ms. Tate, may I remind you that we have a jury to select?” Bogdanos said, losing his patience.

  Sara turned around and saw that Conrad, Jared, Kozlow, the judge, the court staff, and all the jurors were staring at her. “Your Honor, may I approach the bench?” she asked.

  “No, Ms. Tate, you may not approach the bench. I already asked if there were—”

  “We have an emergency,” Sara said.

  Scrutinizing Sara with a penetrating gaze, Bogdanos said, “Approach.”

  Jared and Conrad followed Sara to the bench.

  Sara leaned in toward the judge. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Your Honor, but my assistant just told me that one of our key witnesses was found dead this morning.”

  “What?” Jared blurted.

  “Who is it?” Conrad asked. “Harrison?”

  “Don’t say another word,” Bogdanos warned. He looked over at the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry to do this to you, but we need a few more minutes before we begin. So we’re going to ask that you continue to wait in the hallway until we’re ready. Mitchell, if you don’t mind…”

  When the court officer was finished escorting the jurors out of the courtroom, Jared asked, “Who is it? What happened?”

  “It’s Claire Doniger,” Sara said. “They found her murdered early this morning.”

  “What?” Kozlow asked, sounding shocked.

  “Don’t give us that innocent nonsense,” Conrad warned Kozlow.

  “Don’t you dare make an accusation,” Jared said, pointing a finger at Conrad.

  “Enough,” Bogdanos said. “Ms. Tate, what would you like me to do?”

  Sara looked at Conrad.

  “We’d like to ask for a continuance until we can get some more information,” Conrad said. “Although we know the trial will have to go forward, we’ll require at least a day or two to reorganize our case. Claire Doniger was a vital witness for us.”

  “Your Honor, there’s no reason for a continuance,” Jared jumped in. “This death may be a surprise, but her testimony was duplicative. I ask that the motion be—”

  “A witness just died, Mr. Lynch,” Bogdanos warned. “Even you should acknowledge that. Motion granted. We’ll continue Monday morning.”

  “What’d he say?” Kozlow asked as Jared hung up the pay phone on the first floor of 100 Centre Street.

  “I’ve never heard Rafferty like that. He was devastated. His voice was shaking. He kept asking me questions, but it was like he was lost.” Jared picked up his briefcase and headed for the front door of the courthouse. “I have to be honest, though, I thought you guys—”

  “Jesus, man, are you nu
ts? This isn’t some crusty old neighbor—this is Claire we’re talking about. Rafferty was crazy for her. If I even looked in her direction, he’d smack me in the back of the head.”

  “Maybe they had a falling-out or something.”

  “Not a chance. Man, did they really find her with a knife in her skull?”

  “It sounds like she was really brutalized. Do you have any idea who might’ve done it?”

  “Just one,” Kozlow said. “And if it’s him, I pity the poor bastard. Rafferty’s going to rip him apart.”

  As he walked up the three flights of stairs to Elliott’s apartment, Conrad tried to be as quiet as possible. He didn’t think Elliott was home, but he wasn’t taking any chances. That’s why he had insisted on coming alone. With everything that had happened, it was the only way to make sure nothing got out. Secrecy guaranteed privacy. And once Conrad had privacy, the rest of his role was easy: Get inside and wait until Elliott shows up. Catching him unprepared would put him on the defensive. Then, as soon as he walked in, explain the situation—the fingerprints on the knife that killed Claire were traced back to Elliott, and everyone now knew he murdered her.

  Of course, Elliott would deny it, but that wasn’t the point. All that really mattered was that Elliott heard Sara’s deal: If Elliott gave them a statement on Kozlow and Rafferty, they’d reduce Claire’s murder to manslaughter. And if Conrad could get that, they were halfway home.

  Reaching Elliott’s front door, Conrad put his finger over the peephole and tapped lightly on the door. No answer. He knocked again. Still no answer. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the six skeleton keys that a colleague in Crime Scene had given him. Although most of the keys didn’t work on new, more advanced locks, they still had a high success rate on old locks in run-down buildings. Like Elliott’s. One by one, Conrad tried each key. The first three didn’t work. But on his fourth try, Conrad heard the quiet click of access. Smiling to himself, he turned the knob and opened the door. He couldn’t wait to surprise Elliott. He couldn’t wait to pin him in a corner. And he couldn’t wait to watch him squirm.

  The only problem was, Elliott was home the entire time. He’d known Conrad was coming since late the previous night. And as he pulled back the hammer on his gun, he was fully prepared to deal with him. Stepping inside Elliott’s apartment, Conrad didn’t even see the first shot coming.

  When the elevator doors opened, Jared and Kozlow stepped out and headed for Jared’s office. “Are we done for the day?” Kozlow asked. “I’m getting tired of wearing this suit.”

  “Then take it off. I could care less.”

  As Jared approached Kathleen’s desk, Kathleen said, “You better call Rafferty—he’s been calling nonstop for the past…” Kathleen’s phone rang. “There he is again.”

  “Put him through,” Jared said as he entered his office. Picking up the phone, he said, “Rafferty, are you—”

  “Where the hell have you been?” Rafferty asked, his voice racing. “I need to know what’s happening…what’s going on with the investigation…where they took her so I can—”

  “Calm down a second.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do!” Rafferty shouted. “This is my life! Do you understand? It’s my life! Whoever did this, I want you to find that son of a bitch and tell him he’s dead!”

  “Listen, I’m sorry about what happened, but I need you to relax and control your temper. If they found her early this morning, we’ll have some information by the afternoon. Until then, you should just—”

  “Are you going to be able to get that information?”

  “I assume so. Sara should have access to—”

  “That’s all I needed to hear. I’m coming down there.” With a slam, Rafferty was gone.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Sara checked to see if anyone was following her into 80 Centre Street. Seeing no one who looked particularly suspicious, she entered the building. “Hey, Sara,” Darnell said the moment she stepped inside the elevator. “How’s the trial?”

  “A mess,” she answered. “One of our witnesses was just found dead.”

  “Mob case?” Darnell asked.

  “I wish,” Sara said. “That’d be easier.”

  When the elevator reached the seventh floor, four people got off. Sara wasn’t one of them.

  “Your stop, Kojak. What’cha waiting for?”

  “Damn, I forgot something in the courthouse,” Sara said. “I have to get back over there.” When the elevator doors closed, she was alone with Darnell. “Can you take me to the basement without stopping on the other floors? I don’t want anyone to see where I’m going.”

  “Pretty sneaky, sis,” Darnell said as he pulled down on the elevator switch. “Bottom floor, coming up.”

  When she reached the basement, Sara walked straight down the main hallway until she reached a door marked INTERROGATION ROOM. Passing it, she opened the next door on her right and quietly stepped in and took a seat. On the viewing side of a large two-way mirror, Sara watched as Officer McCabe stared down at his prisoner. All Sara could see was McCabe’s back, but his body language revealed the rest: Things were not going smoothly.

  His shoulders were tense and his fists were tightened. Clearly annoyed, McCabe pulled a rusty chair from under the interrogation table and took a seat. And at that moment, Sara got a good look at McCabe’s prisoner.

  “Don’t tell me to be patient,” Claire Doniger told McCabe, raising her voice. “I’ve been here since six this morning. You won’t let me make a phone call, I’m not allowed to see anyone—you’d think I was the one under arrest.”

  “For the tenth time, Mrs. Doniger, the trial doesn’t start until jury selection is done,” McCabe explained.

  “When that happens, you’ll go across the street to testify. Until then, you’re here for your own safety.”

  Sara leaned back in her chair. It was all going perfectly.

  “No, I understand,” Jared said into the phone. There was a long pause. “If that’s what it says, we’ll deal with it. And if I see him, I’ll let him know. Yeah, I will. I promise.”

  “Well?” Rafferty asked before Jared could even hang up the phone. “What’d they say?”

  “The good news is they lifted dozens of prints from the knife in Claire’s body,” Jared said to Rafferty. “The bad news is all the prints are yours.”

  “Oh, man,” Kozlow said, laughing.

  “They’re wrong,” Rafferty said definitively. “It’s not possible. They don’t even have my fingerprints.”

  “They do now—they got them from your office,” Jared explained. “Sara has you down as her top suspect, so she sent Crime Scene over to Echo. They pulled perfect fingerprints from your coffee mug, from your desk, even from your doorknobs.” Seeing the instant change in Rafferty’s complexion, Jared asked, “Are you okay?”

  “It’s not possible,” Rafferty stammered. “I swear to God, it wasn’t me.”

  “I believe you,” Jared said. “But as an attorney, I have to warn you that—”

  “I haven’t even seen her for a week,” Rafferty insisted.

  “Then is there anyone else who might’ve had access to your fingerprints?” Jared asked. “Anyone who has something to gain if you take the fall?”

  “You don’t think…” Kozlow began.

  “That scheming little toad,” Rafferty growled. “If Elliott—” Cutting himself off, he turned to Jared. “Is there a warrant out for my arrest yet?”

  “Not that I know of. But there will be by the end of the day.”

  “Good,” Rafferty said. “Let them come for me then.” Getting out of his seat, he stormed out of the room with Kozlow right behind him.

  “Who’s Elliott?” Jared called out as they left. Neither of them answered.

  When Rafferty and Kozlow were gone, Kathleen came into the office. “So far, so good?” she asked Jared.

  “I don’t know,” Jared said. “Ask me in an hour.”

  The first bullet hit him in the chest.
The second one ripped through his stomach. But the first thing Conrad noticed was the taste of blood in his mouth. It came up almost immediately and reminded him of the bitter taste of black licorice. That’s when the real pain set in. It wasn’t like the pain when he broke his arm playing rugby. That was confined and sharp in focus. This cut to his core. As his body went numb, he felt less—but somehow, it hurt more. His vision started to blur, but he could still see his attacker across the room.

  Elliott was sitting at the kitchen table, watching the event as if it were dinner theater. He was waiting for Conrad to fall, but Conrad wasn’t giving in. “You better have more than that,” he shouted at Elliott, barely able to hear his own voice.

  Two more shots rang out. One hit Conrad’s arm, the other his chest. His body was in shock now. But even as his thick legs started to buckle, Conrad staggered forward, lumbering toward Elliott with his arms extended. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t.

  Elliott fired another shot. It hit Conrad in the shoulder and pushed him backwards. For a second. Then he continued his march toward the table. He knew he was dying, but he was so close.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Elliott shouted. “It’s over.”

  Not yet, Conrad thought. Not until he—

  A final shot exploded, catching Conrad in the throat. That was it. That was all he had. Grasping his neck, he felt himself losing consciousness. Everything turned white. He hit the floor with a thundering crash. His last thoughts were of his first wife and the day they met.

  Still pointing his gun at Conrad, Elliott didn’t move. Slowly, he circled around to the side of Conrad’s body. Refusing to lower his gun, he used his foot to turn him over. Elliott wasn’t taking any chances. With a quick shove, he got his answer. It was over. Conrad was gone.

  When she returned to 80 Centre Street, Sara headed straight to her office, where Guff was waiting impatiently. “So?” Guff asked as Sara shut the door. “How’d it go with Rafferty?”

  Double-checking to see that her blinds were closed, she answered, “I had to keep it short because I was on the pay phone across the street, but Jared said he went nuts. He and Kozlow tore out of the office before Jared could even pass along our offer.”