she had a challenge left. David Frankfurter was on a cellphone out in the corridor, talking to the Trenton PD, trying to get more facts. So far, all they had come up with was that a bookmaking operation had once operated from a magazine stand directly in front of Gino’s flower shop. Victoria was trying to establish some contact between Delafore and the Defendant so she could show cause for his dismissal. Judge Goldstone was beginning to fidget, getting set to close her down.
“Did Joe Rina or Tommy Rina ever buy flowers at your shop?” she asked.
“No, ma’am … or if they did, I wasn’t aware of it.” Another glance at Cohen.
“But it’s possible, isn’t it? According to the Trenton phone book, there are about twenty florist shops in the city … so there’s at least a one-in-twenty chance that he did.”
“I think I would’a remembered …” Gino Delafore said. Again he looked over at Gerald Cohen, who was avoiding Gino’s gaze by studiously surveying his notes.
Finally Gerry looked up. “Is this going to take much longer, Judge? This juror is acceptable to the Defense. Ms. Hart has run out of challenges. If she’s trying to dismiss Mr. Delafore for cause, she needs facts, which are obviously in short supply over there.” He waved his arm at the Prosecution table. “Can we get this moving?” His nasal voice whined in the courtroom.
“How ‘bout it, Ms. Hart?” the Judge asked.
“Just one or two more questions, Your Honor.” She turned back to Gino Delafore. “Do you know somebody named Sam Definio?”
“Yes. He used to have a little magazine stand in front of my shop.”
“But you knew he had a long record of involvement in criminal enterprises, including bookmaking and loan-sharking?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Come on, everybody tells me he was known as ‘Flashpaper’ Sam because he kept his books written on dissolvable paper that he could drop into a pan of water when the cops showed up.”
“I knew he’d had trouble with the law. I knew he was trying to go straight. I bought a paper from him every morning for five years. Other than that, his business was his, mine was mine.”
“But he was reputed to be a member of the Rina Crime Family, wasn’t he? And—”
“Objection, Your Honor! What the heck is Ms. Hart talking about? What Rina Crime Family? My client has never even been on trial before!”
“Joe Rina’s been arrested ten times,” Victoria shot back.
“Sloppy police work and lies by crooked, police-bought informants are not proof of crimes, Miss Hart. … Show me your convictions.”
Judge Goldstone turned to Gino Delafore and threw a judicial slow pitch. “Do you think you can decide this case on the merits, Mr. Delafore?” he asked.
“Of course, Your Honor.”
The Judge looked at Victoria. “Unless you have something with teeth, I’m going to seat this juror.”
“Could I sidebar, Your Honor?” Victoria asked.
Judge Goldstone motioned Gerry and Victoria forward. They clustered around his desk and talked softly, the Prosecution going first:
“I think it’s very relevant that this man ran a flower shop in front of which was a notorious bookmaker, who police believe was involved with Joseph Rina. Gino Delafore had to know that was a betting stand and he allowed it to happen right in front of his business because he also had connections with Joseph Rina. If that’s not relevant, then I’m reading the wrong law books.”
“You can’t inject unsubstantiated allegations into voir dire,” Gerry said. “It’s all innuendo, Vicky. This man ran a florist shop. He has no criminal record. Period. … Can we move on, Your Honor?”
“Victoria, I’m going to seat this juror as your second alternate and attach jeopardy. You have seventy-two hours to prepare your case-in-chief. Day after tomorrow, you will either begin opening arguments or I will have to dismiss. Sleep well, touch gloves, and may the best lawyer win,” Judge Goldstone grinned.
Yuck yuck, yuck, thought Victoria Hart as Murray Goldstone got up from his leather-backed chair and moved out of the ornate courtroom, black robes billowing. It was only ten A.M. The day was starting off disastrously, but before noon, it got much worse.
The Trenton Haz-Mat team had been called in to probe the elevator shaft. They finally dredged up three sludge-covered bodies, which were rushed to the Coroner’s office.
Victoria Hart got the call just before lunch and, fearing the worst, trudged across the mini-mall to the Coroner’s office, which was in the basement of the Police Lab. She walked down the concrete stairs, her footsteps unsteady,