Bury the Lead - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,23
don’t tell me you feel pretty, oh so pretty.”
The “class” begins, and I am immediately transformed to another planet, a place where people spin wine around in their glass, analyze it as if it’s a top-secret formula, and use words like “flinty,” “oaky,” and “brassy” to describe the taste. Not having previously chewed on flint, oak, or brass, I have no idea what those things taste like, which puts me at a considerable disadvantage. I’m not even sure what they mean when they say a wine is dry; I spilled some and had to mop it up with my napkin just like I would something wet.
My sense is that this particular charity’s goal is not to educate me, but rather to get me so sloshed that I won’t realize how big a check I’m writing when they make their pitch at the end. I fool them by taking little tastes, mainly because I know that I’m going to have to drive Sam home, as he is downing flinty drinks with his left hand and dry, oaky ones with his right.
I write my check and we head out toward the cars. Our walk takes a little longer than it should, since we are stopped by about a dozen reporters, as well as three or four cameramen with television lights.
“Hey, Andy,” one of them calls out, “have you heard what they’re saying about Cummings?”
Nothing good can come from that question, and I cringe in anticipation. I could fake it and give a “no comment,” but I want to know what has happened, and when I find out, I might well have a comment.
“No, I haven’t. I’ve been inside, toasting to charity.”
Another reporter jumps in. “They’re not talking on the record, but they’re saying he also murdered his wife.”
“I assume the ‘they’ you’re talking about is the prosecution. Unlike Tucker Zachry, we intend to prove our case in a courtroom. Thanks for coming, people. I recommend the wine, although it’s a little oaky.”
I start walking toward the car. Behind me, with the cameras off, I hear the incorrigible Sam explaining my cranky mood in terms that only Officer Krupke could understand. “He’s very upset. He never had the love that every child oughta get.”
I lead Sam to the car, and I get in the driver’s seat. Sam looks at me with genuine concern. “Is your boy innocent?” he asks.
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
Sam can read me, and he knows I have some very real doubts about that innocence. “I thought you always had to believe in your clients.”
“Belief is an evolving concept.”
“But you’re sure you want to represent him?” he asks.
“I’m sure,” I say without conviction.
Sam shakes his head disapprovingly. “I don’t think you should.”
Just what I need, more advice. “And why is that exactly?”
“A boy like that, he’d kill your brother. Forget that boy and find another. One of your own kind. Stick to your own kind.”
• • • • •
THE INITIAL EVIDENCE against Daniel Cummings arrives in three boxes at ten o’clock on Monday morning. Its promptness is a further demonstration that Tucker is going to play this strictly by the book. He has no intention of being nailed on any kind of technicality involving procedure; his case must be too good for that.
What is here represents only a small piece of what will eventually be the prosecution’s case. The investigation is ongoing and in fact just beginning, but this is daunting enough.
The first set of documents is technical in nature. I am nontechnical in nature, so it takes me a while to understand them. Basically, what they say is that technology exists that can tell in fairly precise terms the location of a cell phone when it receives a call. They’ve employed this technology in this case, and the results run counter to Daniel’s story. According to the reports, Daniel was already in or near the park that night when he received the call, which was made from a nearby pay telephone. Daniel had said it took him fifteen minutes to get to the park after receiving the call. Even worse, Daniel’s fingerprints were found on that pay phone, leaving the clear impression that he made the call to himself so as to fabricate a story.
With this information on hand, the police then executed search warrants on Daniel’s house and car while he was in the hospital. Hidden in the car’s trunk were Linda Padilla’s clothes, including a scarf, which the police believe was used to strangle her.