Bury the Lead - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,62

call the police in the first place?”

“He said if I did, or said anything to them, I’d never find out who ordered Margaret’s death. I needed to know that . . . I still do.”

“Is that all?”

He shakes his head but is silent for a few moments, apparently weighing his words. “No . . . he said he had the power to frame anybody he wanted for Margaret’s death,” he says, then more quietly, “He said he could make me appear guilty.”

“So that’s why you never told this to the police?”

“Partly, I guess. But mainly, it was because I didn’t want to lose contact with this guy. You’ve got to understand, I never dreamed they would charge me with Padilla’s murder. Hell, when I first spoke to the cop, I didn’t even know she was murdered. When they arrested me, I felt like I couldn’t change my story.”

I’m trying to process all this new information but having a difficult time. Right now all I can think about is what a selfdestructive asshole my client has been. It would make me feel better to tell him so, but I’m not sure his psyche could handle it.

“You’ve been a self-destructive asshole,” I blurt out, choosing my feelings over his psyche.

“I know,” he moans, making me sorry I said it. “Is all this too late to help?”

“I don’t know,” is my honest reply. “What else haven’t you told me?”

“That’s it. I swear.”

“Do you believe that someone paid to have your wife killed?”

He thinks this through for a few moments. “I know he killed her, and I doubt very much that Margaret knew him. So I have no reason to doubt that he was paid for it.”

I head back to the office to brief Laurie and Kevin on what I’ve just learned. We talk about the possible ways we can get this information to the jury, but it’s a short conversation because at this point there is just one possible way, and that is to have Daniel testify. It is not something I’m inclined to do, but fortunately, it’s not a decision I have to make right now.

I call Pete Stanton at the precinct, but I’m told that he has the day off. I try his cell phone number, and he answers on the first ring. I tell him that I need to discuss something with him, and I can actually hear his ears perk up through the phone, as his mind races to figure out how he can cost me money. Pete has never really handled my wealth very well, so he tries to reduce that wealth in any way that he can.

“Maybe we can talk after the Knicks game,” he says.

The Knicks are playing the Lakers tonight, and I was thinking of going over to Charlie’s to watch it, so Pete’s request is surprisingly painless. “You want to meet at Charlie’s?” I ask.

“I don’t think so. I’m getting tired of that place.”

“So where do you want to watch the game?”

“Courtside.”

The game is starting in four hours, is completely sold out, and Pete is expecting me to get tickets. He knows that the only possible way I could do that would be to call a scalper and pay a small fortune.

“You know,” I say, “you’re a greedy lowlife who has no understanding of the meaning of friendship.” I didn’t want to have to come down on him so hard, but he needs to understand that I feel strongly about this.

“Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah,” he counters. “Pick me up at the airfield at six.”

“You’re still doing that?” I ask.

“It’s more fun than sex,” he answers.

There’s no logical response for that, so I don’t offer one. Pete earns extra money at Teterboro Airport by taking pictures of people while they are skydiving and selling them the pictures if they make it to the ground alive. They are mostly beginners, out for a fun time, and Pete has been skydiving for many years.

I understand skydiving about as well as I understand Swahili and women, which is to say not at all. People jump out of planes so that they can get to the same ground they were safely on before they boarded the plane in the first place. Why is that exactly?

Of course, they are given equipment that guarantees their safety. Specifically, that equipment consists of a pack of nylon that they open up while hurtling toward the ground at about twelve million miles an hour. Now, I had never realized what an incredibly powerful