Bury the Lead - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,73
is innocent. There is virtually no chance that the jury will agree with that assessment, not now that his defense has been shown to be lying in front of them.
I make it through the afternoon court session in a semifog. I can only liken it to a team in the last game of the World Series, when the other team scores ten runs in the seventh inning to take a fifteen to nothing lead. The trailing team goes through the motions in the eighth and ninth, but they know the boat has sailed.
Ironically and pathetically, my next witness is a cell phone technology expert, whom I’ve brought in to show that the science is inexact as it relates to the night Linda Padilla died. I make some decent points, but Tucker blows me out of the water with his cross-examination.
“If your technology shows a call was made from Camden, could it actually have been made in North Jersey?”
“No,” says my expert.
Game, set, and match.
Our team meeting tonight is more like a wake, with my body the one on display. It is incredibly frustrating: We know who the guilty party is, but we can’t take advantage of that fact. Worse, we’ve been shown to be liars, which is to say that the jury will not believe anything we tell them for the rest of the trial.
Laurie and I take turns beating ourselves up. She feels she should have done more to check out Eddie, though there really is no way she could have in the time allotted. She would not have access to cell phone records, nor did she have the manpower at Tucker’s disposal.
For my part, I put someone on the stand that I was unsure of. In doing so, I staked the reputation of the defense on his testimony, and it took Tucker less than five minutes to leave that defense in shreds. I blew it, plain and simple.
Kevin tries to make both of us feel better, an impossible task if ever there was one. After a half hour or so he gives up, and turns his efforts toward motivating me to prepare for court tomorrow. It’s not an easy job; I would rather spend tomorrow having my eyeballs plucked.
The phone rings and I jump to get it, anything to not have to think about the mess we are in. I don’t even bother to look at caller ID; which is okay, because Willie’s voice is on the other end.
“Andy? It’s me.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, hoping to be drawn into a long conversation about dog adoptions or coffee futures or anything else not having to do with our case.
“Sondra was attacked,” he says, and I now realize his voice is shaky.
“Is she all right?”
“Yeah, I think so. She says she is. It happened in front of my house.”
“I’ll be right over,” I say, and he doesn’t try to talk me out of it.
I tell Laurie and Kevin what has happened, and Laurie comes with me to Willie’s. Kevin stays behind to go over tomorrow’s witnesses, pathetic though they may be.
Willie still lives in a very run-down area of Paterson. He bought a small house and has done a lot to fix it up. He is wealthy enough to live pretty much anywhere he wants, but feels like he would be a traitor if he left his old neighborhood. I wonder if what has just happened will change his mind, but I doubt it.
Sondra is lying on the couch when we arrive. She seems shaken but not badly hurt. Willie is more upset than I have ever seen him, even when he was on death row.
“Tell me what happened,” I say.
“We got home from Atlantic City about an hour ago. I dropped Sondra off in the front and went to park the car because our garage is filled with stuff. I came back and saw her on the steps, with this guy grabbing her from behind.”
I turn to Sondra, who picks up the story. “I couldn’t find my key, so I was waiting for Willie. The guy grabbed me around my neck; I didn’t see him coming.”
Willie takes over, describing how he ran toward the house screaming and the guy took off. Willie hesitated to make sure Sondra was okay before picking up the chase, which allowed the attacker to get away.
“If I had caught him, I’da killed him.”
I have no doubt Willie would have done just that. “Did he take anything?” I ask. I look at the alexandrite