Sleight of Hand - By Phillip Margolin Page 0,59
had fulfilled her duty as a citizen and could put the Blair case behind her. The feeling lasted the length of time it took Frank Santoro to reenter Fallon’s and walk back to her booth. He reached across the bench on which he’d been sitting and picked up his wallet.
“I left this here so I’d have an excuse to come back,” Santoro said as he slipped the wallet into his back pocket. “I need to talk to you and I don’t want Steph to know. Is there someplace we can meet tonight?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Dana had discovered Vinny’s while working undercover in narcotics for the D.C. police. Several things recommended it for a clandestine rendezvous. First, Vinny’s was in a rather disreputable section of the capital, making it highly unlikely that anyone Dana or Santoro knew would wander in. Second, the chef’s hamburgers and fries were outstanding.
Santoro showed up twenty minutes after Dana ordered. He spotted her through the haze created by the illegally smoked cigarettes that were part of the bar’s ambience.
“Sorry I’m late,” Santoro said. “Traffic.”
“Not a problem.” She pointed at her food. “Order yourself a burger and fries. You’ll thank me.”
“I can also use a beer. Court gave me a migraine.”
Dana signaled to the waitress, then pointed at her burger, fries, and beer.
“Did Gardner give Blair bail?” Dana asked.
“He’s going to rule in the morning.”
“So, why the secret meeting?” Dana asked.
“How much do you charge?”
“You want to hire me?”
“Maybe. Let’s see what you think when we’re done.”
Dana told Santoro her hourly rate.
“I can do that,” Santoro said, “but before I talk to you, I want your promise that you’ll keep what I say to yourself.”
“Okay.”
“I have doubts about the case against Blair.”
“Have you told your partner?”
“I’ve tried, but Steph is so certain Blair murdered his wife that she can’t hear what I’m saying. That’s why I need to have someone without any preconceived notions look at the case. Do you think you can do that?”
“I can try. So why do you have doubts about Blair’s guilt?” Dana asked just as the waitress placed Santoro’s beer in front of him. He took a long drink before answering.
“You heard the testimony, right?”
“Most of it.”
“Okay, well, first off, there are all these anonymous tips. The tip to the paper about the prenup was anonymous. The tip about Blair putting his wife’s body in the trunk of his car, anonymous. And why would a guy as smart as Blair let us look in the trunk if he knew the gun was still in there?
“Then there’s that key. How did it get in the grave? Benedict was right. Most people keep their house key on their key chain, so how does Blair’s house key get off the chain and into the grave?
“Finally, there’s our jailhouse informant, Barry Lester. I have a hard time believing Blair would give him the time of day, let alone confess to murder—and tell him where he buried the body.”
“Could Lester have killed Carrie?”
“No, he was in jail when Mrs. Blair was killed.”
“So how did he know where the grave was if Blair didn’t tell him?”
“Either the person who killed Carrie Blair told him or the killer had someone else tell him.”
“Have you checked to see who visited Lester since he’s been locked up?”
Santoro nodded. “The only visitors were Lester’s girlfriend and Arthur Jefferson, his attorney. Lester’s girlfriend is a stripper. Her stage name is Tiffany Starr—and that’s what she calls herself—but she was born Sharon Ross. She’s divorced, and her married name was Sharon Krantz.”
“Do you have phone numbers and addresses for Starr and Jefferson?”
“Yeah.”
Santoro pulled out his notebook and rattled off contact information for Tiffany Starr and Arthur Jefferson.
“Tell me a little about Barry Lester and his girlfriend,” Dana asked as soon as she’d stored the information in her phone.
“Starr has a record for kiting checks, and she embezzled from a company she worked for as a bookkeeper.”
“Let me guess. She needed the money to buy drugs?”
Santoro nodded. “Heroin and cocaine, mostly, but she’s used other stuff. She’s been in and out of rehab, usually as a condition of probation.”
“Got it. And Barry Lester?”
“Lester is a small-time punk with an aversion to work. He’s a high school dropout who’s supported himself with con games and petty, nonviolent crimes. The guy lives on the fringe. Occasionally he’ll work a low-paying job when he can get one, but he can’t say no to easy money. This last time he really fucked up. He drove the getaway car in a liquor-store