Blind Man's Alley (18 page)

19

A
FTER TALKING
with Dolores Nazario, Candace had begun looking into other evictions at Jacob Riis. She started out by having the paper’s research librarian help her compile a list of recent and pending evictions at the housing project. There turned out to be over two dozen, which struck Candace as a lot, though she didn’t really have anything to compare it to. Candace went through the court dockets that were available online, but there was little there that was especially helpful, nothing she saw where anyone was alleging that the evictions were trumped-up.

She put together a list of all the families facing eviction, began working the phone. After a couple of days of making calls and pounding the pavement, she’d come up with a handful of people who claimed that their evictions were a result of drugs being planted on someone—almost always a teenager—by the private security guards. The stories were fundamentally the same, which was the main thing that made Candace believe they were true.

Candace wasn’t necessarily looking to establish that the evictions were based on planted drugs, but simply that there were consistent and credible allegations of such frame-ups. But even for that, she needed to get the security guards’ side of the story, as well as a better sense of what might actually be behind the evictions.

She thought the best place to start was digging into the murdered guard, Fowler. The shooting was obviously the story’s biggest hook. The reporter who was covering the murder, Alex Costello, had quoted Fowler’s ex-wife in a story. Candace walked across the newsroom to the metro section, tracking down Costello.

Costello was loudly chewing gum while writing an e-mail. He wore a loose tie, the top button of his shirt was unbuttoned, and his hair looked like it hadn’t been touched since he’d gotten out of bed that morning. His cubicle was a complete mess, filled with a variety of odd objects, including what looked to be some kind of miniature fish tank.

“What the hell is that?” Candace asked.

“Sea-Monkeys,” Costello said. “Apparently the birthday gift for the man who has everything.”

“It just looks like a jar of dirty water,” Candace said, leaning down. Looking closer, she could see tiny buglike creatures twitching through the murk. “Gross. Anyway, I’m looking into a piece for the I-team that may have a little overlap with a story you covered.”

“Let me guess, the Fowler murder?”

Candace was surprised that Costello had figured it out. Because she could tell Costello wanted her to ask how he had, she resisted doing so. “I thought it might be helpful to touch base with Fowler’s ex. You have contact info for her?”

“I’ll call her and set it up,” Costello said.

“That’s nice of you,” Candace said, a little surprised, given how territorial reporters tended to be.

“Sure,” Costello said. “When do you want us to go see her?”

“And by ‘us’ you mean …?”

“The Fowler murder’s mine. And I’ve got the relationship with the weeping widow.”

“I’m not interested in the murder itself.”

“Then why do you want to talk to her?”

“I’m digging into a broad piece on Jacob Riis,” Candace said, not for a second considering a more truthful answer. “Looking at the changes in the projects, who wins and who loses.”

“Because it’s a Simon Roth thing? The same Roth who’s presently suing you, and the rest of the paper, for—what was it? One hundred and fifty million dollars?”

Candace rolled her eyes. “That’s just some number they made up to get attention.”

“How’s that working out for them?”

“Apparently it’s doing something,” Candace said, “given that you can quote it off the top of your head.”

“And you’re doing another Roth story?” Costello asked skeptically, Candace now understanding why he’d assumed she’d come over to talk about the Fowler murder.

“The libel lawsuit has no legs. Nobody’s worried about it.”

“Even winning it won’t be cheap, though. Last I heard, this paper was broke. I heard there’s going to be another round of buyouts next month.”

“So what, we don’t do any more stories about anyone who’s rich enough to sue us?” Candace asked. “Because we’ve got a word for people like that: newsmakers.”

“We’ve also got a word for a reporter who becomes part of the story,” Costello said.

Candace was getting tired of this. “We do?”

Costello took a beat. “Actually, no, I guess we don’t. But it seems like we should.”

“Just give me the damn number,” Candace said.

“Not going to happen,” Costello said. “She and I have a rapport. You want her, we go together.”

CANDACE BARELY
knew Alex Costello, but she knew by reputation that he was a gunner. Which likely meant he was either angling to join the I-team or to make the switch over to an editor’s desk. It also meant he was going to be a territorial pain in the ass about anything relating to the Fowler murder. Of course, the move he was pulling now to try to latch onto her story wasn’t different from what Candace would’ve done if their positions were reversed. Newsrooms were always competitive places, even more so now that the threat of layoffs was always in the air. Everyone wanted to make themselves indispensable (or they wanted to escape).

None of which meant Candace wouldn’t cut Costello out the first chance she got. This was her story, and she didn’t plan to share any more than she absolutely had to.

Candace drove them out to Staten Island, which took forever, first navigating Manhattan traffic, then winding their way out to the Verrazano Bridge. Liz Pierce lived in a small house on the South Shore, a neighborhood so suburban it was hard to believe they were still in the city.

Liz was a pale woman in her late forties, gray streaking her hair and lines beginning to spread across the edges of her face. Candace tried to take in the room without being obvious about it, noticing pictures of children, school trophies on the wall, barely restrained clutter. There was the sound of a video game being played somewhere in the house, the occasional taunting of kids’ voices.

As agreed, Costello did the talking to start with, catching up with Liz, doing his best to make it seem like they were old friends, rather than a reporter and the ex-wife of a murder victim. Candace sat next to Costello on the living room couch, trying to look pleasantly sympathetic. She was fairly used to barging in on complete strangers at their times of crisis. But it felt much more awkward to be sitting here passively while Costello ran the show than when she was the one working the source.

“So the reason we’re bothering you again is, my colleague here, Candace, is doing a broader piece on the changes at Jacob Riis.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Liz said. “Sean and I’ve been divorced for a couple of years, and even when we were married he didn’t tell me much about his work, going back to when he was a cop.”

“People often know more than they realize,” Candace said, something she’d said dozens of times before in interviews. “Right now, even basic background is helpful. Do you know when Sean started working security at Jacob Riis?”

“Six months ago, maybe. He was brought over when they first started putting up the new buildings.”

“What was he doing before that?”

“The same sort of stuff for the security company. Not always construction security, but that was part of it.”

“Had he been on other Roth Properties sites?”

“I think so. Is that who was doing the building in SoHo? The one with the accident?”

SoHo: the Aurora Tower. Candace hadn’t had any idea Fowler had worked there, though it made sense that the same private security company would cover multiple Roth construction sites. “Was Sean working there when the accident happened?”

Liz nodded. “I remember him talking about it.”

“What did he say?”

“We’re divorced,” Liz said with a shrug. “I didn’t really listen anymore when Sean complained.”

Candace saw a way in. “I’m in the middle of a divorce myself,” she said. “Not having to listen is definitely one of the bright sides.”

“Not that I have an option now anyway,” Liz said flatly, looking right at Candace. “Sean being dead.”

Candace, caught off guard, sat back in her seat. “Do you remember anything he said about the accident?” she said after a moment.

Liz looked uncomfortable, her eyes losing focus. Candace was not sure if it was that this was dredging up painful memories, or that Liz had a sense she shouldn’t be sharing it. “Just that one night when he’d been drinking—as compared to when, I don’t know—we were on the phone, arguing about money—our daughter’s developing expensive taste in clothes—and he said something about how they could’ve done something to stop it.”

“Who could’ve done something?”

Liz looked back in the direction of the video game noise, as if hoping her children would provide an interruption. “I just thought he was feeling sorry for himself, trying to find a way to be the victim in something that had nothing to do with him. I wasn’t exactly asking follow-up questions. I was pretty much just waiting until he’d talk himself out and I could get off the phone. It took Sean a long time to realize that he and I really weren’t together anymore.”

“I know how that goes,” Candace said, hesitant to try another round of divorce-based bonding. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Costello looking at her, but ignored it. “But he was saying someone at the Aurora could’ve prevented the accident?”

“I think so, yeah.”

It was all she was going to get about the Aurora, Candace realized, but it was potentially quite a lot. She shifted back to what she’d originally come here to ask. “Did Sean ever say anything to you about catching Nazario smoking pot?”

“Sean was a cop for a long time. It would take something a lot bigger than catching a kid smoking a joint for him to brag about it.”

“You ever hear him mention Rafael Nazario at all?”

“No.”

“What about evictions at Riis? Did he mention anything about families getting thrown out?”

Liz shook her head, frowning. “Why would he?”

Candace ignored the question. “Sean ever talk about any problems he was having at Riis? Any sign of trouble?”

“Nothing like that. He actually seemed pretty happy, at least to the extent that was a possibility for him.”

“Was there something in particular that had him feeling good?”

“He’d straightened himself out financially, which made things easier for everybody. He’d gotten behind on child support—this is going back to last year—and he was able to get that back on track. He was picking up stuff he didn’t have to—a Wii for Sean Junior, things like that.”

“Had he come into some money?”

“He was working a lot of overtime,” Liz said. “Apparently there was as much as he wanted, and he was getting time and a half for it. Sean said he’d never had it so good.”

“YOU GOT
something, didn’t you?” Costello asked, once they were back in Candace’s car.

Candace shrugged, looking out at the road. “Maybe a lead or two. Nothing direct.”

“I want in.”

“There is no in,” Candace said dismissively, glancing quickly over at Costello.

“What is there then?”

“There’s just me looking around is all.”

“I’m a good reporter,” Costello protested.

“That’s great,” Candace said. “Best of luck with that.”

“If it ties into the Fowler murder, then I should have a role.”

“If what ties into the Fowler murder?”

“You’re investigating the vic. You must think there’s a connection.”

“Right now I’m just wandering around in the dark with my hands in front of my face.”

Costello was not mollified. “If you get to where it connects to the murder, I need to know,” he said. “I’m still working that story.”

“Fine,” Candace said. “As long as you’ll loop me in if anything in the murder shows a connection to Roth, or to evictions at Riis.”

“You think there’s something wrong with the Nazario eviction, is that it?”

Candace shrugged. “I think there’s something wrong somewhere,” she said. “Finding out what is the trick of the thing.”

20

D
UNCAN WAS
deposing William Stanton, the Department of Buildings’ lead investigator into the Aurora Tower accident, in his search for Candace Snow’s confidential source. Stanton brought a city lawyer with him to the depo, Grant Sawyer from the Corporation Counsel’s office. Duncan was surprised the lawyer hadn’t at least tried to quash the subpoena. The
Journal’s
lawyer, Daniel Rosenstein, was present as well.

Duncan planned to get straight to the point, not wanting to spend a lot of time on this depo if Stanton wasn’t Candace’s source. “Mr. Stanton,” he began, after the witness had been sworn in. “You were the primary investigator for the Department of Buildings of the Aurora Tower accident, correct?”

“I was.”

“And as the primary investigator, you were charged with drawing conclusions as to the cause of the accident?”

“That’s right.”

“What were your conclusions?”

“The reinforcing steel that was supposed to support the floor while the concrete was setting wasn’t properly anchored,” Stanton said in the practiced tone of someone with technical expertise who was used to explaining things to people who lacked it. “Plus they didn’t put in the temporary supports to give the concrete time to set. Members of the construction crew had pointed these things out, and that there were visible cracks in the concrete, which meant it was showing the strain of anchoring the structure before setting. Any construction professional who understood the basics of what they were doing would’ve understood there was a significant risk of collapse. To me it was clearly willful neglect, if not worse.”

“In fact, you thought it was potentially criminal, didn’t you?”

“I did recommend that it be referred for a criminal investigation, yes. Which is now what’s happened.”

“You made that recommendation to the DOB at the conclusion of your investigation?”

“I did.”

“And initially, did the DOB follow your recommendation?”

“They did not.”

“Did they follow your recommendations regarding finding that the safety violations were willful?”

Stanton seemed a little annoyed; whether at what he considered the obviousness of the question, or at the memory of his inability to push his recommendations through, Duncan couldn’t say. “No,” he said tartly.

“Did you have any conversations with your superiors regarding why your recommendations weren’t being followed?”

“My bosses don’t explain their decisions to me. Basically the first I learned about it was when I saw the final report.”

“Did it bother you that the DOB elected not to follow your recommended findings?”

Stanton smiled slightly. “Anytime someone disagrees with me it bothers me some. It comes from thinking you’re always right.”

Duncan decided it was time to get to the crux of the matter. “Do you know who Candace Snow is?”

“She’s the reporter who wrote a story on the Aurora Tower accident.”

“Have you met her?”

“Yes.”

Duncan could feel the atmosphere in the room change with Stanton’s answer. “Did you talk to her regarding the Aurora Tower accident?”

“Yes,” Stanton said without hesitation.

Duncan was a little thrown by how easily Stanton had given it up, but tried not to show it. He took a moment, wanting to be careful and precise with how he phrased the next few questions. “Were you a confidential source on Candace Snow’s article in the
New York Journal
regarding the partial collapse of the Aurora Tower?”

“I guess so.”

“You guess so? Are you saying you don’t know?”

“‘Confidential source’ isn’t a term I use in my everyday life. I’m not sure exactly what it means. But I told her things on the condition she not use my name. If that’s what it takes for me to be a confidential source, then I was.”

“Did you ever tell your employer that you were a source for Ms. Snow’s articles?”

“No,” Stanton said, looking over at Sawyer, who was busy writing on a yellow legal pad. “But something tells me they’ve pretty much figured it out right about now.”

Duncan hadn’t given any thought to the possibility that this deposition might get Stanton in trouble with the DOB. Not that it was his problem—collateral damage was part of most lawsuits. “What precisely did you tell Ms. Snow?”

“I’m sure you’ve read the article.”

“I’m asking for your own recollection of what you actually said, not what appeared in the article.”

Stanton glared at Duncan, who looked back impassively. “I told her my view of the accident, that it called for a finding of willfulness, which would’ve led to substantial fines and a referral to the DA for a possible criminal prosecution. I told her that Ron Durant apparently saw it differently. I told her that a month or so later Durant left the agency and joined the Arps Keener architecture firm.”

Duncan didn’t want to go too far with this, as it could backfire on his client. He knew that Durant was in fact now doing work for Roth Properties, and he understood that it looked bad, despite Roth’s insistence that there’d never been any quid pro quo.

“Did you indicate to Ms. Snow that Mr. Durant’s conclusions had been influenced by some kind of arrangement whereby Roth Properties would retain him as an architect when he left the DOB?”

“I don’t have any evidence that there was some kind of arrangement.”

“Were you Ms. Snow’s only source within DOB for her article?”

Stanton shrugged. “Didn’t ask, and I’m sure she wouldn’t have told.”

“How many times have you spoken with Ms. Snow?”

“Four, I think.”

“Was that four different interviews for her article?”

Stanton shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. “Only one real interview,” he said. “When she called me the first time I said I’d think about whether I’d speak to her. Then I called her and we talked. Then she called me once more for a quick follow-up as they were getting ready to run the story.”

“And the fourth time?”

Stanton paused, glancing at first Sawyer, then Rosenstein. “I called her after I found out I was going to be doing this.”

“You called Ms. Snow to tell her you were being deposed?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Stanton’s hesitation was growing. “I didn’t want it to come out that I’d talked to her for her story. The whole idea was she was supposed to leave my name out of it. I was hoping maybe her lawyer would be able to keep me from having to do this.”

Over the course of his answer Stanton’s attention had shifted to Rosenstein, until by the end he was openly glaring at the paper’s lawyer, who pretended not to notice.

“Did Ms. Snow ever ask you whether you thought the developer of the Aurora, Roth Properties, had a role in causing the accident?”

“She may have; I don’t recall for sure.”

“Do you believe that Roth Properties played any role?”

“I couldn’t say.”

Duncan was a little surprised by this. “Why not?”

“DOB looks at what causes an accident from a physical point of view. A developer would pretty much never play a direct part in that sense.”

“So you didn’t investigate whether Roth Properties possibly had a role in the accident?”

“That’s something the DA would look into, if anyone.”

“I take it then that you never suggested to Ms. Snow that Roth Properties was responsible for the accident?”

“No,” Stanton said. “And I don’t think any of the quotes in the article suggest otherwise.”

“If Roth Properties wasn’t responsible, why would they seek to derail the investigation?”

“Objection,” Sawyer said. “Calls for speculation.”

“An investigation generally slows down work at the construction site, which in turn costs the developer money,” Stanton said. “So there’s that.”

Duncan figured he’d pretty much gotten what he was going to get. All that was left was due diligence, making sure Stanton wouldn’t make some kind of surprise concession regarding the article’s accuracy. Duncan entered a copy of the
Journal
article as an exhibit and proceeded to walk Stanton through it, checking whether there was anything in it he’d disown. As expected, there wasn’t: Stanton agreed that he was the unnamed source for the most damning quotes, and that they were accurate statements of his view of the accident.

After Duncan was finished asking questions, Rosenstein took his turn, devoting his time to gilding the lily—establishing that Stanton considered the article to be accurate based on his inside knowledge of the investigation into the accident. As Duncan had feared, uncovering Candace’s confidential source had come at the cost of that source fully backing up her article.

Duncan went back to his office after the deposition, unable to cast off a feeling of failure. Blake had understood that outing the reporter’s source would likely tank their case, but had instructed him to go ahead regardless. Why? Duncan couldn’t answer. He couldn’t see the whole picture; that much was clear. It was a feeling he was having more and more.