Judge & Jury (10 page)
Authors: James Patterson,Andrew Gross
Andie had asked for some time with the judge and finally mentioned how she had found her windshield smashed in two nights before. Judge Seiderman told her it probably wasn’t related. But that wasn’t exactly making her feel safe and secure right now.
“So, then isn’t every piece of land in the world kind of a peninsula?” Jarrod shrugged. “I mean, look at Florida. Or Africa and South America. Doesn’t everything stick out into the ocean at some point, Mom?”
“I guess.” Andie tucked in his blanket and sat brushing back his soft, light-brown hair.
“Hey,” he said, squirming, “I’m not a baby.”
“You’re my baby, always will be. Sorry, but that’s the deal.”
Andie’s hand stopped abruptly at the sound of the doorbell.
Jarrod sat back up. They both looked at the clock. It was after ten. “Who could that be, Mom?”
“I don’t know. But one thing I do know, Einstein.” She took the book from him. “It’s lights out.” She bent and gave him a kiss.
“’Night, Mom.”
Andie went into the hall to answer the bell. She turned the lock and cracked open the front door slightly.
She did a double take.
It was that FBI guy she’d noticed in the courtroom, the nice-looking one. And there was a uniformed police officer with him. No—
two
police officers, a man and a woman.
What were they doing here at ten o’clock?
HE HELD UP his FBI shield for her to see. “I’m sorry to surprise you, Ms. DeGrasse. May I come in? It’s important.”
Andie opened the door. The FBI guy was dressed nicely, in an olive raincoat over a brown sports jacket, with a deep-blue shirt and a tie. Her mind flashed to how she must look—in a bright-pink DKNY sweatshirt, with a towel draped over her shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“We’re sorry to bust in on you like this. I’m Nicholas Pellisante. I’m a special agent in charge of the FBI’s Organized Crime Unit. I’m heading up the Cavello investigation.”
“I’ve seen you in court,” Andie said. Then, warily, “Isn’t there some kind of rule that we’re not supposed to be talking to each other?”
“Under normal circumstances, yes.” The FBI guy nodded.
“Normal circumstances? I’m not following you. What’s happening?”
“The trial procedures are being changed. As a matter of safety, the judge feels—and I agree—it may be prudent for the members of the jury to be removed from their daily lives.”
“Our daily lives?” Andie blinked. What did that mean? She ran a hand through her messy hair.
“The judge would like the jury sequestered. I don’t want you to be alarmed. There’s no specific threat. It’s just for your protection.”
“My
protection?
”
“Yours and your son’s,” the agent said.
Now Andie
was
alarmed. “You’re saying there have been threats?” Her mind flashed to the windshield of her car. “This is about what happened the other night.”
“I’m not saying that,” the agent said. “There’s an officer outside who can assist you.”
“Assist us with what, Agent Pellisante?” A tremor galloped down her spine. “I have a nine-year-old in here. What do I do with him while I’m being protected? Pack him off to boarding school?”
“Look, I know how this sounds, and I know how short notice it is. We’ll make provisions that you get to see your son regularly, for the balance of the trial.”
“The balance of the trial!” Suddenly the magnitude of this smacked Andie face-on. “We’re only in the first week. This isn’t exactly what I signed up for, Agent Pellisante.”
The FBI guy looked sympathetic, but also helpless to do anything. “I’m afraid it’s not a matter of choice.”
Her blood was pulsing. She could have gotten off this trial just the other day. “When?” Andie looked up at him. Then she realized what he had meant by the
officer waiting outside.
“I’m afraid, right now. What I have to ask you to do now is to go pack some things.”
“You’re kidding!” Andie stared at him, glassy-eyed. “My son’s in bed in the other room. What am I supposed to do with him? This is crazy.”
“Is there someone who can take him for tonight? Somebody nearby?”
“I have a sister in Queens. It’s after ten o’clock. What do you want me to do, put him in a cab?”
“You can bring him along,” the FBI guy finally said. “Just for this evening, though. You’ll have to make provisions for him tomorrow.”
“Bring him along.” Andie smirked sardonically.
“Where?”
“I can’t tell you that, Ms. DeGrasse. Not far. And you will be able to see him from time to time. I promise you that.”
“You’re serious.” Andie ran a hand through her hair again.
At that moment, she saw Jarrod standing in the hall in his pj’s. “What’s goin’ on, Mom?”
Andie went to him and put an arm around his shoulders. “This man is from the trial. He’s with the FBI. He’s telling me we have to leave. We have to go someplace. Now. Tonight.”
“Why?” Jarrod asked, not understanding. “Tonight? Where?”
The FBI guy kneeled down. “We have to do this in order to let your mom do a brave thing. You’d want her to do that, wouldn’t you? You’d do something brave, wouldn’t you, to protect your mom?”
“Yeah.” Jarrod nodded. “Sure I would.”
“Good.” He squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “I’m Nick. What’s your name?”
“Jarrod.”
“It won’t be so bad.” He smiled. He winked back at Andie. “You ever ridden in a police car, Jarrod?”
WHEN I FINALLY MADE IT home, it was after two.
It wasn’t easy rousting people out of their homes late at night, scaring the living shit out of them, being unable to level with them. The jurors were all taken in unmarked cars to a motel across the Holland Tunnel in Jersey City. Eight U.S. marshals had them under guard there for the night.
I was exhausted, and I felt like crap for disrupting their lives. But as I turned the key to my apartment at that predawn hour I knew
I’d
sleep a whole lot sounder for having done it, having moved them.
Stepping into the apartment, I was surprised to find the lights on. At first I figured Ellen was on call.
What else was new?
Then, Popeye didn’t come to greet me like he always did. And he wasn’t on the couch where he usually slept.
Something was wrong, wasn’t it?
It took a second. Then I flashed to the threat Cavello had made against me in the courtroom earlier. I drew my gun.
Holy shit! Jesus, no.
I started toward the bedroom. “Ellen! Are you in there? Ellen?”
The hall closet was wide open, and I noticed a few coats were missing.
Hers.
And two suitcases that we usually had stuffed on the top shelf were gone, too. A couple of photos were missing from the console. Her family and stuff.
“Ellen!”
The bedroom lights were on, shining brightly and hard on my eyes. The bed hadn’t been slept in. A tray of her scents and body sprays had been cleared out too.
I had this sinking, helpless feeling, like everything was spiraling out of control. I couldn’t believe this was happening. “Ellen . . . Ellen?” I called for her again.
Then I spotted a note on the bed, on my pillow. It was written on her medical stationery.
My heart sank as I read the first line.
My big, strong Nick. This is the hardest thing I have ever had to write. . . .
I SAT DOWN on the edge of the bed, the pillows arranged the way she always liked them, her scent still hanging in the air.
I know this will hurt you. But I just need to be on my own for a while. We both know what was great about each other just isn’t there much right now.
Hopefully, this will make you smile: I promise, there isn’t anyone else, just this aching feeling that we’re not giving each other what we want or need. And right now, I think I need to look into myself awhile and find out what it is I want someone to give me. You are the best, Nick. You are smart and reliable, and sensitive and strong. You’re such a good man. And you know what else you’re the best at—I don’t have to elaborate!!!
You will make some girl a loving partner in life. I’m just not sure it’s me. I need this space, Nick. We both need it! If we’re honest, as we’ve always been with each other.
So please don’t call me for a day or two. Don’t ask me to come back (if you even want me to). Don’t look for me. Don’t be the cop, Nicky. I need the strength to do this. I’m at a friend’s. Popeye is with me. He’s already told me I’m a stupid jerk. (You’re always the stud, Nick, even with the guys!)
I do truly love you, Nick. Who wouldn’t?
I put down the note. There was a PS.
Okay, I lied just a little. Taking the medical boards was harder.
I picked up a photo of us on my night table taken up in Vermont, skiing.
Goddamnit, Ellen, we could have worked it out. We could have talked at least.
I made a move for the phone. I went to dial her cell; then I caught myself and stopped midnumber.
She was right.
Lay off, Nick.
Give her what she asked for. We both knew it.
What was great about each other just isn’t there much right now. . . .
I took off my tie and tossed my jacket on the bed. Then I just leaned back on the pillow and closed my eyes.
I wanted to feel crushed, empty. I wanted to go pour myself a scotch or kick a chair like I was supposed to do when things like this happened.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t!
Ellen was right. What was great about each other just isn’t much there right now.
Ellen was right about a lot of things.
A BIG BLUE BUS was waiting for the jury in front of the Garden State Inn at 8:00 a.m.
Three court marshals, with their handguns showing, loaded them on. Another heavily armed marshal was waiting inside. Then three police cars pulled up, lights whirring. Their escort. An FBI man was checking names off a roster.
And this was supposed to fill us with a sense of ease,
Andie thought as she climbed onboard.
I don’t think so.
Her sister, Rita, had been driven down earlier in a court-assigned car to pick up Jarrod and take him to school. He’d stay with her and his uncle Ray until this mess was over with. Andie was amazed at how well he had handled himself last night. He never let on that he was afraid or even put out. But this morning, he didn’t want to leave her, and finally he cried like a little boy.
Her
little boy, her Jarrod.
“You have to do your job, and I have to do mine,” she said as she hugged him close and put him into Rita’s car, holding back a flood of emotions. “And remember . . . Florida’s a promontory, right?”
“
Peninsula,
” he corrected her. She waved as they drove away. One thing for sure—he’d have a helluva story to share in school that day.
Rosella plopped herself next to Andie on the bus. All of their nervous, harried faces said this was a whole lot more than anyone had ever bargained for.
“My huzban, he’s very upset at what’s goin’ on. He tells me, the hell with the forty dollars, Rosie, get jourself off that trial. What about jou? Jou must be goin’ crazy with jour son?”
“Jarrod’s a trouper,” Andie said, half believing it. “He’ll get by.” She turned around to O’Flynn and Hector. “It’s the rest of you guys I’m worried about.”
There was a lot of bickering, even before the bus left the motel. Understandable. Hector was insisting this was against the law. That they had to give you a chance to get off now. That they couldn’t just hold you against your will. A few people argued with him that that wasn’t true.
“It’s like the Patriot Act.” Marc rolled his eyes. “It’s for our own protection.”
The bus doors finally closed. The police cars in front began to pull out, lights flashing. The driver started the engine, and the big bus rolled forward slowly.
Andie pressed her cheek to the glass, the sight of the dreary motel, her new home for the next several weeks, drifting away.
She missed just
knowing
she would see Jarrod that night. “I don’t think Sam Greenblatt exactly signed up for it either,” she finally said to herself.
I WAS BEAT, bleary-eyed. I’d barely gotten three hours’ sleep the night before. I tried to push the situation with Ellen out of my mind as I sat in court that morning. Cavello was flanked closely by two security people now. One more scene in there, and he was gone.
Joel Goldenberger stepped up to the witness stand. “Good morning, Mr. Denunziatta. I’d like to pick up where we left off the other day.” He had papers in his hand.
“You testified that you’d been present in the general area at the time Sam Greenblatt was killed,” the prosecutor started in, “and that you spotted Thomas Mussina driving around. With someone else in the car. Would you remind the jury who that other person was, Mr. Denunziatta?”
“It was Dominic Cavello,” Denunziatta stated.
“Good.” Goldenberger nodded and turned a page. “Now, what I want to move on to are the events that took place subsequent to that. Would you say that you and your colleagues were satisfied with how the job was done?”
“I guess at first we were satisfied.” Ralphie shrugged. “I mean, we did the job, everyone got away, no one got hurt.”
“Other than Mr. Greenblatt, of course.”
“Other than Mr. Greenblatt, naturally.” The witness nodded with a contrite smile. “It was maybe the day after that, as I recall, that things started to fall apart.”
“What kinds of things are you speaking of, Mr. Denunziatta?”
“This guy that was involved in the hit, Stevie . . .”
“Steven Mannarino,” Joel Goldenberger explained.
