Primal Fear (22 page)

TWENTY-ONE

It was Friday the eleventh, well into the middle of March, and Martin Vail was on his way to have lunch with Roy Shaughnessey.

The day Guido Signatelli became an American citizen he celebrated by opening a restaurant three blocks from City Hall called Avanti! The name included the exclamation point. It precisely expressed Guido’s exuberant perspective on life. Handsome, debonair, the perfect host, and master of the best Italian kitchen in the state, Signatelli had but one flaw: hopelessly tacky taste. Plastic grapes and dusty Chianti bottles dangled from phony grape arbors that crisscrossed the ceiling, and the booths that lined the walls were shaped like giant wine barrels. But Guido and Avanti! had survived on the strength of personality, discretion and dazzling cuisine. Through the years, Guido’s (the regulars never referred to the place by its name) had become the lunchtime county seat. And on Fridays, the legal profession dominated the fake landscape. The pecking order was obvious and predictable. On the bottom rung of Guido’s ecological chart were the lobbyists, their mouths dry and their palms damp as they paid homage to everybody. They were followed by young lawyers eager to be seen as they cruised the room, hoping for a handshake. Next came the assistant prosecutors, huddled over out-of-the-way tables and whispering strategy. Then came the kingmakers, the politicos who greased the wheels of the city from behind closed doors in what was jokingly called “executive session”—to avoid the state’s sunshine laws. Many a shady executive decision had been made in the quiet of one of Guido’s booths. Finally there were the judges, the emperors of justice, each at his own preordained table, each patronized by his or her own table of mewing sycophants, and each pandered by the rest of the room. And lording over it all from his booth near the bar was Roy Shaughnessey, his power impervious to change or political climate. Even the judges stopped by to kiss his ring.

When Vail came in, Guido greeted him with a bear hug. “Where you been, Marty? You gettin’ ta be a big shot, win all those cases?”

“You been reading the newspapers, Guido? Watching television?”

“So, they hand you a hot potato, you still gotta eat,” he said, leading him to Shaughnessey’s booth. Heads followed their journey across the room like waves in the wake of a boat.

Vail, Roy Shaughnessey’s guest? Could a deal on the Bishop Rudman case be simmering?

“We’ll probably make the columns, Roy,” Vail said as he sat down. “The executioner and his victim, breaking bread-sticks at Guido’s Friday lunch.”

“Come on,” Roy said with a wave of his hand. “That was Harry’s choice. He wanted the best so he got you.”

Vail laughed. “Roy, Hangin’ Harry calls you every night to get permission to go to bed.”

“Watch your step, he’s in the room.”

“Of course he’s in the room,” Vail answered as the waiter approached. “He needs his weekly fix of bondage from the peons, he doesn’t get enough in court.” He looked up at the waiter. “I’ll have a draft beer, a glass of tomato juice, and an empty frosted mug.”

“
Si
,” the waiter said, and hurried away. Guido’s waiters, all of whom were related to him in some way, many of them recent arrivals from Sicily, always hurried. In eighteen years, nobody had ever complained of waiting too long for their food or drink at Avanti!

“So? How’s it going?” Shaughnessey asked, buttering a breadstick.

“How do you think? I go to trial in a month.”

“A month and fifteen days to be exact,” Shaughnessey said. “Everybody’s going to breathe a sigh of relief when this one’s over and we can get back to business.” He chewed off half the stick in one bite and washed it down with a glass of red wine, then dabbed his lips with his napkin.

Vail leaned across the table and said softly, “What is this, Roy, my last meal? Some kind of public humiliation?”

“No, no!” Shaughnessey said seriously. “Nothing like that. I thought it was time we broke bread together. Got to know each other. Drinking brandy in the back seat of a limo’s no way to get to know a man. By the way, you like oysters? The oysters are superb today. Guido sent a sample by.”

“Where are they from?”

“What difference does it make? I told you they’re superb.”

“I want to know if they come from polluted waters. You don’t want your defense attorney to get hepatitis, do you?”

“You never did get over that case, did you?”

“You do a lot of homework, Roy.”

“So do you, son.”

“That’s what lawyers are for.”

“Speaking of which, how’s your case coming?”

Vail smiled and handed him one of the business cards with the embossed “No comment” printed across the center.

“Cute,” Shaughnessey said. “I heard about these business cards of yours.” He filled his wineglass and added, “I hear Venable’s looking under beds for a motive.”

“It always helps to have one in a murder case.”

“She’s got Abel Stenner doing handsprings trying to establish something.”

“Smart police work, smart lawyer work,” Vail said. “What else do you hear?”

“This and that. What’re you eating?”

“Guido’s fettuccine on the appetizer. Veal and lemon. Why don’t we start with ‘this’?”

“Okay. The state shrinks are gonna give your boy a clean bill,” Shaughnessey said, waving over the waiter to give him the order. Shaughnessey was a man who savored food. He pried the meat from an oyster and laid it on his tongue like a pearl, then closed his lips around it, drew out the fork, and sucked the juice from it before swallowing.

“The grand jury will indict. Murder one and they’re going to max him out.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

Shaughnessey smiled. “Everybody expects you to put on a super show. I think Venable’s a little nervous.”

“Venable thinks it’s an open-and-shut case. Why should she be nervous?”

“So much for ‘this’; you wanna know about ‘that’?” Shaughnessey said.

“I’ll take anything you’re willing to give.”

“They hear maybe
you
got a motive under wraps.”

An alarm bell went off inside Vail’s head.

Was this just a rumor or did somebody break security?

Perhaps Venable and Stenner had copped the altar boys tape and figured he had it, too.

Was that what it was all about—who’s going to burn the bishop first?

Vail laughed. “Hell,
I
haven’t even heard that one yet.”

“You’ve got no idea why he did it?”

“Who?”

“Stampler, for Christ sake,” Shaughnessey growled.

“I got an idea he
didn’t
do it.”

“You still grabbin’ that straw, Martin?”

“Roy, I could probably make the
Guinness Book of World Records
for all the straws I’ve grabbed.”

“You understand you’re not only dealing with one of the most well-liked men in town, he was one of the most powerful.”

“Really? I didn’t know saints were into power trips.”

“Hell, you know what I mean. He’s got … had … his own agenda. His charity works, abortion, censorship, the school situation, capital punishment.”

“You know, I’ve always wondered about that. Since when is capital punishment a Catholic thing?”

“It was a personal thing with Richard, deterring crime and what have you.”

“Personal or Catholic, that is bullshit, is what it is. People who premeditate murder
plan
to get away with it—the consequences never occur to them. In fact, I’ve never met anyone who broke the law who didn’t think he’d get away with it.”

“Talking about some of your clients? You know what they say about you up in the governor’s office?”

“No, what do they say?”

“That you put more felons on the street than the parole board.”

“You know what else they say? Everybody’s guilty of something.”

“You talking about anybody in particular?” Shaughnessey asked with a scowl.

The waiter arrived before Vail could answer and put a mug of beer, a glass of tomato juice and the frosted mug in front of him. Vail poured half the beer into the mug, topped it with tomato juice and salted it.

“What the hell do you call that?” Shaughnessey asked, turning up his lip.

“I call it a Bloody Joe. Some people call it a San Francisco Bloody Mary. Excellent for the digestion.”

“It looks disgusting.”

Vail smiled and held the mug up in a toast. “Skoal,” he said, smacking his lips after his first sip.

“What do you mean, everybody’s guilty of something?”

“Just that we all have skeletons in our closets. Even the bishop’s life isn’t an open book. I’m sure there were things in his life that’re better left unsaid.”

“Like what?”

“It’s just conversation.”

“You know something?”

“About what?”

“Jesus!”

“Are you always this paranoid?” Vail asked innocently.

“Paranoid? Who’s paranoid?” Shaughnessey answered, and changed the subject. “So you figure your client’s just a wacko, that it?”

“No, sir—I figure he’s innocent.”

“You’re really going with that defense?”

“I said ‘No comment.’ What I think is one thing, how I defend my clients is another.”

“Think Stenner’ll find a motive?”

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“Do you?”

Vail didn’t answer. He took another sip of his Bloody Joe.

“Know what I read?” Shaughnessey said. “I read that most people give up a fight just as they’re about to win it.”

“That’s probably true,” said Vail. “They either burn out, get scared, or fuck up. Can’t go that last ten percent. Kind of like the Cubs.”

“Incidentally, I was talking to Jane Venable the other day.”

“You don’t keep very good company.”

Shaughnessey smiled. “She says one of your tricks in a murder case is to low-rent the victim.”

“Did she really say that?”

“Actually she used the term ‘assassinate.’”

“Ah. That sounds more like her.”

“You’re not gonna bash the bishop, for Christ sake, are you, Martin?”

“Let me try one of those breadsticks, please.”

Shaughnessey passed the basket. “The man’s dead, Counselor. Don’t walk on his grave.”

“My man’s alive, Roy. I’ll dance on the bishop’s grave if I think it will do any good.” Vail crunched down on a breadstick.
“I hear he had a drinking problem.” He said it as a joke, although Shaughnessey took it seriously.

“That’s a lot of crap,” he complained. “He was a two-scotch drinker. I ought to know; I spent more time with him the last few years than I did with my wife.”

Vail laughed. “Is that what this is all about? You think I’d try to taint the memory of the Saint of Lakeview Drive? Why worry?”

“He’s got a lot of important charity projects in place. You create the illusion of scandal, it could hurt. It could hurt the whole city. Hell, it could backfire, hurt
you
in the long run.”

“Wasn’t that the idea when Shoat dumped this case on me?”

“I told you, it’s a little wrist slapping. Be done with it and move on. You’ve got big things ahead of you.”

“Why is everybody so worried about Rushman’s charitable works?”

“He was a brilliant administrator. Everybody on his list is worried things’ll fall apart with him gone.”

“What kind of things?”

“Afraid the trustees’ll cut them out. Or the Charity Fund’ll dry up without him. The usual panic.”

“What are
you
worried about, Roy?”

“Me? Nothing. The Rushman Fund will live on. We’ll make it work.”

“Are you one of the trustees?”

“Now why would you ask that?”

“Just curious.”

“I’ve been a trustee of the Rushman Fund since he started it. Fact is, there’re at least half a dozen trustees in this room right now.”

“What’s a trustee do for the Bishop’s Fund?”

“Oversee the operation. Approve the gifts. Of course, the archbishop made most of the decisions.”

“Rubber-stamp board, huh?”

“Not exactly. We all had input. I think we all know how Richard felt about things. Which means I’m confident we’ll keep the faith.” He paused a moment and said, “You thought any more about what we talked about?”

“What was that?”

Shaughnessey’s manner turned slightly brittle. “Don’t play games with me, son. It’s bad for my digestion.”

“Did we ever get around to what’s in it for me?” Vail asked.

“You know damn well. Want me to say it again? You get on the right side of the fence, you can write your own ticket. Where do you want to go? The mayor’s mansion? Up to the capital? You want to change the world, son, change it from the inside. You get to be D.A., you can make changes.”

“Judges make changes, not lawyers. You know, a couple years ago I sneaked into your lecture to the Judge’s Association, when you were talking about
malum in se
and
malum prohibitum.
Pissed me off for a month.”

“How come?”

“Your philosophy that
malum prohibitum
is the way society defines the limits of acceptable behavior. As a lawyer I disagree with that theory—it’s absolutely prejudicial.”

“I didn’t say I agreed with it, I said it’s the way the system works,” said Shaughnessey casually.

“What you’re saying is that justice is doled out by social status. That’s what it boils down to, right?”

“White-collar crime has always been dealt with as a kind of popular law. Look, eight, nine years ago, the Supreme Court legalized abortion. The law changed. But mark my words, in a few years it’ll swing the other way. God knows what the country’ll be like after Reagan. A lot of laws can change once that bunch gets in office.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is that judges interpret the law. They also swing with the mood of the country.
Malum prohibitum
laws are the way society defines behavior. So if everybody in the country wants to drink booze and booze is against the law, the law gets changed. But
malum in se
never changes. If everybody in the country suddenly went kill-crazy, they wouldn’t legalize murder.”

“So a banker or a stockbroker screws a lot of people out of their savings, the judge slaps his wrist because he wears the right color tie and gives him six months in some country club prison. That’s
malum prohibitum.
On the way out of the courtroom, some poor slob goes ballistic because his life savings have been wiped out, blows away the banker, and ends up doing hard-time life because his offense is
malum in se.
”