Rosato And Associates: Accused Part 26

Jane looked up, equally panicky from his other side. "It could be his shoulder, too. You can feel a heart attack in your shoulder."

"Jane, relax." Neil was calmly sliding out his BlackBerry. "He twisted his ankle."

"No, I broke it! Oooh! It hurts! I bet the bone popped out of the skin! Oooh! It hurts so much!"

"Oh, thank G.o.d." Mary felt a wave of relief wash over her, and Jane exhaled, relaxing back on her haunches.

"Right, it's not as bad as it looks."

"What do you mean!" Feet yelped. "My ankle's broken and maybe my foot, too! I never felt pain like this in my life! I might even be paralyzed!"

Mary patted his arm, to comfort him. "I know you're in pain, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean it was nothing. I just meant it isn't life-threatening. I was scared."

Jane patted his other arm. "So was I. I saw you lying there, and I thought the worst had happened."

Neil tapped the keys of his BlackBerry. "Sir, if you feel pain, you're not paralyzed. I don't know who you are or how you got here, but if you're planning a lawsuit, you're mistaken. You're not a business invitee on this property, but a mere trespa.s.ser, and there's been no negligence whatsoever on the part of the Gardner Group."

"Neil, I'll leave this matter in your capable hands." Richard straightened up, brus.h.i.+ng down his silk tie over a fitted white s.h.i.+rt, which he had on with suit pants. "I have to get back to work. Thanks, everyone."

Suddenly the back door opened, and Alasdair hustled into the backyard with Edward Gardner, who had the same curly hair, bright blue eyes, and a work s.h.i.+rt similar to the one in his portrait in the reception area.

"Oh no!" Alasdair looked appalled at Feet, then at Neil. "Neil, I just got your call. What happened? Is he okay?"

Beside him, Edward looked shocked, his mouth partly open. "I was just coming over with the tomatoes. My truck's right out front. I could bring it around, and we can have him at the ER in no time."

Neil waved him off. "Thanks, but there is no need. It's better to call an ambulance. We don't want to be in a position of providing medical care to trespa.s.sers."

Mary looked from Edward to Neil. "Neil, I should be the one to take him to the hospital. You don't need to call an ambulance."

Neil raised a palm to her like a stop sign. "No, we'll handle this by the book, and you, of all people, should understand why. Do you know this man? How did he get here? What's his name?"

"Ooooh, my foot! My foot!"

Mary was beginning to think that Feet was a bit of a drama queen, and The Tonys couldn't have caused more trouble today if they'd tried. "His name is Feet."

"This is no time for joking, Counselor." Neil held the phone to his ear. "I'm calling 911. I'd like to provide them his proper name."

"Tony Pensiera," Mary answered. "His nickname is Tony Two Feet and his nickname's nickname is Feet. He came with me and he's a friend of my father's."

"Susan, do you know what happened?" Jane asked the heavyset woman, who was cradling Feet against her bosom like the Pieta.

"I have no idea," Susan answered, mystified. She had a sweet and caring smile, red-framed gla.s.ses, and a halo of prematurely white-gray hair. "We were in the cottage working when we heard a scream in the yard, ran outside, and found this man here, on the ground."

"Ooooh, oooh!" Feet groaned, rubbing his face with his hand. "My foot, my foot!"

"Feet, let me check you." Mary reached over, pulled up each of his baggy pant legs, and tugged down his black socks. She examined each ankle carefully, running her fingers over his bulging veins and ingrown leg hair. Neither looked swollen, much less broken. On the contrary, it looked as if the walk had done him good, and she could swear he had sprouted new calf muscles.

"Oooh! No, it hurts! Eeeh! Did you see, Mary? Is the ankle bone sticking out? I can't move it!"

"Feet, it's fine." Mary could see he was more scared than injured. "It's not broken, not that I can tell. You twisted it, or maybe you sprained it, but we're going to take good care of you. What were you doing back here, anyway?"

"Oooh! When I got out of the bathroom, n.o.body was around. Oooh! I went out of the house. Ouch! Eeeh! I thought I was going to the car but I ended up here. I fell down on the stones."

"Sir, there's nothing wrong with those flagstones." Neil lifted an eyebrow. "They're not even slippery, and it's a completely dry day. There are no divots or holes in the lawn, or anything else that would cause you to fall."

"Neil, please." Jane moved closer to Feet. "I'm so sorry this happened to you. I shouldn't have let you alone."

Neil whirled around, BlackBerry to his ear. "Jane, this isn't your fault, it's his. You weren't anywhere near here. There's no need for apologies."

Jane ignored him, eyeing Feet with concern. "Do you think you can sit up? Maybe we can get you to the table, or inside the cottage, where you'll be more comfortable?"

Neil turned again, covering the BlackBerry with his hand. "Jane, please don't move him. Leave him exactly where he fell, allegedly. I've already photographed the scene for the file."

Alasdair leaned down on his haunches, eye-level with Feet. "Hang in there, Feet. Would you like a gla.s.s of water or anything?"

Neil stepped away, saying into the phone, "h.e.l.lo, emergency? We have a slip and fall of a trespa.s.ser on the grounds of the Gardner Group..."

Edward bent over next to Feet, kneeling on one leg, his forehead creased with sympathy. "I bet that hurts a lot. A twisted ankle can feel broken, I know. Sometimes soft tissue injuries are the worst."

"Ooooh! That's what it is, if it's not broken! It's my soft tissue! It's too soft!"

Mary spied Richard heading for the back door of the cottage and sensed a golden opportunity slipping away. If he had been in charge of the Meyers project, on which Fiona worked, he could have information about Tim Gage, like things he had seen, overheard, or that Fiona had told him herself. Mary knew she had to take a chance because she wouldn't get another shot. Feet was getting plenty of attention from Jane, Alasdair, and Edward, and Neil and the rest of the staff were otherwise occupied.

"Jane, Alasdair," Mary said, rising quickly and edging backwards, "I want to go check on my father and the others, and fill them in about Tony. Be right back," she called over her shoulder, running inside the cottage. She hustled down the hall looking for Richard and spotted him as he turned into an office to the right, so she hurried after him. "Excuse me, Richard, may I speak with you for a second?"

"What? Me?" Richard looked up from his desk, frowning under the expensive layers of his haircut. His blue eyes were as piercing as his brothers', but a shade closer to Arctic. "Neil's perfectly capable of handling a slip and fall. He's one of the best corporate lawyers in the business."

"I'm not here about the slip and fall. Let me introduce myself-"

"I know exactly who you are," Richard interrupted her. There was a mullioned window to the right of his desk, and sunlight streamed through its panes, reflecting off the neat stacks of white papers. "We're a family company, don't you think we talk to each other? You're Mary DiNunzio, a new partner at Rosato & a.s.sociates and you represent Allegra in a suit against my brother and sister-in-law. Given those circ.u.mstances, what makes you think that I would talk to you?"

"No, that's not the case-"

"If it's not, it's close enough." Richard checked his stainless steel Rolex with a scowl. "Excuse me, I have a meeting shortly and I have to prepare for it."

"I'm not here about Allegra, I'm here about Fiona." Mary knew she had about thirty seconds to spit it out, so she stepped over to his desk. "I have information that leads me to believe that Lonnie Stall did not kill Fiona. I think he was wrongly convicted and I'm trying to get the case reopened. I believe that Tim Gage killed Fiona because she broke up with him."

"Tim?" Richard recoiled. "Your facts are completely wrong. You don't know what you're talking about. The police caught Stall fleeing the scene, with my niece's blood all over him. The blood of a beautiful young girl, an innocent young girl."

"I understand that but-"

"You don't understand anything. The jury convicted him, and they were right to do so. I sat in the trial every day, and I listened to every word of testimony. So did Edward, all of us. It was a horror. Tim wasn't even at the party that night."

"Yes, he was."

"No, he wasn't."

"I have proof."

"What proof?" Richard asked, in disbelief.

"One of the parking valets remembers him, and his fancy car." Mary didn't know if she should be telling him, but it was time for a full-court press. Richard was in no mood to listen now, but he could come around later.

"Everybody at that party has a fancy car."

"Not like Tim's, a vintage Jaguar."

Richard hesitated. "Car or no car, I'm not surprised you can get some valet to come forward. This is a chance to make a few bucks and get your name in the paper. He wants to be some kind of hero, have his fifteen minutes of fame. I heard the testimony, and it was a fair jury."

"If you would just keep an open mind-"

"Who are you to say that to me? I've never heard anything like this. A lawyer who would represent a daughter, suing her own mother and father? Over a tragic murder that almost blew our family to bits?" Richard's tone was angry, yet controlled, and underneath Mary could hear his anguish.

"Think of it this way. I was hired by Allegra. She's in your family, too, isn't she?"

"Way to miss the point. You entertained Allegra's crazy notions. Look where she is now, because of you. My brother's right, you should be ashamed of yourself." Richard flushed under his smooth shave. "What are you in this for? Your fifteen minutes of fame, too? I've heard of Bennie Rosato, but I've never heard of you, and she's not exactly averse to headlines, either."

Mary got to the point. "I'd like to know if you saw any instances in which Tim was angry or abusive with Fiona. I'm asking because I know that he was resentful of the time she spent working for you on the Meyers project. I'm hoping that maybe you heard something, her talking or fighting with him on the phone, or maybe you saw them quarrel."

"No, of course not."

"Or maybe you saw Tim and Fiona fighting in the house, when you were working here, in the cottage." Mary found herself gesturing toward the house. "You can see a little through the evergreens. Just think about it, is all I'm asking."

"You have no right to ask me anything." Richard rose behind his desk, against a backdrop of corporate awards and framed photographs of buildings. "I don't know what scam you're pulling with that man out there, or why my sister-in-law admitted you to the farm, but your actions can't be ethical. I should have Neil bring you up on charges. Do they have charges for attorneys? Or is there no shame?"

"Nothing I'm doing is unethical, and there's no scam." Mary stood her ground. "If I didn't think Tim Gage was a credible suspect, I wouldn't have gone this far, but he lied to you, me, and everybody else about where he was that night, and he had motive to kill Fiona. Motive and opportunity is a case, Richard."

"The case is over, and Stall should rot in jail forever. He's still breathing every day, which is not something I can say for my niece." Richard walked stiffly around the side of the desk, strode toward Mary, and pointed into the hallway. "If you don't leave now, I'm calling 911."

"Okay, fine." Mary edged backwards out the door. "If you have any second thoughts, or anything occurs to you, even the smallest thing, please call me. Even the smallest bit of evidence could tip the scales. It might not seem significant-"

"Out!" Richard raised his voice, pointing.

"Thank you for your time." Mary left the office, getting out while the getting was good.

Chapter Thirty-two.

Mary sat in a blue bucket seat in the ER waiting room, at the head of a forlorn little row that included her father, Tony-From-Down-The-Block, and Pigeon Tony. The air smelled like Febreeze and stale coffee. They were in a small rural hospital, remarkably new and modern, if barely used. They'd been sitting here an hour, and in that time, only one other patient had come in, a man who'd fallen off the tractor and broken his arm. Mary knew it would have been a different scene in a Philadelphia hospital, but out here in the country, the only things that got shot were deer.

Sunlight flooded the small waiting room, which was empty, with fresh magazines on the end tables and a flat screen television playing the afternoon soaps on mute. Pigeon Tony was glued to the television, and she suspected he was a closet fan of The Young and The Restless, though he was neither young nor restless.

"HE'S GOTTA BE OUT SOON," her father said, with a worried sigh. His soft shoulders sagged, and he held his hands linked in his lap, which rounded his shape to a human meatball. He had made the trip in the ambulance with Feet, since Pigeon Tony didn't speak any English and Mary had worried that if she put Tony-From-Down-The-Block in the ambulance with Feet, only one octogenarian would've gotten out alive.

"I'm sure he'll be out soon." Mary checked the wall clock, which read 2:06. She had used the time to answer email from her other clients and the text from Anthony, asking how she was doing. She answered fine, because no text could begin to describe the situation, and she noted that Allegra had called her three times, a number that seemed a tad excessive. Mary hadn't called back yet because there were signs everywhere forbidding cell-phone use. She could still be on time for her meeting with Hannah Wicker, if they left within half an hour, but she was here for the duration. Feet took top priority, and Mary was already feeling responsible for getting him in this fix in the first place.

Tony-From-Down-The-Block nodded. "Matty, it's good you called his son. That's the only family he has, right?"

"No," her father answered quietly. "He has us."

Touched, Mary looked over at her father. His head was tilted slightly downward, and he was rubbing one battered thumb over the top of the other. His hands were beat up from a lifetime spent setting tile, and he used to say his grout was like sugar. To look at her father's hands was to see his life story, and she realized that he and his friends experienced a hospital emergency room in a very different way than she did. She wondered if her father were thinking about life and death right now. Her throat caught, and she reached out for his arm and gave it a warm squeeze.

Suddenly, a pretty young nurse in blue scrubs appeared at the doorway, pus.h.i.+ng a wheelchair that held Feet. His Mr. Potatohead gla.s.ses had been repaired with a piece of Scotch tape at the bridge, so now he had two pieces of tape, and he was wearing a wan smile and a heavy plastic boot on his right foot. "Here we go, gang," she said with a grin. "He's all yours, but we'll miss him. He sang Frank Sinatra to us."

"Dean Martin," Feet corrected her, glancing up.

"Hi, Feet!" Mary rose quickly, and the others less so, though they cl.u.s.tered around him, even Tony-From-Down-The-Block.

"Welcome back, Feet," he said, gesturing at the wheelchair. "Hey, you got yourself a convertible and a pretty girl. Nice work if you can get it."

"HEY, PAL! HOW'D YA MAKE OUT!"

"Tony, come stai?"

"So what's the diagnosis?" Mary asked the nurse, who handed her a flurry of papers stapled together.

"Not too serious. A mild sprain, if that."

"Yay!" Mary couldn't have taken the guilt, if the news had been worse.

"Bravo!"

"He was lucky, that's for sure." The nurse patted Feet's shoulder. "The doctor told him, from now on, no more long walks without a cane."

Feet frowned, glancing up again. "I walk to the corner to get the newspaper every day, and I don't need a cane."

"I KNOW YOU DON'T. I DON'T NEED A HEARING AID, EITHER."

Mary a.s.sumed her father was kidding, but she could never be sure. "So why does he have the boot?"

"To hold the foot rigid, so the ankle can heal." The nurse pointed to the stapled papers. "Those are his discharge instructions, which show the care he'll need. Will you sign them for me?"

"Sure." Mary reached into her purse, rummaged around for a pen, and signed the papers on the bottom, while the nurse continued.

"He's already taken Advil, and we gave him some to take home. He should stay on that for the next few days, as you'll see in the instructions. He's tired, and I know you have a long drive back to the city, so unless I miss my guess, he'll sleep the whole way."

"I'm not tired," Feet corrected her.

Mary smiled. "It's been a busy morning. I think they're all tired."

"I'M NOT TIRED."

"Me, neither," said Tony-From-Down-The-Block.