Rosato And Associates: Accused Part 31

"You have a two-p.r.o.nged problem on your hands. First p.r.o.ng. To reopen an investigation, you would need to show me some significant physical evidence, or some very compelling other kind of evidence. Hard evidence."

"I can't get the evidence, if I can't get the record, and I don't have the power to subpoena samples from Tim Gage." Mary thought a minute. "What happens in all those cases where someone is trying to prove actual innocence? Those guys get the record and retest everything."

"That's called being granted access to the original sample, and those 'guys,' as you call them, have more compelling physical evidence to offer."

"What about the fact that Gage lied about being there?"

"It's useless. He didn't lie at trial. I didn't have him on the stand. It wasn't sworn testimony, or even in an affidavit." Weber shook her head. "If he had been called at trial, maybe, but he wasn't. Trial counsel should've dug a little deeper."

"What if you got Gage in here and talked to him?" Mary asked, though she knew the answer.

"It doesn't work that way, we don't reopen piecemeal. You need more on him before we can begin to talk about my bringing him in here."

"Right now, I have an investigator looking into recent girlfriends to see if he was violent with them, or maybe even mentioned something about killing Fiona, like if he was drinking."

"Follow up on that. I'm no social scientist, but in my experience, that kind of doer is arrogant. They love the feeling of power and superiority. Generally, that type of criminal wants people to know how smart he is. Sooner or later, they start talking and slip up."

"What about if I could find him on surveillance tapes, getting into the building? They don't have tapes of the murder scene, because it was a new building."

"That would help, too, so we didn't have to rely solely on the valet's memory, which could be stale at this point. But wait." Weber raised a finger. "I told you there are two p.r.o.ngs to your case, and you have a second problem that's even bigger. The guilty plea. Your client pled guilty. Why?"

"He didn't at the beginning of trial, and he didn't take the deal that was offered, but he changed his mind later on the advice of his trial counsel, who was a nice guy but not experienced in murder cases." Mary hadn't mentioned to Weber that she wasn't technically representing Stall, because the Chief probably wouldn't have agreed to see her at all.

"So why did Stall change his mind?"

"Because he thought he was going to be found guilty and the case wasn't going very well."

"The guilty plea is the second problem you have to overcome." Weber leaned back in her chair, folding her arms again. "The guilty plea matters because it is an admission by the defendant himself and evidence of his accepting responsibility for the crime. And it's a serious crime, the most serious crime there is."

Mary nodded.

"It also matters because of the integrity of the process. The guilty plea gives the victim's family closure and certainty that this matter has been put to rest. That is not something that I or this office takes lightly."

Again, Mary didn't interrupt her to mention that she was representing a member of the victim's family.

"I can see that you feel very strongly about this case, and you might be right about it. But I have to tell you, I hear this all the time."

"Really?"

"All the time. From defense counsel like yourself, or friends of the defendant. Everybody and his mother has a theory about why somebody's actually innocent. We couldn't begin to reopen all the cases that we've closed, especially the ones where the defendant put himself in jail by pleading guilty. You can understand that, can't you?"

"Yes," Mary answered, albeit reluctantly.

"I agreed to see you today, not only because you were so persuasive on the telephone, but also because this office really does care." Weber leaned over her desk, looking Mary directly in the eye. "Listen, I know how prosecutors look on TV and the movies, but the fact is we're people who are really trying to do justice."

Mary could hear the strength in her voice and it rang true.

"I care very much, as a personal matter, about the quality of justice in the Commonwealth, and on my watch, I don't want any mistakes, not a single one. Because a single one is a person, a man's or woman's life, and I don't want to make any mistakes when the cost is that high."

"I understand." Mary couldn't resist a final appeal. "So I still have a chance, if I can bring you more compelling evidence and undermine his guilty plea."

"That's what I'm telling you. Hone in on Gage and deal with that guilty plea."

"Thanks," Mary rose. "I appreciate your hearing me out."

"No sweat, and keep digging." Weber grinned. "Bring me back a scalp, and take another shot."

Mary thanked her and left her office, reenergized by the conversation. Her step quickened as she walked along the wall of a large room that held a warren of beige cubicles for secretaries and other staff, its perimeter ringed by offices of the a.s.sistant district attorneys. She wished she could share her excitement with Judy, but Judy still hadn't called back. She didn't want the rift between them to get any wider, so she slid her BlackBerry from her pocket, scrolled to the text function, and texted Judy, call me when you can, okay? She hit the escalator to the lobby and went out to the street.

Mary found herself pausing on the pavement outside the Widener Building, and lawyers hurried to and from the Court of Common Pleas, bearing thick brown accordion files. Cabs and cars rushed around the shadowy side of City Hall Plaza, but Mary wasn't focused on them. She realized the next stop she needed to make, if she was going to bring back the scalp of Tim Gage.

She turned on her heel and started walking, then picked up her pace.

She didn't feel ready, but she was going anyway, full steam ahead.

Chapter Thirty-nine.

THE GARDNER GROUP, read the gleaming metal sign on the ultramodern company headquarters, a gla.s.s cube that reflected the stormclouds just beginning to cover the sky, and Mary hurried into the building, past two security guards in gray uniforms, and crossed a vast open s.p.a.ce to a long, mirrored reception bank, behind which sat a middle-aged security guard and a pretty young receptionist, her blonde hair in a trendy asymmetrical cut.

"h.e.l.lo," Mary said, flas.h.i.+ng a smile that projected more confidence then she really felt. She tried not to think about Lou's information from his friends at Blackmore Security, that anyone from Rosato & a.s.sociates was persona non grata on Gardner Group property. "I'm Mary DiNunzio, here to see John Gardner."

"Do you have an appointment?" the receptionist asked, pleasantly.

"No, but it's extremely important that I see him. If you tell him I'm here, I'm sure he'll see me." Mary wanted John to know that her investigation was ramping up, so she added, "And please, could you also tell him that I've just come from a meeting at the District Attorney's Office?"

"Certainly, please take a seat." The receptionist picked up the telephone at her desk and gestured across the room at some high-end microsuede sectionals the same pewter color as the carpet, grouped into a large rectangle around a mirrored coffee table.

"Thank you." Mary went over, sat down, and caught sight of a large open stairway around the corner, across from the elevator bank. The stairway had to lead upstairs to the small conference room where Fiona had been murdered, and she realized that that there had to be a corresponding stairwell at the other end of the building, where the company kitchen must be located, and that on that side was the staircase that Lonnie Stall had used to get upstairs. She would have loved to go snooping, but she didn't want to take the chance with security around.

The receptionist hung up the telephone, and motioned Mary over to the desk. "He's in a meeting, but he says he'll squeeze you in if he can. Would you like to wait?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Great, then would you mind giving Nate your photo ID, please?" The receptionist gestured to the security guard to her left, and if he recognized Mary or her name, it wasn't apparent from his steely blue gaze, behind wire-rimmed gla.s.ses.

"May I have your photo ID, please?" the guard asked, holding out a large palm, and Mary extracted her wallet from her purse, pulled out her ID, and handed it over. The guard examined it, logged into the computer, and printed out a visitor's badge, which he handed to her with a professional smile. "Here you are. Please take a seat."

"Thanks." Mary was about to go back and sit down, but wandered idly to the long lineup of building photographs mounted on the wall above the furniture, showing completed construction projects built in California, New York, Was.h.i.+ngton, Texas, and Atlanta. She was surprised to learn that the Gardner Group had a national reach. Next to the photos were an array of glistening crystal awards and prizes for various projects, then she noticed that the one at the end was for these very offices, which made the cottage in Townsend look like the kiddie table. She walked over, eyeing the pedestal that displayed the gla.s.s award, and on the wall behind it hung a framed reproduction of the blueprints for the corporate headquarters.

Mary scanned the drawings to understand the layout of the building. As she had expected, the first three floors contained the employee, staff, and accounting offices, and the fourth floor was the executive floor, with the showplace conference room and executive offices that overlooked the Delaware River. Her attention went instantly to the second floor, and she could see the stairs at either end, and in between a variety of square boxes that read offices, then the small conference room at the head of the back stairwell, where Fiona had been murdered. There were two exits on the back of the building, one which led from the employee parking lot to the reception area, and the other off the kitchen and lunchroom, which was next to a loading dock.

Mary's thoughts raced ahead. She could a.s.sume that the parking valets would park the cars behind the building in the employee lot, and that must've been where Tim Gage had dropped his car. She tried to imagine how he got inside the party without checking in at the front desk, and it didn't take long for her to figure it out. He could have dropped off his car with the valet, and once he had done that, he could easily avoid the front entrance and head for the back one, toward the loading dock. He could have entered the building, seen Fiona, and taken her up the back stairs to the second-floor conference room, knowing that all the activity would be on the ground floor and the executive floor. Perhaps they'd fought or he had made advances on her, but that was something Mary would never know until they locked him up. For now, she satisfied herself that in the hubbub of a party, Tim Gage had a way to sneak in, kill Fiona, and sneak out again.

"Miss?" said a voice, and Mary turned around, startled to see two uniformed security guards standing behind her, their expressions businesslike.

"Oh, no. Am I getting thrown out?"

"We'll be happy to escort you upstairs to see Mr. Gardner. Step with us to the elevator, please."

Chapter Forty.

Mary was shown into a small vacant office on the third floor, and John Gardner stood behind an empty wooden desk, next to Neil Patel, who held a legal pad. The security guards closed the door behind her, and John gestured her into one of two patterned chairs across the desk.

"Please, Mary, sit down," he said, unsmiling, as he took a seat in the desk chair, and Neil settled onto a window ledge, in the foreground of a spectacular view overlooking the Delaware River, winding its way between Pennsylvania and New Jersey like a snake.

"Thank you for seeing me." Mary sat down. "I want to meet with you to tell you-"

"Excuse me," John interrupted, his tone stern. "I took this meeting only to tell you that you must cease and desist this hara.s.sment of my family and my employees or we will file a restraining order against you and your law firm."

"Can I please just tell you-"

"I asked you to leave my family alone, yet you came to my farm yesterday, with a group of your friends who managed to injure themselves."

Neil, who started taking rapid notes, interjected, "If Mr. Pensiera attempts to file any kind of negligence action, you can rest a.s.sured that we will file charges of criminal trespa.s.sing with the Townsend police. Mr. Pensiera's actions in wandering around the property clearly exceeded the scope of any implied permission he was given when he was admitted to the property with you."

Mary suppressed an eye roll. "No one's filing any lawsuit. I'm here to tell you that-"

John cut her off. "You may have ingratiated yourself with my wife, but I'm not so easily fooled. Allegra is in an inst.i.tution and she's evidently still not safe from your influence. This is your last warning, which Neil tells me is required, though G.o.d knows why. Consider yourself warned."

"Okay, I'm hereby warned. Can you just give me three minutes to tell you why I'm here today?"

"I know why you're here. You're here because Allegra has unfortunate and horrific fantasies about what happened to Fiona, and you're both intent on setting someone you see as innocent free."

"No," Mary shot back, taking a different tack. "I'm here because I want justice for Fiona, and I think Tim Gage killed her."

"That's just what you told Richard, and he threw you out, as he should have."

"So you spoke to him. Weren't you surprised that Tim Gage was at the party, when he wasn't invited? Wouldn't you be surprised that he was abusive to Fiona? And wouldn't you be surprised that he was abusive to her friend Hannah and told her that he didn't know what he would do if he found out that Fiona was dating someone after him? John, doesn't any of that make you wonder if he did it? It may not be enough yet for a court or district attorney, but isn't it enough for a father?" Mary found herself on her feet and she couldn't stop now, because she knew she wouldn't get another chance. This was her closing argument, to the toughest judge ever. "I'm not here for Lonnie Stall or Allegra. I'm here for Fiona. I know you won't talk to me about Tim Gage, and I don't need anything from you but the surveillance tapes. I think I figured out how Tim Gage came in the back door, by the loading dock, and went upstairs through the back stair to the second-floor conference room, either with Fiona or without her, and killed her."

John blinked, evidently absorbing the information, but he didn't interrupt, and Neil kept taking notes, so Mary continued.

"The valet told us that Tim came back for his car shortly after he'd gone inside, upset and drunk. If you give me the surveillance tapes, I have to believe that they would show the back of the building, and that we can see Tim Gage enter, go up the stairs, and come back down." Mary modulated her voice because she could see that she might finally be getting through to him. "I know the police have a copy of the tapes, but I bet you kept the original. I can't get the file, tapes, or original samples of skin cells, hair, or DNA from the District Attorney unless they reopen the case, and I need the surveillance film to convince them. Please, let me see the tapes. Or just make me a copy of them. That's all I'm asking."

"No." John rose slowly, placing a manicured hand on the desk. "Here's what I'll do. I'll examine the tapes myself. I'll look for Tim."

"Thank you." Mary hadn't gotten what she wanted, but she could tell by the determination in his eyes that he would look at the tapes, which was second best.

"Now, please leave our offices and don't bother my wife or Allegra again."

"I won't leave Allegra alone because she's my client, and you should know she was the one who remembered that Tim was at the party that night. And she was completely right."

John pursed his lips. "You're still working for Allegra, even if she's not paying you?"

"Yes."

"What does your boss have to say about that?"

"I'm the boss," Mary said, turning away and leaving the office.

Chapter Forty-one.

Mary got a telephone call almost as soon as she got a cab, leaving the Society Hill section of the city. She took out her BlackBerry, expecting Judy, but the screen read POP, so she pressed Answer. "Hi, Pop, what's up? How's Feet?"

"HE'S GOOD, BUT YOUR MOTHER'S AT CHURCH SAYIN' NOVENAS THAT YOU PICK HER DRESS. SHE DOESN'T KNOW I'M CALLING. YOU GOTTA CALL HER."

"Pop, I love you, but I'm in a really bad position here," Mary said, miserably. The cab bobbled over the colonial cobblestones past the Sheraton Hotel, rattling her brain, though it could have been the conversation. "It never occurred to me that she wanted me to wear her dress, much less that Elvira did."

"IT WAS GONNA BE A SURPRISE. NOW SHE'S ALL UPSET THAT ELVIRA RUINED HER SURPRISE. YOU GOTTA TELL HER YOU WANT HER DRESS."

"I thought I was going to pick out my own dress."

"YOU CAN MAKE IT YOUR OWN DRESS. SHE UNNERSTANS YOU MIGHT WANT TO FIX IT UP, PUT ON A RIBBON OR A COUPLA FLOWERS, BUT SHE CAN DO THAT. SHE'S A MASTER SEAMSTRESS."

"I know." Mary felt a wave of guilt, even though she doubted there was such a term, like a master plumber.

"YOU GOTTA PICK HER. WE KNOW YOU LIKE ELVIRA, BUT YOUR MOTHER IS STILL YOUR MOTHER."

"I know that, believe me."

"n.o.bODY LOVES YOU THE WAY SHE DOES, 'CEPT ME. SHE'S YOUR MOTHER, MARY."

"I know, I know," Mary said, but it came out like a moan.

"SHE CARRIED YOU FOR NINE MONTHS, YOU AND YOUR SISTER. SHE WAS BIG AS A HOUSE! SO YOU GOTTA FACTOR THAT IN, TOO."

"There's no comparison, Pop. I know that. You don't have to make a case for her. I know what you're saying is true. Let me try and figure it out." Suddenly, Mary heard a beep on the phone that signaled she was getting another call, which she was sure would be Judy. "Pop, can we talk about this later? I'm getting another call and I should take it."

"SURE. LOVE YOU, BYE!"

"Love you, too." Mary pressed the b.u.t.ton to take the new call, answering without checking the screen, "Jude?"