prep work for me. I could try this case alone. I didn’t want to have to worry about the health and safety of two lawyers, a private eye, and Tori.
“I’m not going anywhere,” said Shauna.
“Me, neither,” Bradley added.
“Six weeks of work without pay, and now someone’s going to shoot at me, too? Count me in!” That was Lightner’s attempt at humor.
Tori shrugged. “I don’t know how much help I am, but I want to stick around.”
“Okay, so we’re all very courageous,” I said. “Then I say we stay together in groups.”
“Right,” said Lightner. “That way, they can save time by shooting us in bunches.”
Shauna said, “Report this to the police, Jason. Get it out in the open. It will make it harder for the Mob to come after you a second time if you’ve already publicly accused them of trying to come after you once.”
I’d considered that. But I didn’t think these guys felt a whole lot of fear. They had ways of killing people without leaving a lot of fingerprints. And like I said, my story would sound too far-fetched.
And as much as I might appreciate a delay from a tactical point of view, I was beginning to wonder if we weren’t better off going to trial in a few days.
“No cops,” I said. “We go forward. And we start by asking who the hell was it who saved my ass tonight?”
57
Patrick Cahill watched the majestic sight of the Saturday-morning sun appearing over the lake, while he clutched in his hand the gun that he would use to kill Jason Kolarich.
He stood at ground level, near the grass embankment to the highway, keeping his breathing even, awaiting the word through his earpiece. He had stretched and restretched his limbs. He was on high alert, realizing that he’d only have about thirty, maybe forty-five, seconds’ notice that Jason Kolarich was on his way down the ramp and through the tunnel, coming toward Cahill.
His partner, Dwyer, was serving as the marker. He was parked on Ash a half-block down from the ramp. Dwyer would tell Cahill via the earpiece when he first spotted Kolarich, and then when he was heading down the ramp.
The tunnel was where it would happen. The cover of darkness and complete privacy made it the perfect choice. Cahill would start jogging into the tunnel from the direction opposite Kolarich. If Kolarich saw him standing still, essentially lying in wait, it would raise his radar. But seeing a fellow runner come jogging into the tunnel would seem perfectly normal to him.
Cahill hopped around, did some high-knees in place, worked out the nerves. He checked his watch. It was just after seven now. The sun had reared its head, bathing him in warm light, the color of the sky beginning with a burst of orange at the horizon and fading into pinks and reds as it moved upward.
By seven-fifteen, the sun had fully shown its shape over the water. By seven-thirty, the sky reminded him of rainbow sherbet. But where the fuck was Kolarich?
“Sleeping in on a Saturday?” Cahill said.
“Maybe.”
By eight o’clock, Cahill didn’t give a flying fuck about the sunrise anymore. By eight-thirty, he wasn’t sure what to do, because the lakefront was beginning to swell with joggers and bikers and skaters and speed-walkers. Didn’t they realize it was thirty degrees out here?
“Dammit. This is all fucked now.”
“Should I go by his house?” Dwyer asked.
“What good would that do?”
“Okay. Then what’s plan B?”
“There isn’t a fucking plan B. I was told this guy is like clockwork, running along the lake at dawn. You think he took a different route?”
“I don’t know. Probably we should wait, right?”
Cahill looked around. Joggers and bikers and skaters and walkers aside, the tunnel would still be dark and, hopefully, empty, thus remaining viable as a kill spot. He’d have to improvise. Once he got word about Kolarich from Dwyer, he’d have to quickly assess the situation and determine whether it was still workable.
At nine o’clock, Dwyer said into Cahill’s earpiece, “There’s a traffic lady handing out tickets. I have to move. It’s thirty-minute parking here.”
“Great.”
“I’ll do a lap and come back around.”
Yeah, thought Cahill, and let’s hope Kolarich doesn’t choose that window of time to come barreling down Ash and through the tunnel.
At nine-thirty, a police squad car lazily cruised along the beach, passing directly by Cahill about fifty feet away. Cahill made a big point of stretching to not arouse their attention.
“Enough,” he said. “Come pick me up, Dwyer. It’s time to come up with a plan B.”
58
“Hi,” Tori said, answering the phone, presumably seeing me on caller ID.
“Just checking to see if you’re still alive,” I said. “Are you still alive?”
“I am. Are you?”
“I think so.”
“How’s the knee?”
“It’s seen better days.” I had my left leg up on a chair in my office. Keeping it straight kept it from stiffening up. When I got out of bed this morning, I couldn’t even put weight on it. I had to hop on one foot into the shower. I wasn’t really sure how I’d hurt it-I was a little preoccupied with bullets flying past me and ducking for cover-but I was hoping it was just a sprain and not ligament damage or anything.
I hated immobility. I tweaked a hammy my freshman year at State and could barely walk for a few days and I went crazy. Today, I missed my morning run for the first time in weeks, but worse, I’d have trouble pacing, which was how I did my best thinking.
Tori said, “And you’re positive those guys from last night were the same ones who bought me those drinks and grabbed me at Vic’s?”
“I’m sure, Tori.”
“That’s so weird.”
“Not really. It tells me the Capparellis were looking at me. I checked my date book. That friendly encounter at Vic’s came after Lorenzo Fowler had called to make an appointment. It was before we actually met but after he’d set up the meeting with my secretary. So they knew he was coming my way and they were watching me. They’ve been watching me the whole time.”
“I guess that makes sense,” she said.
It did, but something about it still felt wrong. I wasn’t sure what.
“Be careful,” I said. “We’re all here at the firm if you want to join us.”
I hung up with her and returned my attention to the motions in limine that the prosecution had filed. As much as I hated paper and preferred the give-and-take of witness testimony, pretrial motions could have a devastating impact on a trial. You prepare for months or years for a trial and in the final days, the other side takes a shot at excluding your prime piece of evidence or your best argument, and you hold your breath and pray for the right outcome. The wrong result can fundamentally redirect your defense on virtually the eve of trial.
The principal bomb that Wendy Kotowski had dropped was asking the judge to exclude any evidence of Tom Stoller’s heroic military background and, thus, the testimony of Sergeant Bobby Hilton, his friend. Now that the
