he savored the fact that Dr. Vincent Cardoni was spending the first of what would be an endless number of days behind bars.
Chapter 15
Frank Jaffe sat in a back booth in Stokely's CafT on Jefferson Street in Cedar City and finished his apple pie while reading the final page of the police reports Fred Scofield had given him earlier that morning. The cafT had always been an oasis for Frank, his father and other weary hunters exhausted from hours of trudging through thick underbrush with nothing to show for their efforts but scratches, running noses and tales about the giant bucks that got away. It was the first place Frank had ordered a cup of coffee and sipped a beer. When Amanda was old enough, Frank had taught her how to shoot and introduced her to the wonders of Stokely's chicken-fried steak and hot apple pie.
Frank finished his coffee and paid the check. The Milton County jail was three blocks away on Jefferson in a modern annex behind the county courthouse, and Frank set off in that direction. In the days of Frank's youth, the population of Cedar City hovered around thirteen hundred and Jefferson had been the only paved street, but developers had ruined the town. Family-owned hardware and grocery stores were dying a slow death as national chains moved in; there was a mall with a multiplex cinema at the east end of town; Stokely's was forced to include caffF latte on its menu in order to survive; and the three-story red-brick courthouse on Jefferson was one of the few buildings that was more than thirty years old.
After checking in with the deputy at the reception desk, Frank was led to the attorney visiting room. A few moments later the thick metal door opened and Vincent Cardoni was brought in. The surgeon was dressed in an orange jail-issue jumpsuit, and there were dark circles under his eyes. As soon as the guard locked them in, Cardoni glared at Frank.
Where the hell have you been? I thought you were coming first thing this morning.
I met with Fred Scofield first, Frank answered calmly. He gave me some discovery that I needed to read through before we met.
Frank placed a stack of police reports on the cheap wooden table that separated them.
This set is for you. I thought we could go over some of it before the bail hearing.
Frank handed Cardoni a copy of the criminal complaint.
There are two counts against you now. The first involves the cocaine that the cops found in your bedroom. Frank paused. The other is a charge of aggravated murder for killing Mary Sandowski, the woman on the tape.
I didn't
Frank cut him off. Sandowski was found on property about twenty-five miles from here. More corpses were buried a short distance from the cabin where they discovered two severed heads. Most of the victims were tortured.
I don't care what happened at that cabin. I didn't do it.
Your word alone isn't going to be enough to win this case. Scofield has several witnesses who will testify that you attacked Mary Sandowski in the hallway of St. Francis.
Cardoni looked exasperated. He addressed Frank the way he might talk to a not-too-bright child.
Haven't I made myself clear, Frank? I do not own a house in Milton County, and I do not know a thing about these murders.
What about the videocassette? McCarthy says your prints are on it.
That's easy. The person who planted it obviously stole it from my house, taped over what was on it and returned it.
And the cocaine they found in your bedroom?
The question surprised Cardoni. He colored and broke eye contact with Jaffe.
Well? Frank asked.
It's mine.
I thought you were going to get help after I got you out of that last scrape.
Don't preach at me, Frank.
Do you hear me preaching?
What? Now you're disappointed in me? Fuck that. You're my lawyer, not a priest or a shrink, so let's get back to these bullshit charges. What else do the cops have?
Your prints are on a scalpel with Sandowski's blood on it. They were also on a half-filled coffee mug that was found next to the kitchen sink.
Suddenly Cardoni looked interested.
What kind of coffee mug?
It's in here someplace.
Frank shuffled through the stack of police reports until he found what he was after. He gave two photocopied sheets to Cardoni. One showed the mug sitting on the kitchen counter, and the other was a close-up. Cardoni looked up triumphantly.
Justine bought this mug for me in one of those boutiques on Twenty-third Street when we were dating. It was in my office at St. Francis until it disappeared a few weeks ago. I thought one of the cleaning people stole it.
What about the scalpel?
I' m a surgeon, Frank! I handle scalpels every day. It's obvious. Someone is framing me.
Frank thought about that possibility. He thumbed through the police reports.
This whole thing started with Bobby Vasquez, the cop with the mustache who watched the tape with us. He got a tip that you purchased two kilos of cocaine from Martin Breach and were storing them in a cabin you owned in the mountains near Cedar City. Vasquez claims that an informant corroborated the tip. He went to the cabin to search and found the severed heads in a refrigerator in the makeshift operating room we saw on the tape.
Who gave Vasquez the tip? Cardoni asked.
It was anonymous.
Really? How convenient.
A thought occurred to Frank.
Does Martin Breach supply your cocaine?
I said I didn't want to talk about the blow.
I have a reason for asking. Do you buy from Breach?
No, but the guy I buy from might. I don't know his source.
Frank made some notes on a yellow pad.
Let's talk about Clifford Grant.
Cardoni looked confused. What's this about Grant? That cop asked me about him at the house.
Frank told Cardoni about the investigation into Breach's black-market organ sales, the tip from the police in Montreal and the failed raid at the private airport.
It looks like the organs were being removed at the Milton County house, but the police are certain that Grant didn't harvest the heart. They think he had a partner.
And they think the partner is me? Cardoni asked calmly.
Frank nodded.
Well, they're wrong.
If they are, someone went to a hell of a lot of trouble to frame you. Who hates you enough to do that, Vince?
Before Cardoni could answer, the door opened and the guard entered carrying a plastic clothing bag. Frank looked at his watch. It was nine-forty.
We've only got twenty minutes until the bail hearing. I brought a suit, shirt and tie for you from your house. Put them on and I'll meet you in court. Read through the discovery carefully. You're a very bright guy, Vince. Help me figure this out.
The bail hearing in State v. Cardoni was held on the second floor of the county courthouse in the preu World War I courtroom of the Honorable Patrick Brody. Frank and his client sat at one counsel table and Scofield at another. Beyond the bar of the court were rows of hard wooden benches for spectators. Most days a few retirees and a sprinkling of interested parties were the only visitors, but the benches were packed for the hearing. Vans with network logos on their sides and satellite dishes on their roofs jammed the street in front of the courthouse;
