snifter, and poured himself a drink. He savoured the brandy, swirling the snifter around, sniffing the aroma and gauging his sips so the drink would last the thirty minutes it took to get to his condominium in the Edgewater district.
'I got another call from the DA's office while you were in lecturing,' Hicks said. 'About that Stampler guy.'
'Vail!' Shoat snapped with disdain. Before he became a state supreme court judge, back when he was known as Hanging Harry Shoat, the ultraconservative jurist was a 'max-out' judge known for meeting out harsh sentences, often tainted with racism. An impatient and humourless perfectionist, he dispensed justice with a callous disregard for the situations or circumstances of defendants and had been passed over three times for the supreme court before his impressive knowledge of the law and precedents had made it impossible to snub him further.
He huddled down in the back seat, a stern man with a razor-slim moustache and black hair tinted to hide its grey streaks. He and Vail had gone to the mat many times in the courtroom. Shoat still harboured resentment towards the man who defied convention and challenged the law with consistent fervour. Even as a prosecutor Vail had an arrogant attitude about authority that rankled the jurists. Now that he had changed sides, Vail was slandering his own client, implying the man should not be freed, even though the state's leading psychiatrists had approved the release.
'Wants it both ways,' Shoat muttered, taking a sip of brandy, remembering with distaste how Vail had ambushed Venable in the Stampler trial. 'The hell with Vail,' he said aloud.
'Yes, sir,' Hicks agreed.
'He's baaack,' Morris said as Vulpes entered the house. He trained the videocamera on the open window and waited until he saw Vulpes enter the room before he started shooting.
'Been shopping,' Solomon said, watching through binoculars. He saw Vulpes dump out the contents of two shopping bags on the bed. 'Got himself a couple CDs, looks like a sweater.'
'He's got a videotape, too,' Morris said, squinting into the eyepiece. 'Looks like…
'
'I hope it
'Got some pretty good music in it, It's got Jimmy Durante singing 'As Time Goes By'.'
'Who's Jimmy Durante?'
'He's an old-time movie actor. Big nose. Voice like a gravel grinder. You'll hear.'
'He's putting the tape in the VCR,' Solomon said.
'I can see that, Solomon, I don't need a play-by-play.' Vulpes started to get undressed, then almost as an afterthought he went to the window and closed the blind. 'Well, shit,' said Morris. 'We're back on ear-time.' They could hear Vulpes whistling softly, moving around the room, heard the bed groan as he lay down on it, then they heard the TV turn on, following by a preview at the beginning of the tape.
Morris turned off the camera and leaned back in his chair.
'What a way to make a living,' Solomon said. 'Listening to movies you can't see.'
In his room, Vulpes quickly switched to the black turtleneck after pulling down the shade. He took a small tape recorder from the tool chest and put it on the night table. He had made the audiotape while still at Daisyland, playing the movie through several times, stopping it at any funny spots and taping his laughter, timing it perfectly. He even sang along with Durante.
Vulpes waited until the film started and on a precise cut he pressed the play button and the audio recorder. The movie and the tape, now perfectly in sync, were about two hours long. He set the TV so it would turn off at eleven. The audio recorder would turn itself off. With luck, nobody would know he was gone until morning.
He opened the door to his room and looked down the stairs. He could hear Schmidt moving around in the kitchen. He went down the stairs.
'Hi, Raymond,' Schmidt said.
'Hi. Thought I'd get a Coke.'
'Sure. Well, I'm packing it in,' said Schmidt. 'Lock the door after me, will you?'
'Sure. Good night.'
'You're gonna be happy here, Raymond. I'm sure of it,' said Schmidt.
Vulpes smiled and nodded. 'Already love it,' he said.
