“That’s it, then. We’re in adjournment.” She rose and flew out of her chambers, robes trailing, looking like a nun on her way to Mass.
Castiel and I got to our feet at the same time. He seemed to stumble a bit. I didn’t know if his knees buckled, if he tripped on the chair leg, or if he was having a stroke. I caught him by the elbow, and he yanked away from me. We stood there a moment, eyeing each other. His complexion had gone all sallow under his tan, and his eyes were blank and bottomless.
“Go ahead, Jake. Say it.”
“Okay. You turn my stomach. You want me to go on? Because that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
“I didn’t kill Max.”
“Like they say, tell it to the judge.”
“Max Perlow did everything for me that Meyer couldn’t do. To think that I’d kill him because I was afraid he’d flip on me, it’s crazy. I loved the man.”
“It’s a good argument. I’ll try to be in the gallery when your lawyer makes it.”
“Goddammit, Jake. I’m being framed, can’t you see that?”
“I doubt Charlie Ziegler is smart enough or tough enough to do it.”
“He had help from Krista. I figure her for the shooter.”
“You’re pissing upwind, Alex.”
I started to leave, and this time, he grabbed my arm. “Ziegler’s the way in, Jake. He’s the weak link.”
“In where? Link to what? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Breaking the conspiracy. Proving they used you and framed me.”
“Good luck with that, Alex. Let me know how it turns out.”
“A long time ago, you had a dirtbag client and you did the right thing.”
“A wire? That’s what you want me to do?”
“Your brethren hated you for it, but you didn’t care. You wear your cynicism on your sleeve, but deep down, you believe in the system. You believe in justice.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve always admired that about you, because I don’t believe in anything.”
“So you admit you’re corrupt?”
“Maybe it’s in the Lansky genes, but yeah, I’m dirty.”
“You can’t blame your old man for this. It’s
“Okay, I’m corrupt. Through and through. Happy now?”
“And you admit you beat Krista within an inch of her life?”
“I was strung out on meth and coke.”
“So now you’re blaming the drugs?”
“I nearly killed her. It’s on me, I admit it, okay?”
“So why would I help you?”
He spoke through gritted teeth. “Because they used you, Jake. Krista’s grand entrance into the courtroom. Charlie all shocked. The phony alibi. You think that wasn’t planned?”
“No idea. All I know is that you’re a worthless piece of scum.”
“But I didn’t kill Max, Jake. I swear to God I didn’t.”
70 Rough Justice
Three days after the precipitous end of the murder trial, I was invited to dinner at Ziegler’s house. A foursome. Charlie and Krista. Amy and me. We could have played bridge.
Earlier that day, the Governor appointed an acting State Attorney, who immediately dismissed all charges against Amy on account of prosecutorial misconduct. I gave her the news by phone, and she whooped with joy. Her tone of voice had become free and uninhibited. A new woman.
The acting State Attorney immediately announced a Grand Jury would hear evidence against Alex Castiel for Perlow’s murder. Ziegler was delighted with that news. On the home front, Lola had moved out of Casa Ziegler, Krista had moved in, and Amy was set up in the guesthouse.
A happy family.
Of murderers, according to Alex Castiel.
I promised I would take a shot at them. Not because I wanted to help Castiel. I believed what I said in the judge’s chambers. He wasn’t worth the effort. But a piece of Ziegler’s testimony didn’t hold up, and it nagged at me. I would confront him with it. If I had been used to frame a man for murder, I was going to do something about it. Not for Alex Castiel. But for me.
And so just like old times, I wore a wire.
We ate squab in a sticky sweet sauce, and Krista told me about her life.
When she was near death, it was Ziegler who quietly got her to a private hospital, then flew her to New York for facial reconstruction, and finally five months in a rehab facility.
“Charlie helped me walk again. Worked with me on speech therapy. When I was better, he got me a job in a casino in Tahoe, but I couldn’t stand on my feet all those hours. I got messed up with painkillers and attempted suicide. Charlie put me into therapy, got me straightened out again.”
Ziegler was her common denominator. He’d been there-for better or worse-since she was seventeen. A few years ago, he’d convinced her to move back to Florida so they could be together.
All told, she had been in hiding eighteen years. Castiel thought she was dead. A living, breathing Krista Larkin could ruin him. I understood all that. But something puzzled me.
“Why didn’t you contact your family all these years?”
“I tried! I called my father when I was still in the hospital. By then, he’d found out what I was doing in Miami. He told me I was a slut who was being punished by God, that I would be better off dead.”
I remembered the photo from Bozo’s that Sonia Majeski had given Krista’s father. He’d written on the back:
“He said if I tried to talk to Amy, he’d tell her all about me,” Krista continued. “He made me feel so ashamed. After a while, I told myself Krista Larkin was dead, so I buried her. I was Melody Sanders, a new person with a new life.”
But that was years ago and raised another question. “When Amy came to town, why did you wait to reach out to her?”
“Charlie asked me to chill for a few days, so he could figure out the situation. He was worried about Amy’s reaction if I told her the truth about Castiel. What if she went after him with a gun?”
“But then she comes after Charlie with a gun,” I said. “Or threatened to.”
“Which is when I contacted Amy without telling Charlie.”
“After Amy was charged, you could have come forward with your alibi.”
“I told her not to,” Amy said, “because Charlie said we could win without exposing Krista to the world.”
“The world” meaning Castiel.
I didn’t like the story, but so far, I didn’t have any evidence to contradict it. Of course, I still hadn’t questioned Ziegler.
After dinner, the sisters were floating on rafts in the swimming pool, gabbing and laughing and catching up on all those years apart. Ziegler and I sat in his study, my host in a fine mood. I was eyeing the artwork and an impressive gold-plated statuette of a naked woman. It was the People’s Porn award for one of Ziegler’s classics:
“I’d like to pay Amy’s attorney’s fees,” he offered, agreeably.
“Nothing to pay. I told her I’d handle her case pro bono.”
“Doesn’t seem right. I’d feel better if I paid you.”
“I’d feel better if you didn’t.”
“Suit yourself. My life’s fine either way.”
Yes, it surely was. At least until I was through with him tonight.
Ziegler hauled a bottle of cognac out of a cabinet so we could toast the legal system and justice for all. We’d
