“Here you go.” Stefanos placed an envelope into her hand. “I think I got what you were looking for.”
She studied the photographs from the envelope. “You got a night and a day shot.”
“Yeah. The day shot shows that the bulb of the street lamp’s been broken out. The night shot shows what you can see on that corner without the light – nothing. Newton Place dead-ends at the western border of the Old Soldiers’ Home property there, and there isn’t any light over that fence, either. There’s no way that cop saw your client dealing weed out of that car.”
“The arrest was six months ago. You took these pictures, what, last week?”
“Eight days ago. I know, it doesn’t prove the light was out the night those cops arrested him last summer. It doesn’t disprove it, either.”
“The prosecutor will argue relevance – that a busted street lamp from a week ago has no relevance to a crime that occurred six months ago. And the judge will sustain it.”
“Yeah, but I figure it’ll put, whaddaya call it, the seed of doubt into the jury’s mind.”
“Seed of doubt? You’re getting fancy on me now, Nick.”
“Sorry. But if the prosecutor can’t prove without a doubt that someone saw the kid dealing -”
“They caught him with a Baggie of herb in the Maxima.”
“Where was the buyer?”
“By then the alleged buyer had beat it on foot.”
“That’s possession, not possession with intent to distribute.”
“That’s my case. Which is why I’m going to use these photos – they’re the only thing I’ve got. I get this reduced to a simple possession charge, they throw the jury trial out. Under the new District law, crimes carrying penalties of less than six months go before the judge without a jury.”
“The kid’ll walk, then.”
“It depends on who I draw behind the bench and what their temperature’s like that day. But most likely my client will get a tongue-lashing and community service.”
Stefanos lit a smoke, side-exhaled, and tossed the match into the Styrofoam cup. In accepting these assignments from Elaine Clay, he’d known all along what his role would be. Still, it was hard to feel clean about his part in this daily cycle. He wondered how Elaine did this, every single day.
She pulled a manila folder from her bag and dropped it on the table. “I’ve got something else for you, Nick, if you want it.”
“What is it?”
“I’m defending a kid named Randy Weston on a murder charge. The trial’s coming up in a couple of weeks.”
“So?”
“Weston’s a known low-level dealer with priors. On the day of the murder, he was seen arguing with another dealer, Donnel Lawton, who’d been encroaching on Weston’s turf. Lawton was shot to death that night at First and Kennedy with a Beretta ninety-two. An anonymous informant made Weston as the triggerman. And when the police searched his place they found a Beretta nine. The markings from the slug that killed Lawton matched the gun.”
“An anonymous informant?”
“A woman. It was enough to get a warrant.”
Stefanos tapped ash off his smoke. “Sounds open-and-shut to me.”
“Weston’s got an alibi. He was with his girlfriend that night. She’s not cooperating, but I believe him. He doesn’t look like a killer. It’s his eyes – and after a while, you just know.”
“Does it make a difference to you if he’s guilty or innocent?”
“No. I defend them all the same way, Nick. I thought it might make a difference to you.”
Stefanos hit his smoke. “What else makes you think Weston’s telling the truth? Besides, you know, his eyes.”
“Around the time of the murder, a kid who works in one of those neighborhood Chinese grease pits, place called Hunan Delite, says he was closing up his parents’ shop, heard shots and tires screeching on the road, then saw an old vehicle speeding past on Kennedy.”
“What kind of an old vehicle?”
Elaine peered inside the folder. “A red Tempo, I think. No, here it is… a red Ford Torino.”
“What’s Weston drive?”
“A Legend.”
“Color?”
“Red.”
“Even if you find the driver of the Torino, and even if he has something to do with the crime, the prosecutors will bring up the sameness of color in court.”
“You’re talking about two cars with over twenty years’ difference in terms of style.”
“Maybe.” Stefanos looked around the cafeteria. “But I’m not interested.”
“You’re interested. I can see it -”
“In my eyes?”
“Thought you might want to pick this one up, see what you can do with it.”
“I told you the first time you hired me -”
“I know. You no longer get involved in, how did you put it, ‘murder gigs or other kinds of violent shit.’”
“I said that?”
“Something like it.”
Stefanos dragged on the filter of his Camel. “Get that big Indian you use. Nobody fucks with that guy.”
“He’s busy on another case.”
“What about Joey A.?”
“Joe A.’s tied up, too.” Elaine pushed the folder across the table until it touched Stefanos’s hand. “Look, I need your help, Nick. I’ve got another one of these files in my office. Take this one with you, okay?”
“I don’t think so.” Stefanos moved his hand and dropped his cigarette into the half inch of coffee left in the cup.
“Right. Let’s put that aside for now, then, and shift gears.”
“What, you’ve got something else?”
“Well, yes.”
“Go ahead.”
“I mentioned that I was working with you to my husband last night. Marcus said he thought you might know his friend Dimitri Karras. You remember Dimitri, don’t you?”
“Sure. I haven’t seen him for over ten years. But I was just thinking about him on the way over here. The Post ran their quarterly Pizza Parlor Murders piece in this morning’s paper.”
“Dimitri’s been in a real bad way.”
Stefanos nodded, drew a fresh cigarette from the pack, tamped it on the table. He rolled the cigarette between his fingers.
“There can’t be anything worse than to lose a child, Nick.”
“Wasn’t he with your husband in those record stores?”
“Yes. Marcus cashed out ten years ago, went back to school and got his M.B.A. In the meantime, Dimitri met his future wife, Lisa, in rehab. Dimitri and Lisa got married and had a child straight away. Marcus and a friend named Clarence Tate created a retail consulting business designed to help African American startups and brought Dimitri in as a partner, despite the fact that Dimitri’s -”
“Greek Like Me?”
“Dimitri was always good with people, so that didn’t seem to matter all that much when all was said and done.” Elaine spread her hands out on the table. “But when Jimmy was killed, he pretty much fell apart. After a year or so, Marcus and Clarence couldn’t carry him anymore. And Dimitri didn’t want them to. It just didn’t work out.”
“What about Karras and his wife?” “They didn’t make it. She’s still at their old house, pretty much a shut-in. He’s living in an apartment on U at Fifteenth, still making do on what’s left of his inheritance.”
“Marcus feels guilty.”
“Yes. He feels like, if Dimitri can get himself into a work environment – get around people again, every day –
