The Hidden Man

“That affidavit,” I said, “could be explained away later by some kind of bullshit. Mason could say I put a gun to his head and made him sign it. I’m not taking any chances, Smith. So I guess you better pray.”

I hung up the phone and paced the halls, forcing myself to bide my time. Twelve-fifteen. Twelve-thirty. I made the call.

“Detective DePrizio, please,” I told the receptionist.

A moment later, he answered. “DePrizio.”

“This is Jason Kolarich, Detective.”

“Kolarich. Kolarich. Just the guy I wanted to talk to. Guess what I’m looking at?”

“Probably the same thing I just got in my office.”

“Yeah? Like you don’t know anything about this?”

I didn’t respond to that. He was just doing this for show, anyway. He was part of the game. And my brain was too frayed to get creative with him.

“Okay, so maybe Mason was my CI,” he said. “We had a sting set up but it’s like the affidavit said, this scumbag J.D. called an audible. It started early and I barely got there in time. I just talked to Mason and I guess you were right-your brother was in the wrong place, wrong time.”

Sure, whatever. I didn’t see where I could add anything to the conversation. The ball was rolling down the hill and the best thing I could do was to simply get out of the way.

DePrizio sighed. “I guess your brother’s owed an apology.”

My brother was owed a lot more from this scumbag of a cop, but I just said, “No apology necessary. A dismissal of the charges would be fine. I want the charges dropped within twenty-four hours or we’ll sue.”

DePrizio groaned. “Let me see what I can do. Personally, I think it’s the least we can do for your brother.”

I rested my head against the glass wall, looking down at the passersby, lawyers and clients scurrying to court. My brother, Pete, wouldn’t have court to worry about anymore. He would walk completely from these charges. I took a moment to celebrate, to savor this victory in the battle.

Because that’s all it was-one small battle in a larger war. They had my brother, and they had no intention of ever letting him go. Whatever else they might tell me, as soon as Sammy’s trial was over, they’d kill him and then come looking for me. The trial started in thirteen days, and once it began, I’d be too tied up to find Pete.

I had thirteen days to find my brother. The only way I knew how was to locate Smith. And the only lead I had on Smith was the murder of Audrey Cutler. I was now sure that Smith’s client had been behind that murder. I had less than two weeks to solve a cold case.

“I’ll find you, little brother,” I promised.

48

I’D JUST RETURNED to my law office when Smith called again. “You withdrew the motion, I trust,” he said.

“I withdrew it, yes,” I said into my cell phone. “Now, we have to set a few more ground rules, Smith.”

“I still have your brother. Let’s not forget that.” Smith seemed calmer now, trying to reassert control. I’d spooked him good with the threat of that DNA motion, but he was getting his groove back.

“I want to hear from Pete every day. I want him to read that day’s headline from the Watch. And I want you to send me a photo every day that shows me that you aren’t hurting him.”

“If I think it’s to our advantage to let you hear his voice, I’ll do that,” he said. “If not, I won’t. But don’t forget what I said, Jason. You’ve pissed these guys off beyond belief, and they have a pincushion named Pete Kolarich to take out their frustrations. Do not fuck around, son. Not one inch off course. You keep your nose clean, they won’t hurt him any further.”

Further. My stomach sank.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, picking up on my hesitation. “You didn’t think your little stunt would go unpunished, did you?”

“Tell me what you did to him.”

“It’s nothing that would prevent him from fully functioning, if things go as we all hope.”

“Smith, you tell me-”

“Let’s focus on the future, Jason. Beginning with two days from now, this coming Thursday. The prosecution is contesting the testimony of Mr. Butcher.”

I struggled to control my emotions. He knew he was stinging me with his mention of what he did to my brother. But I had to keep the upper hand here. I made myself believe that he was bluffing, anything to stifle the images flooding my brain.

He was correct that this Thursday, the prosecution would be asking the court to bar the testimony of Tommy Butcher’s identification of Kenny Sanders as the black-guy-fleeing-the-scene. I’d told Butcher that this might happen-it’s what I would do, if I were the prosecutor-and I had agreed to the hearing this Thursday. I hadn’t yet seen the prosecution’s written motion, but yesterday, Lester Mapp had promised it was forthcoming. He told me yesterday he’d file it today, and I recalled a particularly disturbing comment-Your star witness isn’t such a star.

I went to the county Web site to pull up the notice of the motion. There it was, the line for “Contested Motion- Prosecution,” followed by, “Hearing-10/18/08, 9:30 A.M.”

“This will be a critical moment,” he said. “Mr. Sanders is crucial to this case. The jury must know that Mr. Butcher identified him as fleeing the scene. Don’t fuck this up, Jason.”

Your star witness isn’t such a star. “We’ll beat the motion,” I predicted, hoping they weren’t famous last words. “But Smith, if you want me to beat that motion, you won’t be sending any more goons like Nino and Johnny after me, will you?”

He didn’t answer.

“How are they doing, anyway?” I asked. “Last I saw, they’d taken some pretty good beatings.”

“Enjoy that, Kolarich. Have a good laugh. Because your brother certainly didn’t.”

With that, the line went dead.

AFTER TALKING TO SMITH, I put in a call to Kenny Sanders at the restaurant where he worked. The first time I did so, the phone was eventually hung up. I tried again and the second time was a charm.

“It’s Jason Kolarich, Mr. Sanders. The lawyer.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You have to be in court this Thursday,” I said. “The prosecution is going to fight this evidence.”

“Gonna fight, okay. Yeah, okay.”

“Have you received a subpoena from them?”

“Haven’t got nothin’. No, sir. Didn’t know ’bout it.”

“Well, you will get a subpoena, probably today. You have to be there. Can you do that?” I gave him the time and location.

“So what do I gotta do?” he asked.

“Probably nothing except show up. But just in case, we should go over your testimony again before the hearing.”

I made some arrangements with Sanders to talk again.

Marie walked in with a copy of Lester Mapp’s motion to bar the testimony of Thomas Butcher, which would be heard in two days, along with a notice of the issuance of a subpoena to Butcher to attend the hearing. There was no subpoena issued to Kenny Sanders, though. That was interesting. The prosecutor didn’t want to question Sanders, only Butcher.

The motion to bar Butcher’s testimony was rather brief, but attached to it was the criminal history of Tommy