“Could you grab me a roast beef sandwich? I haven't eaten since breakfast.”
“Mustard or mayo?”
“Both. Anything. I'll eat the bag. I'm starving.”
“You got it.”
His doorbell rang twenty minutes later, and she stood there in navy slacks and a bright blue sweater. She had a blue bow in her hair, and she handed him a brown bag, with a beer, two pickles, and his sandwich.
“You're a saint.” He didn't even care what she had to say to him, he was just grateful she'd brought him dinner. “Do you want to share the beer?”
“No, thanks.” She shook her head, and slid into a chair in his kitchen. It was as though they were old friends, but he knew she had watched the entire trial, and indirectly, they had been through the war together.
“How do you think it's going?”
“I'm not sure. The jury's tough to read. Sometimes I think the guys like him better than the women, sometimes…I'm not sure. At least you gave Marielle Patterson a certain amount of credibility again. What a son of a bitch Patterson turned out to be.” He nodded, still cognizant of the fact that she was a reporter and this could be a trick. “You've done a great job for Charles Delauney.”
“Thank you. He looked good on the stand today, at least I thought so.”
“So did I,” she said softly. She had managed to catch his eye as he left the stand, and he smiled when she gave him the high sign. He had been touched by her interest and her faith in him, and a little puzzled by her zeal, but he liked her. Not nearly as much as she liked him, but in Bea's eyes, it was a beginning…unless…but that was up to Tom Armour…and the jury.
“So what's up? What brings you here at this hour with a roast beef sandwich? I assume you didn't just come here to tell me you admire my style in the courtroom.”
“No,” she grinned, “but you're very good. Better than most I've seen.” But her eyes grew serious then. She had something important to tell him. And they both knew time was running out for Charles Delauney. Both attorneys would be making their closing arguments the next day and after that, it was up to the jury. “I did a very strange thing,” she admitted to him, as she accepted a bite of one of his pickles. “I called someone I wrote a story on a long time ago…well, anyway…last year. You probably know who he is, Tony Caproni.”
“The mob boss from Queens?” Tom Armour looked startled. “You hang out with a nice bunch of guys, Miss Ritter.”
“I wrote a nice piece on him, and he liked it. He said if I ever needed a favor, to call him. So I did.”
“You called Caproni? Why?” He was impressed once again by her courage. Tony Caproni was one of the most dangerous men in New York, but also one of the most powerful in his own world.
“I wanted to know if he'd heard anything, if he knew anybody who knew anybody who…maybe someone in the underworld, so called, knew who really kidnapped the kid, or… I don't know, I just figured it was worth it.”
“And? He came up dry, I assume. The FBI tried the same tactic. They tried all the informants, all their underworld contacts, and they got nothing.”
“So did Tony, the first time he called.” She put the pickle down and grabbed Tom's arm. “He called me tonight. All he gave me was the name of a guy and his phone number and told me to call him.”
Tom stopped eating and watched her. “Did he know anything?”
“Someone… he doesn't know who…paid him fifty thousand dollars to plant the toy and the pajamas. He doesn't want to testify, but if we promise him amnesty, he will. He's scared, Tom. He's scared to death, but he feels sorry for Charles, and he says he'll do it. He also said he thinks the kid is alive, and he wants to speak up before something happens.”
“Holy shit… oh my God…give me his number.” She pulled it out of her handbag, and he picked up his phone, and then he looked at her. “This isn't a setup, is it? You use this in the papers, and I'll kill you.”
“I swear. It's for real.” And for reasons he never knew, he believed her.
15
“Well be hearing closing arguments today, ladies and gentlemen,” the judge explained to the jury. They had been staying at the Chelsea Hotel for the past month, and it had to be wearing thin. Some of them were beginning to look very peaked.
But as the judge spoke to them, Tom Armour stood up and asked to approach the bench, which he did, in the company of Bill Palmer.
“What is it, Counsellor?” the judge asked him with a frown, in an undertone.
“New evidence, Your Honor, and a bit of a problem. May I see you in chambers?” The judge looked anything but happy. They were almost ready to wrap it up, and now they were talking about new evidence. What the devil did that mean?
“All right, all right.” He waved them in, and they were there until eleven-thirty, arguing with each other and the judge. He was perfectly willing to let the man testify, but he was not willing to give him amnesty. If what he said was true, planting the pajamas in Charles Delauney's home was a federal offense, and he probably had additional knowledge about the kidnappers that he was concealing.
“I say, arrest him,” Palmer said, hands down.
“I can't violate my source,” Armour told him.
“What if he's lying?”
“What if he isn't? If he planted the pajamas and the bear, then Delauney's not guilty.”
“For chrissake. Who is this guy?” Palmer almost shouted.
“I can't tell you till we come to an agreement.”
The judge looked miserable by the time he'd heard them both out, and he was anything but happy with the deal they finally came to.
“I'll give you forty-eight hours to check this out, to find out if it's bogus or not. Use the FBI, the Marines, the army. I don't give a damn what you do, but see if you can't get me more than this. And I won't promise the man anything. Check it out, find out what's going on. But in forty-eight hours, you'd better be back in this courtroom with evidence, or I'm citing you for contempt, and I'm throwing your hot tip in jail. You got that?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” Tom Armour was beaming. He had two days to work a miracle, but maybe Bea's friend would help him.
“Are you amenable to a two-day recess, Mr. Palmer?” the judge asked.
“Do I have a choice?” Palmer looked annoyed but resigned. He'd been all prepared to give it his best shot with his closing.
“Not really.” The judge smiled at him, and Tom laughed.
“Then I agree, don't I? This better be good. Personally, I think it's all a crock. Delauney's guilty as hell, the lousy Commie bastard.”
