said it aimed right for him, didn’t brake, and
The judge furrowed his brow in concentration. “Mr. Shadid was the foreman, wasn’t he?”
“Right,” Martinez said.
“When did this happen?” the judge said. “Why didn’t I hear about it?”
“A day after the trial ended,” Ebanks said. “It didn’t make the news.”
“I would have missed it anyway. I’m always at the lake house after a trial.” He grimaced. “This time it was a damn good thing I got up there so fast. There was a burst pipe in the laundry room. I fixed it myself — a foot of half-inch pipe, some solder, a propane torch, and about two hours of labor.” He turned to Martinez. “So you think this hit-and-run is related to the Dolan trial?”
“Maybe,” Martinez said. “At first we just figured Shadid was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“What changed your mind?”
Martinez looked embarrassed. “That magazine writer called.”
“Writer?” the judge said.
“Leonard Lunney. He’s one of those true-crime guys. Said he was writing about the Dolan trial. He got a copy of the jury list and started calling ’em to see if they’d talk. When he found out Shadid thought Dolan was innocent from the get-go and then Shadid’s killed in that hit-and-run …”
“Journalists are rightly skeptical of coincidence,” the judge said.
“Police too,” Ebanks said.
“I’ve read some of Mr. Lunney’s pieces in
“According to Lunney, the first vote was eleven to one to convict,” Martinez said. “Shadid was the holdout. He ended up getting two other jurors to go along with him.”
“I’ve seen some heated deliberations,” the judge said. “That one was among the most acrimonious. I could hear the shouting in my chambers. The bailiff had to break up a scuffle at one point.”
“You catch what the fight was about?” Martinez said.
“From what I heard, a juror in favor of conviction accused Mr. Shadid of being blinded by Dolan’s status as an athlete.” The judge spread his hands. “Of course you’ll talk to the rest of the panel.”
Ebanks frowned. “You’re thinking maybe a juror who argued with Shadid wanted to kill him because Shadid thought Dolan was innocent?”
The judge looked at Ebanks over the top of his glasses. “Remember Jack Ruby? People have done worse in the name of justice, especially when they have some tangential involvement in the situation.”
“The thing is, we checked into that,” Martinez said. “All the jurors had alibis for when the car hit Shadid.”
“So if a juror isn’t a suspect, I’m not sure how I can help you,” the judge said.
“We’d like to ask you about Mrs. Dolan’s family,” Martinez said. “Specifically, her brothers.”
THE PROSECUTOR, AS usual, had made a point of extolling the victim’s virtues at trial. Tina Lucchese Dolan was a loving wife who supported her husband’s baseball career, cheerfully moving from town to town as he worked his way up from Class-A to Double-A to Triple-A ball. She sang at church and did volunteer work.
Tina’s only blemish was her maiden name. The Luccheses were a second-tier New Jersey crime family. Dolan’s lawyers, trying to create reasonable doubt, made some noise about Tina’s death being payback for a sanitation-contract dispute, but that’s all it was — noise. They didn’t have any evidence to back up their claims, only innuendo, largely in the form of Tina’s two brothers, who attended the trial every day. They sat in the first row behind the defense table and glared daggers at Kenny Dolan’s back, tough guys stuffed like sausages into shiny suits. No one would sit next to them.
The judge blinked. “You think a
“We talked to the Jersey police. The Luccheses really are pretty Old World when it comes to justice.” Martinez leaned back in his chair and hooked his thumbs behind his belt. “Make that more like Old Testament. You should see their rap sheets.”
“I’m not surprised,” the judge said.
“Shadid didn’t exactly keep his views to himself,” Martinez said. “Right after the trial he told a blogger the police had planted evidence to frame Dolan. So when the prosecutor said he was going to retry Dolan, we think maybe the Luccheses killed Shadid.”
A hung jury didn’t mean a defendant walked. The prosecutor could try the defendant again, either immediately or after collecting more evidence, as long as the statute of limitations hadn’t run out.
“But why now?” the judge said. “The trial’s over. Mr. Shadid won’t be a member of the new panel.”
“To send a message to the next jury,” Martinez said.
“You’re saying the Luccheses killed Mr. Shadid to intimidate prospective jurors into voting for conviction at the second trial?” The judge steepled his fingers. “I don’t know. Sounds a little farfetched to me,” he said.
“Fits the Luccheses’ m.o.,” Martinez said. “Besides, we’re kinda running out of suspects. We’ve talked to Shadid’s family, friends, business associates, enemies.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Everybody’s got an alibi.”
“What about Dolan?” the judge said.
“Dolan was already dead,” Ebanks said.
“No,” the judge said. “The Luccheses. If they were going to kill someone, I would have thought it’d be Dolan.”
Police work was a lot like fishing. You stuck your best fly on your hook and waited for the hungry trout to come along and strike. The fish thinks he’s the predator, but he’s really the prey. Sometimes an even bigger fish comes along and snags your catch right off the hook before you can reel it in.
“Funny you should say that,” Ebanks said. “Because we just got the word that Dolan’s death was no accident.”
The judge looked surprised. Martinez looked confused.
At the press scrum on the courthouse steps, Dolan had expressed his faith in the justice system, refused to answer any questions, and announced he was heading for his lake house to chill. He then drove off in his black SUV.
When he didn’t show for a meeting the next day, his lawyer was annoyed. Later that afternoon, when he couldn’t reach Dolan by cell phone, the lawyer got worried. The next day, the lawyer called the cops. Dolan’s body was found in his bed. He had died of asphyxiation.
“The furnace at the house didn’t malfunction,” Ebanks said. “Someone tampered with the heat exchanger and disabled the CO detectors. Dolan was murdered.”
Now Martinez looked totally stunned. Ebanks shot him a look, and the rookie recovered his poker face.
After a trout bites, you have to set your hook. You can’t allow any slack in your line, but you have to make sure not to pull too hard. Otherwise the fish can throw the hook.
“Let’s talk some more about Tina’s brothers,” Ebanks said to the judge.
He asked a few questions, then let Martinez take over. The rookie led the judge through his prepared queries on how the Lucchese boys had behaved during the trial. Ebanks paid little attention to the questions or the answers. He spent the time reminiscing about past trips to the lake. Romance novels and cookbooks — that was what Sonia liked to read. He wondered where her sun hat was now.
After five minutes or so, Martinez closed his notebook.
The judge said, “Do you have any other suspects?”
Ebanks said, “We’ll be working hard on that.”
“I don’t pretend to know your job …” The judge hesitated.
“It’s okay,” Ebanks said. “What’s on your mind?”
“Well,” the judge said. “Have you considered Mrs. Batista?”
“The pitcher’s wife?” Martinez said. “Why would —”
Ebanks broke in. “What’s your theory?”
CRIMINAL DEFENSE ATTORNEYS know it isn’t enough to say their clients didn’t do it. The jury always wants an alternative suspect for the crime, and if one suspect is good, two are better. In addition to offering the
