Dog Day Afternoon, page 2
Since Paterson is only a small part of the region, the news is not exactly “all Paterson, all the time.” It takes a major story for Paterson to get any kind of coverage.
The shootings at the Moore Law offices more than qualify. In the three days since it happened, not a newscast goes by without a mention of the progress in the investigation. Or more accurate, the lack of progress.
Actually, the focus quickly moved away from the whodunit; now it’s all about finding the guy whodunit. By all accounts, that guy is Nick Williams. But at least for the moment he seems to have effectively disappeared, and the police seem to have no leads as to his whereabouts.
The cops have not come forward with the reasons why Nick is a suspect; they are sitting on whatever evidence they have. But that doesn’t matter; just the few known facts are enough for the public to have already voted guilty. That he seems to be on the run cements that view.
Nick Williams worked in that office, didn’t show up for work that day, and has now disappeared. He also has two previous arrests, one for assault and one for petty larceny, though neither resulted in convictions. People are also speculating, at least in the media, that he had gang connections. Marcus tells me that the gang rumors are untrue.
His photo has been shown on the news stations repeatedly, and the public has been urged to report any sightings immediately, but not to approach him, as he may be armed and dangerous. Tip lines have been set up but have been fruitless. I have no idea if he will ever be brought to trial, but it’s fair to say the jury pool will come tainted.
Laurie and I have been following the story with more than a passing interest, since if Williams is taken into custody, I am going to be knee deep in it.
There’s always a chance he won’t want me as his lawyer. Maybe he’ll see an ad on a bench and decide to “call Jim” to seek representation, though I think the deceased Jim might have a conflict of interest, since they were his employees who were killed. Or maybe one of Williams’s alleged previous gang buddies has since gone on and graduated law school.
One lives in hope.
All I can do now is wait and cringe a lot. I also walk the dogs even more frequently than usual, an activity that I always find peaceful.
We have three dogs; the amazing Tara, Hunter the pug, and Sebastian the basset hound. Sebastian makes me look like an exercise fanatic; all he wants to do is sleep and eat. He has long since made his disdain for our walks obvious, so now he uses our backyard as his bathroom. Tara and Hunter are no doubt pleased with this, since it frees them from walking at Sebastian’s glacial pace.
I sometimes talk to Tara as we walk. I used to worry that anyone who might be nearby and hear me would think I was nuts, but that’s no longer a concern. People walk around conversing through hidden microphones and earpieces all the time, so anyone that sees me can just assume that I’m doing the same.
It used to appear that people talking to themselves were crazy; now they’re considered sociable.
“Tara, get used to people looking down on us, or at least down on me. No one likes a lawyer who represents an accused mass murderer, and I’m sorry, but I doubt they’ll like his dogs either.”
Tara doesn’t respond, because even though she is smarter than 90 percent of the people I know, she hasn’t mastered the talking thing yet. But I know what she’s thinking: I should tell Marcus that I wish I could help, and I’ll pay for another lawyer, but this is not something we want to do.
“I can’t do that, Tara. This is Marcus we’re talking about. He’s the only reason I am alive and able to walk with you guys right now.”
Tara sort of nods, so I’ll take that as her agreeing with me, or at least not arguing the point. I do know that she likes Marcus; he pets her and gives her a biscuit whenever he sees her.
Marcus is a smart guy, and I respect his judgments about people. But that he thinks Nick Williams is innocent of these murders does not impress me. Marcus doesn’t have any facts to back up his view, and I would imagine that the prosecution has a boatload of evidence.
And then there is the fact that Williams has apparently fled, which defines consciousness of guilt.
Law enforcement will find him, and if they bring him in alive, he’ll be able to tell his story. And then he’ll look to his attorney for help.
“Tara, this is looking like a disaster.”
That the phone is ringing at 2:35A.M.is not a good sign.
It jars me awake in the way only a middle-of-the-night phone call, or the sound of one of the dogs vomiting, can do. I look over and see that Laurie is already reaching to answer it. Tara, who sleeps on the bed with us, seems less concerned.
I’m rooting for it to be a wrong number; my second choice is a telemarketer. But I hold out little hope for either, and my pessimism is soon confirmed by Laurie’s comment.
After listening for about thirty seconds, she says, “I understand. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Then she hangs up.
I don’t even wait for her to fill me in. “Marcus has him,” I say.
She nods and is already starting to get up. “They’re in the pavilion at Eastside Park. He called Marcus from a rest stop on the Garden State Parkway. Marcus picked him up and brought him to the park.”
“He could have brought him here. Did he say anything about the circumstances?”
“No. But we’ll know soon enough.”
“You don’t need to come.”
“I know, but I want to.”
We dress quickly and drive to the park, which is less than five minutes away. The pavilion is on the lower level, down where the ball fields are. It once contained a concession stand, but now serves no real function, other than to host meetings between reluctant lawyers and accused mass murderers.
When we arrive, we see that Marcus has not parked on the street, but has instead driven onto the grass near the pavilion. We do the same. It’s quite dark out, but there is a decent amount of moonlight, and Laurie has brought a flashlight. I wish she had brought a different lawyer.
Marcus and a young man I obviously assume to be Nick Williams are standing on the steps, waiting for us. Williams is no more than five-nine and is thin, maybe 150 pounds. That wouldn’t be any help with a jury; one doesn’t have to be particularly strong to pull a trigger.
Before we get a chance to say anything, Williams says, “Marcus told me what happened. I didn’t even know about it until Marcus … I didn’t do it, I swear.” Then he repeats, “I swear.”
I’m sure Marcus has told him who we are, so I don’t bother with introductions. “Where have you been?” I ask.
“I don’t know. They took me.”
“Who is they? And where did they take you?”
“Oh, man,” he moans. “I don’t know. I just don’t know!”
He is clearly agitated, so Laurie says, “Calm down, Nick. I know this is difficult, so just tell us what you do know, as clearly as you can.”
Marcus leans in to him and says something, though I can’t make out what it is. But Williams nods and takes a deep breath.
“I was leaving for work, going out the back door to the garage. I remember someone grabbed me from behind; I tried to get a look at them, but the next thing I knew I was in a room somewhere. I was chained to a big closed hook sticking out of the wall. I couldn’t budge it.
“The room was pretty dark; there was just one lamp and one window that was blackened out some way. There was a small bathroom and the chain was long enough for me to reach it.
“A few times a day the door opened and two guys were there. They wore masks so I couldn’t see their faces, but one was really big; the other was average size. They left me a tray with food each time. I asked them questions, I yelled at them, but they just closed the door and didn’t answer me.
“I also yelled for help a lot, but it didn’t seem like anyone could hear me. Or at least nobody answered me.”
“How long were you there?” I ask.
“I’m not sure. I had no way of knowing if it was day or night, so I lost track. It was probably about three days, but it sure seemed longer.”
“How did you get away?” Laurie asks.
“Tonight the same two guys came and got me. They put a mask over my head and put me in the back of a car. I thought they were going to kill me. We drove for quite a while; they took me to a rest stop on the Garden State Parkway, there was no one around because it was the middle of the night.
“They gave me a cell phone; I still have it. They told me to call the cops and turn myself in. I didn’t know what the hell that meant … or what I would be turning myself in for. I didn’t do anything wrong. So as soon as they drove away, I called Marcus. And that’s the whole story.” Then, “What am I going to do?”
“Do you have an attorney? A criminal attorney?”
“Marcus said you … he said you’re the best.”
“Who represented you at the time of your previous arrests?”
“A public defender.”
I nod; this is not going to get any better, so I might as well stop delaying the inevitable. “Okay, the first thing you need to do is exactly what those guys told you. And that is turn yourself in.”
“What will happen to me?”
“They’ll take you into custody, and then the legal system will take over. But you’ll be safe while we deal with this.”
“Okay. How do I do it?”
“I’ll set it up. Let’s go back to our house.”
The only positive thing about this entire situation is that I get to wake Pete Stanton up at three thirty in the morning.
Pete is the captain in charge of the Homicide Division of the Paterson Police Department. He’s also a close friend, which means we are free to spend our time insulting and annoying each other.
I call him on his cell phone and he answers on the third ring with “Are you okay?” He doesn’t sound as if he was sleeping … he is alert. Must be a cop thing.
“You’re concerned about me. How touching.”
“I have now moved past concerned to pissed off. What the hell do you want?”
“I’m about to give you a chance to arrest another innocent person. How many will that be in a row?”
“You have ten seconds to tell me what you want and then I am hanging up. And when I see you, I will strangle you and arrest myself.”
“I have Nick Williams with me, and he is offering to turn himself in.”
“Where is he?”
“At my house. He’s my client.”
“This is on the level?”
“It is.”
“I’ll be right there.”
“He is unarmed and is peacefully turning himself in. So tell whatever wannabe Wyatt Earps you bring with you not to do anything stupid.”
Click.
Before Pete and his officers arrive I tell Williams not to speak to anyone about anything the entire time he is in custody. I promise to see him at the jail tomorrow, actually today, and we can talk further then.
He seems nervous and more than a little shaken by his ordeal, whatever that ordeal might have been. The Andy Carpenter jury is definitely out on that one.
Pete arrives with six officers, and they professionally take Williams into custody after reading him his rights. The entire thing takes less than five minutes, and they lead him away.
Once they’re gone, I realize that Marcus has not said a single word since this began, except for whatever he might have whispered to Williams in the park.
I decide to change that. “Marcus, do you believe him?”
“Yeah,” he says, in an outburst of verbiage.
“The whole thing? Including the kidnapping story?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, we’ll talk soon and I’ll bring the team up-to-date.”
He nods and leaves, so I ask Laurie the same question I asked Marcus. “Do you believe him?”
She pauses before answering. “Ordinarily I would say absolutely not. But I trust Marcus’s judgment, so I’m keeping an open mind. What about you?”
“I do not. And remember, we’re very skeptical and we’ve only heard his side of the story. We haven’t even seen the prosecution’s evidence yet.”
“You told Marcus you would represent him.”
“I vaguely remember that. Which means I am stuck.”
Laurie knows that I don’t want to take on new clients, and when I do, it will only be in a situation where I believe they are wrongly accused.
“Maybe we’ll be surprised,” she says.
“Right. Or maybe he’ll confess and plead it out.”
“Is that what you’re rooting for?”
“No. I’m rooting for us, for me, to be wrong about him. Let’s get the team together.”
“I’ll make the calls,” she says. “I assume you’ll be going down to the jail?”
I nod. “Should be a blast.”
The news of the arrest of Nick Williams explodes in the morning media.
On TV they take pains to throw in the word alleged every so often, but it’s clear that they think the killer has been captured. They even talk about how the people of Paterson can finally breathe easier, free from the danger of violence.
My first call is to Eddie Dowd, the lawyer who assists me when I take on a case. Eddie is a calming influence on me, which is surprising when you consider that in his previous career he was a tight end for the New York Giants.
“We have a client,” I say.
“Uh-oh. Is it who I wish it wasn’t?”
“It is.”
“Can I ask why?”
“Because everyone is entitled to a good defense. And our client says he’s innocent.”
“Then let’s prove it,” Eddie says, always the professional. “You want me to ask for discovery?”
“ASAP.” We can’t do anything until we know what the prosecution has to prompt the arrest. The downside is that we will be revealing to the world that I, Andy Carpenter, am representing Williams. The media will descend on me, and I will be widely reviled.
Business as usual.
Laurie is calling all the members of our team to tell them that we have a client and we’ll be meeting as soon as we get more information. In the meantime, I call Sam Willis.
In real life, Sam is my accountant, but in lawyer life, he is what could be referred to as our computer investigator. Sam is a maestro on the keyboard, able to hack into and thereby access literally anything online. Some of it is even legal, but that is usually the least helpful.
He answers the phone on the first ring, as always, with “Talk to me.” Then, before I get a chance to “talk to him,” he says, “Laurie just called. I’m raring to go.”
“Oh, boy. Me too.” Sam wants to be a full-time detective, or at least the kind of detective he sees on TV. Certainly he wants shooting to be involved. “Let’s get started by learning everything we can about our client’s background.”
“I’m on it. We looking for a reason he shot up the place?”
“We’re on his side, Sam. We’re looking to prove he didn’t shoot up the place.”
“Roger that,” Sam says, talking in what he thinks is detective talk. “He’s our client so he’s innocent, right?”
“Roger that.”
Now that I’ve finished “rogering” with Sam, I head down to the jail to talk to Williams. I still think of him as “Williams,” not as my client. At some point that will change, and I might even start thinking of him as “Nick.”
But that will take a while … it’s a process.
I turn on the radio on the way down there and do not yet hear any mention that Williams has hired me as his lawyer. It won’t take long; once Eddie has requested the discovery, the news will leak out.
For now I have to announce it to the authorities at the jail. They head off to confirm it, no doubt by asking Williams, so it takes more than a half hour for me to actually get into the room where I can talk to him.
Two guards usher him in, probably one more than is necessary since he is wearing handcuffs and his legs are shackled. This is a high-profile inmate; they are not taking any chances of a screwup.
I know he has had some experience in the criminal justice system, but this is on a new level, and the fear is obvious in his face. He’s accused of being a mass murderer, and that is scary, whether or not he actually is one.
“You okay?” I ask.
He nods. “I guess so. I mean, they’re not doing anything bad to me.”
“They won’t. You haven’t talked to anyone, have you?”
“No. There’s nobody to talk to anyway. They have me separated from everyone else.”
“Good. Let’s talk about your situation. Anything you want to add to what you told me last night?”
He shakes his head. “Not really. It’s frustrating; I don’t know who took me, or why. They didn’t ask for money, or try to hurt me, or anything like that.”
“You said they knocked you out.”
“Right … I guess so. I certainly don’t remember anything from the time I left my house to the time I woke up in that room.”
“Can you think of anyone who has a grudge against you, anything like that?”
“I mean, sure … there are guys I knew a few years ago, we didn’t all get along. But nothing like this; this wouldn’t be their style, you know?”
“Okay, but think about it. What about your friend, the other guy Marcus watches out for?”
“Rafe? My neighbor? He’s a good guy; he wouldn’t be involved in anything like this.”
“His name is Rafe?”
“I think it’s short for Rafael. His last name is Duran, but everybody calls him Rafe.” Then, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“I didn’t want to ask anyone here, or the police, but who was … who was killed at the office?”
“I don’t know all their names, but I’ll get them for you. There were six victims; five of them were employees of the firm.”
“Damn … no matter which people … they were my friends.”
“You had a good relationship with everyone?”
He nods. “For sure. Definitely. I mean, some better than others, but I didn’t have a problem with anybody. And I would never hurt them; I mean, why would I want to?”
