David Ellis - The Hidden Man

“I can’t say,” I told him. “Attorney-client privilege.”

DePrizio was silent a moment, like he was awaiting a punch line, before letting out a small burst that was akin to a laugh. “And you expect me to believe all of this.”

“Actually, I don’t. But I’m hoping you’ll keep an open mind.”

DePrizio moaned, seemingly conflicted between openly rejecting a far-fetched story and showing me some courtesy. Seemingly , I say, because the more he played along with me, the clearer it became that Detective Denny DePrizio was full of shit. He was Smith’s partner, part of the entire plan to frame my brother, and I had to tread carefully here.

Luckily, nobody was fuller of shit than me, so I kept going. “I can stand in your shoes, Detective. People lie to you every day. You get so you don’t believe anything. But I figure you for a guy who still cares about the job. I mean, how many cops would check out that warehouse when they’re off-duty past midnight, when they’ve got a couple of pops in them, when they’re on shift the next morning-how many would say fuck it and walk away? But you didn’t. The job still matters to you.”

It was hard to say this with a straight face, but I thought I sold it. DePrizio studied me, and slowly nodded. “You sure know how to sweet-talk a fella.”

I opened my hands. “This guy has me boxed in. I don’t have the resources to take on this guy. I don’t have private investigators or even associates to help me. I just need to know who this guy is.”

That point was an important one. I needed to show him that I wasn’t a threat to him or Smith.

The detective made a big show of doubt, rubbing his face, shaking the head, an Oscar-worthy performance. What he was really doing was thinking hard about this unexpected development. He’d performed a task for Smith and probably thought his job was done. What now? he was wondering. Do I tell this lawyer to take a hike, or do I use him?

My guess, he’d come to the conclusion, very quickly, that he and Smith would benefit if I took him into my confidence. Keep your enemies closer, and all that.

“Look,” he said, “I’m not saying I believe you, Kolarich. Right? But even if I did, what could I do?”

Well done. Inching closer to me, but feigning reluctance.

I needed to reel him all the way in.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Like you said, three million people fit his description. It’s not like I have a picture of him.” I tapped my hand on the desk. “Forget it. You’re probably the wrong guy to ask, anyway. You’re the arresting officer. I can’t ask you to work against your own case. I’ll find some other cop-”

He raised a hand. The mention of some other cop was my ace. The last thing DePrizio and Smith wanted was for me to start sobbing to another cop about all of this.

“No,” he said. “It’s my case. If there’s something wrong with it, it’s my problem.”

I got out of my chair. “I appreciate that. If I think of anything, maybe I’ll-I don’t know.”

“Well, hang on here,” he said. “I’m not saying there’s anything to this. But you seem like a pretty straight-up guy here, Mr. Kolarich. If I can help you find this guy, maybe I’ll see what it’s all about. Maybe it affects your brother’s case, maybe not. But I’ll listen.”

Good. I’d reeled him in. It’s always more fun when the person you’re playing thinks he’s playing you.

“Well, there might be one thing,” I said, “but we’d have to be discreet.”

TEN YEARS. TEN YEARS.” Sammy Cutler played the idea over in his head. “Out in five, hopefully. Already got one in. So-four more.”

“I can get you better,” I said. “They don’t want the publicity, now that Griffin Perlini’s notorious. It puts the county attorney in an uncomfortable spot, having to prosecute his killer, especially when that guy was avenging his sister’s death.”

Sammy nodded along.

“Allegedly,” I added.

“Well, I ain’t doing four more here.”

“I can get you a better deal. But we’d be dumb to rule it out entirely, Sam.”

He wasn’t inclined to fight me. “What about Archie Novotny?”

“Haven’t checked out his alibi yet for the night of the murder-the guitar lesson. I will. Meantime, we’ve been looking all over him and not finding much of anything.”

“Right.” Sammy fiddled with the smoldering cigarette between his fingers. “Been thinking more ’bout that. I could see it. I could see Archie doing this.”

I couldn’t decide if this was an innocent man talking, or a man trying to see things through the eyes of a jury. I was also beginning to doubt my perception. I was bone tired. I’d managed about four hours last night, but the previous forty-eight hours of sleep deprivation were taking their toll. Sometimes a few hours’ sleep is worse than none.

“Novotny fits your general description,” I said. “Put the green stocking cap on him so you can’t account for the difference in hair color-he’s got about the same build. He could work. I could sell that to a jury, I think. But that’s not the problem, Sam. You know what the problem is?”

He nodded. “My car.”

He was right. Before I ask questions of a client, I like to give him the lay of the land, so he’s clear on what the prosecution knows and what they don’t know. It’s always nice to demonstrate the wiggle room before giving the client the chance to wiggle.

I started with the obvious. “The convenience store down the street-its security camera is posted in the back corner of the store and points toward the register. It also happens to catch a little bit outside the store. Your car is parked right outside the store, just enough so the camera can catch the back end of your car-and the license plate. The vid is clear on it being your license plate, so we’re stuck with that, right?”

He nodded.

“It doesn’t capture who got into the car because that part of the car is out of the camera’s range. So it’s your car, Sammy, but they can’t say who drove it there or who drove it away.”

“Well, yeah, but…”

I was giving him the wiggle room here, but he seemed content to sit still.

“It was me,” said Sammy.

I deflated. “Then we have some ’splainin’ to do. That’s a pretty big coincidence.”

“Not really.”

“Why not really?”

“They got that one store video? From that night? That’s it?”

“Correct.” I didn’t get where this was going. “Just the one.”

Sammy stubbed out his cigarette and blew out the remnants of smoke. He didn’t look well. The sleep deprivation didn’t help, but it was more than that. He had a heavy drinker’s complexion, a smoker’s wrinkles, a natural frown. He’d lived hard.

“About a week before he died,” said Sammy, “I saw him. I saw the fuckin’ guy.”

“You saw Perlini-”

“I was in the grocery store where he worked, at the checkout, and some manager or something starts calling out for ‘Griffin.’ I tell ya, Koke, I heard that name and I-I just froze. We were kids and all, but man, I knew it was him, soon as I laid eyes on him. Soon as I fuckin’ laid eyes on him.” He lit up another cigarette silently before continuing. “So I waited ’til his shift ended and I followed the guy. I followed him to those apartments. I knew where he lived. And I tell ya, I thought about it every night. Every night for a week, I drove over by his place and I thought about Audrey, and what he did to her, and I wondered if I had the stones to do it-to kill that scumbag.”

Sammy’s story would not be found in the Guinness Book of World Records under “all-time greatest alibis.” I was there, contemplating murdering Perlini, when someone else did it . And it was a hell of a coincidence. The week Sammy sees Griffin Perlini in a grocery store and begins to stalk him is the same week that Perlini takes a bullet between the eyes?