Robert Tanenbaum - Outrage

“He was identified by an assault victim in the Bronx,” Cohn said. “And confessed to that other murder-Dolores Atkins.”

“Just as Acevedo’s confession to Graziani and the Q amp; A with you is worthless,” Karp said, “I suspect the confessions in the Bronx are as well. I have no idea about the validity of that witness’s ID, but the way this case has plunged downhill, I’d strongly suspect that too.”

Karp looked over at Guma. “So, Ray, what do you think we should do now?”

Guma inspected his cigar for a moment and shrugged. “I think we need to DOR the case,” he said.

Karp nodded. “Yeah, I thought of that, and if dismissing the case on his own recognizance would get Acevedo out of jail, I’d agree we should do it right now. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t do him any good. The Bronx DAO still has a hold on him for its cases, and he’s not going anywhere. My thought was to hold off, at least until the Bronx DA decides what they’re going to do, so we don’t tip off the real killer that we’re now still looking for him. Maybe he makes a mistake. In the end, the only way we recover from this is to catch and convict the son of a bitch who butchered those women.”

Pat Davis stood up. “You’ll have my resignation by this afternoon.”

It took Karp a moment to consider the offer. “You do what works for you, Pat,” he said. “You’re a good attorney, and I’d rather not lose you. But I also can’t let this one slide-there’s too much at stake and quite simply, you knew better. So if you choose to stay, I’ll be transferring you to the Felony Trial Bureau, where you’ll work under close supervision for the time being.”

Davis blinked back tears as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down; he swallowed hard and nodded. Karp turned his attention to Cohn. “Danielle, I believe your mistakes were the result of inexperience. Right now, you will be assigned to assist Ray Guma full-time on the Yancy-Jenkins case. And I hope you’ll learn from this.”

Cohn bit her lip and then bowed her head. “I will. And I look forward to working with Ray.”

“We’ll see if you still feel that way after actually spending a lot of time in his company,” Karp said with a half smile.

“Hey, why am I always the fall guy…,” Guma said, laughing.

“Typecasting?” Mack replied.

When the others left his office, Karp’s intercom buzzed. “District Attorney Sam Hartsfield is on line two,” Milquetost announced.

“Hello, Sam, what’s shaking up north?” Karp said.

“My esteemed colleague the district attorney of New York County, Mr. Roger ‘Butch’ Karp, I presume.” Hartsfield chuckled. “My belly shakes a bit but that’s about the extent of it in the beautiful borough of the Bronx.”

Karp laughed. While Detective Clay Fulton had played fullback in college and was a big muscular man, Sam “Dump Truck” Hartsfield had been the starting left tackle at Tulane, and he made Clay look svelte. His playing weight had been 310 pounds, and that had gone up considerably when he gave up the NFL for law school. He did, indeed, have a belly that shook.

“I believe you called,” Hartsfield said. “How you doing, Butch? Long time no see.”

“I’m doing well, Sam, thanks for asking,” Karp replied. He genuinely liked Hartsfield. He was a few years younger than Karp, but Hartsfield had spent his formative prosecutorial years under legendary DA Francis Garrahy, and the old man’s ethics were ingrained in him, too. The two men thought much alike when it came to how best to run their respective offices and the role of a district attorney in the system. Both were competitive men who’d played major college sports but understood that their job wasn’t about wins and losses in the courtroom. The only game that mattered was justice. As a matter of fact, as cornball as it seemed to the young Turks entering the justice system, and even to the ring-wise old hands, Karp started every summation by reminding the twelve jurors “that a trial is a search for the truth. A sacred, solemn search for the truth under the rules of evidence.”

“Good, good,” Hartsfield said. “Your message said you had some questions about the Dolores Atkins case and the suspect Felix Acevedo?”

“That would be the one,” Karp said. “If I can be blunt, what’s the status of your cases?”

“Well, I believe we’re set for a preliminary hearing next week,” Hartsfield said. “I’m told that the lead detective, an old hand named Phil Brock, wanted to run down a few things.”

Karp frowned. “I haven’t read much about your cases,” he said, “but I understand Acevedo confessed to the Atkins murder before he confessed to our double murder case?”

“That’s correct,” Hartsfield said. “And to the assault of another woman, too; the cops initially picked him up on assault.”

“And don’t you have a witness-the assault victim, if I’m not mistaken-who ID’d him in a lineup?” Karp asked.

“That’s true,” Hartsfield replied. “But it was a pretty shaky ID. At first she wasn’t sure; then she thought it could be one of two guys-one a cop and the other our suspect. She asked if she could hear them repeat the threat he used; that’s when she ID’d Acevedo and said she thought he was the one. But she admitted that she never really got a good look at him and I expect any decent defense lawyer is going to hit that hard. We didn’t find any physical evidence on him, or in his things at his parents’ apartment, that tied him to our homicide victim, Dolores Atkins. Not like that engagement ring; you have an ace on the table with that.”

“How well do you know this detective Phil Brock?” Karp asked.

“Well, I’ve worked with him directly on a dozen cases over the years,” Hartsfield said. “Nothing flashy, but methodical and doesn’t cut corners. Avoids the press like the plague. Just does his job and does it well. He’s got to be getting close to retirement.”

“My kind of cop,” Karp said. “They make the best witnesses on the stand, too.”

“I agree,” Hartsfield replied. He paused for a moment. “What’s this about, Butch?”

Once again, Karp quickly explained what was happening with the Yancy-Jenkins case. “You might want to hold off on that hearing, Sam,” he said. “I know you have a problem because of the witness’s ID, but I think the confessions are pure fantasy. It might be worth it to let me and my guys sift through this before you end up having to dismiss the charges after the fact.”

“Whew, I don’t envy you the hell you’re going to catch,” Hartsfield said. “But thanks for the heads-up. You’ll keep me in the loop?”

“Absolutely,” Karp replied. “In the meantime, if you decide to dismiss, let me know. I don’t want to unnecessarily tip off the killer, but I’d also like to get Acevedo out of jail if he’s not the right guy for your cases either.”

“You got it,” Hartsfield replied. “When this is over, let’s get together; been a while since we’ve had a chance to catch up. Maybe take in a Yankee game. I have some choice tickets to the Red Sox game in a few weeks if you’d be interested.”

“That would be a pleasure,” Karp replied. “Always get a kick seeing the Bronx Bombers beat up on the Sox.”

Graziani sat in the sedan across the street and down a block from the aging row house in the Norwood neighborhood of the Bronx. It was a quiet neighborhood and the streets were nearly deserted at midnight.

The headlights of a car appeared from around a corner and moved toward him as he scrunched down in his seat. He’d driven past the row house before dawn that morning and saw the car that was now approaching parked on the street. So he knew that was where his target would park again.