David Ellis - The Wrong Man

“My client is not required to be an expert on the companies I represent,” McCabe objected.

Kolarich never took his eyes off Manning. He had an imposing stare. He probably got a lot of people to talk just by glaring at them.

“Global Harvest purchased the stock of Summerset Farms in June 2009,” said Kolarich.

Manning nodded. “That sounds about right.”

“And it purchased SK Tool and Supply that very same month. Does that sound about right?”

Manning glanced over at McCabe. “Something like that, yes.”

“Two companies within a month.”

“Yes, Mr. Kolarich.”

“No other companies within eighteen months on either side.”

“Is there a point here, Counsel?” asked McCabe.

“You settled the LabelTek litigation for four million dollars plus attorneys’ fees,” said Kolarich. “You gave them more than they wanted. And you did it only days after LabelTek sent subpoenas to Summerset Farms about its contracts with Global Harvest.”

Manning looked at his lawyer. “Did I even know this?” he asked. Of course he did, but now was the time to play the corporate CEO who doesn’t bother with the details.

“No, you didn’t,” said McCabe. “I’m not sure I even knew it.”

McCabe, of course, knew it as well. Manning could still recall McCabe’s breathless phone call when he got wind of the Summerset Farms subpoenas.

“Then why’d you lay down in the lawsuit? The case was in its infancy, and you gave them everything they wanted and more. You’ve done very well in life, Mr. Manning, and I assume you’ve become quite a skilled negotiator. What kind of negotiation ends up with you giving your opponent in litigation one hundred percent of what they wanted plus more?” Kolarich shook his head. “Something was troubling you. Was it the subpoena that LabelTek issued to the state Department of Agriculture? Was that it?”

“That’s ridiculous. This is ridiculous.”

“Why didn’t you want anyone looking at your sales records with Summerset Farms?”

“That’s simply not the case,” said Manning.

Kolarich sighed. “Then I suppose you won’t mind turning them over to me.”

Kolarich slid the envelope across the table to Manning.

“The subpoena includes records. Prove it to me, Mr. Manning. Right now. And I’ll go away.”

Manning stared at the envelope. Kolarich was bluffing, he thought. But it was a pretty damn good bluff. “If it’s really so important to you, Mr. Kolarich, I suppose I could arrange-”

“No,” said Kolarich. “Do it right now. Pick up the phone and make the call. Have them faxed here. I’ll wait.”

“This is completely ridiculous. This courtesy we’ve extended you is over.” Bruce McCabe stood up. “This is a ridiculous wild-goose chase. Mr. Manning has been more than generous with his time.”

“He has. He has.” Kolarich nodded to Manning. “Just make the call, Mr. Manning.”

“It’s time for you to leave,” said McCabe.

Kolarich kept his eyes on Manning but waved at McCabe. “Sit down, Bruce. Don’t get your shorts in a knot. I’m almost done.”

McCabe looked at his client. Manning nodded at him. McCabe took his seat, emasculated.

“You know someone named Lorenzo Fowler?” Kolarich asked.

Manning didn’t. “No, sir.”

“What about someone who goes by Gin Rummy?”

Manning chuckled. “Can’t say I do.”

“Paul Capparelli?”

Manning went cold. “Paul… Cap-the mobster?”

“The very one. You know him, Mr. Manning?”

“Of course not.” Manning shuffled in his chair, uncrossing one leg and crossing the other. It was a nonverbal tell, he realized, that he was becoming anxious. A mistake on his part.

It wasn’t hard to see where this was headed. Kolarich seemed to know that there was more to the murder of that paralegal, Kathy whatever, than met the eye. Somehow-God knows how-he’d found out about the LabelTek lawsuit, and the subpoenas would have been public records in the court file. Now Kolarich was looking squarely at Manning, wondering whether he’d hired someone to silence that paralegal. And he even knew about Paul Capparelli?

He was much farther along in the information he’d gathered than Manning could have possibly imagined.

“Pick up the phone and have those sales records faxed here,” said Kolarich. “Sales of Glo-Max 2. 0 fertilizer to Summerset Farms. Do it, and I go away.”

Kolarich was smart. He was boxing Manning in. Manning considered doing it. There wasn’t much to hide on the face of the documents, not unless you really knew what to look for. But it would show his fear, his concern, and that might be more telling to Kolarich than the records themselves.

McCabe held his tongue, presumably unsure of what his client wanted to do. This would be Manning’s call, and he had to make it on the spot without equivocation.

Manning shook his head in amusement. “Mr. Kolarich, as much as I’ve enjoyed this conversation, and as happy as I’d be to comply with any subpoena you issue, I’m not going to let some low-rent lawyer dictate who I call and when. It doesn’t work that way, son. Surely you can understand.”

“Sure, I understand,” Kolarich answered with mock sweetness. “By the way, Mr. Manning. My client? He’s accused of killing a paralegal at Mr. McCabe’s law firm. He’s an Army veteran who put his life on the line for his country. He’s mentally ill as a result, and fucked up in ways you and I couldn’t possibly fathom. And on top of that, he’s being accused of a crime that he didn’t commit. Somebody framed this poor guy for murder, and whoever did that is going to burn in hell. You believe in God, Mr. Manning?”

“Don’t talk to me about God,” Manning snapped. “And don’t talk to me about hell.”

“Fair enough. I’m leaving now.” Kolarich got to his feet and nodded at McCabe. “But I’m not going away, Randy.”

Kolarich left the room. Manning glanced over at McCabe, who looked like he’d lost some of the color in his face.

“When does that trial of his start?” he asked.

“December first,” McCabe answered. “A couple of days after the Thanksgiving weekend. A Wednesday.”

“When will he call me to the stand?”

McCabe shook his head. He didn’t know. “Picking a jury will take some time. Then the prosecution’s case goes in. My guess is jury selection will take a day or so. Maybe the judge won’t even begin opening statements until the following Monday, which would be-”

“December sixth,” said Manning. He had that portion of the calendar committed to memory long ago. For eighteen months, he’d been looking at one single day on the calendar: Tuesday, December 7. Recognized officially in the United States as Pearl Harbor Day.

“Bottom line, it’s too much of a question mark,” said Manning.

“I wonder what our friends the Capparellis would say about this,” said McCabe. “They have a vested interest as well.”

“I don’t even know if I can trust the Capparellis.” Manning pushed himself out of the chair and moved to the window overlooking the commercial district. No, he decided, he couldn’t trust the Capparellis. They might have the same agenda, they might not. If they perceived Kolarich as a threat, they might move to eliminate him.

But they might move against Manning as well, to cover all the bases. Better that this particular assignment be handled in-house.

“I need my best for this,” he said. “I need Patrick Cahill.”

I looked around the room at my team. Each of them had their assignments, and each of them was giving me their all. Shauna had rescheduled all of her work and even turned down a couple of clients to help on the Stoller case. Bradley John was focusing on nothing else. Joel Lightner, who had a three-person shop, was doing what he could, even though there was little to no promise of payment for doing so. And Tori, who had provided more help than I would have expected, was devoted to the cause as well.