Michael Baden - Remains Silent

“Restaurant?”

“Yes. Kenneth told me you’d pick one and we’d discuss the case while we walked to it.”

He picked up his briefcase. “Actually, I’ve no idea.”

“My choice, then, Italian, of course,” she said cheerfully. “Scalinatella. It’s on Sixty-first between Third and Second.”

“Fine.” He started across the avenue.

“Wait! The WALK sign’s blinking.”

“There are no cars coming. Let’s go.”

She balked. “I don’t run across streets, especially potholed streets, in shoes like these.” She pointed to her four-inch heels.

“I’ll hold you,” he said. “You won’t fall.”

He took her right arm and led her in a half trot across Third Avenue. Her mind flashed to the time after his autopsy of Terrell when he’d shown her how the angle of a bullet track changes depending on the position of the shooter and the movement of the victim. “Terrell was standing,” he’d said. “The shooter crouched on the ground behind him in the firing position the police are taught. That’s what caused the upward angle. Here, let me show you.” He’d put one hand on her back, the other on her chest above her right breast, and began to bend her body up and down slowly. “The most important thing, Ms. Manfreda, is that the bullet didn’t hit the shoulder blade. We have two hundred and six bones in the human body. The only bone that moves up and down on the other bones is the shoulder blade- the scapula. Terrell’s shoulder blade was up when he was shot, which means his arm was over his head in surrender like the neighbors said, and he was not going for a gun in his pocket as the police claimed.”

Now, rushing across the avenue, what Manny remembered was not the words, though they had freed her client, but the feel of his hands, which sent a tingle down her spine because she thought she might do something silly, like turn around and kiss him. Madness.

They stepped onto the curb. Jake gestured toward a white brick building across the avenue. “That’s where Tennessee Williams died. Choked on a bottle cap, according to the autopsy report. His brother never believed it, claimed Williams was murdered. I reviewed the files. The brother was partially right. The bottle cap didn’t kill him. He died of a drug and alcohol overdose. It wasn’t murder.”

Impressive. “Weren’t we supposed to talk about the Lyons case?”

“It can wait. See that streetlamp on the next corner? That’s where Benjamino Bellincaso bought it. Bang! Killed by a gunman who disappeared into the subway. Started a Mafia war that went on for years. Used to be a famous steakhouse there, but they had to move. Nobody wanted to eat at the site of Bellincaso’s last supper.”

“Anything else on this sightseeing tour I should know about?” I shouldn’t have asked.

“There was another restaurant near here, the Neapolitan Noodle, forced to close because four garment company executives were shot at a table some organized crime people had just left. Nobody found out who the intended victims were.”

He was still holding her arm; she made no effort to dislodge it. The passion in his voice, his stride, and his expression were infectious. She felt comfortable with him, mesmerized.

“Normal people don’t navigate by crime scenes,” she said, when at last he paused for breath. “Have you ever been to Bloomingdale’s? It’s three blocks away. Great store, fabulous clothes, and two shoe departments, one for the times a woman wants to feel chic, the other when she wants to dress like a diva.”

“Really? I didn’t know.” A monotone.

She pressed on. “Women navigate by stores- live by them. Shopping, fashion, and clean ladies’ rooms with soft toilet paper.” He’s a doctor. He can take anatomic information. “On the far side of Bloomie’s there’s an outlet store. I bought my Hermиs scarf and coordinating enamel bracelets at their warehouse sale at the end of the year. It’s when they mark down their dated products, but with Hermиs, who cares? After all, my Kelly bag is timeless.”

He’s staring at me again. Does he think I’ve gone out of my mind? No, he was smiling. Indeed, his eyes were lit by what she took to be enjoyment. “Here’s Scalinatella,” she said. “Their specialty is rare, juicy steak and lobster fra diavolo pasta misto, but after all that spilled blood in the restaurants around here, I think I’ll have fish.”

“BUONA SERA,” said Manny, as they followed the maоtre d’ to a corner table.

Jake took off his blue blazer, loosened his maroon-and-black print tie below the fraying collar of his light-blue button-down shirt, and rolled up his sleeves-as though he’s about to begin an autopsy-all before he sat down across from her.

“Do you care for wine?” their waiter asked. They each reached for the wine list. A tug of war ensued, which Manny won.

“Red or white?” she asked.

“Your choice.”

She assessed the offerings. “We’ll have the ninety-five Amarone- the Reserva Ducale, piacere.”

The waiter bowed. “Good choice. And your accent”- he kissed his fingers-“impeccable.”

“I’m second-generation Italian.”

“And a bottle of mineral water, with gas,” Jake told the waiter.

She squinted at him. “How very European.”

There was still an edge to her voice; Jake wasn’t sure if she was mocking him.

He filled her glass when the sparkling water arrived.

They were on dessert and espresso. When they’d arrived, Jake, rather than the maоtre d’, had pulled out her chair for her, a bit of old-fashioned gallantry she found charming. He’d also ordered sea bass for them both and talked virtually nonstop about violent death.

“Now, about the Lyons case,” Jake finally said. “I think-”

“Yes, about the Lyons case,” she interrupted. “Just what were you thinking?”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t hear from you between Terrell and Carramia- and after Carramia not so much as an apology after you crucified me. Then you call to tell me a woman I’ve never met is about to contact me so I can represent her because you think I’m a great lawyer.” Her eyes narrowed. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

“I can see why it might seem a little odd. But you really impressed me in court, and when Mr. Lyons’s daughter-”

“You’ll say anything, won’t you? Anything to get your way. I impressed you in court? How can you say that with a straight face? You made me look like an undergrad.”

He smiled without condescension. “An impressive undergrad, then. Look, I’m a scientist. I’m hired to give an opinion based on science, and that opinion’s what it is, no matter who asks for it. I didn’t testify against you, I testified against false conclusions. Just as I wasn’t hired to testify for you in the Terrell case. If the police hadn’t shot your client in the back, I’d have told you so.”

Okay, he’s not for sale. But he’s still smug. The spoon bearing a bite of tiramisu stopped halfway to her mouth. When he’d opened his collar and rolled up his sleeves before they’d sat down, she’d thought it bad manners; now his casualness and ease, his obvious sincerity and the frankness of his gaze opened a gate in her brain, and she let him enter.

“You’d been given some wrongheaded opinions,” he went on. “But beyond that you were better prepared than any attorney I’ve ever seen. Digging up that study I did on witness accounts in police takedowns- amazing. And you’re obviously very… zealous in representing your clients’ interests. I’ve read up on some of your cases. You got a record settlement in the Terrell case when nobody else wanted to touch it. And when the governor refused to issue a permit to those anti-death penalty protesters, you headed the First Amendment challenge. That was an elegant brief you wrote, by the way.” He lunged across the table to grab her hand. “Watch out. The tiramisu’s about to drop on your jacket.”