Стюарт Вудс - Barely Legal

“Shit. I should never have told him about Taperelli.”

“Do you think Taperelli might have done him harm?”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. I’ll call you back.”

Half an hour later, Dino was on the line again and said flatly, “He’s in the drunk tank.”

“What?”

“Charged with murder.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I wish I were. The victim’s his fiancée, Yvette.”

“What’s he saying?”

“Nothing. He’s been in and out of consciousness. I had him transferred to a private cell and he’s sleeping it off.”

“He’s drunk?”

“Or drugged. He reeks of liquor. He was found in bed with the victim, naked and holding the murder weapon. Who knows what he’s going to say when he wakes up.”

“I’m on my way.” Stone slammed down the phone. “Joan! Tell Fred to get the car!”

Fred broke all speed records getting downtown. Stone had no problem seeing his client. Dino had paved the way.

Herbie was sitting on the edge of his bunk, groggy and distraught. He looked up at Stone with tear-stained eyes. “They read me my rights. They say I killed Yvette.”

Stone calmed Herbie down the best he could and went to hunt up the ADA in charge of the case.

The ADA turned out to be Dierdre Monahan, with whom Stone had a history. She leaned back in her desk chair and cocked her head. “Hi, Stone. What can I do for you?”

Deirdre Monahan and Herbie had a long and bumpy relationship. She’d been the ADA of record in several of his arrests, including the murder of the mobster Carmine Dattila. She’d actually done Herbie a favor in that case, suggesting he claim self-defense. Which was pretty nice of her, considering the patrolman Herbie had kicked in the balls during one of his other arrests happened to be her brother.

“Let’s get real here, Monahan. You know and I know Herbie didn’t do it.”

“I know no such thing. He was found in bed with the victim. He was holding the murder weapon. And, yes, there is gunpowder on his hand, showing he fired the gun. I’d go so far as to call this one a slam dunk.”

“This wasn’t some casual one-night stand. Herbie was in love with her. They were engaged. Why would he have killed her?”

“Why does anybody kill his girlfriend? Jealousy? Drunk rage? It’s not inconceivable.”

“It is when the man in question is Herbie. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“Tell that to Carmine Dattila.”

Stone shot her an impatient look.

Deirdre sighed. “He was drunk, Stone. He could barely stand up.”

“He’s been drugged. I want a blood test and a Breathalyzer.”

“Little late for a Breathalyzer.”

“Come on, this is serious. Herbie stood up in open court yesterday and asked a witness if he was being manipulated by Tommy Taperelli. I don’t know if you’ve had any dealings with Mr. Taperelli, but he does not take kindly to insinuations of that manner. Retaliation is not unexpected. I wouldn’t put it past him to frame Herbie for murder. That’s kind of a tough break for a young attorney trying to do the right thing, particularly when it isn’t even his goddamned case to begin with.”

“What are you talking about?”

Stone told her the details of David Ross’s case, including the suspected connection between Tommy Taperelli and Detective Kelly.

“Detective Kelly, huh?”

“Do you know him?”

“Not personally.”

“But you’ve heard something about him.”

“Nothing I care to be quoted on.” Monahan frowned. “You really think this is the result of Herbie’s interference in Taperelli’s business?”

“I know Herbie didn’t do it.”

“Well, go ahead and bail him out. Dino’s already fast-tracked him to be released on his own recognizance.”

“Good talking to you.”

ADA Monahan smiled. “Anytime, Stone.”

Dino Bacchetti flashed his ID at the doorman at Herbie’s building. He needn’t have bothered. The guy recognized him from TV and was all too happy to send him upstairs.

Crime scene techs were processing Herbie’s apartment. Photographs had all been taken and evidence was being bagged and labeled. Dino strode around the apartment and assessed the work.

The martini glasses Herbie and Yvette had drunk from were still on the end tables. The rim of one was marked with lipstick — Herbie had clearly drunk from the other glass. Dino pointed them out to the nearest tech. “When you bag those martini glasses, make sure you tag which is which.”

The man wasn’t going to say anything to the commissioner of police, but clearly wasn’t happy being told how to do his job. “Of course. It’s standard procedure.”

“Just make sure.”

Dino proceeded to the bedroom, where he saw the lead on the case, Detective Brogan. He knew the man to be hardworking and by the book, but lacking in creative thinking. The two men shook hands, and Dino turned his attention to the room.

The crime scene unit had tagged a bullet hole in the headboard. The bullet itself had been dug out and bagged for ballistics.

Dino pointed it out to the detective. “Could the bullet have been fired from where the suspect was found?”

“Sure could. Practically a direct line.”

“He missed the decedent by three feet.”

“That’s right.”

“While sitting next to her in the bed?”

“Apparently.”

“So he either shot her point-blank while she was sitting next to him in bed, killing her instantly, and then fired another shot, missing her by three feet, or he fired a shot, missing her by three feet, and instead of jumping out of bed and running for her life, she sat there looking at him waiting for the coup de grâce.”

The detective shrugged. “That’s what a defense attorney will say.”

“Yeah,” Dino replied, clearly unimpressed.

Seeing he had flubbed and eager to score some points with the commissioner, Brogan changed the subject. “There’s evidence the victim’s body was moved.”

“Oh?”

“Drops of blood near the front door. It’s possible he shot her there and carried her into bed.”

“And arranged her on the pillow, and took another shot at her and missed? Then he got in bed, lay down, and went to sleep?”

“I’m not saying that happened. I’m just saying the blood near the front door indicates the body may have been moved.”

“You got samples of that blood?”

“You bet.”

“Carry on, Detective,” Dino said.

Dino moved on and continued searching the apartment. In the bar he found the evidence of either Yvette or Herbie mixing the drinks. The melted ice from the cocktail shaker was long gone, but the shaker itself was still on the counter. Dino ticked it off as more evidence to be bagged.

In the wastebasket at the end of the bar, a single tissue was crumpled up. It stood out because the wastebasket itself was so clean. Dino fished it out, put it on the bar. He spread the paper with his fingertips.

Inside was a tiny screw-top vial. Inside were a few drops of liquid. He waved at the crime scene tech he’d seen earlier. “Yeah?”

“More evidence to bag.”

The man came over and looked.

“This was in the wastebasket.”

The man looked pained. “I’d have gotten there, Commissioner. I have to label everything. I can’t cherry-pick.”

“No one’s criticizing. I’m just looking for anything we can expedite.”

Dino continued his once-over of the apartment. In the walk-in closet he found the empty cash box and the empty jewelry case.

Dino shook his head. The poor detective was going to think he was really picking on him.

Dino raised his voice. “Detective Brogan? I found something I think you’ll want to see.”