Стюарт Вудс - Desperate Measures

“That’s for the investigating detectives to decide,” Dino said. “I can’t tell them not to suspect him.”

“But surely, you don’t share their views?”

“Not really. I just can’t get in the way of procedure for a friend. He’ll sweat it out okay, don’t worry.”

Dino got another call and listened, then hung up. “Trask, on advice of his attorney, has declined to answer questions,” he said. “Muldoon will make sure somebody at the papers gets the story. That’ll turn up the pressure a bit. Also, he has to get a new lawyer. Muldoon heard Terry Barnes tell him not to call him again, and he gave him another lawyer’s card.”

“Want to guess who he’ll call?”

“What’s your guess?” Dino asked.

“Alfred Goddard,” Stone said.

“Isn’t he a mob lawyer?” Edie asked.

“You’re very well informed,” Dino said. “He used to be a mob attorney, but there’s not much of a mob anymore, so he now specializes in representing people who are guilty of major crimes, having had a lot of experience at that. My guy, Muldoon, caught a glimpse of his card.”

“That’s the last word we’ll hear from Donald Trask,” Stone said, “until the trial.”

“Are you kidding?” Dino replied. “What trial?”

“There isn’t going to be a trial?” Edie asked.

“Not until my guys have come up with a lot more evidence than they have now.”

“Dino,” Stone said, “may I make a suggestion?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t expect me to take it seriously.”

“Get Muldoon to send another crime scene team to Cilla’s apartment and lift every print anywhere in the kitchen.”

“That’s grasping at straws,” Dino said. “Do you know if Trask has ever visited Cilla’s apartment?”

“He wouldn’t have done so,” Stone said. “There was too much anger in the divorce to get him an invitation. If they can find a single print of his, he was there for only one reason.”

“All right,” Dino said, “I’ll make the suggestion to Muldoon.”

Dino and Viv excused themselves and left, but a hand on his arm kept Stone from leaving.

“Stay,” Edie breathed into his ear. “Stay the night.”

“I’ve already given Fred the rest of the night off,” he replied.

They kissed, and she undid one of his shirt buttons, slipped her hand inside and fondled a nipple.

“Sold,” Stone said, and they took the walk to her bedroom, shedding clothes along the way.

They turned back the bed’s covers and got into it.

“I’m going to make this good for your morale,” she said, reaching for other parts.

“I believe you,” Stone said, then gave himself to the moment and the rest of the night.

The following morning at the precinct, Muldoon put down the phone. “The commissioner wants the crime scene guys to make another visit to the Scott apartment and go over the kitchen again for prints.”

“As long as they’re taking another look,” Calabrese said, “they might as well get all the prints off Trask’s gun. It’s in the evidence room.”

“Dante,” Muldoon said, using his partner’s first name for the first time, “I believe you’ve switched your brain on.”

“Yeah, well, we should have printed him last night,” Calabrese said.

“Don’t worry,” Muldoon repled, “he was printed when he applied for his carry license.” Muldoon made the calls.

Stone, his morale refreshed, slipped out of bed at daybreak, got into his clothes, kissed Edie lightly on the ear, and let himself out of her apartment. Downstairs, he walked briskly through the lobby, nodded at the desk man, and allowed the doorman to get him a cab.

A half hour later he was in his own bed, eating his usual breakfast, when his cell phone rang. “Hello?”

“You sneaked out on me,” Edie said, petulantly.

“I didn’t know how long you might want to sleep,” he replied.

“I was looking forward to waking you,” she said.

“My apologies. When next we meet I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

“I’ll accept that promise,” she said, then hung up.

That afternoon, Donald Trask sat across the desk from his new attorney, Alfred Goddard.

“Call me Alfie,” the lawyer said. “You like to be called Don?”

“I prefer Donald.”

“Okay, let me tell you how this is going to go, Don: first of all, you’re through talking to the cops.” He plucked a few cards from a tray on his desk and shoved them across. “Anybody asks you anything, like, ‘Isn’t it a nice day?’ you give him my card and tell him to call me. Do you clearly understand that?”

“I do.”

“If you should find yourself temporarily in a jail cell, especially don’t talk to anybody there. The DA is notorious for producing cellmate witnesses who swear the defendant made a full and complete confession, and the prisons are full of people who talked to cellmates.”

“I understand,” Trask replied.

“I want you to understand something else,” Goddard said. “If you went to trial tomorrow, I’d get you off scot-free, based on what they’ve got now for evidence.”

“That’s encouraging.”

“The thing is not to give them another shred of evidence for free.”

“Do you want to know whether I did it?”

“No, and I’ll tell you why. If you told me you did it, then I couldn’t put you on the stand and allow you to deny it. That would put me in deep shit, as well as you.”

“I understand.”

“Anything else you say to me is privileged — attorney-client relationship — so, apart from copping to the crime, feel free to talk.”

“All right, why couldn’t they convict me now with the evidence they have? Can’t a jury do anything they like?”

“It’s my job to see that they want for you what I want for you, and I’m good at it. I have one client who never confessed to me, but I believe had personally committed at least a dozen murders. He’s never served a day in prison.”

“Good work,” Trask replied.

“Another thing to remember, Don. The cops are not legally required to tell you the truth. They can tell you they’ve got movies of you killing your wife, if they feel like it. And if you fall for such a lie, you’re done. All the more reason not to talk to them, or even listen to them.”

“I’ll remember,” Trask said.

“Donald, have you got a temper?”

Trask shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Not anymore. You can’t afford it. If somebody at a cocktail party accuses you of murdering your wife, politely deny it and find somebody else to talk to.”

“All right.”

“If somebody in a bar takes a swing at you because you were looking at his girlfriend’s tits, get up, apologize, pay his bar tab, and get out of there.”

“All right.”

“From now on, Don, you’re going to have to work at being the nicest guy in the world — even to the fucking media. If somebody points a camera at you and sticks a mic in your face, give him a little smile and say, ‘I’m sorry, but I’m sure you know that I can’t talk about that right now.’ Remember, in the unlikely event that this should ever go to trial, there will be future members of your jury watching this on TV.”

“All right.”

“Help old ladies across the street, and if somebody’s dog bites you, laugh it off, pat him on the head, and get a rabies shot.”

Goddard got up and walked him to the door. “Just relax, Don. Keep your mouth shut and everything will be all right.”

Trask decided to believe that.

As he walked out of the office building Trask was surprised to see the two detectives, Muldoon and Calabrese, sitting in their car watching him. Muldoon even took a cell phone photo of him. Trask smiled, gave them a little wave, and crossed the street to get a cab.