William Bernhardt - Blind Justice

“The Omerta,” Ben said. “The mob code of silence. They make everyone take their secrets very seriously.”

“Tony was never stable under the best of circumstances,” Margot continued. “DeCarlo just made-matters worse. Tony was terrified. He was afraid his association with DeCarlo would land him in prison, and he had a horrible fear of prison. Absolutely pathological. He’d do anything to avoid that.”

“Do you think he tried to sever relations with DeCarlo? And that might’ve led to his murder?”

“I think…that’s possible. Of course I can’t say with any certainty.”

“When did you last see Tony?”

She searched her memory. “I can’t recall the date. It’s been several months. After my last visit, the doorman stopped letting me in.”

“The doorman told me you were jealous—”

“Spud?” The corners of her mouth turned up. “I’ve had the pleasure of smelling the booze on his breath several times. I would advise you not to take anything he says too seriously.”

“And you haven’t seen your husband lately?”

“No. I did hear from him the night he died, however.”

“You did? How?”

“He called me that evening. He was terribly distraught, panicked—almost irrational. He said he needed money immediately, but he wouldn’t tell me why.”

“Did you help him?”

“How could I? The only money I had was what he gave me, and that wasn’t much.” Her face lost all expression. “Of course I loved him, but the fact is Tony was not a strong man. Some might say he was…weak.” She pressed the flats of her hands against the sofa. “He’d been in and out of mental hospitals. They told me he attempted suicide once, although he denied it. He was an acute manic-depressive, with considerably more depressive than manic.”

“Just the sort of person DeCarlo could easily manipulate.”

“I’m afraid that is precisely correct.”

“Do you know anything about your husband’s assistant? A man named Lennie?”

“Lennie?” Her laugh was brittle. “Of course. Lennie’s been with Tony ever since he fell in with DeCarlo. Lennie was always ready and willing to do the dirty jobs Tony didn’t want to handle himself.”

“Do you know his full name?”

“Lucas Grundy.” She saved Ben the trouble of asking. “Lennie wasn’t his real name; that was just what Tony called him. After a character in a book. Of Mice and Men , I believe. Tony was quite well read.” She ran her fingers slowly down the line of her neck. “It was not a compliment, if I’m not mistaken. Tony could be rather cruel at times.”

“Do you know where I could find Lennie?”

“Not offhand. He always found me—to deliver the separate maintenance checks.”

“You mentioned that you left Tony, ma’am.” Ben hesitated. There was no graceful way to do this. “I know this is personal, but may I ask why?”

Her mouth trembled almost imperceptibly. Her fingers fluttered upward to cover it. “Of course, in part, I’ve already told you. The strain of working with Albert DeCarlo was beginning to tell on us both.”

“And what was the other part?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it several times before she actually spoke. “Tony had some eccentric tastes.”

“You mean…what he spent his money on?”

“No.” She hesitated, then fell back against the sofa, resigned. “I mean…sexually.”

“Oh. Can you…” He closed his eyes and swallowed. “Were there problems?”

She seemed to look through him. “Yes, there were problems. I didn’t share some of Tony’s interests. I was never able to…satisfy him. No matter what I tried. No matter what I was willing to do. After a while, he simply lost interest.”

Ben waited as she struggled to regain her composure.

“Of course, that meant he began to look elsewhere. I knew what he was doing, but I didn’t say anything. It seemed the least I could do. Clearly, I had failed him.”

She closed her eyes. “At one point, Tony actually placed a personal ad in one of those swinging-singles tabloids. I’m sure you know what I mean—notices for couples who are willing to rendezvous at a secluded location and…swap.” She pronounced the word as if it were a spider poised on the tip of her tongue.

“And did you…”

“No. I refused. Even after Tony had everything arranged. He was furious. That’s when everything worsened.”

“What did Tony do then?”

“It’s difficult to know where to begin. Tony liked…to punish me.”

“Punish?” Ben felt a warm flush creeping up his neck. “You mean he liked to…spank you?”

“Yes. With an electric cattle prod.”

Ben stared at her—stunned and silent.

“It was part of his mania, I suppose, his unstable mental state. His temperament would change in a heartbeat. He would become frustrated, then enraged. He had to hit something, to hurt something, and of course, I was the only person around.”

“Perhaps you should’ve bought him a cheap set of china.”

“He wouldn’t have liked that,” she said matter-of-factly. “China wouldn’t scream. China wouldn’t cry.”

The room fell quiet.

“I don’t know how many times I had to resort to high collars, scarves, sunglasses, or just staying inside. Twice I was admitted to St. Francis.” Ben could see no light in her eyes. “Of course, you tell them you fell down the stairs or tripped over a potted plant. But they don’t believe you.”

“That must’ve been horrible.”

“It wasn’t the worst. As a result of one of Tony’s fits, we lost a baby.” Her eyes met Ben’s. “I won’t be having any more.”

“When did you leave?” he managed to ask.

“When he came home with a taser. Wouldn’t you?”

“I hope,” Ben said, choosing his words carefully, “I would have left a long time before that.”

Margot’s head began to shake. “Easy to say,” she said. “Easy—” She choked, then covered her face with her hands. “I think you should go now, Mr. Kincaid.”

As Ben drove back to his office, he replayed the conversation in his head. Strange—he had been looking for a killer, but instead, he found another victim. Another victim of cruelty, and greed, and organized crime.

Another victim of the murderer.

22

BEN SAT IN THE conference room with Mike, Roger Stanford, and Myra. They were waiting for Abshire to appear so they could begin the discovery process.

Most people probably thought of criminal cases as being more glamorous and exciting than civil suits. Ben did not agree, and days like this reminded him why. Discovery was rarely as extensive and never as revealing in criminal cases. Of course, that heightened the drama, leaving the possibility of surprises at trial. But Ben wasn’t interested in surprises. He wanted information that would get Christina off the hook. And so far, the government had been about as cooperative as an eight-year-old at the dentist’s office.

Mike sat at the far end of the table, staring at the wall. He hadn’t said a word to Ben.

At last, Abshire rushed into the room carrying a large stack of files. “Busy, busy, busy,” he said, thunking his load onto the conference table. “Sorry I’m late. Hope you all had a nice chat.”

No one replied.

“Ready to throw in the towel yet, Kincaid?”

Ben tried not to curl his lip. “Let’s just get on with it.”

“Oooh, we’re verrrrry touchy today.” He opened the top file folder. “Let’s see…the defendant has moved for the production of all exculpatory evidence in the possession of the government, both state and federal levels. Unfortunately, I don’t believe we have any exculpatory evidence, do we, gentlemen?”