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  “No further questions,” he said in disgust.

  As Fitzsimmons left the courtroom with one last glare at Constantine, Dermondy looked at Karp. “Do you have another witness?”

  “One more, Your Honor. The People call Richie Bryers.”

  18

  RICHIE BRYERS SAT ON THE witness stand with his head down and tears streaming down his cheeks. When he’d met with Karp that morning before court, his old friend had warned him about what to expect. “I won’t kid you, Richie, it’s not going to be easy. It will be tough enough answering my questions, but I expect the defense attorney will come after you with both barrels.”

  Bryers had nodded. “I understand. I guess in some ways I deserve what’s coming. I fell in love, but I should have done the right thing and waited until she was divorced.”

  “I’m not going to second-guess you there,” Karp had countered. “But you didn’t kill Clare. Fitzsimmons did, under orders from her husband. They’re the ones guilty of her murder, not you. This will be your chance to see that justice is done. Just remember that when the questioning gets tough.”

  “Mr. Bryers, how do you know the defendant in this case?” Karp began.

  “I teach, or I taught, at the private school his son attended,” Bryers replied. “I was also the basketball coach. Mr. Constantine’s son, Tommy, was on the middle school team and I was asked if I would work one-on-one with him.”

  “By Mr. Constantine?”

  “Yes. We met at his home, and he offered me the job.”

  “Did it pay well?”

  “Yes, in fact, several times my going rate for private lessons.”

  “And you accepted the terms and money?”

  “Yes. He insisted and obviously he could afford it. I’m a teacher, and it was a lot of money to me.”

  “And during your tenure, did you have occasion to meet Mr. Constantine’s wife, Clare Dune?”

  Bryers nodded. “Yes, I met Clare.”

  “In addition to the pay, were you offered other perks?”

  “Yes. I was invited to use the guesthouse at their Long Island property in Suffolk County,” Bryers said. “I stayed there some weekends.”

  “In a sense you became a family friend.”

  “Yes.”

  “At some point did that friendship evolve into a romantic relationship with Clare Dune?”

  “Yes. A couple of months after I began working there, Clare and I became romantically involved,” Bryers admitted.

  “Is it fair to say that the relationship between Clare Dune and the defendant was strained?” Karp asked. At a pretrial hearing, Arnold had won a motion precluding Karp from discussing Constantine’s domestic violence against his wife.

  “It was not a happy marriage.”

  “Did the two of you plan a future together?”

  “I’d asked her several times to leave her husband.” Bryers looked over at Constantine, who stared back at him as if he smelled bad. “But she was afraid she would lose custody of her son, Tommy. She also believed that her husband was preparing to divorce her, and she wanted to wait for him to make the first move.”

  With that out of the way, Karp moved on to the crux of Bryers’s testimony. “Have you ever heard of something called ­MIRAGE in relation to the defendant and this case?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you tell the jury under what circumstances?”

  “I was staying at the cottage when I saw a page in a journal Mr. Constantine was writing.”

  “What, if anything, could you read?”

  “Well, it’s been a while, but it mentioned a raid and that something called the MIRAGE files ended up in the wrong hands,” Bryers said. “I remember specifically because of a comment that stated that ‘Col. S and the Russian bitch need to be eliminated.’ ”

  “What was your initial impression of what you read?”

  “I asked Clare if her husband was writing a book. It read like a wanna-be author’s first stab at a thriller.”

  “Did something happen to make you question your belief that Mr. Constantine was writing fiction?”

  “Yes. A couple of minutes later, I went inside the main house to wash my hands for lunch. I was passing Mr. Constantine’s library when I heard his voice. He was angry and yelling at somebody.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He told whoever it was to make sure that someone named Mueller kept his mouth shut.”

  “Was there anything else?”

  “Yes. Fitzsimmons told him there was a call from the White House. He asked if Mr. Constantine wanted to take the call.”

  “Do you know if the caller was a man or a woman?”

  “I believe a woman, because he called the person a bitch.”

  “Was there anything else?”

  “Yes. He told this person that because of a raid, MIRAGE was, and I quote, ‘fucked up.’ He seemed to think it was her fault.”

  “What did you do after you overheard this conversation?”

  “I went back outside and told Clare what I heard. She didn’t think much of it at the time.”

  “You said you read a comment about a ‘Col. S and a Russian bitch’ needing to be eliminated. Did you later have reason to attach any special significance to that statement?”

  “Yes. As I found out later, that was the day Colonel Swindells was shot in Central Park. Given that phone call, I wondered if there was a connection.”

  “Did you go to the police with your suspicions?”

  Bryers shook his head. “It still seemed pretty far-fetched that Mr. Constantine would be mixed up in something like that. I wanted to get another look at his journal first.”

  “Did you discuss that with Clare Dune?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she act on it?”

  “I didn’t want her to, at least not alone, but yes. Sometime later, I got a call from her. Her husband had gone to Washington, and she was alone. She wanted to see what she could find in the journal.”

  “Did she sound drunk or like she was doing drugs when she called?”

  “No. She was perfectly lucid.”

  “Did she then send you something from her cell phone?”

  “Yes. She’d taken a photograph of one of the pages in Mr. Constantine’s journal.”

  Karp walked over to the prosecution table, where Katz handed him two clear envelopes, one of which he handed to Bryers. “You have what has been marked for identification People’s Exhibit 60. Do you recognize it?”

  “Yes, it’s the journal photograph she sent to me.”

  “Your Honor, I move that People’s Exhibit 60 be received in evidence.”

  Dermondy looked at Arnold, who rose from his seat. “Your Honor, the defense objected to this and other exhibits tendered by the prosecution at a pretrial hearing. We have the same objection.”

  “Duly noted,” Dermondy replied. “Overruled. You may continue, Mr. Karp.”

  Karp turned back to Bryers. “Would you please read what is on the photograph to the jury and the court.”

  “Yes. It says, ‘MIRAGE is moving forward at last. All the players have been replaced. Just movable pieces. The refineries are back at full capacity and deliveries are being made. One problem has been eliminated but another remains. She’s the weak link and has to go.’ ” Bryers looked up. “That’s all.”

  Karp handed him the other clear envelope. “I’m handing you what has been marked for identification People’s Exhibit 61. Can you identify it?”

  “Yes. It’s a copy of the text Clare sent me after the photograph from the journal.”

  “And what does it say?”

  “That she thought someone was in the house.”

  “Was Clare able to contact you again after that?”

  Bryers shook his head. “No. That was the l
ast time I heard from her,” he said, his voice catching at the end.

  “Did you attempt to reach her?”

  “Yes. I texted her and asked if she was okay. She didn’t answer. I thought maybe her husband had come home unexpectedly and she wasn’t able to text me back.”

  “Do you now know why she wasn’t able to?”

  “She was murdered by Shaun Fitzsimmons,” Bryers said, and buried his face in his hands. “Because of me.”

  “No further questions,” Karp said softly.

  Arnold’s cross-examination was as harsh as Karp had predicted. He painted Bryers as a gigolo who’d taken advantage of “a lonely wife, whose husband’s work took him away from her too often.”

  “You were happy to take his money and his wife’s affection, weren’t you, Mr. Bryers?”

  “I did both,” Bryers admitted.

  “Did you also hope to talk her into a divorce so that you could live off of whatever settlement she got?”

  “I didn’t want his money.”

  “No. But you tried to blackmail him by sending those text messages and that photograph of a private journal. You asked for four million dollars for your silence.”

  “I did that with District Attorney Karp present.”

  “Yes, you did, didn’t you?” Arnold said with a sneer. “Just one more pawn in the prosecution’s witch hunt.”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” Karp said, rising to his feet. “If Mr. Arnold has any proof pertaining to any witch hunt, we’d like to see it. Otherwise it’s just sheer self-serving speculation and objectionable.”

  “Mr. Arnold, you wish to respond?” Dermondy asked.

  “I’ll rely on my cross-examination to demonstrate Mr. Karp’s bad faith,” Arnold said.

  “Very well, Mr. Karp’s objection is sustained. The jury is instructed to disregard Mr. Arnold’s last statements.”

  Arnold gave Bryers and then Karp one more disdainful look and shook his head. “No more questions, Your Honor.”

  After Bryers left the courtroom, Karp turned to Judge Dermondy and addressed the court. “Your Honor, that concludes the People’s case.”

  The gallery was silent for a moment, and then began buzzing. It was obvious they’d expected more from the prosecution. “Very well,” Dermondy said, and turned to the jurors. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s now late in the afternoon and so I’m going to send you home with the same admonition to avoid watching or reading any information or material having to do with this case, and please use caution when viewing social media. Please do not discuss the case among yourselves, or with anyone else. We will see you in the morning, and now we stand adjourned until nine a.m. tomorrow.”

  After the jury was escorted out of the courtroom, Dermondy turned his attention to Constantine and Arnold, who were engaged in a whispered conversation at the defense table. “Will you be calling any witnesses, Mr. Arnold?”

  Arnold stood and glanced at his client, who nodded. “Just one, Your Honor. Mr. Constantine will take the stand.”

  This time the spectators in the gallery responded with excitement. Tomorrow morning was bound to have more fireworks.

  “Very well,” Dermondy said.

  After the judge and all but a few members of the press had left, Constantine stood and faced Karp. “Is that all you got?” he said contemptuously, catching everybody, including his own attorney, by surprise.

  “Excuse me?” Karp replied.

  “Is that all you got?” Constantine’s face was contorted and red with anger. “I thought you were supposed to be the top dog prosecutor. More like a mutt nipping at my heels.”

  “Wellington, this isn’t the—” Arnold placed a hand on his client’s shoulder.

  Constantine shrugged him off. “Get your hands off me, Mike,” he snarled. “Drop the charges now, Karp, and maybe I won’t sue you personally for wrongful prosecution.”

  Karp looked Constantine in the eye. “I hope you got your toothbrush with you,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Constantine shot right back.

  “Just that you’re never going home again after the jury convicts you,” Karp said with a laugh.

  With that, Karp walked out of the courtroom and into the hallway, where Katz and Fulton waited for him. He could hear Constantine screaming obscenities at him.

  “Hear that, gentlemen? Sounds like Dean Wormer in Animal House berating John Belushi and his frat brothers at Delta Tau Chi. But on to more serious business, is everything ready for tonight?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Fulton replied. “There will be a direct feed into the office.”

  “Could be a late night,” Karp noted.

  “I ordered pizza, sodas, and coffee,” Katz said.

  “You’re a good man, Kenny Katz,” Karp said with a laugh. “I hope you told them extra pepperoni.”

  19

  WELLINGTON CONSTANTINE TOOK A MOMENT to straighten his light gray Italian designer pashmina suit coat and settled into the chair on the witness stand before looking at the jurors with a smile. He was feeling confident as he turned to his attorney, who stood behind the defense table gazing down at his legal pad.

  At the start of the morning session before the jury was brought back into the courtroom, he and Arnold had conferred quietly.

  “I still recommend against this,” his lawyer had whispered. “It’s a weak case at best. Why expose yourself? You don’t have to take the stand. I think we can win without presenting anything. I’ll tear their witnesses apart in summation.”

  “No. I told you last night I want to personally humiliate that asshole Karp,” Constantine insisted. “We’ve been over everything. They don’t have anything that I can’t explain away, and I’m not leaving any of it to chance. I didn’t get where I am by backing off when someone gets in my business.”

  “What if they call you-know-who to the stand?”

  “We had a long talk last night after she got back from the theater,” Constantine said. “She knows the drill. They want Karp’s hide on the wall down in D.C. as much as I do. We’ll see who’s the last man standing when I’m done kicking his ass.”

  After he was called to the stand, Judge Dermondy had quizzed him about his decision. “You are not obligated to testify on your own behalf,” he said.

  “I understand, Your Honor,” Constantine replied.

  “Are you making this decision of your own free will after conferring with your attorney?”

  “Yes.” He knew that Dermondy was questioning him so that he couldn’t come back later on appeal and say that he didn’t understand or had been talked into it by Arnold. There isn’t going to be any need for an appeal, he thought as Arnold finished jotting notes and walked confidently into the well of the courtroom.

  “Good morning, Mr. Constantine. Would you please state your name and spell the last.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Arnold, I’d be happy to. It’s Wellington Constantine. C-O-N-S-T-A-N-T-I-N-E.”

  Arnold smiled and almost apologetically asked his first question. “I’m sure most everyone in this courtroom has heard about your business and philanthropic efforts, so I’m sorry if this seems a little unnecessary, but tell us a bit about your background.”

  Constantine laughed lightly. “Well, I guess I could start by noting that I’m the son of a British mother and a Greek-­American father, thus the name they gave me, their only child. My mom stayed at home to raise me, Dad was into shipping. It was a happy childhood.”

  “Your father was a self-made man?”

  “Yes, a real American success story. Second generation. Started off as the captain of an old cargo transport, saved his money and bought the ship, then another and another.”

  “I take it he did well?”

  “Yes. By the time he retired he owned one of the largest shipping companies in the world. Constan
tine Shipping.”

  “And you inherited that wealth.”

  “Yes, though I like to think I’ve done okay on my own. Constantine Shipping is just one of more than a dozen subsidiaries of Well-Con Industries.”

  Arnold continued, “Didn’t Wealth magazine name you one of the five richest men in the world?”

  Constantine nodded. “I’ve heard that, but I really don’t pay attention to those sorts of things. I will say I’m a good businessman, and lucky. I was also fortunate that I had a hardworking father as a role model whose efforts set me up with certain advantages. I’ve also worked hard and seem to have a knack for making money.”

  “The Midas touch, right?”

  Making a face as if he was embarrassed by the line of questioning, Constantine shrugged. “I suppose you could say that.”

  Arnold turned to the jury. “But it’s not all about the money to you, is it?”

  Constantine frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, tell us about Clare’s Legacy.”

  Constantine bowed his head and sat quietly for a moment before looking up at the jurors. “Clare’s Legacy is a charitable foundation I started in honor of my wife . . .” His voice faltered. “My wife, Clare.”

  Arnold shook his head sadly before looking back at his client. “I know this is tough, especially after the lies—”

  “Objection,” Karp said. “Counsel is free to characterize statements made by the People’s witnesses during his summations, but not when asking questions.”

  “Sustained,” Dermondy said. “Mr. Arnold, try to avoid the editorializing.”

  Arnold nodded and continued. “I know this is tough for you to talk about, but what exactly is Clare’s Legacy?”

  Constantine smiled sadly. “Clare was involved in a number of charitable causes—everything from saving elephants in Kenya to providing health care on Native American reservations. She channeled literally millions of dollars of our money into these during the eighteen wonderful years of our marriage. After she . . . she was murdered . . . I decided to create a single foundation where these groups can apply for funding. I wanted her life to mean something even though she’s gone.”