Without Fear or Favor Page 21

  Satisfied with her appearance, Pardo looked around the room. It was just large enough for a twin bed, a chest of drawers, and a small desk. Two paintings of flowers hung on the off-white walls, and the tiny closet held the few articles of clothing she’d accumulated since moving in.

  Soon after the trial she would have to leave, and the thought made her want to cry. The shelter represented the only real safety she had known for years. Only Marlene’s intercession had allowed her to remain this long, especially when she’d relapsed during the first couple of months and tested positive for cocaine. But she was studying to be a sonographer, and in spite of some trepidation, looked forward to making it on her own, drug-free and healthy.

  She didn’t know how she could have made it without Marlene Ciampi. The district attorney’s wife had not only found this safe haven for her and been at her side through the legal proceedings, she’d been the one to sign her up at the community college for the sonography classes and insisted on paying her tuition. “I sold a VIP security firm I started,” Marlene had explained, “and that gave me more money than God, or at least enough to help a friend get on her feet.”

  Pardo really had burst into tears when Marlene said that; it had been a long time since someone on that side of the streets had called her a friend. And Marlene’s husband, District Attorney Butch Karp, had also treated her with kindness and compassion, starting with that first night when Marlene insisted they stop at the loft. He’d listened to her story without judging her or being condescending, and he treated her the same way the next day when she went to his office to give a statement.

  Nor had he changed as the trial approached. Karp was the consummate professional, and under his trial preparation she almost imagined she was back on the police force, getting ready to testify. They had gone to the meeting room on the last day of jury selection, so he could go over a few items. He’d asked her if she felt ready for what was to come.

  She’d been thinking about that for months. “I made a mess of my life, Mr. Karp—”

  “Please, in the courtroom it’s Mr. Karp, here it’s Butch.”

  “Butch, then.” She smiled. “I was saying I made a mess of my life, and it’s been a long time since I followed through with much of anything other than where to get my next hit of heroin or a place to sleep out of the cold. So I know this isn’t going to be pleasant, but I’ll be damned if I’m not going to follow through.”

  Karp had nodded. “I appreciate that, and I can’t thank you enough on behalf of a couple of people who aren’t able to—Officer Tony Cippio and a teenager named Ricky Watts, as well as their families, and Officer Bryce Kim, who has had to live with this hanging over his head.”

  “Thank you . . . Butch . . . but when I was a young police officer on the beat, I always dreamed of doing something like this. You know, taking down a really bad guy and getting him off the streets. I used to practice in front of a mirror how’d I’d answer questions from the witness stand, matching wits with the defense attorney, pointing to the defendant and saying, ‘That’s the guy, right there.’ Then justice would be served and my community would be safer because of me.”

  She’d stopped and smiled. “I know it all probably sounds silly coming from a former hooker and heroin addict.”

  “Not at all,” Karp said. “I think all good people would like to think that in the moment of truth, they’d come through for their friends and family and neighbors. And soon, you’ll get your chance from the witness stand. In the meantime, there’s that old saying from the Bible about how people in glass houses shouldn’t cast stones. Personally, I don’t know too many people, maybe none, who should be picking up rocks anytime soon.”

  Karp had left her in the meeting room to wait for Marlene, who wanted to escort her back to the shelter. But Marlene had been running late so it was bad timing that they’d run into Vansand and his cameraman on the elevator. Once a whore, always a whore.

  Pardo shuddered and had to fight the feeling of panic. She put on her coat, picked up her purse, left her room, and headed out of the shelter. It was a little early; Marlene wasn’t due for another ten minutes, but she thought that getting out in the brisk air would clear her head. She decided to walk to the corner where Marlene had said she’d pick her up.

  “I have to run an errand in Brooklyn first,” Marlene had said when she’d called that morning, “so I’ll be in my truck. A big black four-wheel-drive Ford.”

  “Sounds like something a teenage boy would drive,” Pardo had said with a laugh.

  Marlene chuckled. “Exactly. I was always something of a tomboy growing up. I loved big trucks and fast cars. We’ll have to go find some mud over in Jersey after the trial, and I’ll show you what my baby can do!”

  As she began to walk, Pardo noticed a black vehicle coming up from behind her out of the corner of her eye. She started to turn, thinking it was Marlene, though she expected her to come from the other direction. Turned out it was a black Cadillac SUV with dark-tinted windows that slowed as it pulled even.

  Several events quickly unfolded. The Cadillac stopped suddenly and a heavily tattooed black man jumped out of the front passenger seat and opened the back door of the vehicle. At the same time, someone gripped her arm from behind and she felt something hard pressed against her back.

  “Get in the fucking car, bitch,” the man holding her snarled. “Move or I’ll shoot your whore ass.”

  Out of nowhere, she recalled the words of her self-defense instructor at the Police Academy. “Never ever get in the car,” he warned.

  “What if they have a gun?” one of the cadets had asked.

  “Even more important that you don’t get in the car,” the instructor answered. “If they’re trying to abduct you in public, and they have a gun, chances are they’re not going to pull the trigger and bring attention to themselves. But if they want you to get in the car, it’s so they can take you someplace where no one will hear a shot. Fight like hell to stay out of the car.”

  He continued, “If you can get free, take off running. Again, they probably won’t shoot. And if they do shoot, they probably won’t hit you—most jackoffs with a gun couldn’t hit the Brooklyn Bridge. And if they get lucky and you catch a bullet, chances are it won’t be fatal. Stay out of the car and your odds of survival go up, or else get in the car, tuck your head between your knees, and kiss your ass goodbye.”

  So when the man propelled her toward the car, Pardo screamed and lashed out with one of her feet, kicking the man standing by the door between his legs. Not expecting the well-aimed blow, he gasped and sank to his knees. She then braced her feet—one on the seat and one on the side of the car—and pushed back as hard as she could. The move caught the gunman by surprise. He stumbled backward, and she was able to wrest her arm from his grip. She took off running.

  “Come back here, bitch!” the gunman bellowed, and lunged after her.

  Pardo had ten feet on her assailant but knew he’d catch her quickly . . . if he didn’t shoot. She was trying to decide whether to turn and face him when a big black truck coming from the opposite direction suddenly accelerated, swerved across traffic, and struck the grille of the Cadillac, setting off the alarm and the air bags, rendering it, and the driver, incapacitated. The black truck passed. There was a shriek, a sickening thud, and then the sound of the truck crashing into the brick front wall of the shelter.

  Whirling, Pardo was stunned to see Marlene open the driver’s-side door and stumble out of the truck. She looked hurt, probably from the air bags that had deployed and struck her in the face and chest. The gunman looked worse, pinned between the partly destroyed wall of bricks and the crumpled front of the truck. He was obviously dead, with a grotesque look of shock and pain on his bug-eyed face.

  That still left the man she’d kicked in the groin. He had lifted himself off the sidewalk and pulled a semiautomatic from his waistband, which he started to point at Marlene.

  Pardo looked down. The gun of her original assailant lay in fron
t of her on the sidewalk. She picked it up and aimed. “Don’t move, or I’ll blow your fucking head off!” she yelled.

  Startled, the man turned his head and looked at her while still holding his gun on Marlene, who staggered against the truck. Then he laughed. “You old ho. You can’t think straight, much less shoot straight.”

  A wave of doubt passed through Pardo, but then her eyes narrowed as she sighted down the barrel of the gun. “I’ll have you know, I was third in my class at the Police Academy for marksmanship. I can still drop your fat ass from this distance. You want to take that chance, punk?”

  The man scowled, then lowered the gun. He placed it on the sidewalk and put his hands up. “You’ll pay for this someday, bitch.”

  “Maybe so,” Pardo replied. “But not today. Today I’m living the dream.”

  22

  SITTING AT THE PROSECUTION TABLE, Karp glanced at the clock on the wall of the courtroom: 9:15. Court was supposed to have started fifteen minutes ago with him asking Judy Pardo to take the stand, but he had no idea where she was.

  Marlene had called forty minutes earlier saying she was approaching the shelter and would pick up Pardo and drop her off before parking. But they’d been a no-show. He started to wonder if his witness had developed cold feet. Maybe Marlene’s trying to talk her down, he thought.

  His case had been going well, with each piece of the puzzle falling neatly into place. The medical examiner, the ballistics expert, the teenagers, and Reverend Lakes had all testified as expected, and Nash had failed to make any headway against them. The only thing she could do was cast aspersions. Now all that remained was for Pardo to provide the lodestar evidence connecting the defendant to the attempted murder of Officer Bryce Kim. Then Karp would tie up the loose ends with his last few witnesses and rest the People’s case.

  “Mr. Karp?” Judge Kershner asked. “Perhaps we should move on to another witness.”

  Karp rose to his feet. “Just a few more minutes, please, Your Honor. I asked Detective Fulton to find out what’s going on. I should hear from him shortly.”

  “Very well, five minutes and then call someone else or rest your case.”

  As he took his seat, Karp glanced over at the defense table. Nash was writing on a legal pad with a barely discernible smile. Johnson, on the other hand, was looking at him directly with a grin. The defendant winked.

  He knows something about this, Karp thought. I’m sure of it.

  Just then Fulton entered the courtroom and walked quickly over to Karp. They spoke for several minutes.

  Karp looked over at the defense table, where Nash was now watching them curiously. Johnson had kicked back in his chair with his legs stretched out in front of him and his hands behind his head, which he bobbed as though listening to music that only he could hear.

  Controlling his anger, Karp stood. “Your Honor, may we approach the bench at sidebar? This has to do with my next witness.”

  “By all means,” Kershner said. “Ms. Nash, join us, please.”

  At the dais, Karp kept his eyes on the jurors, who looked perplexed, but he spoke so that only the judge, defense attorney, and court reporter could hear. “Your Honor, Detective Fulton just informed me that there was an attempt to abduct my witness, Ms. Judy Pardo, at gunpoint about forty-five minutes ago. She’s okay and on her way to the courthouse now, but that explains her tardiness.”

  “I should say so,” Kershner replied, shocked. “If this is true, it is extremely alarming.”

  “Indeed,” Karp responded. “I’d also point out that Ms. Pardo was staying at a women’s shelter, the location of which is kept secret for the obvious reason that the clients there are usually seeking to get away from abusive and oftentimes violent former husbands and boyfriends. We’re not sure how these assailants—my understanding is there were three—learned the location, but we plan to get to the bottom of it.” He gave Nash a hard look.

  The defense attorney recoiled angrily. “If you’re implying that I, or my client, had anything to do with this, I take great umbrage.”

  “Take it any way you want,” Karp said. “And we had better not learn that this was connected to rumors we’ve been hearing about a reward being offered for information regarding the whereabouts of this witness. In any event, Your Honor, be certain I’ll find out.”

  “That’s outrageous,” Nash retorted, and turned to the judge. “Your Honor, this witness is a drug addict and prostitute with a criminal record. I’m sure that she has consorted with all manner of nefarious criminals. It is likely that someone recognized her, or she herself gave out the address, and that if this attack occurred, it has nothing to do with this case. When this witness appears on the stand, I demand that nothing be said about this incident.”

  “Don’t worry,” Karp shot back. “We’ll save it for another day.”

  “Well, just to be clear, Mr. Karp,” Kershner said, “unless it is directly related to the case, I’m not inclined to allow any testimony about it. In the meantime, you say the witness is all right? Anybody else injured?”

  “My understanding is that the witness is a little shook up but okay,” Karp said. “However, the person who was bringing her to the courthouse has been taken to the hospital, suffering from a concussion.”

  “What about the kidnappers?”

  “I’m told that one died at the scene. Two others are in custody. One of them was apparently knocked unconscious and has also been transported to Bellevue.”

  Kershner shook her head. “It sounds like the Wild West out there, Mr. Karp. How would you like to proceed at this point?”

  “I’d ask that the court recess until after the noon break so that I can check on the status of the witness and give her a chance to collect her thoughts. It will also give Detective Fulton and me an opportunity to speak to the uninjured suspect and, perhaps, determine if there is a connection to this case.”

  The judge looked at Nash, whose lips tightened at the implied accusation. “Fine with me,” the defense attorney said with a sneer. “It will give me a chance to lodge a complaint with the New York Bar about the district attorney’s conduct.”

  “I’ll look forward to answering that complaint, Ms. Nash,” Karp responded.

  AN HOUR LATER, Karp was in his office on the phone with Marlene, who complained about having a massive headache to go along with “feeling like someone used my arms and body as a heavyweight punching bag” due to the air bags in her truck.

  “Well, you’re doing better than Mr. Jason Fuqua, the man you crushed the life out of with that gas-guzzler of yours,” Karp said. “Clay tells me he had a rap sheet for manslaughter, felonious assault, armed robbery, and sexual misconduct, and those are just the highlights. I don’t think the good citizens of Gotham are going to miss him any.”

  “What about the other two?” Marlene asked.

  “One has been tentatively ID’d as Martin Bell, formerly of San Francisco.”

  “No connection to anyone we might know there, I’m sure,” Marlene interjected sarcastically.

  “Well, as it turns out, he spent a few years in San Quentin about the same time as Anthony Johnson. Clay and I tried to have a word with him, but he lawyered up pretty quick. We don’t know much about the driver; somebody named Bubba Smith, and yes, Bubba is his legal name. Apparently his headache is even worse than yours and we’ve been unable to speak to him so far. Any thoughts on how these guys knew where to find Judy?”

  Marlene was quiet for a moment. “I have an idea. We might have been followed the other day. But it’s something I may bring up with my friend with the dogs.”

  “I don’t want to know,” Karp said. “But I trust that this friend won’t do anything to interfere with this trial.”

  “How could a man with dogs interfere with a trial when the great District Attorney Butch ‘aka Superman’ Karp is at the helm?”

  “Again, I don’t even want to know about your friend or his canines.” Karp shook his head. “I don’t know how you do it, Marlene,
but once again you’re in the middle of the action.”

  “Tell me about it,” Marlene replied. “Or better yet, send aspirin and flowers, but to the loft; they’re about to let me out of here.”

  “Done. I’ll check in with you at the afternoon recess. And Marlene . . .”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “I love you, and I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “I love you, too. Now go get the bad guy.”

  Leaving his inner sanctum, Karp paused long enough to ask his receptionist, Darla Milquetost, to send flowers to his residence. “And put a box of chocolates with it. She asked for aspirin, but I think candy is a better bet.”

  “Anything you want to put on the card?” Milquetost asked.

  “Yeah, sure, put ‘From a secret admirer, Rin Tin Tin.’ ”

  “How romantic,” Milquetost said, and rolled her eyes.

  Karp laughed. “Oh, and order a few sandwiches for me and the others, please,” he said before walking into the meeting room where Fulton, Murrow, Katz, and Judy Pardo waited. “How are you doing, Judy?” he asked.

  Pardo looked up from the coffee she was sipping. “You know,” she said. “I’m okay. I was pretty panicked at first, but then the adrenaline kicked in and . . . well . . . I hate to say it, but I haven’t felt this alive in a long time.”

  Fulton laughed. “Once a cop, always a cop.”

  Pardo smiled. “I appreciate you saying that, Detective Fulton, but it’s not true. I lost my badge for good reason a long time ago, but maybe I got a taste again of what it was like.”

  “Nonsense,” Fulton replied. “I talked to the detective on the case. He said you handled it like a pro.” His face grew serious as he looked over at Karp. “She might have saved Marlene’s life; the perp had the drop on her.”