Chapter 3
Eddie
The Second Avenue Deli, now located on Third Avenue for reasons that I still don’t understand, had about the best pastrami sandwich I’d ever tasted. Some people preferred Katz’s Deli, and I wouldn’t argue, but in this part of town there was nothing better.
Harry Ford wrapped his hands around the famous sandwich, took a bite.
I started with the French fries, because they’re the best. Harry, when he was still a judge, had been my mentor and we’d grown into best friends.
He didn’t just use law books for show, like I had that morning – he’d read them.
He also drank a little more than was good for him, which these days meant his legal knowledge wasn’t as sharp as it used to be.
Harry blamed that on his age, not the booze.
Under the table, Harry’s dog, Clarence, whined softly. Harry took some smoked ham from his side plate, fed it to Clarence.
‘I let you bring the dog in here, but I didn’t say you could feed him,’ said a passing waiter.
‘He’s an assistance animal. And he ordered his own plate,’ said Harry.
‘What does he assist you with?’ asked the waiter, with a derisory sneer.
‘He bites rude waiters,’ said Harry.
The waiter raised an eyebrow, moved on.
‘I don’t like the sound of this case,’ said Harry.
‘If it was up to you, we’d never take any cases,’ I said.
‘If it was up to me, we wouldn’t take the kind of cases that get us into trouble. We’d be poorer, but we wouldn’t have as many scars. And we might have more personnel.’
Recently, my partner Kate Brooks had left the firm.
Justice in America doesn’t come cheap. And I’m not talking about legal fees.
Delivering justice takes a little piece of your soul.
Kate had done the right thing, paid the price for it and now she wanted some time to herself, to adjust. She was a good person.
Honest, true, loyal and one of the finest lawyers of her generation.
That either made her totally suited to life in criminal defense or completely unsuited, depending on how you looked at it.
She could do the job better than me, but she never wanted to cross over the line.
The scales of justice in this city aren’t balanced. The prosecution has all the weight and leverage. Sometimes you had to bend the law a little to even up those scales.
Kate Brooks wasn’t someone who bent the rules. So, for now, she wasn’t a lawyer.
‘If somebody is innocent and they need my help, I’ve got no choice, Harry. I have a responsibility.’
‘There’s always a choice,’ he said. ‘You made a mistake a long time ago. When you took on that case, you didn’t know your client was guilty. You’ve been carrying that around like an anvil on your shoulders. Time to put it down, kid. You can’t save everybody.’
‘I can try.’
‘And, eventually, you’ll fail. And that’s okay too.’
‘Not today I won’t. Will you come with me to meet this client?’
Harry put down his sandwich, took a sip of water.
Clarence nudged his leg. He put the whole plate of ham on the floor and stroked Clarence’s back as he ate. I remember when Harry took Clarence in. I can’t say that Harry found him on the street, because it was just as true to say that Clarence found Harry on the street.
‘She’s a Vanderpool, Eddie. Nobody in that family is innocent,’ he said.
‘She married into them. She’s not a real Vanderpool.’
‘That’s even worse. Imagine joining that family voluntarily.’
‘You don’t need to agree with her politics, or her husband’s, to help her. I don’t think she did this. It’s just a feeling I have, but I want to meet her and make sure. Then I’ll fight for her. What I don’t know for sure is why the firm is farming her out to us?’ I asked.
‘Sounds like they know Patrick was having an affair with the victim. But, right now, Patrick is denying there was an affair to the police. That’s risky if it ever comes out that he lied. There’s your conflict. You have a married couple at war. No lawyer could represent them both.’
‘If rumors of an affair between Patrick and Molly are true, and can be proven, then Patrick is in a lot of trouble.’
‘If the affair is real, it makes Vanessa a suspect, too,’ said Harry.
‘Hell, even if the affair didn’t happen, and it was only rumor, it wouldn’t be the first time a jealous spouse took out their anger on a love rival by mistake.
It’s equally plausible that Patrick killed the victim to hide the affair.
He’s gearing up his campaign to run for governor.
This couple sit on top of a tall mountain of wealth, privilege and power.
They’ve both got a long way to fall. In my experience, those who have the most to lose are willing to go the furthest to save themselves. ’
‘This is messy. But it might all be smoke and mirrors. If Vanessa is innocent, I want to help her, regardless. Are you in?’
‘Kid, if you want this case, then I’m with you. Always.’
‘What kind of a mutt is that?’
Rex Buchanan was a corporate lawyer with north of a hundred million dollars in his bank account, he owned prime real estate in several countries, commanded an army of vicious litigators and was in every conceivable way an extremely powerful man.
But he’d just insulted Clarence. And Harry. And right then, standing in Rex’s office, I felt sorry for him.
‘This is Clarence,’ said Harry. ‘Where I go, he goes.’
‘He’s not exactly a pedigree,’ said Buchanan.
Harry bent down toward Clarence, who gazed up lovingly at his owner.
‘Clarence,’ said Harry, ‘meet Rex. He’s not a dog, despite his name. But if he keeps insulting you, he’ll be dragging his sore ass all over this nice carpet.’
‘No offense intended,’ said Buchanan. ‘I just never saw a dog like that before. What breed is he?’
‘He’s a Heinz 57. All kinds, like the ketchup. Clarence has about fifty-seven varieties.’
‘We don’t normally let dogs into our offices.’
‘You don’t normally let people like us into your offices,’ I said.
‘Take a seat, gentlemen. I’ll bring in Vanessa. I left the file over there on the coffee table.’
He left, and Harry and I took a seat on his couch. Buchanan’s personal office was about the size of our entire firm. I lifted the file from the glass coffee table. Opened it.
It was a thin file – some bio information about the client at the beginning.
Vanessa Vanderpool was thirty years old, two years married to the older Patrick Vanderpool who was now in his mid-thirties.
She currently resided on the Upper East Side, although a number of other properties were listed, including a Hamptons residence, a house in Malibu and apartments in Paris, London and Zurich.
The bio described the marriage as committed. A strange word to use. It didn’t say loving, or devoted, more like two people who had made a decision some years ago and had decided they had to stick to it.
Molly Green started working for Patrick’s political campaign as a PA three months ago.
There was nothing in the file about Patrick or Vanessa’s relationship with Molly.
I turned to the medical examiner’s report.
Short and ugly.
Cause of death could not be determined as the victim’s head was still missing.
There was some bruising on the arms, consistent with some form of assault; a cut about an inch wide on the bottom of her left foot; and her head had been severed between C3 and C4 of the spinal cord.
It was not a clean cut. Due to the rough, uneven nature of the lacerated skin of the throat, the medical examiner had determined that a saw blade of some kind had been used to remove the head.
In addition, there was bruising around the throat. It didn’t say in the report, but I guessed that could have been caused by the decapitation.
Harry and I read together.
When we’d finished, I threw the file down on the table and sat back.
‘A man did this,’ said Harry.
I nodded.
The door opened and a tall woman in a black coat walked in.
She wore black pants, a cream silk blouse and a white cashmere scarf.
Her long hair had once been a shock of blond, but she had allowed a little of her natural gray to come through it.
It made her look older than she might first appear.
Her skin showed no signs of wrinkles, nor of any surgical treatments.
‘Eddie Flynn?’ she asked.
We stood and shook hands, and she flashed a smile with rows of perfect white teeth. Same for Harry when I introduced him.
She knelt beside Clarence, gently stroked his head as he gazed up at her.
She took longer with the dog than us. Then she smiled and sat opposite, crossing her legs.
She wore Chanel perfume, although I couldn’t tell exactly which kind.
I just remembered the scent, the same as my ex-wife used to wear.
‘He has a gorgeous face,’ she said, watching Clarence.
Vanessa Vanderpool waited for us to take the lead. She had the confidence and ease of the wealthy. When I didn’t say anything, I saw her eyes narrow toward us and her lips purse. She rested her chin on delicate fingers.
‘How are you?’ I asked.
‘It’s a difficult time, but we’re all working through it. How are you, Mr. Flynn?’
‘Please, it’s just Eddie and Harry. Do you know why we’re here?’ I asked.
‘Rex explained it’s better for me if the firm doesn’t represent both of us. He recommended you. I don’t have a problem either way, but Rex mentioned before you would take me on as a client you wanted to know if I did it?’
The way she said it, confident and earnest with a serious tone, she wasn’t making light of our request, no matter how unusual it might seem.
‘Rex is right. We don’t represent people who want to use us to evade justice.’
‘Not a very good business model for a criminal defense attorney.’
‘Maybe not, but we all sleep better in our moderately priced apartments. I can see you’re not one for idle talk. So let’s get to it – did you kill Molly Green?’
Her eyes flashed at me.
She looked at me straight.
‘I’m actually really glad that you asked this, and please, I didn’t mean to come across as flippant before.
It’s so horrible what happened to that young woman.
I’m not worried about the police, because I didn’t do anything wrong.
But I know Rex wants me to be protected and he’s probably right.
Trust is very important to me. I want someone to represent me who truly believes in me.
Someone who I can trust. So let me say it out loud for you – I didn’t kill Molly Green. ’
I said nothing. I could feel Harry’s eyes on me.
‘Thank you, Mrs. Vanderpool,’ said Harry. ‘We understand the police are still carrying out investigations. What can you tell us about the victim?’
‘I hardly knew her. It’s so sad.’
‘When did you first meet Molly Green?’ Harry asked.
‘I think I met her briefly after she was hired. You should understand, initially Patrick ran his campaign from his office in mid-town. I only called in occasionally. When he ramped up the campaign and started working from home in the last six weeks, I saw her more often. We exchanged some pleasantries if we both happened to be in the kitchen at the same time, getting coffee or whatever. I sat in on some meetings where she took notes, but she was Patrick’s PA.
I didn’t really know her. I’d be surprised if we ever spoke more than twenty words to each other in the whole time she was there. ’
‘What was she like? What was your impression of her?’ I asked.
‘A hard worker. She was quiet. Did what was asked of her. Very organized, I recall. She always had an iPad in her hand, sorting out Patrick’s schedule. Jesus, she was so young. So smart and beautiful. It’s so tragic. I just can’t wrap my head around it.’
‘What would you talk about with her?’
‘Just to say hi, or I might ask her how the campaign was going or how her day was, that kind of thing. Just out of politeness, you understand. She worked for Patrick – we weren’t friends or anything.’
‘Was your husband close to her?’ I asked.
She leaned back in her chair, said, ‘She was an employee, nothing more. Patrick can’t even remember the name of his father’s current fiancé. He’s not big on personal details. She was a hard-working PA, and that’s all.’
‘Where were you on the night she was killed?’ I asked.
‘I was at home.’
Another straight shot. Only this line seemed like it was practiced.
It was short, clipped. No details. The kind of shut-down answer that might have been suggested to her by Buchanan.
There was a lot more digging left in this hole: What did you do at home that night?
Did you watch TV? Did you cook? Did you order food?
What did you eat? Was Patrick with you? If so, was he there the whole night?
What time did you go to bed? Were you on your phone that night? Did you make any calls?
These and a million more questions came to mind.
‘Did you ever visit Molly Green’s apartment?’ asked Harry.
She leaned forward, opened her mouth to speak, but then hesitated. Her eyes fell on Clarence briefly; when she looked up again she seemed to have found her answer somewhere on the floor.
‘No, I’ve never been to her apartment.’
I could’ve probed further, Harry too, but a first meeting with a potential client was not the place to push back.
‘We will have some more questions for you once we know more about the case. In the meantime, if you have any contact from NYPD, you must call us immediately,’ said Harry.
‘I will. Patrick has worked so hard to get where he is now. I don’t want anything to upset that. But more importantly, someone murdered that young girl. I want that person found. I want justice for Molly. Thank you for your time. It was a pleasure to meet you both,’ she said, then stood and left.
When the door closed, Harry said, ‘Well?’
I’ve been a conman all my life. I can spot a lie a mile away. Nobody bats a thousand, but I got pretty close.
‘What do you think?’ I asked.
‘I think we should take her on as a client. There’s no guarantee she’ll even be charged. We don’t know enough about the case, and for now there doesn’t even look to be any evidence against her or her husband apart from rumor. Let’s do it,’ said Harry.
I nodded, said, ‘Okay.’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Wait, do you believe her?’ asked Harry.
I shook my head, said, ‘I don’t know. Everything about the case tells me she’s not the person responsible.
Particularly the injuries to the victim.
I just— I don’t know. I can’t seem to read her.
I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
It’s clear Buchanan and his associates have already drilled her on how to answer questions.
She’s had practice. Maybe that’s what’s sticking in my throat.
For right now, let’s see where this goes.
I need some air. Tell Buchanan we’re in. ’