“I was living in Missoula, Montana, with my late husband, who was camp adjutant at Fort Missoula during the war.” Mrs. Nyquist’s face softened, and Mary knew she had to tread carefully.
“Mrs. Nyquist—”
“Please, call me Helen.”
Mary smiled. “Thank you, Helen. Now, from 1941 to 1943, did you and your husband live on the internment camp grounds?”
“We did.”
“Helen, I would like to show you Movant’s Exhibit A, which is a photo taken at Fort Missoula during that time.” Mary leaned over to counsel table, retrieved her exhibit, and took it to the witness stand, where she gave it to Mrs. Nyquist. “May I ask you to identify the men in this photo?”
“I know only the two. The tall man in the cap, that’s Giovanni Saracone, and the shorter man in front, that’s Amadeo Brandolini.”
Mary felt her throat catch. Had Mrs. Nyquist lied before? “Helen, how did you come to know these men?”
“I used to work at the camp office during the week, filling in. My husband asked me to, so I did it for free, and I met them both.” Mrs. Nyquist blushed slightly, and Mary tried to read her. She had called Saracone a wolf. Had he gotten to her?
“Helen, please tell the Court why, if Mr. Saracone and Mr. Brandolini were internees of the camp, would they be in the camp office and not under guard?”
Mrs. Nyquist turned to the judge. “It wasn’t like that, they used to come and go freely, the Italians did. Giovanni — his nickname was Gio — was in our office all the time, flirting.” Mrs. Nyquist didn’t smile, but there was muffled laughter in the gallery, which she ignored. “Gio spoke very good English, so he was always dropping in, talking with the other girls, flashing his smile. Girls loved Gio.”
There was laughter again, and Justin was grinning as if he’d won something. But Mary was putting it together. It wasn’t Gio who had gotten to Mrs. Nyquist. If it had been, she wouldn’t be here today. “Helen, did Amadeo Brandolini come into the office, too?”
“Objection, relevance!” Rovitch barked, and Judge Gemmill didn’t bother to rule, but dismissed him with a wave.
“You were saying,” she said, and Mrs. Nyquist swallowed visibly.
“Amadeo came in sometimes.”
Amadeo.
“Gio would bring him in, and he would sort of tag along. He was very quiet, isolated from us, because his English wasn’t good. Still, he was a very smart man. He could fix most anything.” Mrs. Nyquist paused. “We tried to talk to him. He was the quiet type, and he got quieter after his wife died.”
“Back in Philadelphia, right?” Mary was starting to suspect that Theresa’s death wasn’t accidental either, but she couldn’t deal with that now. The law clerk returned with copies of the documents and handed them to Mary.
“Yes, we heard that.” Mrs. Nyquist looked down, her gray hair glinting in the overhead lights, and Mary sensed she didn’t need to go any further along this line.
“Helen, I show you the first of three documents you brought here today, which I am marking as Exhibit N-1, and I ask you to look it over while we all do.” Mary took Mrs. Nyquist the top page, then distributed one to Judge Gemmill, one to defense counsel, and an extra one to Justin himself. “Here, as a courtesy, Mr. Saracone.” Then Mary took the lectern without looking back.
Mrs. Nyquist finished reading the document, and looked up.
“Helen, what is the date on this document, Exhibit N-1?”
“It is dated July 1, 1942.”
“Thank you. Could you please read Exhibit N-1 to the court?”
“Certainly.” Mrs. Nyquist cleared her throat, and Mary looked down at the document. The paper felt soft under her fingerpads, yellowed and crinkly, and the typeface was the Smith Corona Courier she’d grown to love at the National Archives. The History Channel indeed; this case had a beating heart. As Mrs. Nyquist read the document into the record, Mary read it to herself.
CONTRACT
Giovanni Saracone and Amadeo Brandoliniagree that Gio will make a translation into English for an invention of Amadeo’s, which Amadeo says is a kind of cover that goes on the deck of his fishing boats and keeps the water out of the hull and closes by itself without him having to close it all the time, and Gio also agrees to help get for him the application for the Patent and to send to the United States Government. These are Amadeo’s drawings that he made to show his invention for a cover. The drawings show thecover and the way it closes by itself. Amadeo already gave Gio fifty dollars ($50) to do this work and Amadeo promises to give Gio fifty more dollars ($50) when Gio finishes the translation for the Patent and we send it to the Government. This contract makes it legal and binding.
Mrs. Nyquist finished reading, and the courtroom fell completely silent. Then she testified: “The contract is signed with an X by Amadeo on the left, and by Gio here, on the right. And by me underneath, as witness. I typed it up and watched them sign it.”
“Objection!” Rovitch was on his feet. “This document is hearsay! It’s inadmissible! It’s a complete fake!”
Mary faced the judge. “Your Honor, the document isn’t hearsay. Mrs. Nyquist produced the document, she’s a witness with knowledge, and she’s here to authenticate it, if Mr. Rovitch would permit.”
“Objection overruled. Go ahead,” Judge Gemmill said, inclining her sleek head toward Mrs. Nyquist.
“Helen,” Mary said, composing herself. “Where did you type this up?”
“In the office at the camp. At my desk.”
“Why? Did Amadeo Brandolini ask you to?”
“Goodness, no.”
Ouch. “Did Giovanni Saracone ask you to?”
“No. That shifty devil didn’t want anything in writing.”
“Objection!” Rovitch said, and Judge Gemmill slammed down the gavel.
“Counsel, will you give it a rest!” she said, and Rovitch slunk in his seat.
Mary hid her smile, and her confusion, when she faced Mrs. Nyquist again. “Helen, who asked you to prepare this?”
“Nobody. It was my idea.”
Mary blinked. “Why?”
“I never sold a horse without a contract. Never leased a horse without a contract. Never even hauled a horse without a contract,” Mrs. Nyquist answered, matter-of-factly. “You gotta have a contract. Don’t need a law degree to know that.”
Mary broke into a smile, and the gallery and Judge Gemmill laughed with her.
“So,” Mrs. Nyquist continued, “when I saw these two making this deal, I said, one a you is gonna need this thing on down the line.” She eyed Justin coldly. “I knew just which one, and I’m sorry to say I was right.”
Mary felt like clapping, but she’d be disbarred. The gallery was murmuring and Judge Gemmill was smiling. Mary returned to her exhibits.
“Let’s turn now to Exhibit N-2 and N-3, Helen. What are these documents?” Mary looked down at hers, which felt like precious paper in her hands. They were drawings of the hatches, considerably more detailed than the ones she had found in Amadeo’s wallet, which must have been preliminary. Mary looked up at Mrs. Nyquist.
“These are drawings that Amadeo made, of his hatch,” Mrs. Nyquist testified.
“How do you know Amadeo made them, and not Giovanni Saracone?”
“Because he drew them in front of me, right then.”
Mary blinked. “While you waited?”
“It took an hour and a half, and he did it from memory, all of it. He was a smart man. Not an educated man, but a smart man.”
“Helen, did you make copies of this contract?”
“I did. I made carbon copies when I typed it.”
“How many?”
“Two. One for Amadeo, and one for Gio. I kept this one, the original, for safekeeping.”
Mary thought a minute. “At whose request?”
“I did it on my own. I downplayed it, I guess you’d say. I don’t think either man noticed I kept the original, they were so excited.” At the recollection, Mrs. Nyquist had a farawa
y look. “Gio practically skipped out of the office.”
And Amadeo had signed his own death warrant. Mary put together what must have happened. Saracone had undoubtedly gotten rid of Amadeo’s copy of the contract, but he’d forgotten about the original. Mrs. Nyquist hadn’t. Mary heaved a sigh. Her job was done.
“Your Honor,” Mary said, “Exhibits N-1 through N-3 having being authenticated, I move for their admission into evidence.”
“Admitted,” Judge Gemmill ruled, nodding.
Thank you, God. “And thank you, Mrs. Nyquist. Your Honor, I have no further questions,” Mary said, after a minute. She turned and sat down, catching Bennie flash her a thumbs-up. She sat down and stared straight ahead, because she knew if she looked over at Judy, she’d start laughing or crying or both. In the next minute, Judy passed her a note on a yellow legal pad that read: MARRY ME.
But Mary tensed as Rovitch approached the lectern.
Because it wasn’t over until it was over.
Forty-Eight
Rovitch drew himself up to his full height at the lectern. “Well, Mrs. Nyquist, that was quite a story.”
Mary bit her tongue. She wouldn’t object unless Mrs. Nyquist was in real trouble. The woman broke broncos for fun.
“It was the truth, sir,” Mrs. Nyquist answered, folding her hands on the stand, and Mary thought she saw a slight tremble. Even cowgirls aren’t bulletproof.
“Mrs. Nyquist, I find it strange that you appear with these documents that make Ms. DiNunzio’s day, and just in the nick of time.”
“Is that a question, Your Honor?” Mrs. Nyquist asked Judge Gemmill, and the judge shook her head.
“Not in my book.”
“Mrs. Nyquist, my question is when is the last time you met with counsel for the estate, Mary DiNunzio?”
“A week ago, last Wednesday.”
“And where did that meeting take place?”
“At my home in Butte.”
“Was Ms. Carrier or Bennie Rosato present at the meeting?”
Mrs. Nyquist blinked. “Who are they?”
Judy laughed softly and passed Mary a note: NOBODY.
“Who else was present at your meeting?”
“Just us, and it wasn’t a meeting.”
“What was it then?”
“She came by for coffee and pie, she was trying to find out about Gio and Amadeo.”
“Mrs. Nyquist, at this meeting, did you discuss with Ms. DiNunzio the testimony you would be giving today?”
“No.”
“Did you discuss your testimony with her at all before you gave it today?”
“No.”
“Did you discuss your testimony with anyone from her office before you gave it today?”
“No.”
Rovitch blinked. “You mean to tell this Court that you simply appeared, here in this courtroom, with this document?”
“Yes.”
At counsel table, Mary almost laughed out loud. I know, I can’t believe it either.
Rovitch paused. “Has Ms. DiNunzio contacted you since your meeting in Butte?”
“No, she hasn’t returned my call. I’ve left two messages but she hasn’t called back.”
Back at counsel table, Mary felt a pang of guilt. Her messages. She flashed on Marshall, lecturing her when she was on the way out of the office, with Judy.
Rovitch leaned over the lectern. “Then how, pray tell, did you even know to come here this morning, to this courtroom?”
“I didn’t.” Mrs. Nyquist shook her head. “I went to Mary’s office but there were so many damn reporters there I couldn’t even get in. Then one of ’em told me everybody was here, so I took a cab and came down here to see her. Then I saw her getting out of a cab, and I tried to call her, but there were still so many damn reporters louder ’en me, I couldn’t holler over ’em.”
The poor woman. Mary smiled, and the gallery chuckled, too.
Rovitch jingled some change in his pocket and rocked back and forth on his loafers for a minute. “Mrs. Nyquist, why is it, then, that you came all the way out to Philadelphia?”
“To bring Mary the contract.”
“How did you know she needed it?”
“Because when she came to visit me, she told me she thought Gio murdered Amadeo, and I figured this might be the reason why.”
Wow. Mary’s eyes flared open at the revelation. The gallery startled, and even Judge Gemmill was surprised. Saracone looked like he could kill, and Rovitch stood at the lectern, wanting to object to his own question. Mary shuddered. I’d go with no further questions, pal.
Mrs. Nyquist added, “And it’s been botherin’ me, gnawin’ at me, and my grandson showed me how on the Internet it was the big news story here in Philadelphia. I thought she might need my help.” She nodded at Mary. “She’s a hardworkin’ gal and she’s tryin’ to do right by Amadeo.”
Mary felt a rush of warmth for Mrs. Nyquist and couldn’t help but nod in acknowledgment of her kindness.
Rovitch sighed. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
Judge Gemmill turned to Mrs. Nyquist. “You may step down. Thank you for your testimony, and have a safe trip back home.”
Mary was already on her feet. “Your Honor, we move now for a temporary restraining order against Justin Saracone and Saracone Industries.”
“Granted, Ms. DiNunzio,” Judge Gemmill ruled, banging the gavel, and the courtroom erupted into chatter and applause.
We won! Mary threw her arms around Judy, and when Mrs. Nyquist came over, Mary hugged her, too. In fact, she hugged the deputy, two of the law clerks, and the stenographer.
The gallery exploded, the circolo started a conga line, and the judge pounded her gavel again.
Crak! Crak! “It is hereby ordered that plaintiff’s requested relief is granted, the particulars of the order to be issued by chambers later today and released to the press. Dates for the preliminary hearing and subsequent trial to be scheduled later, counsel.”
Crak! Judge Gemmill banged the gavel, with a final sound. “Lastly,” she continued, “pursuant to Federal Rule of Civil Procedure 65, a security bond must be posted by the estate. I order that such bond be in the amount of one hundred thousand dollars. Ms. DiNunzio?”
“Yes, Your Honor?”
“I said, one hundred thousand dollars is your bond.”
“My… bond?”
“Your bond. You’ve read the rule, correct?” Judge Gemmill frowned and picked up a piece of paper from the dais. “Rule 65(c) provides that ‘no restraining order or preliminary injunctions shall issue except upon the giving of security by the applicant, in such sum as the court deems proper.’ ” Judge Gemmill peered over the top of her glasses at Mary, who froze in place.
A hundred thousand dollars? Where am I gonna get that kind of money? The estate is broke. I have $3750 in savings. I mean, I didn’t plan on actually winning.
“Counsel, as you know, I cannot issue a TRO unless the bond is posted. The reason, as you well know, is that in the event that you lose on the merits, the defendant is compensated for his loss. As I see it, his immediate loss would be the postponing of the sale of rights to Reinhardt, perhaps for one week, which delay would only be for a nominal amount.”
A hundred thousand dollars is nominal? Plus, if I lose at trial, I lose the hundred thousand, too? Which I don’t have? Is that even possible?
“DiNunzio!” called a voice, and Mary turned to the gallery.
Bennie Rosato was standing up. Trademark suit. Trademark hair. And trademark smile. “Your Honor, Rosato & Associates will post the bond. I’ll accompany Ms. DiNunzio down to the Clerk’s Office directly.”
Really? Mary looked at Bennie, dumbfounded.
“I’d bet on you any day.” Bennie beamed. “You’re a winner, kid.”
“Thank you,” Mary said, and resisted hugging her, but just barely.
In the next moment, a defeated Justin Saracone stormed past her and out the bar of court, with his unhappy lawyer hurrying behi
nd.
Forty-Nine
The Four Seasons Hotel was where Philadelphia lawyers went to celebrate, and Mary, Judy, and Bennie had a little party there with Mrs. Nyquist and her grandson. They toasted one another at a marble table with peach-colored orchids in the center and a Steinway for background noise. Mrs. Nyquist got the most toasts of all, and Mary learned that after the first two glasses, Dom Pérignon tastes exactly like Crystal Light.
An hour or so later, Bennie and Judy excused themselves to go back to the office, and Mrs. Nyquist’s grandson excused himself to go to the men’s room, leaving Mary alone with her favorite cowgirl. She raised a glass to Mrs. Nyquist. “Helen, from the bottom of my heart, thank you very, very much.”
“You’re very welcome, my dear.” Mrs. Nyquist smiled graciously.
“You saved the case, the day, my career, and most of the city.”
“Not hardly.”
“In fact, I think I love you.”
“I like you just fine, too, Mary. We did have fun, watching Conan.”
“We did. You’re the best date I’ve had in a long time.”
“That isn’t saying much,” Mrs. Nyquist offered, and they both laughed.
Mary raised a glass. “One more toast. To no more blind dates!”
“Here, here!” Mrs. Nyquist cheered, toasting.
They laughed again, and Mary couldn’t remember if she’d thanked Mrs. Nyquist, and even if she did, it was worth repeating. “Helen, thank you so much for testifying today.” Then she remembered how tight money was for Mrs. Nyquist. “And please, let me pay for your airfare and travel. That’s standard for witnesses, and the least I can do.”
“No, thank you. I won’t hear of it. I never charge anything, but I charged this.”
“Please, please, please let me pay.”
“No.” Mrs. Nyquist paused. “As much as I like you, Mary, I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Amadeo.”
“All the more reason.”
“Although I admit, I’d thought you’d use that contract in a murder trial, not some patent doodah.”