“Trust yourself. You haven’t made any wrong moves yet.” Judy reached out and squeezed her arm. “Okay?”
“Okay.” Mary went to the sink, turned on the faucet, and poured some water into a styrofoam cup. She sipped it, and it tasted like styrofoam, but it wasn’t the cup. Philadelphia water tasted like styrofoam when it came out of the tap. In fact, styrofoam improved the taste of Philadelphia water.
“Also, I thought about that meeting with the Gardners, and I think you were right. We should meet the parents before we go forward.”
“Good.” Mary had thought about it, too, and decided she was right. “It’s good to play nice.”
“So I hear. That’s why I dressed so boring, in case we can see them today.” Judy gestured in disgust at her perfect outfit. “Look at me, in white and blue. I’m so nautical, I’m practically a yacht.”
Mary smiled. “They’re probably too busy to see us, him being a captain of industry.”
“A mogul’s work is never done.”
“We’ll have to call Allegra, to make sure she’s okay with it.” Mary’s phone started ringing. “This will be my parents, screaming with joy.”
“Put it on speaker.” Judy grinned. “I love to hear them happy. It adds years to my life.”
Mary slid her phone from her blazer pocket and hit the speaker button.
But it wasn’t her parents at all.
Chapter Seven
“Ms. DiNunzio?” said a man’s voice, which was too stern and authoritative to be anything but a bill collector.
“If you’re calling again about the Verizon bill, I told you, I paid it.”
“Am I speaking with Mary DiNunzio?”
“You guys always pull this. I never give any information over the phone, and I’m supposed to be on a do-not-call list.” Mary set the phone down on the counter to show Judy what a badass she had become overnight, coincidentally the same night she said yes to a marriage proposal when she really meant to say maybe. “You’re just bullies, and you picked on the wrong girl.”
Judy shot her a thumbs-up.
“Ms. DiNunzio, excuse me, this is John Gardner, Allegra’s father.”
Gulp. “Oh, sorry.” Mary cringed, and Judy’s eyes flared. “I didn’t realize, here, I have you on speaker. Mr. Gardner, I’m here with Judy—”
“Call me John. I understand your law firm is representing Allegra.”
“Yes, and we were about to call to set up a meeting with you.”
“Excellent. How about today? I’m at the house, and you can come here. I’d like to keep this away from my offices in town, which as you probably know, are at the Delaware River Complex.”
Mary did know. That was where Fiona was murdered, which was why the Philadelphia police had jurisdiction and the trial was in Common Pleas Court, here. She caught Judy’s eye. “Perfect, when are you free? We’d like to meet with your wife as well.”
“Of course, she’ll be there.”
“And Allegra?”
“Yes. We live in Townsend. When can you get here?”
Mary looked at Judy, who nodded, so she answered, “We can leave now. How long does it take from the city?”
“An hour and a half, at this time of day.”
Mary would have to get her car, too. “We’ll leave right away, and be there in two hours. We’ll talk with Allegra first to ascertain that she’s okay with our meeting with you.”
“Of course she is. She’s our daughter.”
“I understand that, but she’s our client.”
John paused. “Frankly, we’d like to meet you without Allegra.”
“Why?” Mary asked, and Judy shook her head, no.
“We feel that we can speak more freely. We don’t want to upset her any more than she already is.”
Mary didn’t like the sound of it. “She didn’t seem upset to us.”
“Allow me to suggest that her mother and I know her slightly better than you do.”
Mary didn’t like the new edge to his tone, either. “We’ll meet with her first and discuss this with her. It will be her decision.”
“We’ll sort this out when you get here. Our address is 947 Springhill Lane. Buzz at the gate and look for the sign that says Houyhnhnm Farm.”
Mary thought the word sounded familiar, then realized it was from Gulliver’s Travels. She couldn’t begin to spell it. She’d recognize the sign because it would look like Greek.
“Call if you get lost, which is very easy to do. My cell number is 610-555-0363, but I may be on a conference call. If you can’t reach me, my wife Jane’s cell is 555-0364 and Allegra’s is 555-0365.”
“Will do. Thanks so much, see you soon. Good-bye, now.” Mary pressed End Call, troubled. “Tell you something interesting.”
“What?”
“The cell number that he gave us for Allegra is different from the one she gave me yesterday. Hold on, let me see if I’m right.” Mary scrolled to her address book to double-check, and confirmed what she remembered. “I am. So Allegra has two cell phones.”
“She’s baller, for a middle-schooler.” Judy set down her coffee. “Let’s go. I’ll get my notes on the file. I made some when I copied it.”
“Good idea. We’ll take my car. It’s cleaner.”
“You got that right.”
Half an hour later, Mary had called Allegra but hadn’t been able to reach her, so she’d left a message, picked up the car, and hopped on the expressway heading west, speeding out of the city in Mary’s blue BMW 325, which replaced Mike’s ancient green BMW 2002. She stopped driving the green one only after it turned 100,000 miles, and even so, she couldn’t junk it, but left it parked on the street, moving it occasionally so the Parking Authority didn’t tag it as abandoned. Sometimes she found notes on the car windshield, offering to buy it, but she never responded. Mike had loved that car, and she couldn’t bring herself to sell it. She wasn’t the most insightful woman on the planet, but even she knew Mike’s old BMW was all bollixed up with Anthony, the proposal, and the meatball ring.
“Okay, I’ll brief you on the way, since you’re a partner now.”
“Sounds good,” Mary told her, coming out of her reverie. The expressway was clear and sunny, the sky a bold blue over the Schuylkill River to their right, and on its far bank stood a line of brightly-painted Victorian boathouses, flying bright pennants that flapped in the gusts. Crews rowed past in sculls as long and skinny as toothpicks, and Mary couldn’t understand why Bennie loved to row, when you could so easily drown.
“I’ll take you through the trial, it’s cut short by the guilty plea, when the jury was dismissed. Prosecution calls nine witnesses, defense calls two.”
Mary hit the gas. “Who was Stall’s lawyer? Was he a public defender?”
“No, a private lawyer. I never heard of him. Bob Brandt.”
“Never heard of him either. Was he court-appointed?”
“No.”
“So they went out of the system. Too bad.” Mary knew that Philadelphia had a fairly decent system for representing indigent murder defendants, in that 80 percent would get a well-qualified lawyer appointed by the court, and the remainder went to the Public Defender’s Office, which was staffed with experienced and committed criminal defense lawyers.
“His firm is the Law Offices of Bob Brandt.” Judy slid her iPhone from her purse and hit a few keys on the touch screen. “Here’s Brandt’s website. It doesn’t say he practices criminal law except DUI.” She pinched the screen to enlarge it. “He looks young, even now. Five years ago, he must have been very young. Went to Temple Law and Penn State. Okay, so he graduated law school three years before he tried Stall’s case. Wanna bet it was practically his first murder case?”
Mary was already thinking they could attack the conviction based on ineffective assistance of counsel. It was a tough argument to win, but the law was that if trial counsel was incompetent and his incompetence made the difference between conviction and acquittal, Stall could get a new trial. Mary a
sked, “Who was in for the D.A.?”
“The district attorney himself. Mean Mel Bount.”
“For real?” Mary looked over.
“Of course. It’s so high-profile, a résumé case. I read that Mel’s about to run for governor. Bet it helps to have a check from the Gardner clan. Okay, here we go.” Judy scanned the legal pad on her lap. “Day one of the trial. The Commonwealth’s opening is that Stall was seen by three witnesses running from the building and was caught by the guests with blood on his shirt and hands. He was distraught and scared. He had to be tackled and tried to get away. He had a cut on his hand consistent with a knife that’s slick with blood, common in knife murders. His blood, hair, and skin cells are found on Fiona’s body. When the cops come, he asks immediately for a lawyer.”
Mary kept her eyes on the road. She wasn’t Pollyanna enough to think that race didn’t matter, but she wasn’t jumping to any conclusions. “You know that Philadelphia juries tend to be mostly African-American.”
“True, and blacks can be racists, too.”
Mary let it go.
“First Commonwealth witness is the arresting cop who testifies that Stall is five foot ten and right-handed, and that he asks for a lawyer, even before his interview.”
“Did they videotape the interview?”
“Such as it was, yes. The cop testifies about the knife wound found on Stall’s right hand, and he is right-handed. After the cop, the second witness is the coroner, who testifies that Fiona’s death occurred from a single stab wound through the heart, from a slight downward angle, as if from a taller person, probably right-handed.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Right. Also he testifies that the wound looks like it was made by a common kitchen knife, though the weapon was never recovered. He also says that the knife wound on Stall’s hand was made by the same knife, and here’s where he also says it’s common in knife murders for the killer to get cut. Gruesome.”
“Really.”
“Yep, and hold that thought. The third witness is a blood expert who says that the blood found on Stall’s shirt, hands, and under his nails was Fiona’s blood type, which is Type O. By the way, Stall’s type is A, so by process of deduction it’s not his.”
Mary switched to the fast lane, bypassing the traffic backing up at the Montgomery Drive exit.
“Blood expert also says that it’s Stall’s blood on Fiona’s shirt, presumably from the cut on his hand. Still day one, fourth witness is a DNA expert, who says he has a match on the blood on Stall’s shirt, and it is Fiona’s.”
“So they got her blood on him, and his blood on her.”
“Yep. Plus, DNA expert also testifies that they find Stall’s DNA on Fiona’s clothes, in the form of skin cells and hair.”
“Hair ID’s not that reliable.”
“It’s just icing. The cake? They find his saliva in her mouth, identified by DNA.”
Mary groaned. “No sexual assault though.”
“No.”
“Thank God. Did you see whether Brandt scored any points on cross?”
“No, I didn’t have time to read the trial transcripts.” Judy flipped to the next page of her pad. “Second day. Three witnesses testified that they saw Stall hurry up a back stair to the small conference room where she was killed, minutes before she was killed, and one saw him come back down again. They pick him out of a lineup, which appears to be properly conducted.”
“They’re not really eyewitnesses. They didn’t see the crime.”
“True, and still, even properly conducted eyewitness IDs are suspect. And also, keep in mind, that this one is cross-racial.”
“What does that matter?” Mary glanced over, intrigued.
“There’s cases that say that cross-racial IDs are especially unreliable. White people can’t tell black people apart, and black people can’t tell white people apart.”
“Bodes well for the City of Brotherly Love.”
Judy consulted her notes. “Final fact witness is the catering manager, Stall’s boss, who testifies that one of the kitchen knives went missing. Obvious implication, that’s the murder weapon, and he also testifies that Stall would have had access to it, all night.”
“Maybe they lost it or misplaced it.”
“Possible. Lastly, of course, both John and Jane Gardner take the stand and talk about how Fiona went missing that night. They were supposed to make a speech about the new offices’ dedication at nine o’clock, but she wasn’t around, so they went looking for her. They found Stall running before they found her.”
Mary could imagine the horror of that night, for Allegra. “So what was the defense?”
“Brandt argued in his opening that there was no evidence of motive, and reasonable doubt that Stall was the doer, and Stall testified himself.”
“That’s practically malpractice. What’s his side of the story?”
“He said he ran up to the conference room because he heard a shout. He saw Fiona on the floor, got blood on his hands when he covered the wound to try and stop her bleeding, and got his saliva in her mouth when he tried to resuscitate her.”
“That’s not CPR procedure anymore, is it?”
“No. And he says the cut on his hand happened in the kitchen that night when he cut limes.”
“Did the chef testify?”
“Yes, but for the Commonwealth. He said that he didn’t ask Stall to cut any limes.”
Mary mulled it over as she drove. “So when Stall hears a shout, he goes to see what it is himself? He doesn’t tell anyone? He doesn’t call security? It does sound fishy. Why doesn’t Allegra think that’s fishy?” She hit the gas, heading west toward Valley Forge. “How did they prove motive?”
“Mel’s opening argued Stall must have tried to push himself on her, and when she resisted, he killed her. If you have blood, skin, hair, saliva, and positive IDs, that’s enough evidence of motive.” Judy closed her legal pad. “Plus maybe they made something of it on cross. We’ll have to see the transcript or talk to him, and in any event, remember, it didn’t go to the jury. Stall pled guilty after he testified.”
Mary nodded. It was hard to believe Stall was innocent if he had pled guilty, but she knew that it happened, having had a false confession case before, in which a man pled guilty to protect someone else. “So the day he testified he was innocent, he pled guilty?”
“Yes, and we can both guess it didn’t go well for him on the stand. That’s probably why.”
“I wonder how often that happens, that someone takes a plea deal after trial has commenced?”
“It happens.”
“But why does the Commonwealth offer it, after they’d been put to the trouble of a trial, and especially after his testimony went south?”
“A deal is still better than the risk of an acquittal. They get a guarantee, and no appeals.”
Mary thought of another angle, too. “It probably looks better for the D.A. if Stall pleads out, instead of being convicted, in a case with racial overtones, and class, too. Then there’s less question of his guilt in the press.”
“Excellent point, and the case did get a lot of press.” Judy looked over, nodding. “How did you figure that out?”
“I’m an expert on guilt. I have enough for every felon in the Commonwealth.” Mary managed a smile. “Who was his other witness?”
“His mom.” Judy paused.
“So what was his deal, in the end?”
“Let me take you through it. He was charged with first degree murder, which carries only two possible penalties, death or life without parole. LWOP, as they say.”
Mary snorted, never having liked the acronym. “Italians don’t like the WOP part.”
Judy smiled. “It’s not a death case, he has no record and no aggravators.”
“Right, and second degree murder doesn’t apply, since that’s murder in the course of a felony.”
“Yep, so the Commonwealth reduced the killing to third degree, which has a statutory maximum of twenty
to forty. He pled guilty to twenty-five to fifty.”
“So they increased it during trial.”
“Because he didn’t take it the first time. At twenty-four, he’s in Graterford until he’s fifty, at least.”
Mary felt a twinge. “Did he appeal the guilty plea for any reason?”
“No.”
“Did he file for post-conviction relief, based on ineffective assistance of counsel, in connection with the plea?”
“No.”
Mary steered the car past the City Line exit, at speed. “So if he’s innocent, all he has is us.”
“No, he doesn’t even have us. Allegra has us. Don’t mix your clients, remember?”
“Okay.” Mary thought a minute. “Remember that Allegra told us she had a reason for thinking Stall was innocent, but she didn’t want to tell us in the meeting?”
“Sure. Wonder what it was.”
“We’ll ask her.” Mary glanced over to see Judy deep in thought. “We’re not gonna let her parents close her out of our meeting, are we?”
“Hell, no.” Judy grinned. “Nobody grounds our clients but us.”
Mary laughed, then accelerated, heading for open road.
But for a second, she wasn’t sure if she was speeding from something, or to something.
Chapter Eight
Houyhnhnm Farm, read the sign, and Mary turned into the driveway, her car tires rumbling over gray cobblestones until they reached a tall iron gate covered with English ivy. Beside it were stanchions of gray stone, with a silvery call box on the left, discreetly hidden in evergreens that flanked the driveway.
“Can you believe this place?” Mary lowered the window to press the call button. They had arrived after driving through the prettiest countryside she had ever seen, and they weren’t in South Philly anymore. “Think they’ll adopt me?”
“Just because they have money, doesn’t mean you want to be in this family.”
“It doesn’t mean I don’t, either.” Mary pressed the buzzer, which crackled instantly. “Hello, it’s Mary DiNunzio and Judy Carrier, here to meet with the Gardners.”
“Welcome,” said a woman’s voice, warmly. “Come in and follow the road. Take a left, then turn right, toward the house.”