Apaches - Lorenzo Carcaterra [95]
“You have Dr. Bartlett’s testimony,” Waldstein said. “And you have photos of the crime scene.”
“It’s all too cold and clinical,” Gilbert said. “I need the jury to see Jennifer. It’s the only way I can get a guilty.”
“Then we’re wasting our breath,” Jerry Spieglman said. “It’s time to set the innocent free.”
“I’ll decide when it’s time, Counselor,” Judge Waldstein hissed.
In the courtroom, Judge Waldstein kept her anger masked behind a calm veneer. Her eyes were moist and strained as she uttered the phrase that shattered everyone else’s serenity.
“Case dismissed,” Judge Waldstein said sadly.
Malcolm Juniper slammed an open hand on the scarred wooden table and clapped. Jerry Spieglman closed the folder and shoved it inside a soiled backpack.
Anne Santori bowed her head and sobbed quietly into the palms of her hands.
Carlo Santori turned and looked at Boomer Frontieri. It was the look of a defeated man.
Boomer took a deep breath, stood, and turned his back on the scales of justice, vowing never to enter a courtroom again.
• • •
MALCOLM JUNIPER, A bounce to his gait, took the cracked concrete steps coming out of the Manhattan Criminal Court Building two at a time. He stopped short as soon as he spotted Boomer and Dead-Eye waiting for him on the sidewalk below, their backs warmed by a winter sun.
Malcolm’s smile widened and he began to take the steps at a slower pace. He pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket, turned his back to Boomer, Dead-Eye, and the wind, and lit up, using a cheap plastic lighter. He crunched the cigarette between his teeth, smoke leaking out one corner of his mouth, and barely disguised his glee from the ex-cops who had gone to such lengths to have him arrested.
“Scopin’ out more innocent men?” Malcolm asked. “Or you just come to apologize?”
“The judge and the D.A. cut you loose,” Boomer said, looking directly at Malcolm. “Not me.”
“I ain’t free but two minutes and you shot-up losers start hasslin’ me.” Malcolm acted indignant, tossing the cigarette to the ground, inches from Dead-Eye’s brown boot. “My man Jerry here ain’t gonna sit for that kinda shit.” Malcolm turned his head, looking over at the lawyer with a thick head of hair and a face layered with red pimples, whiteheads, and acne scars. “That right, Jerry?”
Jerry Spieglman stepped forward, less confident than Malcolm about confronting Boomer and Dead-Eye. He was a low-tier lawyer building a practice from the bottom-feeder end of the pool. “There’s no need to further hassle my client,” Jerry said in a voice as light as his frame. “He’s been cleared by a court of law.”
“They got shit that can help that,” Dead-Eye said, pointing a finger at Jerry’s scarred face. “You let that get any worse, lepers are gonna start takin’ a step back.”
“The only reason we’re not pressing charges against the two of you is that my client wants this put behind him,” Jerry went on, trying to sound tough but not getting anywhere close. “However, if you continue, you will force our hand.”
“Lemme pass it to you soft,” Malcolm added, full of swagger and dare. “You breathe near me and you gonna be the ones in cuffs. That clear enough, Five-O? Or maybe all them bullets you two swallowed fucked up your hearing too.”
“Besides, you two guys are in enough trouble as it is,” Jerry said, taking his confidence cue from Malcolm, convinced now that he was in no physical danger. “You don’t need more. Certainly not from us.”
“How do you figure?” Boomer asked, curious. “Us being the ones in trouble, I mean.”
“You’re being named in the civil suit,” Jerry announced matter-of-factly. “Along with the police department, the Santori family, and the city of New York. Malcolm was arrested for no just reason. Someone has to pay for that.”
“You’re suing?” Dead-Eye asked, incredulous. “You’re suing?”
“That’s right, you crippled, mother-fuckin’ losers.” Malcolm lit another cigarette. “I don’t wanna see you fuckers behind bars. Ain’t nothin’ in there for me. I want you out on them streets, workin’ job after job and handin’ that hard-earned green over to me. That’s gonna