Judge & Jury - James Patterson [49]
Tomorrow was when the real game began.
Chapter 59
AT 10:00 A.M., Dominic Cavello was brought handcuffed into Judge Robert Barnett’s courtroom.
Four U.S. marshals surrounded him. Several others were spread out at intervals along the perimeter of the room. This was a pretrial hearing, back at Foley Square. Cavello’s lawyers had made a motion to suppress all evidence related to the murders of Manny Oliva and Ed Sinclair. They wanted a hearing to determine whether the evidence should be allowed, but I knew the judge would see their request for what it was—a stalling tactic.
Cavello acted his usual cocky self as he was led into the spacious room. He chirped hello to Joel Goldenberger across the way—asked how he was doing, along with the wife and kids. He made a comment to one of the guards about the Mets, how they’d finally put a real team together this year. When he spotted me in the rear, he winked, as though we were old friends. He conveyed the image of a guy about to beat some minor traffic violation, not a person on leave from the isolation unit at Marion who might very well be headed back there for the rest of his life.
The door to the courtroom opened. Judge Barnett stepped in. Barnett was supposed to be a no-nonsense guy. He had been an offensive lineman while at Syracuse and served as a fighter pilot in Vietnam. He didn’t give a shit about the press, or free access, or Cavello’s lawyers’ theatrics. The judge had presided over a couple of Homeland Security cases after 9/11 and imposed the maximum sentence permitted by law on every one. We couldn’t have gotten a better judge for this.
He quickly signaled everybody to sit down. “I’ve studied the motions,” he said, adjusting thick black reading glasses, “and I find no merit in the defense’s motion to delay this trial any longer. Mr. Cavello.”
“Your Honor.” The defendant stood up slowly, showing no reaction to the decision.
“You’ll be answering the United States government’s charges beginning Monday morning, ten a.m. You are entitled, by law, to be present at the selection of your own jury, which will take place in this courtroom. But these proceedings will be conducted totally in secret. No names will be divulged once they are selected. At that point they will be transferred to the Fort Dix army base in New Jersey, where, as you already know, your trial will take place. You will be restrained there as well, as will the jury. The entire trial will be conducted behind closed doors.
“And, Mr. Cavello.” The judge stared down at him sternly.
“Yes?”
“I’m warning you only once. Any disruptions—and I mean if you as much as tip over a glass of water unexpectedly—and you will be watching your own proceedings on Court TV. Is that understood?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Your Honor,” Cavello said.
“I didn’t ask you that, Mr. Cavello.” The judge’s voice stiffened. “I asked you if it was understood.”
“Of course.” Cavello bowed respectfully. “Perfectly, Your Honor.”
Chapter 60
THE TELEPHONE WAS RINGING, and Monica Ann Romano froze where she was sitting on the living room couch. She didn’t want to answer it.
She already knew who it was. Who else would be calling this late on a Sunday night? She had a crazy thought that maybe if she ignored the ring, he would go away. Everything would go back to how it had been before she had the best sex of her life.
She just sat looking at the phone, letting it ring.
“Would you answer it, please!” She and her mother were watching TV, and the ringing was blocking out the sound.
Finally Monica stood up and wrapped the cord out into the hallway. She noticed her hands shaking. “Hullo.”
“Hello, luv.” The voice on the other end made her blood freeze.
How had she ever gotten herself into this mess? How had she been so pathetically stupid as to think he’d be interested in her? She should go to the police. She should hang up on him and call them now. They would understand; they would still trust her at her job. And if it wasn’t for her mother, she had