Judge & Jury - James Patterson [50]
“What do you want?” she answered curtly.
“You used to like hearing my voice, Monica,” the caller said. “I’m feeling hurt. What do I want? I want the same thing you do, Monica. I want you and your mother to live a long, healthy life.”
“Don’t play with me,” Monica spat out. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“All right,” he said. He seemed to be enjoying himself. “How about we meet for coffee tomorrow morning before you go to work? The café right across the square, where we met that other time. Say, eight thirty sharp. I’ll fill you in on what happens from there.”
“This is it,” Monica said, her stomach knotting. “You promise, just this one thing.”
“Be a good little girl, and you’ll never hear my voice again. But Monica,” Karl said in the sort of voice you’d use to reprove a child, “don’t get any ideas. I’ll do what I said I would. I promise. In fact, if I wasn’t so trusting you’ll be a good girl, I could do it right now. Come back in the living room. Come.”
Monica ran back into the room where her mother was watching TV.
A light shone on the window. Headlights. Then a car horn, three sharp blasts. She began to shake so hard she thought she could hear every bone in her body rattle.
Chapter 61
THAT MONDAY MORNING was the tightest security I’d ever seen for a trial. Godfather, Part II.
It was more like a show of force by law enforcement. Dozens of cops, some in armor and riot gear, holding automatic weapons, manned barricades all over Foley Square. The line of prospective jurors stretched out the door, with policemen going up and down, checking IDs, opening bags, leading bomb-sniffing dogs. About a dozen TV vans were lined up and down Worth Street.
Everything was by the book, exactly how I would have done it. Still, with several trials running concurrently, all the lawyers, witnesses, jurors, and staff, there were a thousand things that could go wrong.
Instinctively, I checked the courthouse security room, which was situated on the ground floor. Security staffers were watching monitors of all floors. Entrances, elevators, the basement garage, and the corridor where Cavello was to be transferred to and from the Manhattan County Jail. I tried to tell myself that nothing was going to happen, that everything was going to go off as planned.
I was headed back up to the courtroom, passing by the lobby, when I heard my name shouted. “Nick! Nick!”
It was Andie, restrained by two guards. She was waving. “Nick, they won’t let me in!”
I walked over to the entrance. “It’s okay,” I said to the guard. I flashed my ID. “I’ll take responsibility. She’s with me.”
I pulled her through the jostling crowd. “You were right. I had to be here, Nick. I couldn’t stay away. For Jarrod, if not me.”
“You don’t have to explain, Andie. Just come.”
I led her into one of the elevators, pushed the button for the eighth floor. There were a few others on board—a couple of attorneys, a court stenographer. The ride seemed interminable. I squeezed her hand. “Hmmm,” she said. Just that.
When the doors finally opened on eight, I pulled Andie to the side and waited for the other people to clear. Then I gave her the hug I wanted to give her the other night. I almost kissed her, too. It took guts to be here. To show her face. But I could feel her heart beating against me. “It’s okay, Andie. I’m glad you’re here.”
I showed my ID to a guard stationed outside the courtroom and escorted her inside. The room was still nearly empty. A couple of marshals chatting, a young assistant district attorney laying out jury forms along the lawyers’ row.
Andie looked anxious suddenly. “Now that I’m here, I don’t know if I can do this.”
“We’ll stay over here,” I said, placing her in the back row of the gallery. “When he comes in, we’ll be together. Maybe we’ll wave.”
“Yeah, or give him the finger.”
I squeezed her hand. “Nothing bad is going to happen. The evidence is even more solid than before. He’s gonna arrive soon, and we’re going to choose twelve people. Then we’re going to put him away until the day