Blind Man's Alley (42 page)

60

E
VER HAVING
been followed before, Candace didn’t know how to go about losing a tail. She decided a good place to start was sneaking out of work: instead of leaving by the front entrance, she went to the rear of the building, where the delivery trucks loaded up from their basement printing press, and out onto a gritty stretch of Tenth Avenue. From there she walked over to Macy’s, spent a few minutes zigzagging around the store, which was both enormous and quite crowded, exiting a block away from where she’d come in. She then jumped into the first free cab she saw. Comfortable that she’d done everything she could to escape detection, Candace made her way to Duncan Riley’s apartment.

She’d gotten hold of Duncan at his office a couple of hours earlier, asking if they could talk after work. Candace had expected resistance, but instead Duncan had readily agreed. “Is there someplace private we can meet?” she’d asked. “It’s a long story, but you don’t want to be seen in public with me right now.”

“That’s truer than you know,” Duncan had replied.

His apartment was in a high-rise in the West Fifties. The doorman called up for her, Duncan standing in his doorway when she got off the elevator. He’d obviously changed clothes since work: he was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, and his hair looked damp from a shower.

“Can I get you a beer or something?” Duncan asked, after showing her in.

“If you’re having one,” Candace replied. Duncan nodded and stepped into the kitchen.

Candace took the opportunity to scope out his apartment. It was new and stylish, with the accoutrements of a guy who had more money than he quite knew what to do with. There was a fifty-inch flat-screen hanging on a wall, home theater speakers arrayed around the room.

“Nice place,” Candace said as Duncan returned, handing her a Bass ale.

“Thanks,” Duncan said. “Here’s hoping I make partner so I can actually afford it.”

“How’s that looking?”

“I try not to think about it,” Duncan said with a shrug. He gestured Candace to the couch as he settled into the living room’s lone chair. “The things I can’t change, and all that.”

“You must have a good shot, being a Blake protégé and all.”

Duncan clearly didn’t want to discuss it. “Things have been a little complicated on that front lately.”

“Does that have to do with why you’re off the Nazario case?”

“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?” Duncan said. Having Candace in his apartment was making him uncomfortable; he wasn’t quite sure how to settle in with her. There was inevitably something intimate about her drinking a beer on his couch, regardless of what they were talking about.

“You told me that there was nothing strange going on with you representing him. Can I assume that assurance is no longer operative?”

Duncan forced a smile. “I can’t tell you anything other than that the firm had a conflict. Not even off the record.”

“Does it have to do with Simon Roth?” Candace pressed.

“You’re not expecting an answer, are you?”

“Hope springs eternal. Nobody would know it came from you.”

Duncan found that good for a laugh. “I may not be the ideal target audience for your assurances of anonymity,” he said, before taking a swig of beer.

“I’ve never burned a source, and the only time one has been outed is when you did it. Worried you’d have to go hunting for yourself?”

Duncan shrugged, looking away. “I don’t even know the full story, anyway.”

“I have to say, conflict or no conflict, I’m surprised you’d go along with dropping Nazario’s case.”

Duncan wondered if Candace was trying to butter him up. “You think I got a vote?”

“Was the conflict something you found in representing Nazario?”

“I can’t answer that.”

Candace tried not to show her frustration. She’d hoped Duncan would be more forthcoming. “I know you want to help Rafael. I saw that in you. Here’s what I think happened: you uncovered the truth, or at least too much of it.”

“What truth would that be?”

“You found something showing that Fowler’s death went back to the shenanigans at the Aurora. You discovered proof that he was the bagman for divvying up the spoils of what Pellettieri took.”

Duncan picked up his beer bottle, held it for a moment before taking a drink. Candace was wrong: he hadn’t ever come close to linking Fowler’s murder and the Aurora. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “There is one thing I can tell you, but you can’t say it came from me. I subpoenaed Fowler’s bank records. He had way too much money at the time he died.”

Candace leaned forward. “How much money?”

“Nearly a quarter million.”

Candace showed surprise at the number. “That seems like a big cut for a bagman, I would think.”

“I wouldn’t know what the going rate is, but yes.”

“I can try to look into it. You really have no leads on where it came from? If you still want to help Nazario, talking to me is your only way now.”

Duncan chuckled in response. “You don’t even trust me,” he said.

“That’s not true,” Candace said. “I think you’re basically honest, and that you’re legitimately trying to help Rafael. I also think you’re in over your head.”

“And you’re my way out,” Duncan said skeptically. “Why on earth are you telling me your suspicions of the Roths in the first place?”

It was a good question, Candace had to admit. The answer was that she didn’t have anyone else to talk to about it. Nobody at the paper wanted to hear it anymore. She didn’t have the full story, and the only person she could think of who could potentially fill in the blanks was Duncan. But she didn’t think she could say all that, and wasn’t inclined to try.

“My apartment’s been broken into,” Candace said instead. “My laptop was stolen. One of my sources had the shit kicked out of him because he’d talked to me. I was mugged on the street a little while back. I’m being followed.”

Duncan looked stricken. “Obviously I don’t know anything about stuff like that—Jesus.”

Candace believed him. “You still underestimate just how dirty they’re playing,” she said.

Duncan suspected she was right. He’d never thought of himself as naive, but when it came to the Roths he was beginning to think that was exactly what he’d been. “I thought about resigning,” he said abruptly.

Candace looked over at him, surprised, before laughing quietly. “Me too. When they took me off the story.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Nobody wins every battle, right? What good’s it going to do—I’ve worked really hard to get where I am, and throwing it away won’t change anything.”

“I never felt bad about playing hardball, pushing up against the edge of the rules, because I was doing it on behalf of my clients. But a lawyer who doesn’t stand up for his clients isn’t a real lawyer anymore.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

Duncan leaned forward, giving way to an impulse. “What if you really broke the story open? Would your bosses keep you from publishing it?”

“If I handed it to them on a platter, said if they didn’t run with it I was going to the
Times
, yeah, I think so. Why?”

“I want to get Rafael out of jail,” Duncan said. “I want to blow this whole mess up.”

“How’re you gonna do that?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” Duncan replied. “Want to help?”

Candace gave Duncan a skeptical look. “Have a guilty conscience?” she asked.

“About what?”

Candace smiled. “Your career.”

“Your father doesn’t seem to have given you a good impression of the practice of law,” Duncan replied. “Where’s he a partner?”

“Cleary Gottlieb. And he doesn’t complain about it, really. But I guess what always struck me was the disconnect between how all-consuming the job was and how little passion he felt for it.”

“I know lawyers who are passionate about the job—Blake is. But it’s the battle itself, you know? And I have that too, at least somewhat. But it can be a little … I mean, sure, it’s nice to actually feel like you’re on the side of the angels.”

“A lawyer who wants to be on the side of the angels,” she said. “Sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

Duncan thought she might be right. “So you really think they broke into your apartment? And if so, who exactly are ‘they’?”

Candace shrugged. “I have no idea who actually broke in. And I can’t prove it was related to my reporting. But I think more likely than not it was someone acting on behalf of Simon Roth.”

“Either way, it must be scary. You’re still living there?”

“I stayed with a friend for a couple of days right after, changed the locks and all that. But if Roth’s behind it, moving wouldn’t solve the problem.”

Duncan felt guilty: he was on Roth’s team, after all, which implicated him in what they did. “And you’re really being followed?”

“I can’t prove it, but I’m pretty sure. I snuck over here, just in case.”

“Are you scared?”

“Of course I’m fucking scared,” Candace replied with a laugh. “I’m a reporter, not a CIA agent. These aren’t things I signed up for, and they scare the shit out of me.”

“But they haven’t driven you off the story.”

“I’m supposed to just let them run over me? First with the lawsuit, and then when that didn’t work by breaking into my apartment? It’s bad enough that Roth has managed to bully the paper. But I let him bully me, then I can’t do my job.”

Duncan found himself admiring Candace. He’d been skeptical of her at first, but he was increasingly impressed with her determination, especially in light of how she was being harassed. He restrained an impulse to say any of this, instead hoisting his beer and emptying the bottle. “You want another?” he asked, though as he said it he noticed that Candace’s beer was still half-full.

Candace glanced over at her bottle as well, then hesitated. “I should probably let you get back to your evening,” she said, standing up.

The thought of asking her to stay pushed into Duncan’s mind, but things were too messy in his life right now as it was, and he also had no idea how she’d respond. Duncan stood, taking a step toward the door to show her out, and as he did so he found himself standing close to Candace, the two of them freezing for a second at the sudden proximity.

“Good night, Candace,” Duncan said. “Be careful out there.”

“Good night,” Candace replied, turning toward the door. “And you’d better be careful too.”

61

W
ANTING A
chance to talk the case over with Rafael’s new lawyer, Duncan arranged to personally deliver a copy of the file down to him. The file half-filled a banker’s box, tiny as far as Duncan was concerned—most of his cases had hundreds of thousands, if not millions of pages of documents going back and forth.

Rafael’s new lawyer, Robert Walker, had a solo practice out of an office on Thomas Street downtown. The building had an Art Deco charm, although it did not seem well kept: the slow and tiny elevator wheezed and clanked as it took Duncan up. Walker’s office was small and derelict, the sort of office Duncan pictured a thirties private eye having. It was also a mess: papers everywhere, no sign of organization. Duncan’s office looked the same way, but he had a support staff and a file room that kept track of originals.

“Thanks for the personal service,” Walker said, gesturing for Duncan to put the box down on an empty patch of floor, the carpet discolored with age. He was a burly, bearded guy in his late forties who had clearly bought his suits twenty pounds ago. “But you could’ve just stuck it all in the mail.”

“I thought it would be useful for us to talk,” Duncan said.

“About?”

Duncan didn’t quite know how to begin. “There’re some unusual aspects about this case that may not be reflected in the file.”

“I don’t really know anything about it at this stage of the game,” Walker said. “I can always give you a call if I have any questions after I’ve gotten up to speed.”

“Sure,” Duncan said, taking a card from his wallet.

Walker took Duncan’s card. “Blake and Wolcott, huh?” he said, looking back up at Duncan. “This must have been what, pro bono for you?”

“It was, but—”

“I may not have a fancy office, but I’ve been practicing criminal law for over twenty years. I’ve handled literally thousands of felonies.”

Duncan did not find the volume of cases reassuring; rather it just confirmed his impression of Walker as a low-end court-appointed lawyer who made his living by the sheer number of people he helped shuffle through the system. “It’s not that I have any doubts about your ability or experience, Mr. Walker. I just wanted a chance to go over some things that you’re simply not going to be able to pick up by reading the file.”

“That all sounds very mysterious, Mr. Riley. I hope you’re not taking everything your client says at face value, because in my experience most criminal cases are exactly what meets the eye.”

“I have reason to suspect that the victim here was killed by completely different people for completely different reasons, and that Rafael was set up. Perhaps I need to back up.”

Walker looked at his watch. “I have to be in court in twenty minutes,” he said. “I’m sure your theory is a fascinating one, and if you want to write it up and send it to me I’ll give it a read. But I’ve got a lot of cases, and I don’t generally go looking for a conspiracy theory.”

“If I could just have a couple of minutes—”

“As I just said, I don’t have a couple of minutes, Mr. Riley. I’ll turn to Mr. … this case as soon as I can. Thanks for dropping off the files.”