Blood Money (37 page)

Federal, state, and local police were everywhere, swarming over 1421 Arch Street. They were particularly visible at Metropolitan Mercy Hospital guarding the entrances to the rooms assigned to Kirby and Rudi, where doctors were working hard to keep both alive—Kirby because he was a good cop and Rudi because they wanted to know more.

Intrigued by the news but not terribly upset by it, ordinary Philadelphians did not change their habits one iota. They rode the trains to work, faces stuck in their newspapers. Once inside their office buildings, the “Did ya hear?” and “Ain’t it awful?” lasted about fifteen minutes, and then everybody was back to normal, listening to voice mail and turning on their computers between bites of mustard-smeared soft pretzel and swigs of Pepsi, favorite Philadelphia breakfast foods.

Judges and politicians, relieved that they had not been on Rudi’s hit list, went about their usual routines of administrative inadequacies, stupid decisions, and doing anything politically expedient to get ahead. In other words, business as usual.

Except for the headlines and the black bunting, and the incessant prattle on television news, one would never guess that an important political figure, the city’s chief law enforcement officer, had been gunned down in cold blood.

Judge Barnes had been relieved of his duties as trial judge in the Riley case. He had been rushed to Hahnemann hospital with severe chest pains after the fray in his courtroom had been broken up by uniformed police in full riot gear. Barnes remained in intensive care through the night and into the next day. He was heavily sedated because of his fits of crying. His doctors suspected he was having a severe psychotic episode and recommenced that he go to Friends’ Hospital for a psychiatric evaluation.

But the jury was not dismissed, nor was the case declared a mistrial. Judge Anthony Primavera was assigned as the new trial judge. He had read the transcripts of the trial to date and was prepared to deal with the mess. He was familiar with all the pretrial maneuvers and the motions made by the attorneys, the decisions made by Barnes, and the trial testimony taken thus far.

Judge Primavera was fair. He liked his job and had no designs on the Supreme Court. He drove a ten-year-old Jeep Cherokee, and vacationed each summer in Sea Isle City, New Jersey. He had been law review at Penn Law School in the late fifties. He wore round, tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses, a tartan bow tie, and a comfortable cable-knit cardigan under his robe. Besides the law, all he needed was Maggie, his wife of thirty-four years; his yellow Labrador, Honeybun; his fly rod; and his collection of original Sherlock Holmes. Primavera was a happy man, a fearless servant of Justice. Best of all, he was in no one’s pocket. And today
he
was in control as he took his place on the bench.

“Mr. Ceratto, please call your next witness.”

Nick rose slowly. He was clean shaven, but his left cheekbone bore a dark bruise from the day before when Seamus Riley had smashed his face against the counsel table. Nick avoided the first hit but the body slam was quick and accurate and Nick’s face hit the mahogany. Both Riley boys were conspicuously absent this morning, having been arrested and confined to the House of Detention for at least the rest of the trial by order of Judge Primavera.

“Thank you, Your Honor. I call Donna Price.”

A murmur echoed from the jury. All had a look of puzzlement on their face. Was this a ghost, or perhaps a hoax, some trick being played on them?

Nick looked toward the back of the courtroom, empty except for six armed guards stationed at the door, three on each side.

“Very well, Mr. Ceratto. Officer, please bring in Ms. Donna Price.”

One of the guards nodded affirmatively to Judge Primavera and stepped out to the courtroom next door where all witnesses had been ordered to wait until called. Only the attorneys, the judge, the jury, the plaintiff, and defendant were permitted to be together in the courtroom. The press had been ordered stay outside City Hall, no closer than fifty feet to any of the entrances.

All eyes in the jury box shifted toward the door as they waited for her—the woman they had been told was murdered.

They had agreed over their morning coffee that the trial was better than any TV drama or any miniseries. Every man and woman was dressed for the occasion. Today there were jackets, ties and dresses instead of sweaters, blue jeans, and jogging pants. It was a clear sign that the jurors were aware of the importance of this case, and even more so of the importance of their task. Even Alonzo Hodge was noticeably erect. He was dressed in an ivory three-piece suit and a bright yellow-and-orange rep tie with stick-pin. His hands were folded tightly in his lap. It signaled to all that he was ready to do his job.

Donna Price walked self-consciously toward the witness stand, escorted by the limping, gray haired bailiff. The only sound was the click of her heels on the terrazzo floor. She looked down, her porcelain skin flushed from the unwanted attention. She smoothed the back of her navy blue skirt as she sat down and cleared her throat, moving the microphone slightly forward. It had been set too close to her mouth. She knew to do this from having been a reluctant speaker at various nurse’s conferences. She moistened her lips and, almost inaudibly, assented to the oath to tell the truth and nothing but the truth.

Nick quickly led her through the preliminaries of name, address, career credentials, her association with Dr. Manin, and the details of the surgery.

The jury listened intently as Donna told her story. She spoke slowly, almost as if she wanted the men and women listening to her to hear and understand each and every word.

“Now, Ms. Price, please tell us what you saw when you entered the recovery room where Captain Riley had been taken.”

Donna hesitated, clearly unsettled by the prospect of having to relive the terror of her encounter with Doletov and the assassins. “When I entered the recovery room the first thing I did was to check the op site. I saw blood. He was bleeding badly. I yelled at Doletov who was in the room. I was about to call a code when she came at me, knocked me down, and tried to inject me with something. I pulled her foot out and ran for help. I managed to call a code, but no one responded. Then Doletov yelled something in Russian and they came at me.”

Juror number three gasped out loud as if she had been hit in the face with ice water after Donna recounted escape from the hospital and the close call the would-be assassins. Alonzo Hodge squinted, and nodded in affirmation as if to say:
I knew some shit went down there.

The jurors’ eyes were riveted on her as she told them about changing her identity and becoming Jane Welles, and how she started a new life in Pasadena. That is until the arrival of Nick Ceratto and company.

“Ms. Price…” Nick paused momentarily, knowing that at this point he had total command of the courtroom. No matter how he phrased his questions, no one would object, certainly not John Asher. After all, Nick was trying his case for him. Nick was better at defending Manin than Asher was at this point. Nick seemed to know a hell of lot more than Asher did. So he would just let him go on.

Judge Primavera listened intently, but without expression. His interest lay in simply getting to the truth and stopping all the nonsense.

“Tell us how you came to be here, if you will. For instance, tell us how you first encountered me and what I told you.”

Donna flushed nervously. She didn’t feel any hostility coming from the jury; the vibes were benign. So she let it rip.

“I was forced to come here because of you, Mr. Ceratto— you and your cohorts—a woman and a man who broke into my apartment and intimidated me…”

“What did I say?” Nick leaned cockily against the witness stand and lowered his head as if to concentrate on every word.

“You said that I had to come to court to testify, to tell the truth about what I saw in the surgical recovery room where Mr. Riley was taken. You handed me a subpoena.”

“And did you want to come? Voluntarily, that is…”

“No. I told you that I didn’t want to testify.”

“And…?”

“I told you that I was afraid of returning to Philadelphia—and you told me about incidents at the hospital.

“What incidents was I speaking about?”

“Trumped up cases, Mr. Ceratto. Where lawyers have people killed so they can make millions with lawsuits. I told you that I couldn’t go back to Philadelphia, that I’d be killed because I knew too much. I had seen what I wasn’t supposed to see.”

“And…?” Nick gently prodded.

“And you said that you would help me—that you would protect me. That I was probably a target in Pasadena since you had most likely been followed there.” Donna’s eyes reddened and brimmed with tears. She wiped the narrow streams, which fell down her face into her lap. She shuddered slightly and took a deep breath, closed her eyes momentarily, and quickly composed herself. “I told you that I’d be on a morning flight, the day before the trial. That I’d testify. I said it to get you—you all out of my apartment—out of my life. I was terrified. And I was not…I mean I intended not to testify. I was going to run again until…” She paused.

“Yes, Ms. Price?”

“Until
she
was killed.”

“Who, Ms. Price? Who was killed…tell us.”

“My roommate.” Donna tilted her back to prevent another cascade of tears and dabbed at her eyes with the back of her right index finger. “My roommate, Carol.”

“What happened to Carol?”

“That night, the night of the day you—” she hesitated “— you broke into my apartment, Carol had taken my shift. She left the apartment, maybe around two a.m. I was asleep when I got a call from the hospital police. I guess it was around three a.m. They had found Carol in the hospital parking lot with her throat slit. They thought I was Carol because she looked like me and she had taken my purse from the dining room table by mistake. We coincidentally had bought the same black bag. It had been on sale. We laughed about it.”

Donna took a breath, shaking her head. “The police found my ID in my bag and assumed the victim was me. Carol and I looked so much alike. We were the same height, blue eyes, blond. And our driver’s license photos were almost identical. Even our hospital picture IDs got confused sometimes if we left them around the apartment. So we used to make sure that we put them in our purses when our shifts were finished, before we came home. Poor Carol.” Donna wept. “It was supposed to be me in the morgue—not her. She had a husband. She had just gotten married. He was supposed to come to California in two weeks to start a new job. They were supposed to be together…”

“Ms. Price,” Judge Primavera interrupted. “Would you like a brief recess?”

“No. No, Your Honor. I want to get this over with—please.”

“Very well.” Primavera nodded his head compassionately. “Continue then, Ms. Price.”

“The police came that morning to question me and to search the apartment. They found a bug and surveillance camera. I was being watched by the killer. He couldn’t tell the difference between Carol and me. So he killed her by mistake.. I decided after that, that my life and the lives of others were in danger if this continued,
if
I
allowed this to go on. I told the police everything—about what happened to Captain Riley, what I had seen, my identity change. I told them about you, Mr. Ceratto, and what was happening in Philadelphia with people being murdered. About what you suspected, about what you knew.”

“And what did they tell you—the police, that is?”

“They told me that they would give me an escort to Philadelphia so that I would be safe. They said that they would be working with the FBI and the Philadelphia police on this.”

“And here you are.” Nick turned to the jury.

“Yes.”

What can you tell us about Dr. Manin, the defendant?” Nick swept his hand toward the defense table.

“About him in general?”

“Yes. Let’s start there. How long have you worked beside Dr. Manin?”

“Oh, at least five years. I’ve worked with him on at least fifty surgeries.”

“And what is the level of service that he gives his patients? In other words, is he a good surgeon. Does he take care of his patients?”

“My goodness, I can’t remember a better surgeon. I’ve never seen a more caring, competent doctor. He takes his time with his patients. He frequently does things himself that many other doctors hand over to a resident. He loves his work and he’s good at it.”

“What about with Captain Riley?”

“I remember that he wanted to perform that emergency surgery because it was a police officer who was injured. Dr. Manin is a friend of the police. He decided to stay for the surgery instead of leaving for a dinner party. And he was very careful during the operation. The repair went smoothly. He closed the wound after it was irrigated. He checked it and then said he had to leave. Usually he would stay to make sure that the patient was stable and doing well in recovery—but this time he couldn’t. He had to leave. He told me to check Captain Riley. He said that his wife would have a
fit if he stayed any later. He was never on time for anything other than his patients. Most doctors wouldn’t stay to personally check their patients. But Doctor Manin did—except for this time.” She swallowed hard and looked over the jury’s heads at the wall behind them. “I wish he had. Then I wouldn’t have found Captain Riley like that and things would have been different.” She paused to dab her eyes. The room was silent for a few seconds. Then there was an audible sigh as the contagious tension was released.