Presumption of Guilt (19 page)

Olivetti grew silent. Outside, the wind rustled through the trees. Tommy could see through the window that it was blowing up. The storm that had been forecast was getting closer. He hoped to be back home before it hit full blast, but he didn’t want to rush the man sitting opposite him.

Finally, Olivetti spoke. “I’ve never told this to anyone before. My failure to speak up has weighed heavily on me these years. When I saw there was going to be a hearing on Molly Singer’s case, I knew it was time.”

“I’m listening.”

“This is difficult. Please be patient with me.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Olivetti swallowed deeply, then began. “Mary Jane hadn’t planned on going into politics. I mean, she’d been active behind the scenes for a while, but never wanted political office for herself. But she didn’t like the way things were going, and someone, I don’t want to say who, urged her to run. He was in the county legislature himself. This man, he became Mary Jane’s mentor, and she grew very close to him. Mary Jane was a good legislator. She listened to her constituents, and every two years they re-elected her. She got to a senior position on the appropriations committee, and that’s when it happened.”

“What’s that?”

“She had opposed building a new county jail, like most of the Democrats. But they were in the minority, and it got approved. After the contract was awarded, Paul Scoby asked for a meeting with her.”

Tommy remembered that Scoby was leader of the Democratic Party in Hudson County.

“He told her he wanted her to approve the bills that came in for the jail. She said she’d look each one over, and if it was in order, she’d approve it. He said no. She had to approve them even if she thought something was wrong. Mary Jane laughed at him. ‘Why would I do that?’ she said. Scoby told her if she didn’t do as he said, he would reveal some personal information about her mentor. Information he didn’t want known.”

“Did he tell her what that was?”

Olivetti nodded. “He told Mary Jane that her mentor was carrying on an affair with another man. He showed her pictures of them together. Explicit pictures.”

“This is a pretty progressive county. His constituents probably wouldn’t have cared.”

Olivetti shook his head. “He’s married, had been for almost twenty years back then. He had children in the schools here. It would have devastated his wife and kids. And you have to remember—even just that long ago, people weren’t as accepting of homosexuality.”

“So, Mary Jane agreed?”

“It was the hardest decision she’d ever had to make. Harder than the decision to leave the church. She knew she had a duty to her constituents. But she’d come to love her mentor. He was like a father to her. She went to see him, told him what Scoby said, what he threatened to do. He begged her to keep his secret. She did.”

“Then why was she killed?”

“At first, when the Singers were murdered, she didn’t think it was related. Then they arrested the daughter. She followed the case closely, saw they didn’t have any real evidence against the girl. She began to think maybe it had to do with the money Joe Singer had skimmed. So, she called her mentor and said she had to tell the authorities about it. She’d wanted to give him a heads up, so he wouldn’t be blindsided. She was on her way to the police when the accident happened.”

Olivetti sank down onto a chair and buried his head in his hands. Moments passed, and when he lifted his head, his cheeks were tear stained. “For a long time, I harbored an intense hatred toward her mentor. He had to have called someone, alerted them to Mary Jane’s intentions. Maybe Scoby. Maybe someone else. I don’t know. But I realized Mary Jane would have forgiven him, and I needed to for her.”

“After the accident, why didn’t you tell the police about this?”

Olivetti looked downcast. “Because I was a coward. I was afraid they’d kill me, too.”

“Why are you telling me now?”

“I have stage-four liver cancer. In a few months I’ll be dead. They can’t hurt me anymore.”

C
HAPTER

33

“I
guess for once Republicans and Democrats agreed on something,” Dani said. “They teamed up to bilk the county.” Tommy had just filled her and Melanie in on his meeting with Burtram Olivetti.

“You’re assuming Frank Reynolds was in on it, too?” Melanie asked.

“Had to be. They couldn’t have approved the payments without him. Whether he was coerced, like Mary Jane, or participated voluntarily, I don’t know. But he had to be in on it.”

“So what now?” Tommy asked.

Dani wasn’t sure what to do with the information, other than turn it over to the US attorney. Josh Cosgrove would have one more name to investigate. Paul Scoby had to be one of the three others who profited from the jail. Why else would he have strong-armed Mary Jane? Dani considered making a request that the hearing be reopened to add Olivetti’s testimony—but to what end? They already had put in substantial evidence that five people illegally benefitted from the construction of the jail—including Joe Singer. But there was still a missing link—something that tied the fraud to the murders. Dani firmly believed Joe Singer was killed to silence him, quickly followed by Mary Jane Olivetti and now Quince Michaels. Could she convince a jury of that?

At Molly’s first trial, her confession had trumped the lack of evidence. Now, in addition to her expert, Dani could trot before the jury a slew of wrongfully convicted men and women who’d confessed to crimes only to be later absolved with DNA evidence. She’d suggest someone else had had a powerful motive to kill Joe Singer, but Murdoch would undoubtedly point out that it was speculation. No one could know for certain that Joe Singer was about to come forward about the theft when he was killed. Molly overhearing her father’s increasingly heated arguments with Quince Michaels wasn’t nearly enough.

Dani wanted to find the murderer. That was the equivalent of DNA—absolute proof of innocence. Whoever had been sending the anonymous letters knew who it was. But she had no clue as to how she could find him or her.

Dani turned to Tommy. “Two people approved the payments—Mary Jane Olivetti and Frank Reynolds. One is now dead. Let’s put more pressure on Reynolds. He has to have been in on it.”

Tommy nodded. “I’ll make another trip up there.”

The meeting over, Dani turned her attention to the brief Judge Bryson wanted. The law and the facts were on her side. The outcome of the hearing should be clear—a new trial for Molly. Still, she had a feeling of unease. Especially with Judge Bryson. He’d sentenced Molly to two life terms, unusual even with hardened criminals. Was he simply a tough-on-crime judge? Or did he have some reason to keep Molly behind bars?

Frank Reynolds stood outside his house, his hand on the doorknob, unable to move. It had been impossible to get any work done at the office today. All he could think about was Molly and the hearing.

Inside, Betsy waited with dinner in the oven. Like most husbands, he kept few secrets from his wife. They shared the daily tidbits of their lives, how they’d spent their day, who they’d spoken to, what they’d accomplished. They shared their hopes and dreams; they shared their disappointments. But he had kept one secret from his wife—what he had done to become county executive. That secret now felt like a two-ton burden he carried on his back, dragging him down with every step he took.

Suddenly, the door opened from inside. “What are you doing out here?” Betsy asked. “I heard you pull into the driveway ten minutes ago.”

Frank put on a smile. “Just checking for any cracks in the foundation. Winter’s not too far away.” Their house was almost eighty years old, as were most in this section of Andersonville. It was a saltbox cape, with two bedrooms on the main floor and two rooms upstairs.

“Well, come on in. Supper’s almost ready.”

Frank stepped inside, hung his coat in the closet, then headed for the pantry, where he kept the liquor. He brought a bottle of scotch into the kitchen, retrieved a glass from a cabinet, and poured himself a double. It would make his headache worse, but he needed to numb himself. He massaged his temples, hoping to rub away the pain.

“What’s going on?”

Frank turned and found Betsy staring at him. They’d been married close to thirty-five years, and she still looked beautiful to him. Despite the fifteen pounds she’d added over the years, she looked like the teenager he’d fallen in love with so long ago.

“Nothing. Why?”

“Come on, Frank. You haven’t been yourself for two days. Something’s bothering you.”

“Just work,” he mumbled.

“What about work?”

Frank shook his head, but Betsy wouldn’t let it lie.

“And frankly, it’s not just the past two days. Something’s got you tied up in knots the last two months.”

He ached to tell her, to confess his sins and seek absolution. His desire for her to guide him, tell him what to do, welled up in him, and he was about to speak when the phone rang. He lunged to pick it up, relieved at the interruption.

“Hello.”

“Frank, it’s Alan. Just wanted to let you know. I’m letting the others know, too. I’m denying the motion for a new hearing. It’s over.”

Frank got off the phone and sank down into a kitchen chair, then dropped his head into his hands and cried.

Frank didn’t know why that investigator was still bothering him. He’d considered brushing him off, saying he was too busy to see him. But Frank knew the type—the pushy, aggressive, can’t-take-no type. He figured he’d see him one more time and get it over with. When his secretary buzzed, he told her to send him right in.

“Mr. Noorland,” he said, “I’ve already told you everything I know.”

Noorland stared straight at him, his eyes unblinking. “No, I don’t think you have.”

Frank took a breath. No need to be nervous, he reassured himself. He’s just fishing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get to the point or leave. I’m too busy for games.”

“We know about Mary Jane Olivetti.”

It felt like his heart had stopped. He forced himself to breathe again, to get control of himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Noorland smiled as though he’d seen right through him and felt the panic emanating from his pores. “Sure you do. Do you want me to spell it out?”

“I guess you’d better, ’cause I’m in the dark.”

Noorland stepped closer and leaned across the desk. “We know Scoby blackmailed her into overlooking the excess payments. So tell me, who blackmailed you? Or were you an equal partner?”

Frank could feel his face go hot. He stood up, pointed his finger at the investigator, and, with his voice raised, said, “Get out of here.”

Instead, Noorland helped himself to a seat. He stared into Frank’s eyes so long, Frank had to turn away. Finally, he spoke. “I can help you. I know you’re worried if you talk you’ll end up like Singer and Michaels. But there are people who can keep you safe.”

Frank wanted to believe him. He wanted to unburden himself to this stranger, explain that he hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. He wanted him to know that he hadn’t taken any money for himself. He wanted him to know that he prayed Molly would go free, but he didn’t want to go to jail himself. He wanted to return to the day fourteen years ago when Bryson promised him the position of county executive. All he had to do was one thing, one small thing. He wanted this stranger to understand that he’d known he’d be a good county executive and that he’d lived up to that belief. He’d cut back taxes and reduced expenses. He’d lowered crime. He’d expanded low-income housing. Yes, he’d been good for the county. And still, if he could go back to that day, if he could do it all over, he would say to the judge, “No.” Even if it meant the end of his life in public service.

This stranger promised to keep him safe, but Frank knew no one could. Not from the judge. “I’m sorry. You’re misinformed. And now you really must leave.”

After Noorland left, Frank stared at the phone. He had a decision to make—call the judge and alert him to this new development, or keep quiet and see what happened. He reached for the receiver, then stopped.

If Noorland knew about Scoby, then Bryson might think Scoby was a weak link—a portal into their scheme—just as Quince had become when his ex-wife squealed to Noorland. Four dead people were enough. Paul Scoby didn’t need to be added to the list.

C
HAPTER

34

D
ani’s hands trembled as she read the decision.

The defendant filed a motion pursuant to section 440 of the criminal procedure law seeking a new trial based on a claim of newly discovered evidence. This newly discovered evidence consists of claims that the defendant’s father, Joseph Singer, along with his partner, Quince Michaels, fraudulently obtained millions of dollars from Hudson County in connection with their company’s construction of the Hudson County jail. The defendant’s motion is denied, for the reasons set forth below. For the judgment to be vacated and a new trial held, (1) the evidence must not have been discoverable before trial by due diligence, (2) it must be admissible at trial, (3) it must be worthy of belief, and (4) it must be such that if the jury heard this evidence, it is probable that the verdict would be changed. Because the State of New York conducted an audit of the jail finances and did not discover a discrepancy, I conclude that defendant met the first prong of the test. With respect to the second prong, the testimony of Ellen Michaels as to conversations with her then husband concerning a bank account in Belize is excluded as hearsay and therefore would not be admissible at trial. However, the testimony of Lisa Michaels, solely with respect to the documents concerning the partnership agreement between Quince Michaels and Joe Singer and the Belize bank-account records, is not hearsay and is admissible. The testimony of Saul Delinsky, which identifies irregularities in the payments for the jail, is also relevant and admissible at trial. However, assuming it is true that Singer and Michaels purposefully overcharged the county, there is no evidence of worth to connect those acts to the murder of Joseph and Sarah Singer. Accordingly, it is not probable that the jury verdict would be changed as a result of the newly discovered evidence. Motion denied.