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Authors: Raffi Yessayan
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just a ham-’n’-egger tryin’ to make a living.”
“Do the right thing?” Brendan asked, angry now.
Connie could see it in the stiffening of Brendan’s back, the way his neck reddened. Their voices were edging louder. Connie imagined what would have happened if these two had met for a school yard fight. He figured that on size and strength alone, Brendan would have taken Fitzpatrick out with one punch. Andi caught Connie’s attention and gestured that she was going to the water cooler. She didn’t need the stress of watching two lawyers brawling in the hallway before her first trial.
“He’s like you and me?” Brendan asked. “What’s that supposed to mean? He’s white so he deserves a break?” Brendan shot a look at the client who lounged against the wall, looking like he wanted nothing more than to light up a cigarette and toss back a beer. “I’m not giving your guy special treatment because he’s white or because you represent him. I’ll offer him a guilty finding with a year of probation, same thing I’d offer anyone who walked into this court.”
Fitzpatrick’s whole demeanor shifted. “Now I get it,” he said. “All of a sudden, you’re a true believer. I think maybe you forgot where you came from.”
“I grew up in the projects, not in some mansion overlooking Castle Island. You don’t know where the fuck I came from, so don’t ever pull that shit on me. I gave you an offer. Take it or leave it.”
“You can shove your offer up your ass, Brendan.”
“Good. Let’s pick a trial date. That is, if you have the balls to actually try a case instead of just begging for a break.” Brendan turned and walked toward the courtroom.
Fitzpatrick hunkered with his client, the man gesturing wildly at the bad news.
When Connie looked back toward Andi, he saw that she’d spotted the defense attorney that’d kept them waiting. She took a few steps toward the man, her hand extended in a greeting. Good strategy. Don’t show how pissed you are about the little head game of being late.
He’d have to remember to tell Brendan what a smooth job he’d done, handling Peter Fitzpatrick.
CHAPTER 17
S ergeant Mooney’s silver Ford Taurus was parked on the street behind a black SUV. Angel Alves parked behind them and made his way to the back door of the McCarthy house. He stepped through the small mudroom, its walls covered in old-fashioned bead board, and directly into the kitchen. Before he found Mooney, he could hear his voice.
“Mr. McCarthy,” Alves said, extending his hand to the man seated at the kitchen table with Mooney.
“Call me Walter.”
“Any luck?” Alves gestured to a pile of credit card statements.
“Nothing from New Balance,” Mooney said. “But we did find something strange. One of her suits is missing.”
“When I got here,” Walter McCarthy said, “Susan’s mother was upstairs going through her stuff.” The man looked as though he hadn’t slept since he’d gotten the news of his ex-wife’s disappearance. “She just wants to touch everything Susan wore, to smell her again.” He stopped talking for a moment, trying to control his own emotions. He took a breath. “As she’s going through the closet she notices that Susan’s favorite blue suit is missing. It was an expensive suit that she bought in New York last fall. Susan called it her money suit.”
“Are you sure it’s not in the house?” Alves asked.
“I’m sure,” McCarthy said. “We looked everywhere. My mother-in-law is upstairs now, taking another look.” He glanced at the ceiling above them. “It’s really getting to her.”
“What about Fidelity?” Alves asked. “Could she have left the suit at work?”
“I checked with her supervisor,” Mooney said. “She kept some clothes in a closet, but there was no suit.”
“Dry cleaners?” Alves asked.
“She’s gone to the same place for years. They keep track of everything by phone number. She had a few things that she
“Do the right thing?” Brendan asked, angry now.
Connie could see it in the stiffening of Brendan’s back, the way his neck reddened. Their voices were edging louder. Connie imagined what would have happened if these two had met for a school yard fight. He figured that on size and strength alone, Brendan would have taken Fitzpatrick out with one punch. Andi caught Connie’s attention and gestured that she was going to the water cooler. She didn’t need the stress of watching two lawyers brawling in the hallway before her first trial.
“He’s like you and me?” Brendan asked. “What’s that supposed to mean? He’s white so he deserves a break?” Brendan shot a look at the client who lounged against the wall, looking like he wanted nothing more than to light up a cigarette and toss back a beer. “I’m not giving your guy special treatment because he’s white or because you represent him. I’ll offer him a guilty finding with a year of probation, same thing I’d offer anyone who walked into this court.”
Fitzpatrick’s whole demeanor shifted. “Now I get it,” he said. “All of a sudden, you’re a true believer. I think maybe you forgot where you came from.”
“I grew up in the projects, not in some mansion overlooking Castle Island. You don’t know where the fuck I came from, so don’t ever pull that shit on me. I gave you an offer. Take it or leave it.”
“You can shove your offer up your ass, Brendan.”
“Good. Let’s pick a trial date. That is, if you have the balls to actually try a case instead of just begging for a break.” Brendan turned and walked toward the courtroom.
Fitzpatrick hunkered with his client, the man gesturing wildly at the bad news.
When Connie looked back toward Andi, he saw that she’d spotted the defense attorney that’d kept them waiting. She took a few steps toward the man, her hand extended in a greeting. Good strategy. Don’t show how pissed you are about the little head game of being late.
He’d have to remember to tell Brendan what a smooth job he’d done, handling Peter Fitzpatrick.
CHAPTER 17
S ergeant Mooney’s silver Ford Taurus was parked on the street behind a black SUV. Angel Alves parked behind them and made his way to the back door of the McCarthy house. He stepped through the small mudroom, its walls covered in old-fashioned bead board, and directly into the kitchen. Before he found Mooney, he could hear his voice.
“Mr. McCarthy,” Alves said, extending his hand to the man seated at the kitchen table with Mooney.
“Call me Walter.”
“Any luck?” Alves gestured to a pile of credit card statements.
“Nothing from New Balance,” Mooney said. “But we did find something strange. One of her suits is missing.”
“When I got here,” Walter McCarthy said, “Susan’s mother was upstairs going through her stuff.” The man looked as though he hadn’t slept since he’d gotten the news of his ex-wife’s disappearance. “She just wants to touch everything Susan wore, to smell her again.” He stopped talking for a moment, trying to control his own emotions. He took a breath. “As she’s going through the closet she notices that Susan’s favorite blue suit is missing. It was an expensive suit that she bought in New York last fall. Susan called it her money suit.”
“Are you sure it’s not in the house?” Alves asked.
“I’m sure,” McCarthy said. “We looked everywhere. My mother-in-law is upstairs now, taking another look.” He glanced at the ceiling above them. “It’s really getting to her.”
“What about Fidelity?” Alves asked. “Could she have left the suit at work?”
“I checked with her supervisor,” Mooney said. “She kept some clothes in a closet, but there was no suit.”
“Dry cleaners?” Alves asked.
“She’s gone to the same place for years. They keep track of everything by phone number. She had a few things that she
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