Read Online Judge & Jury by James Patterson, Andrew Gross - Free Book Online
Authors: James Patterson, Andrew Gross
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Edgar Award. I did some CSI and NYPD Blue scripts.”
“So, like, you’re famous,” said Andie.
“I know a few famous writers,” he said, grinning. “Am I making you nervous?”
“Yeah, I can hardly hold my chopsticks.” Andie smiled. “Look at them shake.”
“So I gotta ask you guys.” O’Flynn lowered his voice. “I know we’re not supposed to talk, but this Machia guy, what’d we make of him?”
“We make him to be one coldhearted sonovabitch,” Marc said. “But he does know how to get a laugh.”
“He is a sonovabitch,” Andie agreed, “but when he was talking about his friend, I don’t know, I felt a different side of him starting to come through.”
“I guess what I was really asking”—O’Flynn leaned in close—“is, do we believe him? In spite of all the shit he’s done.”
Andie looked at Marc. Machia was a murderer and a thug. He’d probably done a hundred horrible things he’d never owned up to. But that bit about telling the truth hit home, how he had nothing to gain from lying now.
The writer shrugged. “Yeah, I believe him.”
They both looked at Andie. “Yeah, I believe him, too.”
Chapter 21
WHEN THE JURY CAME BACK from lunch, a behemoth of a man took the witness stand. He was probably three hundred pounds, and he was one of the least healthy-looking people I’d ever seen.
“Can you state your name,” Joel Goldenberger stood up and asked, “and where you currently reside?”
“My name is Ralph Denunziatta,” the heavyset man said, “and I currently reside in a federal penitentiary.”
Suddenly there was an ear-splitting boom that seemed to shake the entire building.
Everybody jumped or covered their heads. It was under-the-table time. There were several loud cries. One of the marshals made a move toward Cavello. No one knew what was happening yet. I stood up and was about to jump over the railing to protect the judge.
Then the noise came again. From the street. Maybe a demolition explosion, or a truck backfire. Everyone looked around as the nervous gasps in the courtroom diffused.
The only one who hadn’t moved was Cavello. He just sat there, looking around, concealing an amused grin. “Don’t look at me, ” he said, and nearly everybody in the courtroom laughed.
The trial resumed. Denunziatta was about fifty, with a couple of double chins and grayish thinning hair; he spoke in a soft tone. Like Machia, I’d gotten to know him well. I was the one who had arrested him. I actually liked Ralphie, if you could like a guy who wouldn’t shrug to see you dead.
Joel Goldenberger stepped up to the stand. “Mr. Denunziatta, would you state your position in organized crime?”
“I was a captain in the Guarino crime family.” He spoke in a hushed tone, eyes averted.
“Ralphie D.?” the U.S. prosecutor asked.
The witness nodded. “Yes. That would be me.”
“You have a college degree, don’t you, Mr. Denunziatta?” the prosecutor continued.
“Yes, sir, I do. In business. From LIU.”
“But you never got a regular job? You chose to dedicate yourself to a life of crime?”
“That’s correct.” Denunziatta nodded again. Ralphie’s father was one of Cavello’s henchmen when Ralphie was growing up. “My father wanted me to become a stockbroker or get a law degree. But things were changing. The family was in some legitimate businesses—restaurants, nightclubs, food distribution—so I got involved with them. I thought I could avoid things, you know, the things everyone talks about—the violence, the dirty work.”
“But you couldn’t, Mr. Denunziatta, could you?” Joel Goldenberger asked.
“No, sir.” The witness shook his head. “I couldn’t.”
“And one of those things you couldn’t avoid was involvement in the murder of Sam Greenblatt?”
“Yes,” he said, locking his thumbs.
“And you pleaded guilty to playing a part in that crime, is that not correct?”
“That’s correct,” the witness said. “I pleaded
“So, like, you’re famous,” said Andie.
“I know a few famous writers,” he said, grinning. “Am I making you nervous?”
“Yeah, I can hardly hold my chopsticks.” Andie smiled. “Look at them shake.”
“So I gotta ask you guys.” O’Flynn lowered his voice. “I know we’re not supposed to talk, but this Machia guy, what’d we make of him?”
“We make him to be one coldhearted sonovabitch,” Marc said. “But he does know how to get a laugh.”
“He is a sonovabitch,” Andie agreed, “but when he was talking about his friend, I don’t know, I felt a different side of him starting to come through.”
“I guess what I was really asking”—O’Flynn leaned in close—“is, do we believe him? In spite of all the shit he’s done.”
Andie looked at Marc. Machia was a murderer and a thug. He’d probably done a hundred horrible things he’d never owned up to. But that bit about telling the truth hit home, how he had nothing to gain from lying now.
The writer shrugged. “Yeah, I believe him.”
They both looked at Andie. “Yeah, I believe him, too.”
Chapter 21
WHEN THE JURY CAME BACK from lunch, a behemoth of a man took the witness stand. He was probably three hundred pounds, and he was one of the least healthy-looking people I’d ever seen.
“Can you state your name,” Joel Goldenberger stood up and asked, “and where you currently reside?”
“My name is Ralph Denunziatta,” the heavyset man said, “and I currently reside in a federal penitentiary.”
Suddenly there was an ear-splitting boom that seemed to shake the entire building.
Everybody jumped or covered their heads. It was under-the-table time. There were several loud cries. One of the marshals made a move toward Cavello. No one knew what was happening yet. I stood up and was about to jump over the railing to protect the judge.
Then the noise came again. From the street. Maybe a demolition explosion, or a truck backfire. Everyone looked around as the nervous gasps in the courtroom diffused.
The only one who hadn’t moved was Cavello. He just sat there, looking around, concealing an amused grin. “Don’t look at me, ” he said, and nearly everybody in the courtroom laughed.
The trial resumed. Denunziatta was about fifty, with a couple of double chins and grayish thinning hair; he spoke in a soft tone. Like Machia, I’d gotten to know him well. I was the one who had arrested him. I actually liked Ralphie, if you could like a guy who wouldn’t shrug to see you dead.
Joel Goldenberger stepped up to the stand. “Mr. Denunziatta, would you state your position in organized crime?”
“I was a captain in the Guarino crime family.” He spoke in a hushed tone, eyes averted.
“Ralphie D.?” the U.S. prosecutor asked.
The witness nodded. “Yes. That would be me.”
“You have a college degree, don’t you, Mr. Denunziatta?” the prosecutor continued.
“Yes, sir, I do. In business. From LIU.”
“But you never got a regular job? You chose to dedicate yourself to a life of crime?”
“That’s correct.” Denunziatta nodded again. Ralphie’s father was one of Cavello’s henchmen when Ralphie was growing up. “My father wanted me to become a stockbroker or get a law degree. But things were changing. The family was in some legitimate businesses—restaurants, nightclubs, food distribution—so I got involved with them. I thought I could avoid things, you know, the things everyone talks about—the violence, the dirty work.”
“But you couldn’t, Mr. Denunziatta, could you?” Joel Goldenberger asked.
“No, sir.” The witness shook his head. “I couldn’t.”
“And one of those things you couldn’t avoid was involvement in the murder of Sam Greenblatt?”
“Yes,” he said, locking his thumbs.
“And you pleaded guilty to playing a part in that crime, is that not correct?”
“That’s correct,” the witness said. “I pleaded
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