Page 37 of The Accomplice
She looked again at the locks on the door, this time from the inside. All were pretty new and looked solid. Bloch knew a little about lock-picking, from a burglary case she’d handled many years ago. Lilian had all the best lock brands, and they were accurately fitted. Even for a talented lock-pick, it would take at least five minutes to get through those locks, and it would be damn hard to do that without making any noise.
Lilian Parker had not led an extravagant lifestyle. There was little in the apartment of any value. A litter box sat just left of the TV, which was at least ten years old, and what little furniture there was in the room had been scratched up. A cat tower in the kitchen, with mirrors, string and chew toys hanging from its platforms. There was more cat food than real food in the kitchen cupboards. The cat tower hadn’t stopped the pet leaving scratch marks on the base of the bed, the nightstand, or the little coffee table. Two ceramic cat bowls on the kitchen floor.
‘Her neighbor, one floor up, took the cat,’ said Lake. ‘Just in case you were wondering.’
Bloch nodded ; shehadbeen wondering. She couldn’t abide animals being abandoned and was glad the cat had a new owner. Hopefully someone who would love it as much as Lilian had.
She approached the window, checked the street below. Even at this hour, there were people all around. It was a busy part of the city – one that never got quiet.
‘What do you think ?’ asked Lake.
‘I don’t know. I wish he’d tried to kill her in this apartment. Somebody would’ve heard him trying to get through her door.’
Bloch and Lake didn’t speak for a moment. They looked at each other. And their minds were one.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EDDIE
There are some people in this world who lack empathy.
I don’t know what it is about the way judges are appointed, but the lawyers with little capacity for empathy have a head start when it comes to getting on the bench. I can count the judges I would trust to look after a dog on one hand. His Honor Judge Leo Stoker was not one of them. I wouldn’t trust him to babysit an alligator. He caught a big case as a young DA – the prosecution of a number of low-level mob guys, mostly Albanians. He put fifty-eight of them away within eighteen months, and even though they were immediately replaced on the street, and his actions were like a flea bite on the ass of the Albanian mob – it sure looked good in the newspapers and on TV. That was the way things worked in New York – if you couldn’t manage to do something truly great, appearing as if you have done something great is just as good, if not better.
Stoker rode that wave all the way to a judicial appointment. He had ten years on the bench behind him, and seemed content to cruise along, sending as many people to prison as possible. Clearing cases was all a judge had to do. That was their function – to get as many folks through the system as fast as possible, and while most took at least some time to make sure that due process was followed, Stoker had never been burdened by any notions of justice. He punched his ticket at nine a.m. Cleared his case docket. Went home and drank. Played golf on the weekends.
Stoker never married, which was unusual. To get enough time and cases under your belt as an attorney usually left at least a couple of broken marriages behind – but not Stoker. It kind of made sense, as marriage is supposed to be everlasting devotion to another – something Stoker was incapable of comprehending. The word in the backrooms and corridors of Center Street was he liked high-priced call girls and had a couple of detectives from vice on his payroll to make sure his activities never caused him any public embarrassment. His public profile was important to him, and he would be seen out in restaurants with girls half his age who looked like catalogue models.
He liked to keep it quiet that these girlsdidcome out of a catalogue.
His corruption was not only professional, but personal.
He sat now in Center Street, looking down at me and my team from on high. His fingers were laced together, a streak of oil or wax through his neat black hair swept it back from his eyes. His tan never waned, no matter the time of year, and the paler spots around his eyes gave away his tanning-bed regime. His skin always had a sheen to it, as if he sprayed not only his hair, but his whole face with lacquer.
‘Mr. Flynn, I will get to you in a moment. Mr. White, I understand you have a motion at this time ?’
Drew White was one of the outstanding assistant district attorneys in the city. He was also one of the city’s outstanding assholes. He was on his feet, buttoning his suit jacket. I never judge anyone by their physical appearance. White stood now, a little over five foot two. Nobody mentioned the two-inch elevated heels he wore, at least not to his face. The criminal defense attorneys, and most of the women he worked with, were all too happy to wait until they made it to a bar after work to make fun of him. He had a reputation for being very hands-on with the younger assistant district attorneys, but only if they were female. I’d heard that the DA’s office had quietly promoted or let go of no less than five female assistant prosecutors who had the audacity to complain that they were being harassed by White. These were only rumors, but Kate had made it her business to try and find these women. Suing companies and institutions for sexual harassment was Kate’s real passion, and she was damn good at it. The rumors included an attempted rape at a DA’s Christmas party. He had apparently spiked the drink of a young female prosecutor, six months into her job. Two secretaries who had spotted him leaving with her managed to haul her out of the cab before White could take her somewhere private. The gossip was that there was worse still, and only a rape kit that had been mysteriously lost by forensics had saved his ass from a charge.
Before White spoke, he turned and looked at me, Harry and Kate, making sure the judge couldn’t see his face.
As his eyes passed over Kate, his gaze lingered. He smiled at her. Just briefly, but it sure wasn’t friendly. It was the way a drunk guy smiles at a cheeseburger at four o’ clock in the morning. It was a hungry, creepy look. Then he turned and began to introduce his prosecution team to the judge.
‘Euuugh,’ said Kate, ‘is that a new prosecution tactic or something ? Make your opponent feel physically sick ?’
‘Is that how young men flirt these days ?’ asked Harry. ‘For a second I thought he was having a stroke.’
‘Your Honor,’ began White, ‘it has come to my office’s attention that Carrie Miller has breached her bail terms. As you know, she is technically under house arrest. She is not at her property. We would ask that the court revoke bail.’
‘Is this true, Mr. Flynn ?’ asked Judge Stoker.
As I got up to answer the judge, I reminded myself of the few legal rules I was unwilling to break. One was telling the judge a bare-faced lie. At least one that he might actually know is a lie.
‘My co-counsel, Kate Brooks, and my firm’s consultant, Harry Ford, were unable to locate her at the property this morning. I would like to know how this came to the attention of the District Attorney’s office. We were in the process of locating our client when we got the call to attend at this hearing,’ I said.
‘That does not concern you, Mr. Flynn. I believe there is only one course of action here – I’m revoking bail and issuing an arrest warrant for your client. Any other motions, Mr. White ?’
‘Yes, Your Honor, I would like to adjourn this hearing for a short time and reconvene in an hour for a Parker hearing.’
‘Granted,’ said Judge Stoker, getting up off his seat and disappearing into his chambers before I could open my mouth to object.
