Notorious (6 page)

P
oe & Diamond, PC,
had an unusual location for a criminal defense firm. Rather than being downtown near the courts with all the other law offices, it occupied the first two floors of a lavish limestone mansion on a prestigious Upper East Side block. A young receptionist in a short skirt and trendy eyeglasses ushered Melanie into Diamond's office.

Diamond sprang to his feet and came out from behind the big mahogany desk to greet her. Melanie was struck by how handsome he was, how perfectly groomed and tailored. He didn't look like a lawyer so much as an actor who played one on TV.

“Melanie, welcome. Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee or soda or something?” Here on his home turf, his manner was surprisingly humble and down-to-earth, with a touch of Brooklyn in his accent that humanized him.

“No, thank you, I'm good.”

“Nothing for now, Deb, thanks,” he said to the receptionist, who backed out of the room and closed the door softly behind her. Dia
mond retreated behind the big desk, where he took a seat in a glossy leather chair.

“I was surprised to hear from you,” he said. “I figured you'd be so busy trying to prove what a scumbag my client is that I wouldn't see you till opening statements.” Diamond's smile was warm enough to take the bite out of his words.

Melanie forced a laugh. “Don't worry, I'm working on that.”

“Of course you are. This case is a great opportunity for you. If you win, you can write your ticket. But tell me, to what do I owe the honor? It must be something important for you to schlep uptown this close to trial.”

“Yeah, I'm surprised you're located here,” Melanie said. “It's a spectacular building, but it's really off the beaten path for law firms, isn't it?”

The small talk was intended to buy her a moment to think. The importance of this meeting weighed so heavily on Melanie that she had butterflies.

“Les bought this building for a song thirty years ago,” Diamond said. “It's worth ten million today. He lived upstairs. You should see the place. Gorgeous. Me, I commute in from Roslyn. I was downtown, like you say, but one of the big firms made an offer I couldn't match and took over the whole building. I lost my lease. Out of the kindness of his heart, Les took me on.”

“So you're not actually partners?”

“We share expenses here for overhead, staff and the like. We joined the name on the letterhead. But we each have our own client base.”

“I see.”

“Now that he's gone, I'll be looking for space downtown again. Even if I wanted to stay, Brenda would sell the place out from under me. She needs the cash.”

“Brenda?”

“Les's wife.”

“Lester was
married
?” Melanie tried to picture his hands. There hadn't been any ring.

“Yeah, to Brenda Gould. She was that big fashion designer in the seventies. Maybe you're too young to remember.”

“H-how can that be? I can't—I just can't believe it. Lester never mentioned being married. I never saw it in anything I read about him, either.”

As Diamond watched Melanie, understanding dawned on his face. “You had something going with Les. That's why you wanted to see me.”

“No.”

“If he promised you anything—look, honey, I have no control over the disposition of his assets.”

“No, you're wrong. Lester and I had a purely professional friendship. We were colleagues, nothing more. I'm just surprised he never mentioned a wife given how much we'd…chatted, that's all.”

“It's a marriage in name only at this point. Maybe that's why. Brenda's not a well woman, and Les took care of her out of the goodness of his heart. There wasn't much romantic left there.”

“Still.”

Diamond shrugged. “So I hear you were there when it happened yesterday.”

“Who told you that?”

“Grapevine.”

Diamond's eyes were dark like her own and appeared trustworthy enough. But you didn't get a reputation as dangerous as his for no reason. This man might talk. Even with the bomber dead, Melanie decided she'd be wise to take herself out of the picture as a witness.

“I'd turned away right before it happened,” she said. “I heard a big boom, and then there was smoke everywhere and I couldn't see a thing.”

He nodded.

“We should get down to business,” she said.

He glanced at his watch. “You have my complete attention.”

“Right before the bombing, Lester and I discussed the possibility of a plea. He wanted me to ask the judge to postpone the trial so we could talk about it.”

“Huh, really? That surprises me.”

“Lester didn't mention this to you?”

“Didn't mention it. Didn't write it in the file, which I've carefully reviewed. And what's more, my client doesn't want to plead guilty. Not even close. Atari has fire in his belly. This is a lousy trumped-up rap, and he wants to beat it.”

“Save the speeches for the jury, Evan. You and I both know the proof is solid.”

“One tape and a few cooperators who're dirty as the day is long? If my guy doesn't walk with a case that shoddy, I deserve to be run out of town.”

“If that's how you feel, I won't waste your time. Take your chances in court.”

Melanie started to get up, but Diamond waved her back into her chair.

“Wait a minute, don't run off. I admit, you got me curious. What could you offer him that would make it worth it? You're bound by the mandatory minimum. The way I see it, on a drug murder, even with credit for the plea he'd still have to eat twenty years.”

“Not if I write him a substantial assistance letter.”

“Cooperation?”

“Yes.”

“You'd cooperate Atari Briggs, the black devil who's corrupting the young people of America?”

“Oh, please. Be serious.”

“I am serious. I'm shocked.”

“If Atari is sincere about wanting to help, and his information is good enough, we'd be happy to work with him.”

“Atari doesn't have any information. He's been clean for over a decade. Who's he supposed to give up, Jay Leno? He has no contacts in the drug business anymore.”

“I'm confident Atari could give me people I'm interested in.”

“You're basing this on what Les told you yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“I'm all ears. Who'd he say Atari can finger that's so important?”

“Ask your client. Or better yet, let me ask him. Bring Atari in for a meeting and we'll talk to him about this together.”

“I can't go to the client looking like an idiot, not knowing what my own partner discussed with the government. Do me a favor, Melanie. Tell me what Lester said.”

If Melanie told Diamond that the name Gamal Abdullah had come up, would he keep that to himself, or would he sell Atari Briggs out? He was pushing pretty hard to get a name; suspiciously hard, and Mark had said the Abdullah angle was to remain a closely guarded secret. She couldn't take the risk.

“Like I said, ask him yourself.”

“To go to him blind, not even knowing what you want out of him?” Diamond shook his head. “I don't think so. Cooperation isn't my thing anyway. I don't like rats, and I don't like representing them.”

“So I've heard.”

“Yeah, I know. As far as you people are concerned, representing a few narcotics defendants makes me the equivalent of Pablo Escobar. Let me tell you, honey, if you want to make a living in this business, it's either the kingpins or the white-collar guys, and frankly the kingpins are better people.”

“I don't care who pays your bills, Evan. But if you're an honest
lawyer, you'll take my proposal to your client. You don't have a choice.”

“Of course I do. I represent him; I make the decisions about what's in his best interests.”

“If you don't tell him about this, I'll have a duty to inform the judge.”

“The judge? Your former boss, you mean. You two go girlfriend shopping together at lunchtime, or what?”

Melanie laughed. “You don't know Bernadette. She spanks us every chance she gets. But I can tell you, she won't tolerate you refusing to communicate a valid offer of cooperation to your client. That's the equivalent of turning down a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free card. I'll make sure she hears about it.”

They stared at each other in silence. Melanie refused to look away. She needed him to understand that she was serious.

Diamond blinked first.

“You came all the way uptown to make this offer,” he said. “I'd hate to see you leave empty-handed. I'll convey your proposal to Atari. He'll likely take it as a sign that your case is weak and you're panicking. But I could be wrong. If you lose this trial, you go home to your family at the end of the day. If Atari loses, he gets twenty to life.”

I
n the vestibule outside
Diamond's office, weak winter light filtered through the etched glass door, revealing a graceful staircase curving upward. Lester Poe had lived up there in a grand apartment. His wife—his widow—was probably at home right now.

Melanie couldn't explain why she'd been so shocked by the news that Lester was married. Her father had cheated on her mother. Her ex-husband had cheated on her. Then she'd fallen for somebody new, and he'd cheated, too—well, close enough, anyway. She attracted them somehow. She shouldn't let this one bother her; she'd barely known Lester. She looked at her watch. It was time to get back to the office.

Outside, she couldn't help noticing something she'd missed on the way in. There was a second buzzer under the one with the large brass plaque beside it proclaiming P
OE
& D
IAMOND
in engraved letters. This one was unmarked. Presumably the only people who pressed it were those who knew to look for it.

Melanie's hand wavered, then reached out of its own accord.

“Who is it?” asked a woman's voice, low and cultured.

“Is this Brenda Gould?”

“Yes?”

“I'm Melanie Vargas. I'm an Assistant U.S. Attorney, from the federal prosecutor's office. I—I'd like to speak to you about your husband's death.”

There was a pause. And then the heavy door that had swung closed behind her a moment before buzzed again. Melanie pushed it open and headed up the curving staircase.

At the third-floor landing, a woman waited. She was skeletally thin, with dark eyes that burned in a pale face and short salt-and-pepper hair, wearing black slacks and a mannish black sweater that was much too big for her. The woman looked ill and exhausted, yet the refined bones of her face were still beautiful.

“Ms. Gould, or do you prefer Mrs. Poe?” Melanie asked.

“It's Gould, but just Brenda is fine.”

“Thank you for seeing me, Brenda. I'm Melanie.”

“You're from the U.S. Attorney's Office?”

“Yes.”

“I thought it was the FBI that was coming. Can I see some identification? Sorry to be such a stickler, but that's how Lester taught me.”

As she handed Brenda Gould her credentials, Melanie chastised herself silently for giving in to curiosity. This wasn't about generating leads, and she knew it. She'd be stepping on the FBI's toes, taking a career risk over this stupid preoccupation with Lester. But it was too late to turn back. Brenda gave the creds back and motioned her inside.

“Come in. I have a few people here helping me with the funeral and shiva arrangements, but we can find a quiet spot.”

They walked through enormous rooms full of good art and antique furniture until they came to an office at the back of the house that had obviously been Lester's. The walls were lined with floor-to-
ceiling bookshelves served by the type of elegant rolling ladder you'd expect to find in some medieval scholar's library, or in the lair of an archvillain. Redwelds and law books were piled everywhere, toppling over, spilling papers. It was hard to believe in the midst of this glorious mess that Lester was dead, that he wouldn't walk in the next moment and pick up some book, find his place, and start reading. The room still smelled of his cologne.

Brenda moved a pile of papers from a sofa to a coffee table and they sat down.

“Lester had an office downstairs where he met clients,” Brenda said, “but he did all his important work here. Sorry it's such a mess. Nobody was ever allowed in to clean.”

“It's perfect. I can totally see him in it,” Melanie said.

Brenda fixed intense dark eyes on Melanie's. “You knew my husband?”

“Oh, yes. I'm one of the prosecutors on the Atari Briggs case. I was there yesterday when it happened. We'd just been standing outside the courthouse talking about the case, and then he went to his car, and—then, then, well.”

Melanie looked down at her hands, fighting for composure.

“My God, I had no idea. How awful.”

Brenda squeezed Melanie's hand and passed her a box of Kleenex.

“I must be more upset than I realized,” Melanie said. “I'm sorry. I came here to comfort you. To offer my sympathy, and to let you know that, having witnessed your husband's murder, I'm deeply committed to bringing the killers to justice.” She thought about telling Brenda that the car bomber had been found dead, but she wasn't sure if it was public information yet.

“Thank you. It gives me great comfort to hear that,” Brenda said. “Was there something you needed to ask me?”

Melanie was sorely tempted to find out what Brenda knew that
might relate to the bombing. But interviewing her would be disobeying a direct order that she was to focus on the trial and leave the bombing investigation to others.

“Not exactly,” Melanie said. “Didn't you say the FBI is coming to talk to you?”

“Yes, later this afternoon. They want Lester's files.”

“They'll question you about his business dealings and other things that might help with the bombing.”

“Yes, that's what the man said on the phone. So, if they're going to question me, why are you here?”

Melanie's cheeks burned. “This is more of a condolence call.”

“Oh.” Brenda studied Melanie's face for a long moment. “What exactly was your relationship with my husband?”

“We were adversaries on a case, that's all. Anything more would have been unethical. Besides, I didn't know he was married, but if I had—I mean, not that we were doing anything. We weren't.”

“Don't feel compelled to lie on my account. This might sound strange, but if you were seeing him, well, it's not my business. Lester and I were married on and off for thirty-five years. The romantic part ended between us years ago.”

“I'm not lying. I didn't even know him that well. It's just—I'm sorry, I'm finding it difficult to explain.”

Brenda took a cigarette from a pack in the pocket and lit it, regarding Melanie with interest. “No need to explain. He was a very compelling man. You strike me as somebody he would have bothered to charm. He could be very charming when he wanted to.”

“You said you were married on and off?”

“We were divorced for a long time in the eighties and nineties. I'll tell you the story if you like. It feels good to talk about him today.”

Melanie knew she shouldn't. Not only was she wasting valuable work time, she was feeding her growing preoccupation with a dead man.

“Yes, I'd love to hear,” she said.

“We met at Studio 54,” Brenda said, dragging on her cigarette and exhaling a cloud of smoke. “That says it all, doesn't it? It was the late seventies, and my father, who was in the trimmings business—buttons, sequins, that sort of thing—had gotten me this marvelous job working for Halston. Well, my fashion friends were very fast. One night I was at Studio 54, absolutely strung out. Too many Quaaludes. I remember feeling faint, and the next thing I knew, I was in Lester's car and he was driving me to Jones Beach. In April, no less! I'd never met the man before in my life, but he took me and he kind of shook me around in that sea air and poured some coffee into me. We talked until the sun came up, and before I knew it I was sober as a judge and madly in love. He was incredibly handsome. Fantastic in bed. We were married a year later.”

Tears leaked from Brenda's eyes and began to roll down her waxen cheeks. “Hand me that tissue box, would you?”

“What happened after that?” Melanie asked, riveted.

“A lot of things happened. Lester was involved in the civil rights movement, doing these very sexy cases, getting his picture in the paper. Women threw themselves at him. Me, I did as I pleased. I had a glamorous career. I traveled, I did lots of drugs, I had lots of lovers. It was fashionable back then to have an open marriage, and we were fashionable people. Then it ended. Things…came between us. It was me who left. That was in '86. We had a very friendly divorce. No children involved, and we both had our own money. I moved to Big Sur to follow this yogi I was obsessed with, and Lester went about his life. But everything went a little flat after that. I guess that's how it is, isn't it? There's a golden time, and then you're older and nothing is quite as fun anymore.”

Brenda paused, wiping her eyes, stamping out her cigarette.

“The two of you got back together. How did that happen?” Melanie asked.

Brenda sighed. “That story is less pleasant. I fell on hard times. Lester and I had remained great friends, and he was good enough to bail me out.”

“He didn't just bail you out. You actually got married again.”

“Yes. I was having some, some…well, medical problems.” She fiddled with the bangles on her thin wrist. “Oh, hell, I'm not ashamed to say it. It was drugs, okay, but I've been clean for years now. Lester had power of attorney. He was appointed my guardian for a while, but it turned out to be simpler to be legally married.”

“And you lived here with him?”

“I have my own floor, the top floor. It's nice. Dormered windows and very delicate northern light. I do yoga. I do still lifes in pastel. I read some lovely books. Lester and I have dinner together sometimes.” She drew a quick breath, like she'd felt a sudden pain. “Had dinner, I should say.”

A moment passed. In the silence, Melanie heard the clock ticking on the mantel, marking the minutes as they passed. People were waiting for her. She had work to do. She should go.

“Thank you for sharing your memories,” she said, getting to her feet. “I'll go now, and stop taking so much of your time.”

Brenda stood up to walk Melanie to the door “Don't apologize. It's been wonderful to talk about him. It was really thoughtful of you to come by, especially since the circumstances are a little—unusual, I guess you could say.”

“It was nothing. I was downstairs meeting with Evan Diamond anyway.”

“Oh!” Brenda exclaimed, stopping short.

“Is something wrong?”

She frowned. “Watch out for him, you know.”

“I know he doesn't have the most honorable reputation, but he's been fine with me so far.”

“Evan's a good actor. He'll fool you into thinking he's your friend, but he was giving Lester a lot of trouble. I'll be sharing a few things with the FBI about that.”

“Trouble in what way?” Melanie asked, remembering Lester's remark about problems in his office.

“Should I tell you? I thought you said to talk to the FBI.”

Time was, Melanie wouldn't have been able to stop herself from pouncing on this tantalizing lead. But she'd matured as a prosecutor, and besides, she hadn't forgotten Mark Sonschein's warning earlier that day. If she got caught digging up dirt on opposing counsel, she could undermine the whole case against Atari Briggs. She managed to restrain herself.

“You're right. Better that you talk to them,” she said.

“I'll do that, but you be careful. In fact, wait a minute. I'd like to give you something of Lester's before you go.”

“Oh, no, I can't take anything of his. Really. Keep his things for yourself.”

“I have three houses full of Lester's things, dear. This relates to his work. Somehow I think he'd want you to have it.”

Brenda crossed to a beautiful desk that sat beneath tall windows and rummaged in its drawers. She came back and dropped a cold, shiny object into Melanie's hand.

“What's this?” Melanie asked.

“It's a Saint Jude's medal. The patron saint of lost causes. It was given to Lester by a client who was pardoned literally moments before his execution. They strapped him to the gurney, he handed Lester the medal, and the pardon came through. Lester kept it because he thought it brought him luck.”

“I—I'm so touched. But—wait a minute, I really shouldn't accept this. It's too much for you to give me.”

Melanie held it out, but Brenda pushed it back into her hands.

“Please, take it. Do it for me. Some might say I'm superstitious, but it's just that I've studied spirituality, and I know that certain objects hold powers we don't fully understand. I want Lester's murder solved, and this medal will help you do that. If you're dealing with Evan Diamond, trust me, you'll need it.”