Naive by Charles Royce (world best books to read .txt) 📕

all that money, I bet you can find someone who knows the system, who can break into an evidence room with no one noticing and disappear something like it was never there.”

Mr. West sits back in his chair and places his arms behind his neck.

“Well, we noticed, Mr. West,” says Detective Penance. “We may not have proof yet, but we noticed.”

“Detective, I appreciate you coming by. If there’s anything else you need, do let us know.”

Detective Penance walks toward the door and picks up an African box from the console. “Souvenirs are always great reminders, don’t you think?”

He sets the box down next to a wooden elephant and leaves.

C h a p t e r   3 0

“Thank you for the reminders. I’m actually in a cab pulling up now, talk to you soon.”

Shawn ends his call with his lead paralegal, who has not only found out which hospital Frank Jabali was taken to, but has also gone through all the highlights of the witness statements of both of Lennox’s sponsees, Frank Jabali and Talbot Lexington. The paralegal even texted photos of both of them. Shawn wants to be prepared just in case he is able to talk to either in person, with no ethical repercussions.

After paying his fare and walking down the block that houses St. Catherine's West, he finally finds the emergency room's modest side entrance off of 60th Street between Amsterdam and 9th. Ominous blue-and-white–striped ambulances line the curb just outside. He enters through the metal and glass doors and is hit with a smelly mix of urine and mildew. He walks past the waiting area of blue pleather chairs and approaches the desk to the right. A security guard, dressed in what looks like a police-issued black-and-white uniform, is peering at Shawn with inquiring eyes.

Shawn looks at the receptionist lady, then at the police officer, unsure of whom to direct his inquiry. He decides to split the difference.

“Yes, I believe Frank Jabali was just admitted here?” Shawn asks, looking first to the lady, then to the officer.

“And you are?” asks the lady.

“His lawyer, a lawyer,” he says.

“His lawyer, a lawyer, there’s a big difference,” the hospital admissions girl says.

“Careful how you answer that, not that either makes a difference,” says a woman’s voice from the direction of the blue pleather chairs.

He turns and recognizes the face.

“Astrid Lerner,” he says.

Shawn is comfortable with the fact that they both had the same idea. After all, this particular witness was to offer testimony for both the defense and the prosecution.

“Shawn Connelly. Your reputation precedes you.”

She lifts her arm off the black plastic armrest and outstretches her hand. He walks toward her, takes her hand to shake it. He tries to let go, but she holds on.

“Come sit down,” she says, pulling his arm and sliding herself to the next seat in the row of welded-together aquamarine chairs.

He sits down. They let go of each other’s hands and look straight ahead.

“Shawn Connelly.” She breaks the long pause. “Harvard. Second in your class. Had your pick of New York City’s top defense firms. Settled on Lyte & Morgan. Established. Good ol’ boys. Wouldn’t have been my first pick, but I get it. Paid your dues. Became one of the most sought after up-and-coming criminal defense attorneys in the city.”

“Astrid Lerner. Elaine Holcomb’s bitch.”

Astrid’s eyes flinch but she is undistracted. “Shawn Connelly. Most recently second chair to the highly publicized trial of our good mayor’s son, who had allegedly killed his housekeeper late at night in a drug-induced frenzy. Legend has it that you were the one who sussed out the housekeeper’s background of mixing pills before bedtime. And get this. You argued that the murder was not about your client’s drug use at all, no no no no … but a self-defense reaction to a housekeeper’s midnight delusions brought on by her own drug abuse.”

Shawn remains quiet, relishing this walk down memory lane.

“Now, normally,” Astrid continues, “normally this type of Hail Mary reasonable doubt introduction would be considered nonsense by any regular jury. But not yours. You knew you had collected some stupid, gullible sons of bitches in the twelve. You somehow not only turned the verdict into a full acquittal by the end, but also turned yourself into a hero at your firm. Hell, this entire city.”

“What are you doing here, Astrid?”

“I’m here to talk to Frank’s family, so maybe I can see him, make sure he’s okay. He’s one of our star character witnesses. I’m sure you’ve read his statement.”

“I read it. He loved Lennox. We all did.”

“And his encounters with Micah, did you read that part?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“Are we talking about this? If we are, then murder 2? And manslaughter 1 and 2? And criminally negligent homicide? Are you for real?” Shawn’s voice rises for the first time since they began talking.

“Your client did this. I don’t care how clever you’ve been in the past, but clever doesn’t acquit psycho.”

“Pay attention, Ms. Lerner. Even your own detective knows Micah didn’t do this. Someone else did. The same person who almost killed this young man you’re waiting to see. A hundred bucks his toxicology report will come back positive for some sort of poison that someone other than my client used to spike this poor boy’s heroin, and you may need to, God forbid, add someone else to your suspect list. If you continue to pursue Micah and only Micah with as much vigor as Elaine Holcomb wants you to, you’ll not only end up ruining your reputation, but you’ll allow the real killer to remain at large. Stop this, Astrid, while you still can. You continue, and you’ll lose.”

“You’re the blind one, Mr. Connelly. Your client may not be as close a friend to you as his husband was, but your prejudice has nonetheless pulled the wool right over your eyes. Time to wipe the tears and focus on what is clearly in front of you. Your client did this, start to finish. The drugs have nothing