The Finishing School

19

IN JUDGE WARNER’S private chambers, everything went according to plan.

They stood before the judge’s imposing walnut desk. Gabriel Colón turned on the tape recorder, called the case, and placed Dan O’Reilly under oath. Dan raised his right hand and attested to the truth of the information in the search and arrest warrants. Judge Warner signed the warrants with a flourish and handed them to Melanie. Trevor Leonard, who stood shackled between Patty Atkins and two burly deputy marshals, looked young and remorseful and spoke in a tiny voice. He’d been ferried up in the back service elevator just in case those thugs were still lurking around somewhere. And Melanie made her carefully rehearsed pitch, seconded enthusiastically by prosecutor-turned-defense lawyer Patty Atkins, who knew a good deal when she saw one.

“I hereby find that the defendant poses neither a risk of flight nor a danger to the community,” Judge Warner intoned into the tape recorder, peering severely over his half-glasses. “This finding is made on the joint motion of the government and the defense, and takes into account that the defendant has agreed to cooperate with agents of the Elite Narcotics Task Force as requested. Mr. Leonard is ordered released on a twenty-thousand-dollar personal-recognizance bond, secured by his own signature. He will remain within the five boroughs unless permission to travel is sought and granted by this court. Anything further, Ms. Vargas?” Judge Warner asked, glaring at Melanie.

“Nothing from the government, Your Honor,” Melanie said.

“Ms. Atkins?” Another glare.

“No, Judge.”

“Very well. All records of this proceeding, including this audiotape, shall be sealed for Mr. Leonard’s protection. So ordered.”

And he smacked his gavel resoundingly on its base, suppressing a slight smile when they all jumped.

MELANIE, Dan, and Bridget were waiting outside Melanie’s office door. Trevor Leonard was inside conferring with his lawyer and his father, trying to decide whether to go forward with the debriefing. The risks of cooperating in this case were obvious, given Jay Esposito’s suspected history of witness killing.

“I have some real doubts about whether we should use this kid even if he wants to cooperate,” Melanie admitted, tapping her foot nervously.

“You mean because he didn’t come clean about the money in the airport locker?” Dan asked. His eyes were lingering on her face in a way that only made her more antsy.

“No, it’s not that. Trevor actually strikes me as a good kid. But he’s so young, so green. I’m not sure he can handle himself out there.”

“That’s our job,” Bridget piped up in a squeaky voice. “If we do a drug buy or something, we’ll supervise Trev real closely, keep him out of trouble.”

Melanie and Dan exchanged glances. As usual, she knew just what he was thinking: Fine, but who would supervise Bridget?

“Let’s take it one step at a time, okay?” Dan suggested. “The kid obviously has good information. Let’s debrief him and see where it goes. As we talk more, we’ll get a better sense of what his capabilities are.”

Melanie nodded. “I agree about the debriefing. It’s only the undercover I’m worried about.”

“I’d take a wait-and-see on that, too,” Dan said. “Kid could be valuable infiltrating Esposito’s organization. And I’m starting to think Expo’s a good target. Did I tell you there’s information linking him to that Golpe stamp found with the dead girls?”

“No. What kind of information?”

“A reference in the NADDIS database from an old DEA report. I’m trying to track it down.”

“That’s excellent. If there’s something solid linking Expo to the stamp…”

“Yeah, I know. It would make our case.”

Just then Patty Atkins opened the door. She was a no-nonsense, no-frills woman in her forties, with pleasant brown eyes and short, graying hair, wearing a navy suit.

“Could you come in, Melanie? We have a couple of questions.”

“Sure.”

Melanie walked in and sat down behind her desk. Trevor had been bailed out, so they were meeting in Melanie’s office rather than the gloomy prisoner-interview rooms on the sixth floor. Trevor and his father, who was thin and tired-looking with an aggrieved air, sat in her guest chairs. Patty took a seat beside them as Dan and Bridget filed in and stood in the back of the room.

“I have one major concern,” Patty began.

“Your client’s safety?” Melanie guessed.

“You got it.”

“That’s what I’d be thinking about if I were you. I have to admit, I’m worried about it, too.”

“I calculated the sentence. Four to ten months, max. Not enough, in my opinion, to justify taking many risks.”

“You’re basing your calculation on the weight Trevor was carrying at the time of arrest,” Melanie said. “But he’s already admitted to a steady gig selling ecstasy and ketamine. He’s looking at a lot higher, maybe up to three years.”

“You’re not going to make him plead to all that?”

“Come on, Patty, you know I don’t have a lot of leeway when it comes to making plea offers. There are rules.”

“Times have changed. The Sentencing Guidelines are only advisory now.”

“A lot of the judges still follow them. Trevor needs to understand what his exposure is so he can make an informed decision.”

“An informed decision requires more than numbers, Melanie. Don’t I recall something in the papers a couple of years back about a decapitated corpse washing up on Roosevelt Island, linked to Esposito?” Patty asked.

“Oh, now, wait one minute! I don’t like the sound of this,” Trevor’s father exclaimed. Trevor said nothing but went even paler under his tattoos and piercings.

“Nobody’s hiding the ball here,” Melanie said. “Trevor is facing two felony convictions and real jail time. Enough to derail him at this point in his young life. On the other hand, the target we need his cooperation against is undeniably dangerous.”

“Exactly what kind of cooperation are you looking for?” Patty asked.

“At a minimum we want to debrief him and have him testify to any relevant information. Beyond that there’s a possibility we’ll want to use him as an undercover. If we were to do that, we’d make sure all proper precautions were taken. We care very deeply about Trevor’s safety. But still, it’s never possible to eliminate every risk,” Melanie said.

“You bet. You know that firsthand, don’t you, Melanie?” Patty turned to Trevor. “She had a witness killed on another case.”

“That’s a low blow!” Dan exclaimed. “Typical sleazy defense-lawyer tactic. That other case has nothing to do with this one.”

Trevor stared at Melanie, who sat in stunned silence behind her desk, seeing Rosario Sangrador’s face. Rosario’s murder haunted Melanie. Rosario had been the very definition of innocent bystander, a middle-aged housekeeper who’d witnessed her wealthy employer brutally tortured and murdered at the hands of a sadistic killer. Melanie had gone to great lengths to persuade Rosario to cooperate and testify, on the assurances of the FBI and the PD that she would receive round-the-clock protection. The killer’s ability to infiltrate their ranks and find out where Rosario was sequestered could not have been predicted by Melanie or anybody else. But that didn’t make Rosario’s death excusable. It wasn’t okay and never would be.

“Patty’s right,” Melanie said, meeting Trevor’s eyes, speaking with quiet intensity. “A witness was murdered on a case I did a while back. Agent O’Reilly’s upset because he knows how much her death affected me. All I can say is, that experience made me understand in a very personal way how much is at stake when somebody cooperates.” She shook her head slowly. “You know, we can probably make this case without you, Trevor. Maybe you should just eat the jail time and not take the risk.”

The room exploded, everybody talking at once.

“But you said he’s facing three years! He can’t do that. What about college?” Trevor’s father exclaimed.

“You and me should talk outside, Melanie,” Dan said.

Patty Atkins blurted, “But I never said my client wasn’t interested-”

Trevor waved his hand in the air. “Whoa, you guys, calm down. I’m not freaking out here. Nobody else should either, okay?”

“If he does this undercover stuff, does that mean he won’t have to go to jail?” Trevor’s father asked.

Melanie turned to Patty. “I assume you’re looking for a probation-ary sentence?”

“Naturally. I mean, look at him, he’s a baby. He’d get eaten alive inside,” Patty said.

“I don’t want to see him do hard time either, Patty. But the fact is, to get to zero jail time from where he is, he needs to produce something. And I’m not talking about just giving a statement. Without any arrests to his credit, he’ll never make probation. So that’s a reality you all need to consider.”

“Maybe Trevor should go to jail,” his father said. “It might teach him a lesson. God knows, I can’t control him. It would be better than exposing him to something dangerous anyway.”

“Jail is dangerous,” Melanie observed. “Trevor’s charged with a drug offense, so he’d get designated to a maximum-security facility. He’d be in with some hardened types.”

“You happy now? See where you ended up? What did I tell you?” Trevor’s father demanded, looking at his son in disgust.

Melanie sighed and got to her feet. “Look, why don’t we stop for today. I’m beginning to feel like this isn’t going anywhere.”

“Not necessary,” Trevor said. “I’ve made up my mind. You’re missing the point. All of you, but especially you, Dad.”

“Trevor,” Patty said, “please don’t say anything further until-”

“No, really! It’s my life. Let me talk.”

Melanie sat back down behind her desk. “Okay. We’re listening.”

Trevor drew a deep, sighing breath. Tears began to roll slowly down his cheeks.

“Brianna Meyers was my best friend. Dad, I’m not saying this to hurt you or anything, but you know me and her both came from some fucked-up family situations. Some of that stuff that went on before Mom left? That was some mad shit! And then after, when Mom wouldn’t see us for two years? Brianna got me through all that. She was a great person. She was smart and kind. She played the cello. She had a pretty voice and a nice body. It’s a fucking waste that she died, and that prick Expo is responsible. Bottom line,” he said, turning to Melanie, “show me where to fucking sign, because I’m in.”

“I respect your feelings for Brianna, Trevor,” Melanie said gently. “We all do. But we need to make sure-”

“I’m sure,” Trevor said firmly. “I’m definitely sure. And it’s my decision. So let’s do it.”

Melanie considered telling him no. The final call on whether to allow a witness to cooperate lay in the prosecutor’s discretion. If something happened to Trevor, it would be on Melanie’s conscience, and she wasn’t sure she wanted that burden. On the other hand, Carmen Reyes was still missing. Didn’t Melanie also need to consider Carmen’s future, Carmen’s safety? Rosario Sangrador’s death weighed so heavily on Melanie that she needed to watch herself lest she become a less aggressive prosecutor than she ought to be.

“All right,” Melanie said finally. “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

AFTER HIS FATHER LEFT, Trevor Leonard gave them a full and complete proffer of information.

“I went to Screen just once with Brianna and Whitney, maybe two, three weeks ago,” Trevor explained, sitting in a guest chair in Melanie’s office, his lawyer still beside him. Melanie sat behind her desk. Dan and Bridget leaned against her filing cabinets, listening and taking occasional notes.

“No question,” Trevor continued, “Whitney was hooking up with the dude. He comes up to us, like, the minute we walk in the door, says everything’s on the house. And at first I thought he was into Brianna, right, because he’s majorly checking her out. I remember he asked her how old she was, which I thought was weird. But then him and Whitney disappeared for, like, an hour. Whitney came back high off her ass and all skanky, like she just got finished doing the wild thing. Her hair a mess, her makeup smeared all over her face. She flaunted it, too, like she wanted everyone to know what a porn star she was. I was, like, go take a shower, skank, you disgust me.”

“Did you see Esposito again that night?”

“No. Well, yes, but only from a distance. I never talked to him again.”

“When you met him, was anyone else with him? Anyone who might’ve worked for him?”

“Yeah, actually. Two bodyguards. From what Whitney was saying, they drive Expo around in a big black Escalade and hurt people for him. She seemed to get off on that. Chick was a major thrill seeker, I’m telling you.”

“Can you give us physical descriptions of Esposito and the bodyguards?” Melanie asked.

“Expo’s, like, a fly-looking dude with a shaved head and this huge diamond earring. Thirties, forties, I’m not sure. Old anyway. The bodyguards are both as big as houses. One’s black, one’s white, and the white one’s got a nasty-looking scar in his cheek, like from a bullet hole.”

Melanie caught Dan’s eye; he nodded at her solemnly. She’d already filled him in on the goons’ descriptions as reported earlier by Gabriel Colón. Expo was watching the feds before they started watching him.

“Did you happen to catch the bodyguards’ names?” she asked Trevor.

“The white guy with the scarface was Pavel. Russian dude, I think. The black guy, no. Oh, and there’s another guy who works for Expo, named Bud. I never met him, but Whitney mentioned him, and Expo talked to him on the phone when I was at Screen that night.”

“Did Whitney say anything in particular about Bud? Any details?”

“He was a go-between. The one who’d call her when Expo wanted her to do something.”

“Trevor, let me ask you something,” Dan said. “Just hypothetical, now. Think you could get into Screen, maybe take Detective Mulqueen with you, introduce her around so she can make a controlled buy of heroin from Esposito or one of his employees?”

“Hey, wait a minute-” Patty Atkins began, but Trevor cut her off.

“Hey, it’s cool. Really, Patty, I’m not afraid of any of this. I’m pretty into it.”

“Trevor, Patty’s right to be concerned,” Melanie said. “I want to make sure myself that if you go to Screen, we have all the bases covered as far as your safety’s concerned.”

“Quite honestly, the last time I was there, I bought some X. The Russian bodyguard steered me to a house dealer who was operating out of the men’s room. So it’s cool, I’ve done it before. I’d recognize Expo’s people, and they’d do business with me.”

“And just so everybody’s extra comfortable,” Dan said, “Detective Mulqueen can do the actual buy. I’ll go, too, blend into the crowd, observe and jump in if anything starts looking hinky. We’ll be right on top of Trevor the whole time.”

“There’s just one problem,” Trevor said.

“What’s that?” Melanie asked.

“Screen moves around.”

“You mean, like, the floor moves?”

Trevor giggled. “The floor? What, like Saturday Night Fever? What century are you from? No, see, Expo’s regular clubs are strictly for the bridge-and-tunnel crew. Celebs and ‘it girls’ like Whitney Seward and their posses, they turn up their noses at those places. They only go to underground clubs, see?”

“Underground?”

“Secret. Not only do you have to know someone to get in, you have to know someone just to find the place. Screen changes locations every week, and people follow it around. It’s always in some totally bizarre place. The time I went, it was in this secret bunker beneath the Waldorf that was built for some, like, railroad tycoon or something,” Trevor said.

“So where is it now?” Dan asked.

“That, I wouldn’t know. You can’t just dial Information to find it, and I’m not hooked up. So like I said, there’s a problem.”

“No sweat,” Melanie said. “I’ll take care of getting that information. When it comes to New York City nightlife, I have the greatest source in the world.”