Lassiter

58 The Rat

The man with polished fingernails and the turquoise glasses sat in the back row of the gallery. I gave him a little lawyer nod, but he didn’t acknowledge me. I kept my eyes on Tejada during his direct exam and caught him flashing looks to the guy, as if seeking approval.

When Castiel informed me that the witness was mine, I patted Amy Larkin on the shoulder, stood up, smiled pleasantly at the jury, and said, “Good morning, Mr. Tejada.”

“Yeah. Morning.”

He looked sullen. Fine with me. Jurors like their witnesses to be neighborly and good-humored, not cheerless and sour.

Tejada had walked through Castiel’s direct exam, the State Attorney his usual brisk and efficient self. Now I had a clear-cut task. I wanted to point a finger at this jailbird, and while I was at it, smear Ziegler, too.

“Let me get a few things straight, Mr. Tejada. When you heard the gunshots, you raced around the house to the pool deck and straight to the solarium, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“How’d you know to run there?”

“That’s where the shots seemed to come from.”

“Seemed to? Do you have experience with gunshots?”

He gave a little smirk. “Some.”

“You’re not on the Olympic biathlon team by any chance, are you?”

“Nope.”

“And you’re not a veteran of Iraq or Afghanistan, are you?”

“No.”

“Ever serve in uniform? Other than in prison?”

“Objection!” Castiel fired it off so quickly, he didn’t even have time to stand.

“Mr. Lassiter, you will stow the sarcasm in your rucksack,” Judge Melvia Duckworth said, employing a term she must have used in court-martials back in JAG.

“Thank you, Your Honor,” I said, in the time-honored tradition of accepting criticism with dignity and respect.

On direct exam, Castiel smartly brought out that Tejada had several criminal convictions. Under the rules of evidence, I then couldn’t ask anything about his crimes.

“Mr. Tejada. When you reached the pool deck, the first thing you saw was a broken window in the solarium. Is that correct?”

“Yeah. Like I already said to the prosecutor.”

“And when you looked inside, you saw Charles Ziegler bent over the body of Max Perlow?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you see my client anywhere?” I nodded toward Amy, sitting placidly at the defense table, a nonhomicidal look on her angelic face.

“No.”

“If she shot Mr. Perlow, how do you suppose she got away?”

“Objection!” Castiel bounced to his feet like a fighter coming off the corner stool. “Calls for a conclusion.”

“Sustained,” Judge Duckworth said.

“Let me ask it this way. Mr. Ziegler’s house sits right on the water, correct?”

“Yeah. The pool deck runs to the seawall.”

“Did you see anyone fleeing by boat?”

“No.”

“When you were running from the north side of the house, did you see anyone running toward the south?”

“Nope.”

“Did you hear any car engines starting up or driving off?”

“No.”

“So the only person you saw was Charles Ziegler, who’s bent over the victim?”

“Yeah. Said it a couple times now.”

“Was Mr. Ziegler trying to stop the bleeding?”

“Not that I saw.”

“Was he performing resuscitation?”

“Don’t think so.”

“So, what was Ziegler doing? Just watching Max Perlow die?”

“Objection, Your Honor.” Castiel again. “Argumentative.”

“Overruled. You may answer, Mr. Tejada.”

“Ziegler was kind of paralyzed. In shock, like.”

“Maybe he’d never seen anyone shot before?”

“I’m sure he hadn’t.”

“But you have, correct? You’ve seen men shot.”

At the prosecution table, Castiel stirred but didn’t stand up. He could easily object. But Castiel knew which hills to defend, and which ones to give up without losing any troops.

“I’ve seen a couple dudes shot, yeah.”

Tejada glanced toward the man in the last row.

“Let’s step back for a minute. Just why was Mr. Perlow visiting Charles Ziegler that night?” I asked.

“To collect money.”

I liked the answer. “Collect money” had a seedy sound.

“You had a business deal of your own with Mr. Perlow, didn’t you?” I already knew this from taking Tejada’s depo.

“Slot-machine contract. We serviced Indian reservations.”

“What were the terms between you and Mr. Perlow?”

“I had a third of the business. When Mr. P died, I got the rest.”

Bingo.

“So you stood to gain financially on Mr. Perlow’s death?”

“I see where you’re going, but I was happy working for Mr. P.”

“Really? Driving his car was better than owning his business?”

“I wasn’t in a hurry. The old dude was like family.”

“Weren’t you getting tired of waiting for the old dude to die?”

“Nope. I enjoyed his company.”

I was out to collect a string of “no”s. Get enough negatives, they sometimes turn into a positive.

“So that wasn’t you on the pool deck with a gun …”

“No way, man!”

“… purposely making a noise to lure Perlow into the solarium …”

“Hell, no!”

“… where you could shoot him through the glass?”

“Screw you, Lassiter! That’s crap.”

His face had heated up with a look that was positively murderous.

“The witness will keep his voice down,” the judge instructed.

“So now, Mr. Tejada, you’re the proud owner of one hundred percent of the slot-machine business, correct?”

He answered softly. “As soon as the legal papers are done, yeah.”

I decided to throw a Hail Mary, see who would catch it. “Is that why your lawyer is here today?”

Tejada’s eyes flicked again to the man in the last row of the gallery. “That’s not why he’s here.”

Okay. I was half right. At least, the guy was his lawyer.

I took another chance. “Are you currently charged with a crime, Mr. Tejada?”

“Downtown. The feds indicted me for money laundering.”

“Is the charge related to your slot-machine business?”

“That’s what they say. My lawyer’s gotta talk to the U.S. Attorney about my plea deal.”

His plea deal. Oh, shit.

If Tejada had been indicted for the slots business, Perlow was likely to be charged, too. The old mobster was the bigger fish, so Tejada had some leverage in a plea deal in which he cooperated with the feds. Meaning … Tejada didn’t want Perlow dead. Perlow was Tejada’s ticket out of jail.

I had fallen into a gator hole, and I needed to get the hell out before I got my leg chewed off. “Your witness,” I told Castiel.

The State Attorney gave me a snarky smile and said, “Mr. Tejada, let’s tidy up a bit.”

Translation: The defense lawyer took a dump on the floor. Let’s rub his face in it.

“Did you become a cooperating witness after your indictment?”

Tejada looked down as he answered, “Yeah, I did.”

“What were the terms of your cooperation?”

“If I testified against Mr. P, I’d get a reduced sentence. Maybe no prison time.”

“So did you have a motive to see Max Perlow dead?”

“Todo lo contrario. The opposite, man. With him dead, I got no deal with the feds.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tejada.” Castiel slid back into his chair.

Two tons of sand weighted me down, but I still managed to get to my feet. There was no reason to flail away any longer, but I always prefer going to the lunch break with my words in the air, rather than the prosecutor’s. “Your Honor, just a couple questions.”

“Quickly, Counselor.”

“Are you what’s called a rat, Mr. Tejada? A snitch?”

“That and a lot worse names.”

“Max Perlow was good to you, wasn’t he?”

“He was the best.”

“And you turned on him?”

“He wouldn’t look at it that way,” Tejada said. “Mr. P used to tell a story. Two men are walking through the woods and come across a big bear. The bear starts chasing them, and one guy says, ‘You think we can outrun this bear?’ The other guy says, ‘I only have to outrun you.’ It’s what Mr. P taught me. When the shooting starts, put someone between yourself and the shooter. Save yourself first. Worry about others later. I was just doing what the old man taught me.”