The Law of Second Chances

PART TWO
38

New York City, June 14, 1999

Sal Paglia selected his lucky yellow tie with the red stars for the first day of Benny Avrile’s murder trial. It looked great with his dark blue shirt and tan summer suit. Sal was sure that Spencer Taylor, the chief assistant district attorney, and his deputy, Norma Grier, would both be decked out in dark suits and that Spencer would wear a red tie. It was the courtroom uniform-stilted and predictable. That just wasn’t Sal’s style. He was flamboyant, spontaneous, and totally unpredictable. At least, that’s the way he saw himself.

The past six months had gone far beyond even Sal’s expectations. He’d had six hearings, one a month, and he had invited the press to each one, just to keep the case in the public eye. After each hearing he would perform his usual court-jester routine on the courthouse steps, saying the most provocative things he could think of. He inadvertently struck pay dirt at the very last hearing when he declared that the state of New York should not have a death penalty because it was barbaric. Sal, of course, didn’t believe a word of what he was saying. He had always been a firm believer in the death penalty.

The Republican governor, Matthew Palmer, who never missed a chance to make some political hay, took issue with Sal’s statements about capital punishment. He knew that many New Yorkers’ attitudes about the death penalty had changed, and he had been looking for the opportunity to exploit the issue. Sal had given it to him.

“If this man is convicted, I promise you,” Governor Palmer told the people of New York in response to Sal’s diatribe, “that he will be promptly executed.”

Suddenly Benny Avrile’s murder trial was front-page news again.

Uh oh! thought Sal. Maybe I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. He soon dispensed with that negativity, however, when he realized how much publicity his fight with the governor was engendering. Business immediately started to boom at his law office. Poor Hazel didn’t have time to play even one game of solitaire. She had to answer phones and do real work. There were many days when Sal watched Hazel curse Luis Melendez under her breath for walking through the front door of Sal’s office and ruining her life.

The pressure’s on, Sal thought. But what’s the downside? I’m not the one who might be executed.

All the preliminary skirmishing was over. It was finally trial time. The press was in a dither over it. Was Benny going to be the first person executed in New York in fifty years? Governor Palmer didn’t let up either. He scheduled a press conference the very first morning of the trial, to renew his pledge to execute Benny immediately when he was convicted. It didn’t matter that the execution might not take place for another ten years. Hype was hype.

Despite the gauntlet laid down by the governor, Sal was confident as he stepped into the elevator on the fifth floor of his apartment building to head for the courthouse and his rendezvous with destiny. Maybe after this I’ll buy another house-bigger and better than the last one. I’m never getting married again, though. I ain’t gonna give this one up.

Sal’s confidence stemmed from tempered expectations. He wasn’t looking for victory. He knew Benny wasn’t going to get off-that was a little too much to hope for. But he did have a shot at saving him from the death penalty, which would be considered a victory by most observers in the know and would enhance his reputation. He had Dr. Donald Wong all set to testify as an expert on Benny’s behalf, and he had some new evidence that would definitely surprise the state.

All this was going to turn his life around eventually. He only owed Beano Moffit about thirty thousand, which would be chicken feed once he got rolling again.

Sal leaned back against the rear wall of the elevator and started reading his notes for the opening statement. It was his routine to write out the opening statement in longhand and practice it several times in his skivvies in front of the full-length bathroom mirror. When he felt confident he had it down, he reduced it to an outline. He was reading his outline when the elevator door opened on the third floor and someone stepped in. Sal didn’t even look up. When the door again opened at the lobby, Sal started to walk out, his head still buried in his notes. He felt something cold pressed to the base of his skull. Before he could react, he heard a noise, like a pop. His whole head was burning and his legs went limp. He tried to stay up but couldn’t. Then everything suddenly turned calm and peaceful. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.

The shooter stepped over the body, which was lying half inside the elevator and half out, turned, and fired two more shots for certainty.