Mob Lawyer 5: A Legal Thriller Page 3
“Just a minute,” she said as she picked up the phone. “She’s in a holding cell. She apparently asked for you the second she was brought in.”
“Good,” I said. “She shouldn’t be interrogated without her lawyer present.”
“Mr. Morgan,” an aging detective said as he strolled up to me.
He had black hair with gray around the temples, a salt and pepper moustache, and lines around his eyes from years of smiling despite the frown he currently sported. He had his hands stuffed into the black slacks of his fifty dollar suit, and his golden shield peeked out from the cracked leather belt he had cinched around his pudgy waist.
“Hello,” I said.
“The name’s Detective Smith,” the older man said without offering his hand to me. “Your Serafina Davide’s mouthpiece?”
“I’m her lawyer, yes,” I responded. “May I see my client?”
“Sure, sure,” the detective said. “But you’ll have a harder time getting her out this time. She’s in a whole bunch of trouble.”
“May I ask what she was arrested for?” I asked.
I gripped the handle of my briefcase as I stared the man down. I didn’t like the small grin that had flashed across his face or the way he seemed so confident that I wouldn’t be able to get her out. I was sure that whatever they had was fabricated, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be hard to arrange her release.
“You don’t know?” the cop asked with feigned surprise. “Your little lady has quite the temper.”
“What was she arrested for?” I repeated.
“Oh,” Smith said with a casual shrug and a smug grin. “The little psycho busted out a car window.”
Chapter 2
“She broke out a car window?” I asked.
Detective Smith flashed me another grin from underneath his salt and pepper moustache. His hands stayed in his pockets as he shrugged his shoulders, and his eyes glinted with malice.
“Yup,” he replied. “And we have more than enough witnesses. Ones that your boss won’t be able to intimidate into backing down.”
I bit back my smartass reply and forced a smile onto my face. I needed to talk to Serafina and find out what the hell had happened. I knew she was hot-blooded, but I couldn’t believe that she’d break out a car window unless she had a decent reason.
The young woman had grown up around the Febbo family and knew not to bring too much attention to herself, especially since she’d already been arrested on a bullshit robbery charge that the cops had tried to pin on her. She was only twenty, but she was smart. She had already gotten a bachelor’s in finance and was halfway finished with her MBA.
“I would like to speak to my client,” I said.
“Sure,” Smith said. “But you’re wasting your time. You’re not going to get her off like you did last time.”
“She was innocent,” I said. “And I have no doubt that she is this time, too.”
The detective frowned at me from underneath his bushy moustache but didn’t say anything as he took a step back and gestured for me to lead the way.
“I assume you know where the holding cells are,” the older man said. “It’s only a matter of time before you end up in one if you keep working for criminals like the Febbos.”
“I’m sure you and your buddies will keep fabricating evidence and cases,” I said. “But I’ll keep proving that my clients are innocent.”
“I do not make up evidence,” the detective growled as he fell into step beside me.
The slap of my shoes echoed along the gray cinder block walls as I strolled through this particular Staten Island police station. I had become familiar with the layout during my last visit. I’d spent most of my time in the interrogation room with Serafina, but every police station was laid out about the same so it wasn’t hard to find the holding area.
It was even easier since I could already hear Serafina’s voice. The young woman screamed for her lawyer, her lipstick, her hairbrush, and anything else that came to mind. She even shouted for a steak. She had definitely not taken my advice to remain silent. It seemed like her plan was to annoy the cops until they released her, and to judge by the looks of some of the cops, they would have been happy to let her go if it meant they didn’t have to listen to her anymore.
I grinned and shook my head as I tugged open the door to the holding area. I’d never actually seen one of those doors shut since it blocked the line of sight for those in the bullpen, but then again most of the inmates weren’t usually yelling at the tops of their lungs.
“I need a glass of water,” Serafina shouted in a hoarse voice.
“Maybe you should shut the hell up, then,” the cop on duty grumbled.
He stood in the corner to the right of the door. His uniform was neatly pressed, but his dark brown hair was messy like he’d run his hands through the pomade covered strands. He tapped the toe of his shoe irritably as he glared down the row of cells toward Serafina.
“She’s got a mouth on her,” Detective Smith said with a snide smirk.
“I’m about to shut it for her,” the middle-aged man huffed. “I need a cigarette break.”
“Go get Evans,” Smith said. “He can give you a ten. We’re about to take this convict into the interrogation room so you’ll have a few minutes of silence.”
“Thank God,” the flustered man said.
“She’s not a convict,” I said. “Innocent until proven guilty, Detective.”
“Only a matter of time,” the seasoned cop said with a shrug as he followed me to my client.
Serafina was in the third cell on the left. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a high ponytail that bounced around her face with every word. She wore a pair of blue jean shorts, a dark blue halter top that looked great against her coppery skin, and a pair of matching stilettos. Her giant hoop earrings brushed against her muscular shoulders, and her dark red lipstick was spotless.
“Mr. Morgan,” the young woman said with a grin as she took a step back from the metal bars.
“Oh my God,” a middle-aged woman in a leopard print dress said. “I was about to knock her out.”
“You don’t need assault charges, too, Candy,” Detective Smith said.
“Then get this bitch out of here,” the woman huffed as she crossed one long leg over the other.
“What the fuck did you just call me?” Serafina asked in a disturbingly calm voice.
“Deep breaths,” I warned as the young woman’s eyes flashed.
Serafina closed her eyes and took a long breath in, let it out, and then smiled at me. Her shoulders were relaxed despite the rage that still flashed in her eyes, and her posture lost some of its aggressiveness.
“Let’s go talk somewhere a little more private,” Detective Smith said. “Evans, can you unlock this door for me?”
“Yes, sir,” a young officer said.
He had to be fresh out of the academy. He didn’t even look like he was old enough to shave, but at least his uniform was pressed and fit well. He had a few tattoos that poked out from the short sleeves of his shirt, and there were a few scraggly hairs on his chin like he was trying to grow out a beard.
“I’ll need time to talk to my client in private,” I said. “No cameras or recording devices. And no one on the other side of the glass.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” Smith huffed as he cuffed Serafina.
Serafina opened her mouth to give what was sure to be a sarcastic retort, but I gave a small shake of my head to tell her to keep it in. She sighed and then pursed her lips in an overexaggerated motion before she rolled her light-green eyes. She stuffed her hands into her back pockets and then stared at both of us as she waited to be led into the interrogation room.
The older cop looked over my client, rolled his eyes, and then started toward the door. He led us past a few more gray cinder block walls with the standard crime fighting posters before he finally stopped in front of a black door with ‘Interrogation 3’ written in white block letters.
“I know how to do my job,” Smith grumbled. “You have five minutes.”
“Thanks,” I said with a forced smile.
I motioned for Serafina to step in first, and then I followed after her into the small square room. It was built with the same gray cinder blocks as the rest of the building, but there were no posters to break up the monotony. There was a large two-way mirror on the wall to the right of the door, and a shiny metal table that sat in the middle of the floor with a single chair on either side.
“This is bullshit,” my young client huffed as soon as the door to the room shut behind me.
She stood with her hands on her hips and rage in her pale eyes. Her coppery skin looked sallow in the fluorescent lighting, and her auburn hair seemed like it was a deeper shade of red than it actually was.
“Hold on,” I said.
I pointed to the camera in the corner of the room. It’s red light flashed a few more times before it turned off, and I looked down at my watch to note the time.
“Okay,” I started. “What happened?”
“It was my dad’s car,” Serafina said as she threw her hands up in the air. “I locked the keys inside with my cell phone so I couldn’t call anyone.”
“Alright,” I said.
“Anyways,” the young woman said while she flipped her ponytail over her shoulder. “I tried to get in but nothing worked. And I couldn’t exactly call a locksmith with my cell phone in the car. So, I broke the window. I mean, dad’ll be pissed, but he’s not going to press charges or anything. He’ll just make me pay for it. And probably warn me not to do it again.”
“Right,” I said. “Did you tell the police that it was your dad’s car?”
“Yes,” the auburn-haired woman said. “But they didn’t want to hear it. They just cuffed me and read me my rights. The only thing that I said after that was ‘lawyer.’”
“Good,” I said with a nod of my head. “I need to talk to your dad to verify that it’s his car.”
“Sure,” Serafina said. “I have his number memorized. Do you have your cell?”
“Of course,” I said as I fished my phone out and handed it to her.
She dialed the number and then tapped her foot as she waited for her dad to answer.
“Papa?” my client said as she straightened like the man had just walked into the room. “Yeah. I’m okay. Mr. Morgan is here. Sure. Just a sec.”
She handed the phone over to me with a sigh.
“Mr. Davide?” I asked as I put the phone up to my ear.
“Mr. Morgan,” the Febbo family friend said in a gravelly voice. “Thanks for taking care of my baby girl.”
“Of course,” I responded. “She tells me that the car window that she broke out was yours?”
“Yeah,” the man replied. “I got the keys and phone back, but the damned police impounded the car as evidence in an ongoing investigation. What the hell am I supposed to drive now?”
“We’ll get it out soon,” I promised. “They won’t have any reason to keep it once we get this mess cleared up.”
“I’ll let you take care of it,” my client’s father said before he hung up.
“Is he pissed?” the young woman said, and I realized that the confident woman’s mask had slipped.
“He’s eager for you to be home,” I told her with a smile. “And I’m about to get you out of here.”
I walked over to the door and yanked it open to see Detective Smith leaning against the wall opposite of the interrogation room. He kicked off of the wall and stuffed his phone into his pocket before he gave me a grin.
“Did you two get your stories straight?” Smith asked.
“Did your beat cops even bother to listen to my client?” I retorted.
“The officers did their job,” the older man said as he narrowed his eyes.
“If they did, then they wouldn’t have arrested my client,” I said. “Especially since she’d broken into her father’s car, one that he’d loaned to her, so that she could retrieve the keys and the phone that she’d locked inside.”
The detective’s salt and pepper moustache twitched as he looked between Serafina and me. His thin lips pursed together, and his face turned a splotchy shade of red while his right foot began to tap.
“There’s no proof that the car belongs to her father,” he said after a few seconds.
“Did you even bother to check?” I asked. “Or did your men just haul her in without bothering to do any actual police work?”
“The witnesses say that she tried to use a lockpick on it before she broke the window,” the detective countered. “It was clear that she was trying to steal the car. Or that she wanted to ruin the real owner’s car.”
“It’s my dad’s car!” Serafina huffed from behind me.
“We’ll have to check that,” Smith hedged while he shoved his hands into his pant’s pockets.
“See that you do,” I said. “And when you’re done, go ahead and start the release paperwork for my client. Her father would also like to have his car released from the impound lot so he can get the window fixed. At least he was able to retrieve her cell phone and the keys to his car before your men impounded it, or I suspect I’d be filing my own theft charges against the NYPD.”
“We’ll see,” the older officer said. “You and your client sit tight while I verify with my men.”
“I want to talk to your captain while you get your facts straight,” I said.
The older man glowered at me, but he just took a deep breath and sighed. His moustache twitched a few times as he glanced toward my client.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “But she goes back into the holding cells. Quietly.”
“I can do that,” Serafina said with a flip of her ponytail. “Since I won’t be here for long.”
I grinned and shook my head as the young Italian woman blew past me to saunter toward the holding cells.
“Come on,” Smith said.
He watched as Evans came out of the holding cell hallway to escort my client. The young cop looked the beautiful woman up and down before he licked his lips and followed her while Detective Smith rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. The older officer glanced into the hallway like he wanted to make sure that Evans didn’t do anything inappropriate.
“Damn kids these days don’t know trouble when they see it,” the moustached man grumbled.
“My client isn’t the one who’s causing trouble,” I said.
“Save it for someone who actually cares,” the detective said.
He weaved through the desks of detectives and uniformed men and women as he led me toward the captain’s office. His ears were red, and I was sure that if he looked at me that I would see a red splotchy face. He would be even angrier when he verified that his officers had botched the arrest and that he’d have to release my client. He stopped in front of the captain’s door with his hand lifted into the air, took in a deep breath, and then knocked.
“What?!” the captain barked from the other side of the door.
“Hunter Morgan wants to talk to you,” Detective Smith called back without opening the door.
“Who the hell is that?” the man inside snapped.
I heard the unmistakable sound of a chair sliding across the carpet and the grunt of an older man standing up. I wasn’t surprised when a portly man in his late fifties swung open the door with a scowl on his pudgy face. His dark blue eyes were almost black in the darkened office, and the first three buttons of his shirt were undone.
“Serafina Davide’s lawyer,” I said with a warm smile.
The captain glowered at me as his barrel chest puffed out as if he was about to start screaming at me. He gritted his teeth, looked over at Detective Smith, and then turned back to stare me down.
“What the hell do you want?” he asked.
“Captain, I have some things to look into,” Smit
h said with an apologetic smile.
“Go,” the big man huffed. “Come in and sit down. Then tell me what’s so damned important that you think that I need to get involved. And do it quickly.”
The office was lit by a single banker’s lamp in the corner that only managed to illuminate a small circle on the metal desk. There was a high back office chair that I assumed was for the captain, and two peeling leather chairs set across from him for guests. Two tall filing cabinets took up the left wall while a long storage shelf stretched across the right wall.
“Thank you for seeing me,” I said as I sat.
The seat wheezed as the air was pushed out of the worn seat, and for a moment, I wondered if I should check for a whoopie cushion.
“Like I have a choice,” the portly man grumbled. “Your reputation for being a pain in the ass precedes you.”
“I’m so glad,” I said.
“Don’t be a smartass,” the captain said. “Now, what’s so important that you had to bypass my detective and speak to me?”
“My client has been charged for a second time for a crime that she did not commit,” I informed him. “The last time, as you know, she was misidentified by a witness when she was nowhere near the crime scene. And this time she was arrested for breaking the window out of the car that her father had lent her. She tried to explain this to your officers, but they refused to listen to her, and now they’ve wasted all of our times.”
“I highly doubt that it was her father’s car,” the captain said, though he no longer seemed as confident.
“It was,” I confirmed. “I even spoke to the man. He said that your officers wouldn’t listen to him, either, and impounded his car. I expect that it will be released, without cost, since it was the city that made a mistake. I believe Detective Smith is currently checking to confirm what I’ve just told you.”
The captain ran a hand through his short greasy hair, sighed, and then tapped his fingers on his desk as he processed. His dark blue eyes were unfathomable when he looked over at me, and I wasn’t sure if he was pissed at me or just frustrated that his guys had fucked up, again.