CHAPTER FIVE

That evening, Nora and Benny stood on the Persian carpet in Judge Whitney’s courthouse waiting room. Nora stared at the floor, wondering what Frenchie would think of the rug. Benny stared at the two long walls, one of which was covered with paintings of sailboats. Actually, they all appeared to feature the same boat, just in different sailing conditions in different places. The other large wall featured paintings of dogs, again appearing to be the same hunting dog in each picture, standing, pointing, or running in different settings. Are you fricking kidding me? What planet is this guy from? Unable to keep it all inside, he turned to whisper to Nora. “Can’t speak to the boat thing, but we share a love of dog art, me and the judge.”

She was too nervous to laugh, so she shook her head with the slightest of grins. Before Dugan could make another attempt to crack her up, the judge’s assistant ushered them into his office, which was enormous. An acre of deep blue wall-to-wall carpet seemed to separate his desk from the entryway. He was seated behind the desk, wearing a tie and suit vest but without his jacket. As they crossed the lawn of carpet, Benny noticed that the vest had lapels on it and a gold pocket-watch chain strung across the middle. Seriously?

The judge looked up. “Ms. Carleton, I understand you wished to speak to the court privately about a sensitive matter. And without opposing counsel or a court reporter present? This is highly unusual.”

“Yes, Your Honor, that’s right, it is unusual, but we’re in an unusual situation. If the court will permit me to explain?”

“Very well,” Judge Whitney replied, not inviting them to sit.

Nora told him about the note to Benny in court that day, which she held up in a heat-sealed clear evidence envelope. She moved to hand it to the judge but he pulled back as if it were a used tissue. Still holding the envelope, she explained that this had happened before, years ago, when another Mafia boss—Salvatore “Sammy the Bull” Gravano—wished to cooperate. The trial judge met with the defendant to be sure of his wishes and then appointed a trusted “shadow” lawyer to secretly represent him in his effort to cooperate with the government. She explained that the government wished to handle this in the same manner, separating D’Amico from his lawyer so he could meet privately with the judge and then with his new appointed lawyer.

“Am I to understand you wish me to trick Mr. D’Amico’s lawyer?”

“Not at all, Judge,” Nora answered. “We’ll take care of getting Mr. D’Amico to your robing room at lunch tomorrow without anyone knowing. Once there, and with a court reporter, he’ll describe his wishes for the court. And we’ll arrange for appointed counsel to be present.”

“It all seems a little theatrical.”

Benny hadn’t planned to speak but couldn’t contain himself. “I’m not sure I know what that means, Judge, but if his current lawyer finds out, Mr. D’Amico will be murdered. No doubt about it.”

The judge sniffed, looking up at Benny. “Now that seems theatrical, Mr. Dugan. His attorney, Mr. Butler, is a member of the bar of this court with clear ethical requirements to safeguard client confidences.”

Nora moved an inch closer to Benny, hoping to drain some of the heat she felt radiating next to her.

“Judge,” Benny said, “Mr. Butler is house counsel to the Gambino Crime Family. I’m sure he has important obligations as a member of the bar, but they would kill him if he helped D’Amico cooperate. D’Amico is Cosa Nostra in all but name and, to Butler, his obligations to the Family supersede any obligation he feels to this court or to the fricking New York bar. This isn’t a TV show, Your Honor.”

Actually, it all felt very Sopranos to Judge Whitney, but he decided not to say it. Instead, he waved one hand side to side. “Very well, as you wish. Make the arrangements and I will see Mr. D’Amico, without Mr. Butler, but with a court reporter. Now, what is your plan for the so-called ‘shadow’ counsel?”

Nora gently pushed her elbow against Benny’s arm. She would take this. “We intended to ask the court to offer Mr. D’Amico the choice among several trusted defense lawyers, all former Assistant United States Attorneys. I can give you their resumes.”

The judge was already shaking his head from side to side. “No, no. The court is responsible for appointing counsel. I will appoint a suitable lawyer for Mr. D’Amico. You have impressed upon me the sensitivity of the matter and I will be guided accordingly. I require nothing further from you.”

“Judge,” Nora began, but he cut her off.

“Very well, that completes this matter. Good day.”

Nora didn’t move. Now it was Benny’s turn to nudge her, but she ignored him. “Judge, I would ask you to reconsider,” she said, barely concealing her frustration. “It has to be someone with both the discretion and the experience to handle a matter like this. That’s a very small group of people.”

“I said ‘good day’ to you, Ms. Carleton. If you wish me to cooperate in this little play of yours, you would do well to leave my chambers—immediately.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Nora mumbled. They turned and left.

At the lunch break the next day, The Nose told his entourage he had forgotten something in the courtroom and would meet them at their usual table at Giambone’s, a restaurant just behind the federal and state court buildings. He made his way back to the third floor, taking the stairs as instructed. He turned right out of the stairwell down the hallway behind courtroom 318 and then turned left through a heavy wood door into the judge’s robing room.

Judge Whitney was sitting behind the desk, still in his black robe. A court stenographer was in a chair next to the judge’s desk, fingers already on her keys. Nora and Benny stood to the judge’s left. To the right was a well-dressed man, about the judge’s age, his hair combed back like the judge’s and wearing a dark three-piece suit. Bet he’s got fucking lapels on his vest, Benny thought.

At least the judge was fast. He quickly confirmed D’Amico’s desire not to have his lawyer present and his wish to have shadow counsel appointed to help him deal with the government. “Very well, then,” the judge said, gesturing to his right. “I have appointed Charles M. Blatchford as your counsel. Mr. Blatchford is well known to this court, an experienced counsel and advisor to individuals and institutions, and is someone the court has known and trusted since we were at Amherst together. You will be in good hands, Mr. D’Amico. I wish you both fair seas. In the meantime, the court will continue to conduct this trial as if nothing has happened, until informed otherwise. Good day. Mr. Blatchford, you and your client may use this room for the next few minutes.”

With that, the judge and court reporter left. Nora turned to Blatchford and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you. We will be right outside and would like to spend five or ten minutes with your guy, under the standard queen-for-a-day agreement.”

Blatchford looked confused, but said only, “Very well.”

In the hallway, Nora was on her phone, Googling Blatchford. Benny was venting. “ ‘Very well’? Another fucking ‘very well’-er? That some kinda preppy disease? More goddam sailboats and dogs? This isn’t some fucking game.”

Nora heard none of it. She looked up from her phone. “He’s a mergers and acquisitions lawyer with a big firm. Amherst, NYU, twenty years of deal lawyering. He doesn’t know shit about this stuff. He’s just buddies with Whitney. Unbelievable.”

“Maybe that makes him more trustworthy,” Benny said. “Couldn’t find a mob guy if his life depended on it.”

“Listen to you,” Nora said. “All ‘bright side’. Well, D’Amico’s life may depend on that.”

The robing-room door opened and Blatchford motioned them in. “My client says we have very little time. His, uh, colleagues, are expecting him at a restaurant. He has explained to me what the queen-for-a-day agreement is—as I understand it, a use-immunity agreement that prevents you from using what he says here directly against him—and he is willing to sign it. He would like to give you—his words—“a taste” and then meet again for a fuller conversation. Satisfactory?”

Nora nodded and found herself suppressing a grin. The mobster just explained the proffer agreement to his lawyer. That’s definitely not normal.

They all signed the one-page agreement. Then Benny took over. Looking at D’Amico, he said, “Okay, Dom, gimme the taste and then get to Giambone’s.”

D’Amico actually sounded nervous, which surprised Nora and Benny. He took two long breaths and then began. “Governor Burke was whacked. Wasn’t no suicide and it wasn’t no murder by his fucking estranged wife, Kayla, or whatever her name is. All bullshit. Lotta guys in the Family sayin’ it was a Gambino hit, by a specialist. Somebody who came up through Joey Cufaro’s crew, who the Family keeps away from the usual shit and uses only for the most important wet stuff. I’ve never met the hitter but I hear rumors it’s a she. Anyhow, that’s what I got, and I can get more if you make it worth my while.”

Dugan was cool. “Okay, get to your bucatini. We’ll work with your lawyer here to get together again. In the meantime, think about what more you know and how you’re gonna find out what you don’t. Capisce? Go back the way you came. We’ll stay here. Go.”

D’Amico shook Benny’s hand and left the room. They sat in silence for a full minute before Nora turned to Blatchford. “We expect you to keep this entirely confidential for the safety of your client. We’ll be in touch,” she said as she and Benny hurried from the room and back across the bridge to the US Attorney’s office.