STANDING AT THE RAIL WAITING FOR DEAN NEWBURY TO enter the courtroom, Karp was momentarily distracted by a familiar aroma. It was the delightful bouquet of cherry-cheese coffee cake, and not just any version but cherry-cheese coffee cake from Il Buon Pane. He’d have recognized that particular smell if he’d been walking down a dark alley during a Gotham garbage strike.
His eyes followed the scent back to its origin, a piece of which was just about to be deposited into the mouth of the middle-aged paralegal sitting behind the defense table. Her eyes locked on his at that moment; she hesitated, then smiled and made a gesture as if to offer him the bite. He returned the smile but waved away the offer. His eyes returned to the back of the courtroom as the entrance doors flew open and Kenny Katz marched in.
Karp knew that the news wasn’t going to be good from the way Katz hurried down the aisle. What now? He glanced at his watch. It was ten o’clock, and the jury had yet to be called into the courtroom.
Up to this point, the morning had been taken up with a new O’Dowd motion demanding an “offer of proof” hearing to address once again the attorney-client privilege as it applied to Dean Newbury’s testimony. Her motion to prevent Newbury from appearing had been denied at the pretrial hearing where Katz had wondered why she wasn’t making more of a fuss about his testimony.
But an “offer of proof” hearing was different. In it, Newbury would be called to the stand and sworn in; however, the jury would not be present. Instead, Newbury would be questioned first by Karp and then by O’Dowd. She ostensibly would be trying to elicit testimony from Newbury that if prejudicial to the defendant she would argue was the result of privileged confidential communications and therefore inadmissible.
Generally, these types of testimonial, evidentiary hearings benefited the defendant. The prosecution necessarily has to preview its case through the witness under oath, giving the defense a better shot, a roadmap to prepare its cross-examination attack.
Karp figured that as much as anything, O’Dowd had made the motion to preserve the record for an appeal, as well as to make it appear that she was fighting tooth and nail for her client. This was, of course, good advertising, especially if she lost the trial and needed to show potential clients that the odds had been stacked too high against her.
However, Karp hadn’t opposed the hearing for two reasons. One, he wanted Newbury on the record in case the old man later refused to testify before the jury or tried to recant. And two, the evidentiary hearing would preserve the record on appeal. Unless the court engaged in an abuse of discretion when ruling on the motion after an evidentiary hearing, the court’s fact-finding would withstand appellate review.
Without opposition, Judge Mason happily granted the motion. It was no skin off his teeth. He would look as if he was being fair to both sides, and O’Dowd couldn’t use it against him to have the case overturned. And he’d still rule against her opposition to Newbury’s testimony before the jury, keeping Karp off his back.
That settled, everyone had taken their places, and Karp had asked that Newbury be called to the stand. When he didn’t immediately appear, Karp had sent Katz to find out why not. Now he was about to learn.
Karp motioned Katz over to the front of the empty witness stand. “What’s up?” he asked in a low voice.
“He wants to withdraw his plea,” Katz said in a low voice.
Karp smiled, but it was all show, as he gritted his teeth and said in a low voice, “Okay, I’ll go have a talk with him.” He turned to the judge. “Your honor, I just need a moment to produce the witness.”
Mason frowned but nodded. “Five minutes, Mr. Karp, and then he’s on the witness stand, or you move on to your next witness.”
“Thank you, your honor,” Karp said as he moved toward the side door of the courtroom that led to the witness room. By the time he opened the door, he was steaming, and it showed.
Before the trial, Karp had, of course, had several long discussions with Newbury regarding his testimony and his “deal.” But he knew the old man might pull something, thinking the federal government would save his bacon from Karp. And they’d tried in the person of Espey Jaxon, who’d appeared in Karp’s office one day that spring asking for a favor.
Jaxon had said he wanted Newbury, the one man who could bring down the Sons of Man. The old bastard would dearly give up his former colleagues, insisting that in exchange for his cooperation, he be enrolled in WITSEC, the federal witness-protection program. But once in the program, he’d demanded that he be given special privileges and not just a new identity. His other requirements were that he be sent to live in a place of his choosing with plenty of money to live on for the remainder of his days. All the while being protected by the U.S. Marshal’s Office.
The only problem with that plan was that Newbury was in the custody of the New York DAO, whose chief planned to prosecute him for murder. So Jaxon had come to Karp. Now Dean Newbury was not going to cooperate unless he was granted immunity in the New York County cases—meaning that he couldn’t be prosecuted for his role in Miriam Juma Khalifa’s death or the multiple deaths caused by the attacks on the New York Stock Exchange and the Brooklyn Bridge. It also meant that he would be free and clear for murdering his own brother, Vincent Newbury, the father of Karp’s great friend and colleague V. T. Newbury.
Karp had scowled and shaken his head after Jaxon broached the subject. “Is he really worth one life, much less dozens of others that he’s at least partly responsible for? And those are just the ones we are aware of. Who knows the extent of the evil this man has done?”
“I don’t like it any better than you do,” Jaxon had replied. “But we have to weigh what has already been done against what could still happen. The Sons of Man came within seconds of crashing this country’s economy, which would have caused rioting, lawlessness, and anarchy, the likes of which we have never seen before. And they also came within a few hundred yards of incinerating the Brooklyn Bridge and a mile of real estate and humanity on both sides of the East River. All that death, disorder, and destruction so that they can create a scenario in which they step in to ‘restore order,’ through martial law, which means the end of democracy in this country.”
Jaxon had sighed. “We know who some of them are but not all. They have insinuated themselves into every facet of American life—the government and its agencies, including law enforcement and national security, the justice system, the military, and even the entertainment industry. They are organized, secretive, and resilient, which is why they’ve lasted a couple of hundred years with no one the wiser until now. And if we don’t get all of them at the same time, those who are left will go to ground, reorganize, and go on with their plans.”
“But aren’t they going to ground now? They know we have Newbury,” Karp had pointed out.
Jaxon had nodded. “I imagine they’re scared to death. They know he hasn’t talked so far and won’t until he’s disappeared into the WITSEC program. But they only have two choices if they want to survive—rescue him or kill him—because otherwise he will take them down. We’ve only seen a sample so far, but Newbury collected information and documents on his group like nobody’s business. He apparently didn’t trust anybody and kept files on every single member of the Sons of Man, their families, and their associates. He can identify them, tell us where they are, and where they rank in the organization and their responsibilities. This group was never working on just one plan, and he knows them all and how they fit together—past and present. Most important, he has the financial records for the Sons of Man going back a hundred years. The crimes and conspiracies we might be able to link to them by following the money are staggering. And we will be able to freeze their assets, killing the beast by depriving it of sustenance.”
Jaxon’s voice had trailed off. Karp knew that even with everything he’d just said, the former prosecutor turned FBI agent was uncomfortable with the thought of a murderer like Dean Newbury getting away with it. He’d held up his hand.
“Let me save you the trouble,” Karp had said. “I’m sorry, old friend, but my answer is no way in hell. You’ve made your ‘greater purpose’ argument deftly, but it falls on deaf ears. I’m not going to get into a ‘situational ethics’ debate. If it makes it more difficult to dismantle the Sons of Man, then we’ll all just have to work that much harder. But he’s not walking away from murders he committed in New York County. He can plead guilty to murdering his brother, Vincent Newbury, and count himself lucky that I don’t make him plead to a dozen other murders. And he will testify honestly and completely at Jabbar’s trial. In exchange, I will make no recommendations for or against him at his sentencing; I will only tell the judge whether or not he testified truthfully. As far as I’m concerned, he’s going to get twenty-five to life. Now, if you feds work out something with the judge after sentencing when he goes into WITSEC, that’s on your heads.”
Jaxon had stood and stuck out his hand. “I told the boss that would be your answer, but I was sent to ask. I asked.”
“Well, Mr. Karp, good morning,” Dean Newbury said as he entered the witness waiting room, as if they were a couple of lawyers meeting to work out a settlement. The old man started to stand with his hand extended.
Karp ignored the gesture. “Don’t get up, Newbury,” he spat. “I’m not here for any pleasantries.”
The old man shrugged and sat back down. He had not become one of the top white-shoe attorneys in the country, head of a powerful Fifth Avenue law firm, and the leader of a powerful clandestine cabal without having a spine. “Fine. I’ve decided I want to withdraw my plea in regard to the death of my brother. I won’t be testifying unless I get complete immunity from New York State charges. I’m not taking a chance that the feds will be able to work out a deal with the judge.”
Karp glared and then leaned across the table so that his face was only a foot from Newbury’s. “Happy to hear that,” he said. “Because I intend to prosecute you for capital murder. You’ll be convicted, no question, and sentenced to death. In fact, I’ll be the one who pulls the lever that pumps three different kinds of poisons and sends you straight to hell.”
Karp let the lethal-injection image sink in. “Now, I’m two seconds from walking out that door and telling Judge Mason that you will not be appearing,” he said. “And when this trial is over, I am going to immediately ask for a trial date for you.”
For a moment, Karp considered whether to just let Newbury swing. He was confident that Jojola’s testimony was all the jurors needed. All he wanted from Newbury was to provide the nexus among Sharif Jabbar, Nadya Malovo, and the “criminal activities” fomented by the Sons of Man. He would place himself, Jabbar, and Malovo in the same room as they planned the events leading up to Miriam’s murder.
Newbury’s testimony probably wasn’t even necessary. Karp planned to hammer O’Dowd’s case during summation as nothing but an exercise in speculation and inferences spun from that rank speculation. He didn’t see how the jury could do anything except convict after he was done.
However, he’d made that mistake before. Having prosecuted scores and scores of murderers to verdict, he was tempered by the understanding that he could not quantify evidence and know precisely when the jury would return a guilty verdict. No jury bell rings and informs the prosecutor that he has proven the case beyond a reasonable doubt. That, of course, only happens after all the evidence has been submitted and after jury deliberation, so he made sure he used every bit of piercing evidentiary proof available to get the desired verdict. To do otherwise and wind up with a not-guilty verdict would put the prosecutor in the inevitable position of second-guessing psychological torment.
In that first trial against O’Dowd and her self-proclaimed Black Liberation Army cop killers, he’d refused to believe that the jury would buy a case based on sheer speculation replete with “big-lie” inferences. Yet at least one juror had, and the jury hung. A fast learner, he’d come back in the second trial. Like Joe Louis in his second fight with Max Schmeling, Karp was relentless throughout. He’d hammered away at O’Dowd’s big-lie defense mercilessly, keeping her on the ropes, so that the jury was convinced beyond any and all doubt of the defendants’ guilt. He wasn’t going to take a chance now, either, not when he could pound one more nail into Jabbar’s coffin.
Wanting nothing so much as to toss Newbury to the wolves in the state penal system, Karp instead looked him in the eyes and without equivocation stated, “Just so we understand each other. You are going to take the witness stand today. You will testify truthfully and completely. If you lie, I will impeach you and thereafter prosecute you.” He pointed toward the door. “Now, get the fuck out there and get up on that witness stand. Am I clear?”
As Karp spoke, Newbury’s facial expression turned grim. Brittle hatred sparkled in his eyes, but so did fear. “Very.”
Two hours later, Karp finished his redirect examination of Newbury, satisfied that the old man had told the truth and provided all the linkage the jury would need between Jabbar and Malovo. He’d also removed any doubt regarding Malovo’s existence. And O’Dowd had done little to limit what he’d say and its devastating impact on the defense.
When Karp took his seat, Judge Mason looked at his watch and announced that he was calling a lunch break. “When we return, the witness will return to the stand, and we’ll call in the jury.”
Back in his office, Karp and Katz went over what could be expected from Newbury’s testimony in front of the jury. “It should take up the rest of the day, and then that’s it for our case,” Karp said. “I’m guessing the judge won’t want to jump right into the defense case, so we’ll probably start tomorrow morning with her ‘expert’ witnesses on government conspiracies and then on to his supposed alibi witness, this young woman, Alysha Kimbata. Then they’re going to have to decide whether to put Jabbar on the stand.”
“That would be a mistake,” Katz noted. “You’ll take him apart.”
“Maybe, but it might be their only hope,” Karp replied. “A last-ditch effort to appeal to that one juror who can identify with the oppressed black Muslim preacher and believes that the government is out to get all black men.”
Karp excused himself, saying he wanted to spend a few minutes in the courtroom going over his notes from his questioning of Newbury and the expected tactics of O’Dowd. “I’ll see you up there in ten minutes,” he said, looking at his watch.
On the way to Part 39, Karp took a call from Marlene, who asked him about the movie-trivia question Warren had asked before his arrest. She seemed excited about something but hung up before he got a chance to ask much, saying she’d explain more at home.
As he approached the courtroom, Karp greeted the guard on duty who opened the door for him. He was surprised when he looked up to see the middle-aged defense paralegal just walking away from the witness stand. “I didn’t know anybody else was in here,” he said.
The woman, who was dressed in one of her usual dowdy brown pantsuits, grabbed a black three-ring binder. “I was checking on the water for the witness,” she replied. “Ms. O’Dowd sent me to get this.”
As she left the well of the court and drew close, Karp noticed for the first time that the woman actually had an attractive face if she would put a little effort into her makeup and hairstyle. He heard the slight accent and wondered where she was from, but then he spotted the paper bag she clutched along with the binder. He pointed and smiled. “Il Buon Pane?” he asked, knowing the answer.
The woman hesitated and gave him a curious look. “Yes,” she said with a smile. “Is very good. And they were such a nice old couple.” With that, she moved past him and left the courtroom.
Karp watched her go and shrugged. An odd duck, he thought, and placed his notepad and trial folder on the prosecution table. He walked back to the witness waiting room to remind Newbury that he had two options: the truth or prison bars for what remained of his life.
Ten minutes later, the courtroom had filled again with spectators and officials alike. The defense attorney and her client were seated at their table and seemed eager to get started.
Judge Mason entered and told Dean Newbury that he could resume his seat in the witness stand.
“Are you ready to proceed?” Mason asked the witness.
Newbury nodded and reached for the water pitcher. Karp immediately popped up from his seat and walked over to the stand, where he filled Newbury’s cup. He glanced over at the defense table, where, oddly, O’Dowd and Jabbar both looked as if they were waiting for a movie to start.
The judge nodded to the court clerk. “You may bring in the—”
Suddenly, the quiet courtroom was jolted awake by the appearance of John Jojola, who burst in through the doors and rushed forward.
Jojola walked swiftly up to the prosecution table where Karp was standing. “I was just out front with Jen Capers,” he said. “She’s sure that she just saw Nadya Malovo leave the courthouse and get into a cab headed north, uptown. Jen jumped into another cab and is pursuing.”
“Do you have a description of Malovo?” Sergeant Cordova, who joined them, asked. He pressed the button on the radio microphone clipped to his lapel, ready to relay the information and summon his team to start searching for bombs.
“I do, but it has to be a disguise,” Jojola replied. “I personally didn’t get a good look at her face. But she was wearing a brown pantsuit—padded, or Malovo has gained a lot of weight since I last saw her. What is it, Butch?”
Both of the other men were looking at Karp, whose eyes registered understanding and alarm. He looked over again to the defense table, where Jabbar sat licking his lips nervously and O’Dowd scowled. The pieces were falling into place in his mind like the tumblers in a bank safe. The frumpy paralegal sitting behind the defense, except when Jojola was testifying. His mind flashed to the last time he saw the woman, leaving the well of the court, and the misplaced water pitcher.
Karp glanced over at Katz, who was just about to take a drink of water. The pitcher had been moved. “Put the cup down!” Karp shouted. He spun toward the witness stand, but he knew in that moment that it was already too late.
Dean Newbury was grasping his throat with both of his hands, but no words came out, just white foam and a strangled, gargling sound. “Call an ambulance!” Karp shouted to Cordova as he rushed for the witness stand.
Court clerk Al Lopez beat him to Newbury, who had collapsed to the floor, and was about to start CPR when Karp stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I can’t let you do that,” he said as Newbury gasped one more time and then went limp.
“He’s dying!” Lopez cried out, and tried to continue to help.
Again, Karp restrained him. “He’s been poisoned, and it might be strong enough to affect you touching his lips to yours.”
In horror, Lopez stood up and backed away. At the same moment, another tumbler clicked into place in Karp’s mind. The cherry-cheese coffee cake from Il Buon Pane. “They were such a nice old couple,” with an emphasis on the word were.
Karp swore. “Sergeant Cordova, I think she’s headed to Il Buon Pane on Twenty-ninth and Third. Get somebody there as fast as possible. Suspect is a woman, heavyset, last seen wearing a brown pantsuit. And be careful, she’s a trained killer!”
At the same time, Karp pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit the speed dial for Moishe at the bakery. He was relieved when his friend picked up.
“Hello, Butch.”
“Moishe, close your shop, get Goldie, and—”
“Butch, she is already here. She wants to speak to you.”
Karp’s hand trembled with rage and fear for his friends as he listened to Nadya Malovo’s voice in his ear. “You might as well call off the police, Karp. Your friends will be dead before they arrive, and I will be gone. But I wanted you to know that soon it will be your sons and daughter and then your bitch wife you will be mourning. And only then will I come for you.” And the phone went dead.