Bury the Lead

23



ALAN CORBIN DOESN’T want to talk to me. I suspect this because I’ve been trying to reach him for a week with no luck. And that suspicion was strengthened somewhat yesterday when he accidentally picked up my call and said, “I ain’t f*cking talking to you, you little roach.”

Vince knows Corbin, of course, since Corbin is an inhabitant of this planet, but even he has been unable to arrange a meeting. I’ve used Vince to get messages to him, and one of them was a threat to subpoena him for a deposition. It was an empty threat, since I’m not legally empowered to do so, and Corbin’s lawyer called me and told me to back off.

Since backing off is not my forte, I sent another message, again through courier Vince, in an attempt to be more persuasive. I warned that I was going to go on Larry King and tell the nation—actually the world, since CNN is seen everywhere—that Alan Corbin has very strong underworld connections and was in fact Linda Padilla’s link to Dominic Petrone.

Vince further conveyed to Alan, although he said Alan was by this time screaming so loud he might not have heard, that the only way I would cancel the King interview is if there was a scheduling conflict. For instance, if I were talking to Corbin instead.

After threats of lawsuits for slander and libel, and so much wrangling and negotiating that Vince likened it to the U.N. Security Council, Corbin agreed to see me in his office for fifteen minutes. That is why I am right now in his reception area, with his secretary glaring at me as if I were Andy bin Laden.

I’m finally let in to the great one’s office. It’s immediately evident that there is a difference between “high-powered businessman” and “tall-powered businessman.” Corbin can’t be more than five foot five; one of his reasons for dating the much taller Linda Padilla must have been to secure her help in reaching things on high shelves.

“Thanks for seeing me,” I say cheerfully.

He looks at his watch. “You’re on the clock, a*shole. You’ve got fifteen minutes.” He’s referring to the agreed-upon length of our interview, and I’m somewhat put off by his attitude.

I look at my own watch. “You’re short,” I say.

“I told Vince fifteen minutes,” he insists.

“I wasn’t talking about the time, I was talking about your height,” I say. “You’re short. I would say . . . five two-ish? A*shole?” It’s a tough call whether or not I should be coming back at him like this, but there’s no chance I’ll get something out of him if he thinks I’m just going to accept his bullshit.

He seems ready to go back at me but then thinks better of it. We’re even with the insults, and he wants to get this over with.

“Ask your questions,” he says.

“Who might have had reason to kill Linda Padilla?” is my first softball.

“No one that I know. But then again, I never met your client.”

“She made a career out of blowing the whistle on people, every one of whom would have a grudge against her. What I want to know are the special ones, the ones who really hated her, who she might have been afraid of.”

“Linda wasn’t afraid of anything or anybody.”

“Tell me about her connections to Dominic Petrone.”

He laughs a mocking laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not asking you if they were connected. I already know that from five different sources. What I want to know is the extent of the relationship.”

He hesitates, unsure of what I know or how to respond.

“I will ask you these same questions on the stand if I have to,” I say.

“Don’t threaten me.”

“Look,” I say, softening my voice and acting conciliatory, “my only interest in this is proving my client is innocent. To do that, I just may have to find out who is guilty, or at least provide the jury with a reasonable alternative. I only care about Petrone if I think there’s a chance he had Padilla killed. If there’s nothing there, I don’t bring in Petrone and I don’t bring in you.”

He thinks for a moment; the idea of avoiding future involvement appeals to him. “She knew Petrone,” he says. “She met him at business dinners, political gatherings, that kind of thing.”

Those kinds of meetings are quite conceivable. Petrone has the appearance and manner of a sophisticated businessman, and he has relationships with important people from the legitimate side of the tracks.

Nevertheless, I’m skeptical. “You make them sound like casual acquaintances. I know it was much more than that.”

He nods. “He liked her, thought she was smart and had guts. He sort of took her under his wing. And she liked him, but she knew it would look bad for her politically. So she kept him at arm’s length.”

“Did that piss him off?”

He stares hard at me. “Dominic Petrone would never have done anything to hurt Linda Padilla. No way. No how.”

“Is that right?” I ask skeptically.

He nods. “That’s very right. He wouldn’t harm a hair on her head. But you? He’d break you like a twig and bury the pieces under Giants Stadium.”

Oh.