Bury the Lead

39



OUR POST-TRIAL VICTORY celebration is at Charlie’s. It’s a tradition, and as always, we are given a private room in the back. In this case the privacy is more necessary than usual because the press and public somehow became aware of the location, and they’ve shown up en masse.

We limit the party to the core group: Kevin, Laurie, Vince, Daniel, and myself. We are more subdued than usual, possibly because there is no explosion after the tension of waiting for a jury verdict. Relief is etched on Daniel’s face; he claims never to have been so scared in his entire life.

He raises his glass in a toast. “To the best legal team and the best lead lawyer a man could ever have.”

There seems to be no dissent from that opinion, so I’m not about to quibble. I’ve gone from the worst lawyer on the face of the planet for putting Eddie on the stand, to America’s finest legal mind. All because a maniac committed a brutal murder.

The gathering breaks up fairly early, and Daniel gives us each a final hug as we leave. I tell him that we will need to get together to go over my final bill, and he smiles and says, “Anytime. No problem.”

Vince comes up to me and for a moment seems to be readying for a hug himself. At the last moment he veers off, and it becomes a handshake, which is fine with me. “I knew you could do it and you did,” he says. “You did.”

The fact is that I didn’t, but I don’t bother saying that to Vince. Laurie and I head home, and when we’re in bed, she asks, “You okay, Andy?”

“I’m fine. I’m glad it’s over.”

“Are you going to go away?” She’s referring to my traditional post-trial break, where I take Tara and get away for a couple of weeks to decompress.

“I’m not sure. I’m not sure I need to.”

“I thought maybe we could go together,” she says. “The three of us.”

“That sounds nice.”

My reaction sounds less enthusiastic than I actually feel about her suggestion, and she picks up on it. “Unless you don’t want to,” she says. “I know you like to be alone.”

“Laurie, getting away with you sounds wonderful. But not for too long. I was thinking under five years.”

She smiles and kisses me, but we wait until morning to tell Tara the good news.

Kevin is in the office in the morning when I arrive. We go over the hours we put in, and prepare a final bill for Daniel. It’s very substantial; Lassiter could have saved Daniel a lot of money by committing another murder a couple of months earlier.

When we’re finished, I call Daniel to set up a meeting to go over the charges. He’s not yet back working at the paper, so he asks if we can meet at his house at six P.M., which is fine with me.

Kevin and I haven’t really had a chance to discuss the sudden ending to the case, and I can tell he shares my rather disoriented feeling about it. He’s more of a legal purist than I am and is very uncomfortable with the fact that the determining event of the trial happened in a back alley in downtown Paterson.

No matter what angle we look at things from, the actions of Lassiter make no sense. He went to huge trouble to frame Daniel for the murders, only to save him when his efforts were about to be rewarded. Even more puzzling is Lassiter’s motive for the entire murder spree: Could someone be paying him to do this? And if so, why? Is it simply that he is insane?

Kevin thinks that Lassiter is a psychopath who gets off on making fools of the police and is unconcerned about how many people must die to make that happen. The fact is that the only way we are going to get any of these answers is if Lassiter gets caught, and hopefully, that will be accomplished before other women are killed.

I head home and take Tara for a long walk in the park. Laurie and I have decided to rent a house on Long Beach Island for a couple of weeks, and Tara seems fine with that. Tara and I have been there a number of times; it is beautiful and peaceful, especially outside the summer season.

I leave a note for Laurie, suggesting that we have dinner at Charlie’s after my meeting with Daniel. I then drive over to Daniel’s house, which is in a very expensive, heavily wooded section of Englewood Cliffs.

As I pull up to the house, I can see Daniel looking out at me through his front window and smiling. He is dressed casually and seems the picture of comfort, a far cry from the agony of confinement behind bars.

Moments later the front door opens, and he comes out on his porch to greet me. As I walk toward his house, I hear what seems like a small clap of thunder from behind me and to the right. I turn but don’t see anything, then look back toward the porch.

Daniel is still standing there, but he no longer has a face. It has been replaced by a bloody mask, and I watch, transfixed, as he slowly topples over onto a small table and then to the floor.

It takes my mind a split second to process what has happened, and I realize that a shot must have been fired from the wooded area behind me and across the street. I dive behind Daniel’s car, parked in his driveway, and try to peer into the trees. It’s getting dark, but I doubt that I would be able to see anyone even if it were broad daylight.

In my panic I briefly consider trying to make it to those woods, in the hope of at least getting a look at the shooter, but it seems futile. If he has taken off, he’s had plenty of time by now, and I won’t be able to catch him. If he’s still there, I’ll be a sitting duck and his next victim. My logical decision to stay put does not have to overcome any latent heroic streak residing inside me, so I stick with it.

It is unlikely anyone in this sparsely populated area saw or heard anything, so I am going to have to make the next move, whatever that move might be. Staying low and under cover as best I can, I make it to the porch to check on Daniel’s condition. It doesn’t take a physician to know that he is dead; it is one of the most horrible sights I have ever seen.

The door to the house remains open, and I decide to go inside to get out of the possible line of fire. I make a break for the door and half dive, half trip into the foyer, sprawling on my stomach. It’s not pretty, but unfortunately, no one around is alive to see it.

I find a portable phone and call 911, reporting the crime and making sure they alert Captain Millen. As I do this, I occasionally peek out the front window, though there is no sign of the shooter. Clearly, Daniel was the sole target; if the killer wanted to get two for the price of one, I was an open target as I approached the house.

The next thought to enter my stressed-out mind is that Vince must be told that his son is dead. I consider the possible ways to do this, and none seem right. I don’t want him to hear it from the media or from the police, and it doesn’t feel right to tell him over the phone, certainly not from here.

Instead, I call Laurie, and fortunately, she hasn’t gone to Charlie’s yet. “Laurie, it’s me. Something terrible has happened.”

I go on to describe my situation, and I’m not two sentences in before she’s yelling at me to “stay down.” I tell her that the shooter has gone, that there’s no longer anything to worry about, but she keeps saying it, until I sit down on the floor to continue the conversation.

I bring up the subject of Vince, and she immediately says, “I’ll tell him.” I mention that Vince is usually still in his office at this time of day, but she cuts me off, telling me not to worry. “I’ll find him and I’ll tell him,” she says. “You just be careful. And call me as soon as the police get there.”

At that moment sirens can be heard in the background, so I peek out the window. “They’re here. Thanks.”

By the time I get outside, the street is filled with police cars, ambulances, and every flashing light in New Jersey. Patrolmen, with guns drawn, approach the house and order me to lie down with my hands outstretched. I let them search me, all the while identifying myself and telling them that I’m the one who called 911. In answer to their questions, I describe how this happened and where I think the shot came from.

I’m brought back into the house and led into a den near the back. As I go, I see medics rushing to attend to Daniel. If they can do something for him, we’ve made greater strides in medicine than I was aware of.

Two patrolmen sit in the den with me, but neither asks me any questions. My guess is that Millen has sent instructions that he wants to be the first to question me. It’s a good guess, because Millen arrives five minutes later, with two other detectives.

I describe what happened in my own words, then answer a number of questions from Millen designed to bring out more detail. He’s good at it; he gets more out of me than I realized I knew. Nothing earth-shattering, but maybe it will be helpful to him.

My assumption is that this was Lassiter, finishing up a deadly game with Daniel that I’ve never understood. I tell this to Millen, and rather than blowing me off, he seems to consider it. “Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe some looney-tune citizen thought justice wasn’t done in court and figured he’d take care of it himself.”

I write out a detailed statement and sign it, promising to make myself available to Millen. He tells me I’m free to go, and when I stand up, I’m surprised and a little embarrassed to find that my legs are shaky. This has been a rough night.

I go outside, and it’s still just as much of a madhouse as before. I start to walk to where I left my car when I see Laurie and Vince, standing next to a police car. I instinctively look to where Daniel had been lying on the porch and am glad his body has been removed. I hope it was done before Vince got here.

I walk over to them and put my arm on Vince’s shoulder. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Vince.”

He just nods, and Laurie hugs me as hard as I’ve ever been hugged. “Are you okay, Andy?” she asks.

I confirm that I am, after which Vince starts asking me questions, probably as many as Millen did. Laurie makes eye contact with me, and this time I know we’re thinking the same thing: Vince is trying to attack this problem logically, trying to immerse himself in the effort to catch the killer, so that he will not have to deal with the emotion.

I patiently answer every question Vince has, until the crowd is starting to thin out and there’s just no reason to stay there anymore. I ask him if he wants to come to my house and stay with Laurie and me, but he doesn’t.

He wants to be someplace where he feels comfortable, but no such place exists.