Star Witness

chapter Five

Harte stopped outside the door of the district attorney’s office to finish speaking with his cousin Dawson, who owned a private-investigations firm. “Dawson, hang on a minute,” he said into his phone. “Don’t say anything else. I don’t want to know how you plan to get hold of Stamps’s financial records. I need to be able to use the information in court, so be careful, okay?”

“No problem. I’m working on an idea,” Dawson said.

“Get back to me as fast as you can. I have a feeling the judge is going to set the trial date as soon as he can—soon as in next week.” Harte’s phone buzzed. He looked at it. It was Felix Drury, Yeoman’s defense attorney. “I’ve got another call,” he said.

“Okay, I’ll call you back.”

Harte thanked him before switching to his second call. “Hello?” he said.

“Delancey, why is my client being harassed about an accident that has nothing to do with him?”

“Uh, who is this?” Harte asked innocently. Felix Drury was better known as Jury Drury, because in front of a jury he was as charming and self-deprecating as Jimmy Stewart’s Mr. Smith. In person, Drury was a self-aggrandizing, annoying grouch more reminiscent of Charles Laughton in Mutiny on the Bounty.

“Damn it, Delancey, you know who this is. Why are the police hauling Mr. Yeoman in? He was having dinner with his entire family at Commander’s Palace when your client stepped in front of that car.”

“Okay, Drury. First of all, she didn’t step in front of the car, as you well know. I’m not going to put up with your usual blatant rewriting of the facts of the case. Got it?” Without waiting for an answer, Harte went on. “And why am I not surprised that your client just happened to be seen at one of the busiest and most prestigious restaurants in New Orleans at the time the vehicle nearly ran her over?”

“Mr. Yeoman and I are terribly sorry about her accident, as is everyone. We do hope she wasn’t injured. It would be a shame for such a lovely young woman to be hurt like that.”

Harte didn’t like the way Drury said that. If he were paranoid, he might construe it as a veiled threat.

Drury was speaking again. “Now, you tell your boss to lay off Yeoman. It’s bad enough he’s having to endure the spectacle of a frivolous trial, for a murder for which he also has an alibi. This treatment of a respected New Orleans businessman is approaching defamation of character.”

Harte glanced at his watch and sighed audibly, for Drury’s benefit. “Okay, Felix. I’ll give Mr. Akers your message.”

“You’re a punk, Delancey, just like your father. Both of you wish you were worthy of shining your grandfather’s shoes.”

Harte wanted to make a smart retort, but all he could think of was Oh yeah? So he just hung up. He opened the door to the D.A.’s office and spoke to the secretary as he passed her desk. He straightened his shoulders, then stepped into the Orleans Parish district attorney’s office. He had no doubt why Vincent Akers had called him. He was probably going to get his butt chewed for securing the order of protection without consulting him. Still, he knew he’d done the right thing.

Akers was a micromanager, too controlling to allow his prosecutors to handle things on their own. He wanted to be consulted on and approve everything they did. And that chafed Harte.

Before he even stepped into the room, the scents of breakfast tickled his nostrils. Coffee, bacon, eggs and some kind of sweet rolls. The D.A.’s breakfasts were legendary. People would come down or up from other floors to sniff and place bets on what was inside the Styrofoam container.

“Talked to Judge Tony Rossi a while ago,” Akers said without looking up from a form he was signing.

Harte resisted the almost overwhelming urge to check the shine on his shoes. He didn’t move a muscle. “Yes, sir?”

Akers leaned back in his leather manager’s chair and harrumphed. “Are you going to pretend that you don’t know what he called about?”

“No, sir.”

“Then stop standing there like an eight-year-old caught with a spitball and a straw and give me the details. Judge Rossi said you didn’t fill him in much. I asked him why he’d sign an order of protection without getting all the details. You know what he said?”

Harte’s throat was quivering with the urge to swallow. He couldn’t resist anymore. He watched Akers watch his Adam’s apple move. “No, sir,” he replied.

“He said, ‘That’s Con’s grandson, Vinnie. He told me his witness was in danger, and I trust his judgment.’” The D.A. folded his hands across his large stomach. “You know what I said back to him?”

Harte sighed. He was getting tired of this game. “No, sir.”

“I said, ‘If he’s Con’s grandson, then he’s a smart-ass and a rounder, but you’re right. His judgment is likely on-target.’”

“Thank you, sir,” Harte said.

Akers shook his head. “No,” he said. “That wasn’t a compliment. It was a concession. I respect Judge Rossi. What I don’t respect is you using your nepotistic connections to get an order of protection late at night without consulting me first. That is not the way I run my office.” He harrumphed again and patted his stomach. “Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve worked to nail Yeoman? He’s the slipperiest snake I’ve ever run into in my entire career. And I’ve seen some slippery ones.”

“I’m hoping we’ve got him this time, sir,” Harte said.

“You better hope we do. If he’s brought to trial for murder and gets away with it, nobody’ll ever be able to touch him again. Do you understand what kind of a predicament you’ve put me in?”

“I’m just trying to protect my witness.”

Akers sighed exaggeratedly. “And it’s not bad enough that we may lose our last chance to nail Yeoman, we’re wading into deep alligator-infested waters with Ms. Canto dragging Senator Stamps and Paul Guillame into the mix.” He peered up at Harte. “By the time this trial is over, my career’s liable to be too. And if mine is, so is yours. Tell me what you’ve found out about Stamps’s involvement. And while you’re at it, don’t forget to include Paul Guillame.”

Harte winced internally. He had an urge to tell Akers what Dani said about Stamps, but it was no more than a rumor right now. If he could get something concrete, then he’d bring it to the D.A. “Don’t have anything yet, sir,” he said. “I’ve got somebody checking out a couple of rumors for me.”

“Somebody?” Akers raised an eyebrow. “Would I be correct in assuming that this somebody is also related to you?”

Harte angled his head in affirmation. “I’m hoping that with the trial coming up, there’s buzz on the street that could link Yeoman with either Stamps or Paul.”

“And what if the buzz says that Yeoman’s buddy was Freeman Canto?”

Harte swallowed again. Of course that was the simplest explanation. Yeoman sent thugs to beat up Canto because Canto was reneging on some agreement or had failed to do something. Forget Stamps and Paul. Even if Dani really had heard her grandfather’s attackers shout their names as well as Yeoman’s, it could mean nothing. But he did believe Dani and he did not believe the threats the attackers had yelled while they were beating Freeman Canto to death were nothing. He lifted his chin a fraction of an inch and challenged Akers.

“You know I have no more evidence linking Yeoman with Canto than I do with either Stamps or Paul,” he said. “I’ve spent the past three months since you assigned me to the case trying to find a link while digging my way out of the avalanche of Felix Drury’s motions and disclosure requests. We’ve got the fingerprint of a small-time thug named Kirkle on the doorknob of Canto’s office, and I’m optimistic that he’ll cut a deal and give Yeoman up. But until I have that deal in hand, all I’ve got is Dani’s testimony. But there’s got to be something from last night—a speck of paint, a sliver of a broken headlight—which can lead us to the car that tried to run Dani down. I just need one tiny crumb of physical evidence that links Yeoman to these accidents. If I can get that, I can make the jury believe that he killed Canto.”

Akers popped open the lid of the foam container, increasing the mouthwatering smell of bacon and biscuits. “Are the police collecting that evidence?”

“Yes, sir. I haven’t heard what they’ve found yet, but they’re on it.”

The D.A. opened a drawer and pulled out a stainless-steel fork and knife. “Fine. Now get out of here before I decide to take you off this case and make you bring Mertz or Shallowford up to speed.”

“Yes, sir. There’s just one more thing, sir.”

Akers stared at him over his reading glasses. “What?” he demanded as he lowered the lid of the container.

“I just got a call from Jury Drury,” he said. “He harangued me about the police pulling Yeoman in for questioning about the incident with the car and Dani—Ms. Canto last night. But that wasn’t the main reason for his call.”

Akers’s expression didn’t change.

“He called to let me know that Yeoman has an airtight alibi for last night. He was with his family having dinner at Commander’s Palace.”

“Of course he was,” Akers said.

Harte smiled. “That’s what I said.”

“Get out of here.”

Harte turned and tried not to bolt out the door.

“And, Harte,” Akers said. “Try not to pull the entire Delancey clan into the fray.”

He nodded as he cleared the doorway. That wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it would be. His butt was still intact and so was his case. He had his uncle Tony, Judge Rossi, to thank for that.

* * *

BY A QUARTER to ten that night, Dani had showered and changed into pink satin pajamas and was sitting on the frilly Victorian bed with her mini notebook computer on her lap, working on a report that was due the next day. A sharp rap on the door startled her.

“Dani? It’s Officer Field. Detective Kaye is here for the overnight shift. I’d like to introduce her to you.”

Detective? It was protocol for the night-shift officer of a female witness to be female, but it was rare that detectives took protective detail. Dani set her computer aside, got up and, after grabbing a white shawl to throw around her shoulders, opened the door.

Field was still almost as crisp and polished as he’d been twelve hours earlier. Standing beside him was a woman in her early-to-mid-thirties. Her black hair was in a long straight ponytail. She was dressed in street clothes, slim tan pants and a green shirt that complemented her dark skin. The only thing that kept her from looking like a casual friend who’d stopped by to visit was the badge pinned to her waistband and the black leather shoulder holster. Draped over her left arm was a jacket that matched her pants.

“Hi,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Detective Michele Kaye.” She had a firm grip.

“Dani Canto.” She searched her memory. Had she met Kaye before? “Nice to meet you, Detective.”

“Call me Michele,” the detective said.

“Okay, then,” Field continued. “I’m on my way. Y’all have a good night.”

Michele glanced around the living room, then stepped up to the bedroom door. “I need to see your room. I want to familiarize myself with it.” She shrugged, adjusting the position of the holster. The gesture was intimidating. Dani decided that Detective Kaye would have no trouble handling herself in any situation.

“Ignore the mess,” Dani said. She’d had Field set the boxes from her office by the bed so they’d be within easy reach. Her clothes were draped over the dainty chair that sat in front of a Victorian writing desk, and her shoes were next to the boxes.

Michele snorted. “This is not a mess. My two kids—they can make a mess.”

“You have two children? How old are they?”

“Seven and eight.” She smiled. “My mother takes care of them when I work overtime.”

“I didn’t realize detectives were ever assigned this kind of duty,” Dani said.

“I volunteer for overtime as often as I can. It comes in handy when you’re a single mother.” As she spoke, she checked the bathroom, then turned her attention to the bank of windows on the far side of the room. She frowned. “I don’t like those windows. They’re a security risk, so large and low to the ground. Someone could climb in.”

Dani swung around and looked at them. She hadn’t noticed how large they were, but now, with Michele’s words, the nape of her neck prickled. “Wow,” she said. “Thanks for pointing that out,” she finished wryly.

“It’s my job. But don’t worry. I’ll take a spin around the house every hour or so, just to be sure there’s no one hanging around. This is a pretty good area. It’ll probably be fine.”

“Unless Yeoman, or whoever tried to run me down, figures out where I am.”

Detective Kaye nodded. “That’s why we’re here,” she said. “Well, I’ll leave you alone. I see you’re working.” She started for the door. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll be right outside. Holler if you need me.”

Michele went out and pulled the bedroom door to, leaving it ajar. Dani tried to settle back down and finish her report, but she couldn’t concentrate. Detective Kaye’s critical assessment of the windows had made her aware of just how big they were and how close to her bed. She set the computer aside and got under the covers, then turned out the bedside lamp.

She was almost asleep when she heard something. She froze, holding her breath and feeling a creepy déjà vu from the night before, when Harte had walked around outside her house.

She was probably letting her imagination run away with her. Settle down. She didn’t want to get a reputation as the public defender who cried wolf on her first night.

She turned over, trying to relax her tense muscles. She sighed, closed her eyes and did her best to clear her mind.

Then the noise sounded again. Like a scrape of a shoe on a hard surface. She yelped softly, then covered her mouth with her hand. She lifted her head and peered at the windows, trying to see if she could spot a moving shadow or something.

Then suddenly, a high-pitched screech rent the air. Dani shrieked involuntarily.

Almost immediately, a knock sounded on her door and it swung open. Michele stood there, her right hand reaching for her weapon. “What is it?” she whispered sotto voce.

“I’m sorry. Something made a horrible noise outside the window. But now that I think about it, I’m sure it was cats fighting,” Dani whispered, feeling silly.

Michele walked over to the windows and parted the curtains to look out. “I heard the screeching. I’m pretty sure it was cats too. But get your shoes on and go into the living room,” she said. “I’m going to take a walk around the house.”

“I’m sorry,” Dani repeated, but Michele was already heading out the front door.

Dani jumped up, shoved her feet into her sandals and grabbed her purse before going into the living room. She clutched the bag to her chest as she waited for Michele to return.

When the front doorknob turned Dani stiffened, but of course it was the detective.

“I didn’t see anything,” she said. “Not even cats. There were no footprints on that side of the house, and I think there would be, because it’s been raining a little.”

Dani nodded.

Michele eyed her. Her mouth twitched. “I see you’re all ready to go, with your purse and your sandals.”

Dani’s face burned. She probably looked ridiculous, but she wasn’t about to tell Michele she was hanging on to the bag because of the gun inside. She shrugged and smiled wryly. “I’m not used to being scared of anything. But I’m kind of spooked, since the prosecutor has got me guarded by police. I apologize for all the uproar over cats.”

“Don’t apologize. I need to know if you hear even the slightest noise. Now go on back to bed. Everything should be fine. Like I told you, I’ll make the rounds every hour or so. I’ll vary it in case someone’s watching, but I don’t think anyone is. This B-and-B is in a perfect location for hiding a witness. At the end of the street, with a vacant lot behind it. Not much traffic. I think I’ll talk to Mr. Delancey tomorrow about moving you to a more secure room, though—second floor maybe.”

Dani started to tell her that Harte had already dismissed the idea of a second-floor room, but she thought better of it. She wouldn’t mind seeing Harte tangle with Michele. Besides, she still liked the idea of being on a higher floor. Less chance that someone could crawl in her window.