Just Take My Heart (22 page)

It was Monday morning in Yonkers. Reeney Sling was arguing with her husband, Rudy, a not uncommon situation. She had been the one who had phoned in the inquiry to the Courtside office on Friday night. Rudy had hit the ceiling later when she told him what she had done.

"Sal is my friend," he fumed. "Look at the break he gave us. Mov-ing us up here at a discount and letting us pay two months later. How many people do you think would do that? And this is how you say 'Thank you, Sal'?"

Reeney had heatedly pointed out that Sal had a number of guys working for him off the books who might also remember Jimmy. "Any one of them could pass on the same information, and if there is a reward, they'll be the ones to collect. So if there is one, why shouldn't we get it?"

Rudy took a swig of beer. "I'll tell you why. I'll say it again. Sal is my friend. And I'm not going to be the one to get him in trouble. And neither are you."

The tension between them had lasted over the weekend. Then on Sunday night, Reeney had checked the Courtside Web site and learned that Michael Gordon intended to announce on Monday-night's show a twentyfive-thousand-dollar reward. It would be paid for information leading to proof that Jimmy Easton had ever had access to Gregg Aldrich's apartment when Aldrich was not present and before Natalie Raines was murdered.

"Twentyfive thousand dollars," Reeney had screamed. "Open your eyes and look around this place. Everything is falling apart. How long have I had to live like this? I'm embarrassed to have our friends come here. Think how nice we could fix it up with that kind of money. And maybe have enough to take a trip like you've been promising me forever."

"Reeney, if we tell them Jimmy Easton worked for Sal, they'll ask to see his books. I doubt if Sal even remembers how much he used him. He only has one full-time guy. The others he pays in cash when he needs them on a job. Sal never delivered to the Aldrich apartment. He told me that himself only last week."

"What did you expect him to say? That he would love to have the IRS all over him?"

On Sunday night they had gone to bed furious at each other. On Monday morning, Rudy's resistance was starting to falter. "I couldn't sleep much last night, Reeney," he said.

"Yes, you did," Reeney snapped. "You were snoring all night. With all the beer you drank, you were out cold."

They were having breakfast in the small dining area off the kitchen. Rudy was using his last piece of toast to mop up the remainder of the fried eggs he had eaten. "What I'm trying to say, if you'll let me talk, is that you've got a point. Anyone who ever worked for Sal and met Easton and hears about this reward will be speed-dialing the tip in to Courtside. If Sal is going to get in trouble anyway, why should we miss out on the money? If it turns out that Easton never delivered anything there, then Courtside doesn't pay and we don't buy any new furniture."

Reeney jumped up and ran to the phone. "I have the tip number written down."

She snatched up a piece of paper and began to dial.

As a convicted murderer, Gregg Aldrich was considered a high security risk and was housed in a tiny cell by himself. The awful reality of what had happened to him did not sink in immediately.

When he had arrived at the jail after the verdict, he was photographed and fingerprinted. He had exchanged his Paul Stuart jacket and slacks for the pale green jumpsuit that was issued to all inmates. His watch and his wallet had been documented in his newly opened file and taken from him.

He was allowed to keep his reading glasses.

He was interviewed by a nurse who questioned him about any mental or physical health issues he might have, or any medications he was taking.

It was about two o'clock on Friday afternoon when, still protected by shock from the full impact of the verdict, he had been taken to his cell. Knowing he had missed lunch, a guard had brought him a baloney sandwich and a soda.

"Thank you, Officer. I appreciate it," he said courteously.

On Monday morning, Gregg awoke at dawn to the realization that he simply could not remember a single moment since he'd started to eat that sandwich on Friday. It was all a complete blur. He stared at his bleak surroundings. How could this happen? Why am I here? Natalie, Natalie, why have you let this happen to me? You know I didn't kill you. You know I understood you better than anyone else.

You know I just wanted you to be happy.

I wish you had wanted that for me.

He stood up, stretched, and now keenly aware that he would probably never again jog in Central Park or, for that matter, jog anywhere, sat down again on the bunk bed and wondered how he could ever survive this. He buried his face in his hands. Wrenching sobs racked his body for several minutes until, sapped of all energy, he lay down on the bed again.

I've got to pull myself together, he thought. If I have any prayer of getting out of this, I have to somehow prove that Easton is a liar. I cannot believe he is housed somewhere in this building. He deserves to be here. I don't, he thought bitterly.

After the verdict Richard Moore had spoken to him while he was still in the holding cell adjacent to Judge Stevens's courtroom. Richard tried to console him by promising he would file the appeal immediately after he was sentenced.

"In the meantime will I be under the same roof with that scum?" Gregg remembered asking.

Richard replied that Judge Stevens had just issued a "keep separate" order so that he would have no contact with Easton at the jail.

"Not that he will be there too long," Richard had assured him. "The judge is going to sentence Jimmy Easton on Monday afternoon. Within a couple of weeks he'll be out of the county jail and assigned to a state prison."

It's a good thing, Gregg thought to himself, enraged at what Eas-ton had taken from him. If I had the chance, I think I would kill him.

He heard the noise of the lock turning. "I've got your breakfast, Aldrich," the guard was saying. "I'm bringing it in."

At two thirty that afternoon, Richard Moore, accompanied by a sheriff's officer, appeared at the door of Gregg's cell. Gregg looked up, surprised. He had not expected to see Richard today. It was immediately evident to him that something positive had happened.

Richard got right to the point. "Gregg, I just got out of watching Easton's sentencing. As I told you, I expected it to be fairly low key. Other than some remarks from his attorney and Emily Wallace, and then inevitably a phony speech from him about how he was going to change his life, I thought it would be pretty routine. It sure didn't turn out that way."

As Gregg listened, almost afraid to allow himself to feel any hope, Richard described what had happened. "Gregg, I have no doubt that Emily Wallace was very shaken up. When Easton was spouting that he would have a lot more to say, I think I know what was going through her mind. She understands that Easton is despicable and a complete loose cannon. And all the reporters who were there now know that, too. This will be all over the papers tomorrow. If Wallace didn't intend to investigate this further herself, the press coverage will make her do it."

Then, seeing the suffering in Gregg's eyes, he decided to tell him now about the reward Michael Gordon had put on his Web site and the phoned-in tip that had prompted it.

As he watched Richard Moore leave his cell, a transformed Gregg Aldrich was fiercely believing that before too long he might be walking out with him.

Ted Wesley was clearly unhappy to witness Jimmy Easton's outburst. When he learned Emily knew in advance that he was demanding probation, he exploded. "What is going on here? Didn't you make it clear to him that he was going to prison? And why didn't you tell me before he was in court?"

"Ted," Emily said quietly. "I made it abundantly clear to him that probation was out of the question. I just learned about it a little while ago and I don't think it's that unusual for a defendant to want a bet-ter deal at the last minute."

Her tone became resolute. "But I will tell you one thing. I intend to go back through this case as if it had just been handed to me. I'm going to retrace every step. I knew Easton was bad when we started out, but he's much worse than I thought. He is the worst kind of slime. If it turns out that everything he said on the witness stand is true, then he's just spitting at us because he doesn't want to go to prison. On the other hand, if he was lying we've got an innocent man rotting in a jail cell. And if that's the case, we've also got a murderer on the loose who shot and killed Natalie Raines in our juris-diction."

"Emily, the murderer who shot and killed Natalie Raines is in that cell two blocks away, and his name is Gregg Aldrich. Thanks to the fact you apparently did not make it clear to Easton that he was going away, the media is going to be ranting about what else he may have to say."

Ted Wesley picked up the phone, a sign that the meeting was over.

Emily went back to her office. The file she had been studying most of the morning contained the initial report of the police in Old Tappan, where Jimmy Easton had been arrested in the burglary. It was brief. The burglary had occurred at nine thirty p.m. last February 20th. As he was being processed in the police station, Easton had volunteered that he had information about the Raines murder.

And that was when Jake Rosen and Billy Tryon rushed over to interview him, Emily thought. It certainly was a break that Easton ended up talking. It had been an embarrassment for this office that Raines's murder was still unsolved after two years. If Easton read the papers at all, he would have known that Aldrich was the only suspect. He had met him at a bar. Could he have pieced together the rest of that story, maybe with some help from Billy Tryon?

Jake would never be part of helping Easton to fabricate evidence, but Tryon might. Jake had said he was there for that first interview in the police station, but he had also said that he arrived there after Billy Tryon did.

I don't care if Ted Wesley fires me while he still has the chance, Emily thought. I'm going to see this through. Then she said aloud what she had been trying to deny.

"Gregg Aldrich is innocent. I did everything I could to convict him and I knew he was innocent while I was doing it."

The words Alice Mills had screamed at her echoed in her mind: "You know that this is a travesty and in your heart you're ashamed to be part of it."

I am ashamed, Emily thought.

I am ashamed.

She was startled by how certain she was.

Belle Garcia could not get over the fact that Gregg had been convicted. She had hardly slept on either Friday or Saturday night. Last year she had watched a late-night documentary about prisons, and the thought of Gregg being locked up in a cage was simply awful.

"Even Natalie's mother believed in him, so why did those stupid jurors take the word of that horrible crook? If I had been on that jury, he'd be home with his child," she said not once but over and over again to Sal.

On Saturday evening he finally exploded. "Belle, can't you get it straight? I'm sick of hearing about it. No more. Get it? No more!" Then he stormed out of their apartment to take a long walk.

On the other hand, Belle's eighty-year-old mother, Nona 'Nonie' Amoroso, wanted to hear everything about it. On Sunday morning, her cruise ship docked in Red Hook, Brooklyn. Belle picked her up and on the way home that was all they talked about.

When Belle dropped her at her apartment, around the corner from theirs, she said,

"Mama, I know you're a little tired, but come over to dinner tonight. We've missed you so much. But, remember, don't bring up the trial. Like I said, Sal has gotten downright surly at the mention of it."

Seeing the disappointed look on her mother's face she added, hastily, "I have it all planned. Sal has a big moving job tomorrow. He'll be leaving really early in the morning, so he'll want to go to bed pretty early tonight. I'll call you after he's asleep, probably around ten o'clock. Get comfortable in your bathrobe because I've got a lot to tell you." She did not add that she might be seeking her advice about a big decision that she had to make.

"I can't wait," her mother replied. "I've been dying to hear everything about it."

When she arrived for dinner, Nonie was carrying a bag full of the pictures she and her friends had taken, and since she couldn't talk about the case, she proceeded to fill them in on every detail of every day on the cruise.

"Olga and Gertie got seasick right away and had to wear that patch behind their ears. I got one just in case but I never needed it. . .

"The food was out of this world. We all ate too much . . . They were putting something in front of you all day and all night. . .

"And I really enjoyed going to hear the lectures they had. My favorite was the one about sea life . . . you know . . . the whales, and the penguins, and whatnot . . ."

Sal, normally good-natured about his motherin-law's agonizingly-boring stories, couldn't even pretend to listen. Belle did her best to look interested and even sincerely admired the already framed picture of her beaming mother in her lovely new pants suit posing with the captain.

"You mean that guy has to have his picture taken with every per-son on the ship?" Sal asked incredulously, momentarily joining in the conversation and thinking that some days the captain must be tempted to jump overboard.

"Uh-huh. Of course when you have a couple or a family group, they pose together. But the girls and I all wanted individual pictures so that our families would have them someday after we're gone," Nonie explained.

I get their drift, Sal thought. None of the "girls" are under seventy-five.

After they finished dessert and a second cup of tea, he suggested. "Nonie, you've got to be tired after your trip. And I've got to get out early tomorrow morning. If you don't mind, I'll walk you home now."

Belle and her mother exchanged satisfied glances.

"That's a good idea, Sal," Nonie agreed. "You really need your rest and I'm ready to call it a day. It'll be good to be back in my own bed."

An hour later, just before ten o'clock, the bedroom door closed and Sal already in a deep sleep, Belle settled in her favorite chair in the living room, pulled the hassock under her feet, and dialed her mother.

For the next hour and a half they conducted a thorough review of all of the evidence. The more they talked and the more Belle heard her mother declare that Gregg had been framed, the more anguished she became. Even though Sal denies it, I am almost sure that Jimmy Easton worked for him, she thought. She finally decided to tell her mother about her suspicions.

"You mean that Jimmy Easton may have worked for Sal?" Nonie exclaimed. "Did Sal ever deliver anything to Gregg's apartment building?"

"Sal used to deliver for some antique shop that went bust. I guess not enough people buy that kind of stuff. I don't particularly like it myself. But I know those deliveries were usually on the East Side to those fancy apartment buildings," Belle answered, her tone worried. "I know that's why Sal is upset if I talk about the case . . .

"He's afraid," she sighed. Over the years he's hired a lot of different guys when he needs extra help. He always pays them in cash. He doesn't want to get involved in all that extra paperwork he'd have to do if they were on the books."

"To say nothing of the medical plan he would have to have," Nonie agreed. "It would cost a fortune. You know how it is, the rich get richer and the rest of us get squeezed. You know how long it took me to save up for my trip with the girls."

Nonie cleared her throat for several seconds. "Sorry, that's my allergies. There was a musty smell on the ship and I think that's what kicked them off. Anyway, Belle, I don't want to see Sal get in trouble over taxes. But if Jimmy Easton worked for him and went into that apartment on a delivery, it would explain why he knew so much about it."

"That's what's been torturing me." Belle was close to tears.

"Honey, you can't let anyone be locked in prison if by just opening your mouth you can change everything. Besides, if because of you Gregg gets out, I'll bet he'll write a check for Sal's back taxes the next day. Tell Sal that. Tell him he's got to do the right thing and if he won't do it, you will."

"You're absolutely right, Mama," Belle said. "I'm really glad I talked to you about it."

"And I want you to tell Sal he can confide in me. I don't mind saying I have a good head on my shoulders."

Belle knew that was never going to happen.

Sal left early Monday morning. Hauling her laundry cart with her, Belle immediately went down to the basement, where the little storage area that came with their apartment was located. It was there that Sal kept cardboard boxes filled with records of his moving company from the last twenty years. She knew that Sal hated paperwork, but at least he marked the boxes with the years that the records covered.

Natalie Raines is dead two and a half years, Belle thought. I want to start at that point and work backward. She hoisted the two boxes containing records for the two years prior to the murder onto the cart and got into the elevator.

Back in her living room she began to go through the first box. Forty-five minutes later she found what she was looking for. Sal had a company receipt for delivering a marble standing lamp to "G. Aldrich" at the apartment address that she had heard several times on television. The receipt was dated March 3rd, thirteen days before Natalie's death.

Holding the receipt, Belle collapsed into a chair. With her total recall of all important dates in the case, she knew that March 3rd was the day Easton had claimed he had met with Gregg in the apartment and had received the down payment to kill Natalie.

She shivered as she looked at the clear signature of the person who had accepted the delivery. Harriet Krupinsky. She was the Aldrich housekeeper who had retired a few months later and then passed away suddenly about a year after Natalie's murder.

In her bones Belle was sure that Jimmy Easton had made that delivery. How could Sal know this and live with himself? she wondered sadly. What that poor man and his daughter must be going through.

Continuing her search, she soon found absolute proof that Eas-ton had worked for Sal. It was in a crumpled pocket telephone book that contained a couple of dozen names. Some of them Belle recognized as people who had worked part-time for Sal. There was nothing under tab E but then she turned to J. Scribbled at the top of the page was

"Jimmy Easton." And a telephone number for him.

Nearly crushed by disappointment in Sal, and equally anxious about how revealing this information would impact on him, Belle repacked the boxes but kept the receipt and the phone book. She lifted the boxes back into the laundry cart and returned them to the basement. Then deciding that it would be better for Sal if he was the one to make the call, she slumped back down in the chair and again dialed her mother.

"Mama," she said, her voice breaking, "Sal lied to me. I went through his records. Jimmy Easton did work for him and there's a receipt for a delivery to the Aldrich apartment thirteen days before Natalie died."

"My God, Belle. No wonder Sal has been such a wreck. What are you going to do?"

"As soon as Sal gets home, I'm going to tell him what I know and that we're going to call Michael Gordon's tip line. And you know something, Mama? In a way I bet Sal will be relieved. He's a good man. It's just that he's so frightened. I am, too. Mama, do you think there's any chance they'll put Sal in jail?"