“Did he tell you what that ‘real big’ thing was?”
“He said he had some facts worth a fucking fortune. Excuse my language, but I’m just saying what he said. A fucking fortune.”
“Did he tell you where he expected that fortune to come from?”
“From Ziko Slade.”
“Did he tell you why Slade would be willing to pay him a fortune for these facts?”
“Because they were about him.”
“About Slade?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he tell you what these facts were?”
“About bad shit that went down with Slade a few years back. I told him all sorts of bad shit about Slade was already common knowledge. He said, not this. This was worse than what everybody knew about. This could get Slade put away for life.”
Stryker nodded, her lips pressed together in a grim line. “Did you interpret what Lenny told you as a plan to extort money from Slade?”
“What else could it be?”
“Did you comment on his plan?”
Cazo grinned. “I told him he better watch his ass and keep away from Slade.”
“Because you thought his plan was too dangerous?”
“Too dangerous for him.”
“Thank you. I have no more questions.”
Wartz peered at his watch. “Mr. Thorne?”
Thorne was already approaching the witness box. “Your name is Thomas Cazo?” He managed to inject some distaste into the name.
“Yeah.”
“The same Thomas Cazo also known as Tommy Hooks?”
Cazo gave him a long hard look. “I might’ve heard somebody say something like that.”
“Interesting nickname. How’d you get it?”
Cazo shrugged. “I used to be a boxer. I had a good left hook.”
“Doesn’t it also refer to your custom of using a meat hook to persuade people who owe you money to pay up?”
Stryker, who’d been on the edge of her chair during this exchange, leapt to her feet with an outraged cry. “Objection! That’s a scurrilous smear! It has no relevance, no—”
Wartz cut her off. “Sustained. Defense counsel’s comment is to be stricken from the record. Mr. Thorne, you’re over the line.”
“My apologies, Your Honor. I have no more questions.”
“Mr. Cazo, you’re excused. Ms. Stryker, call your next witness.”
After a dramatic pause, she called Adrienne Lerman to the stand.
A heavyset young woman in a loose-fitting earth-colored dress made her way to the witness box. She wore no makeup or jewelry. There was a dark mole above her upper lip.
Stryker’s opening questions established that she was a twenty-four-year-old unmarried nurse who provided care to the terminally ill, that she was Lenny Lerman’s daughter, and that she was sure she knew her father better than anyone else on earth.
Adrienne Lerman’s tone sounded both sad and syrupy, worn-down and wistful. She struck Gurney as the sort of woman who believed in lighting candles rather than cursing the darkness, while fully expecting them to be blown out.
Stryker spoke softly, a good imitation of empathy. “Ms. Lerman, we’ve heard witness testimony that your father had a plan that he claimed would make him rich. Did he tell you about it?”
“He told us in a restaurant one night.”
“By us, you mean you and your brother, Sonny?”
“That’s right. We were at the Lakeshore Chop House.” Adrienne frowned, as though making a distasteful admission.
“Not your favorite place?”
She lowered her voice. “It has a reputation for being mob-connected.”
“That didn’t bother your father?”
“He liked being close to that world. To him, those people were strong, impressive. He was like a little kid watching the big kids.”
“He admired gangsters?”
She took a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at her nose. “He wanted to be accepted by them, seen as an equal. I think that’s what trapped him in that awful plan.”
Stryker nodded sympathetically. “What did he tell you about his plan?”
“That he’d got lucky and come by a big secret—a bombshell, he called it—that was going to turn our lives around.”
“Your life as well as his?”
“Mine and Sonny’s. He kept repeating how good it would be for Sonny and me. But he seemed more focused on Sonny, like he was trying to make up for something.”
“Do you know what that something was?”
“The fact that he’d never made anything of himself. That he’d never earned Sonny’s respect.”
“Did your father tell you what he was actually going to do?”
“Yes. Sell some information he had to a famous rich guy with a dirty past.”
“Did he tell you the rich guy’s name?”
“Ziko Slade.”
“He hoped to get a lot of money from Slade for this information?”
“Yes.”
“Did you understand what that really meant?”
“I guess I did. Even though I didn’t want to.”
“Did the terms ‘extortion’ or ‘blackmail’ occur to you at the time?”
Adrienne bit her lower lip and stared down at her clasped fingers. “Yes.”
Stryker glanced significantly at the jury before going on.
“You loved your father, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you believed he was doing this for you and your brother?”
“For Sonny, mainly.”
Stryker smiled softly, as if contemplating the admirable motive behind Lenny Lerman’s foolish plan.
“One more question, Adrienne. Did you get a call from your father on the evening he was killed?”
“He called me at seven o’clock. I was at a hospice patient’s home, checking her meds. I found his message on my phone when I got home.”
Stryker walked from the witness stand to the bailiff’s desk and requested evidence item number AL-009. The bailiff sorted through a file box, removed a cellphone from a plastic bag, and handed it to her.
“Your Honor,” said Stryker, “if it please the court, I’d like to play the message Lenny Lerman left for his daughter, Adrienne, at seven o’clock on November twenty-third of last year—the evening he was killed.”
Wartz nodded. “Proceed.”
After tapping a series of icons, Stryker laid the phone on the front railing of the witness box. Adrienne’s eyes began filling with tears.
A tense male voice spoke from the phone. “Adie? Adie, are you there? It’s me. Dad. Christ, I hope you get this. I’m here at Ziko Slade’s. This is it. What it’s all about, right?” Lerman’s voice sounded like it was breaking. “For Sonny and you. Tell him this is to make up for everything. Whatever happens tonight . . . whatever happens. I wish I was talking to you both instead of some fucking machine. So . . . that’s it. I’m going in.” The voice on the phone let out a crazy, raspy laugh. “Like in the movies. I’m going in.”
Adrienne was shaking. She pressed her handkerchief against her mouth, stifling sobs.
Stryker paused for a long ten seconds, then reached out and put her hand on Adrienne’s arm. “If you feel you can answer, I have one last question.”
Adrienne blew her nose and took a deep breath. “Go ahead.”
“Are you certain that the voice in that phone message was your father’s?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. That will be all. I’m so sorry we had to put you through that.”
Sorry, my ass, thought Gurney. Stryker knew damn well that she had to humanize Lenny Lerman to make the jury care about his murder, and the combination of his paternal angst in that message and his daughter’s tears accomplished the goal. On a prosecutorial success scale of one to ten, Lenny’s words and Adrienne’s reaction added up to a twelve.