How does that help Scofield?
The cabin is on private land, but the graveyard is on a trail that goes through national forest land. Scofield is arguing that the graveyard was so obvious that Vasquez, a hiker, a forest ranger, somebody would inevitably have discovered it, giving a judge grounds to issue a search warrant for the cabin.
Cardoni laughed. That's bullshit. Vasquez never went back there and there wasn't anyone near the cabin until Vasquez called the cops.
You're right, Vince. The argument is total horseshit, but Brody might jump on this with both feet. There's an election coming up. Word is that Brody is going to run for one more term, then retire. If he lost the election, he would be humiliated. Granting Scofield's motion would get him off the hook for the most unpopular decision that he's ever made. Most Milton County voters don't understand the subtleties of search-and-seizure law. All they know is that Brody let you out and that the cops think you're Jack the Ripper's meaner cousin.
Even if that tub of lard does rule for Scofield, you' d win on appeal, wouldn't you?
I' m pretty sure I would. The problem is that Brody will put you back in jail pending trial.
Cardoni's toe tapped rapidly.
I pay you to anticipate things like this.
Well, I didn' t. Hell, Vince, there's no way I could.
Cardoni glared at Frank. He was rigid with anger.
I am not going back to jail because some fat-ass judge wants to win an election. Either you handle this or I will.
Chapter 26
Eugene Pritchard and Ed Gordon were intelligent muscle whom Martin Breach used when more than simple violence was needed. Pritchard had been a professional fighter with a decent record until he was busted smuggling cocaine into the country after a fight in Mexico. Gordon was an ex-marine. He had been dishonorably discharged for assaulting an officer.
At eight o' clock on the day that Frank Jaffe told Cardoni about Scofield's motion to reopen, Pritchard and Gordon were debating the pros and cons of a home invasion when Cardoni's car drove out of his garage. They followed without lights until Cardoni turned onto a major thoroughfare. Then they stayed a few cars behind the doctor and tried to guess where he was headed. After a while it got confusing. Cardoni seemed to be wandering aimlessly. He cruised the streets of downtown Portland for a while, then headed out of town along Burnside. Several miles later Cardoni turned onto Skyline Boulevard and followed it past the cemetery until he reached a bumpy dirt track that ended abruptly at Forest Park, a vast wooded area.
Gordon turned off the headlights and followed at a safe distance. Cardoni got out of his car and started off along a narrow trail.
What's he doing out here? Pritchard asked.
Maybe he's got a few more bodies stashed in the woods.
Pritchard shook his head. He is one sick fuck.
Don't make disparaging remarks about someone who's making our job so easy. We'll take him here. It's isolated and there are no witnesses.
Pritchard grabbed a flashlight and they set off after Cardoni.
The Wildwood Trail runs for more than twenty miles through Portland's park system. The part of this trail Cardoni was walking led into the deep central section of Forest Park, far from roads or houses. Even though Pritchard was in the middle of a big city, he felt that he was standing in the dark heart of an unexplored jungle. Gordon had hiked and camped in the army, but Pritchard was a city boy who preferred watching TV and drinking in bars to trekking through the forest primeval. He definitely did not like wandering through the woods in the dark.
Following the faint glow of the doctor's flashlight was easy, and Pritchard kept his off. The rotting corpse of a tree felled by the violent storms of winter blocked part of the trail, and Gordon tripped over a root. He swore under his breath and squinted, trying to make out the floor of the forest in the dark. Pritchard turned his head and told his partner to shut up and watch where he was going. When he looked forward he could not find Cardoni's light. The men froze. The only sounds they heard were the swish of tree branches and the scratch of tiny claws in the underbrush.
Then Pritchard heard a crack, a grunt and a second sharp blow. He spun toward the sound and turned on his flashlight. Gordon was down and blood was pooling under him. Pritchard felt for a pulse. Gordon was breathing, but he was not moving.
It's spooky in the woods at night.
Cardoni was behind him. Pritchard pulled his gun and spun around.
Do you feel like Hansel and Gretel all alone in the forest of the wicked witch?
You can stop with the games, Pritchard said, fighting hard to keep the fear out of his voice.
You're the one who's been playing hide-and-seek all week, or didn't you think I' d notice? Cardoni answered from a new location. Pritchard had not heard him move. He aimed his flashlight at Cardoni's voice. The beam cut between a western hemlock and a red cedar, but it did not find the surgeon.
Let's cut the shit, Pritchard shouted into the darkness. He waited for an answer, but none came. Pritchard turned slowly in a circle, pointing his gun and the flashlight at the trees. A twig snapped and he almost fired. Two tree limbs rubbed together and he jumped sideways off the trail.
That's enough, goddamn it. Get out here, Pritchard yelled, but he heard only the sound of his own labored breathing. He began backing down the trail toward the car, shifting the gun back and forth across the path every time he heard a sound. The muscles in his shoulders and arms ached from tension. His heel caught on a tree root. Pritchard flailed his arms to arrest his fall, and the gun flew from his hand. He landed hard on the packed earth and rolled toward the gun. He expected to feel a knife blade slice into his body or a club smash across his back as he groped for his weapon, but the only sounds he heard were those he made.
Pritchard could not find the gun, and he was too vulnerable on his hands and knees. He got to his feet and spun in place, keeping the flashlight in front of him to use as a weapon. Something hard smashed into Pritchard's right kneecap. His leg gave out and toppled sideways. As he fell, Cardoni broke his right shoulder. Pritchard's eyes squeezed shut involuntarily from the intense pain and he almost blacked out. When he opened them Cardoni was standing over him, tapping a tire iron against the palm of his hand.
Hi, the surgeon said. How you doing?
Pritchard was in too much pain to answer. Cardoni added to his pain by breaking his left kneecap.
Rule number one: Remove your opponent's legs.
Cardoni walked around Pritchard slowly. He was sprawled on his back, gritting his teeth and fighting to stay conscious.
A blow to the kneecap ranks as one of life's most painful experiences. It rivals a thrust to the genital area. Shall we make a comparison test?
Cardoni's foot flashed. Boxers are used to pain, but this was pain on a new level. Pritchard made no effort to stifle his scream.
I bet that smarts. In fact, I know it does. Doctors know every place on the human body that can cause suffering.
Pritchard wanted to say something brave in response to Cardoni's taunts, but he was weak with fear. If Cardoni wanted to inflict more pain, he knew he would be helpless to stop him.
Do you know where you are, little man?
When Pritchard did not answer, Cardoni gave his right kneecap a casual tap. Pritchard arched his back as if electricity had shot through him.
You're in the House of Pain, and I run the establishment. There's one rule in the House of Pain: Anything I say goes. Disobedience is punished swiftly. Now, here's my first question. It's an easy one. What's your name?