Butch Karp: Bad Faith Part 19

"My wife has filed for divorce."

"And are you a free man?"

Holstein shook his head. "No," he said. "I'm an inmate in a Tennessee prison. I pleaded guilty to larceny and have to serve at least two years. I've also lost my medical license."

"Have you been offered any sort of deal by my office, or a district attorney in Tennessee, in exchange for your truthful testimony here today?"

"No. You wouldn't agree to anything. And to be honest, I don't deserve it."

"On that, doctor, we agree," Karp said, and turned to the judge. "I have no further questions."

Rottingham rose and approached the witness stand, where he stood looking at Holstein for a minute as if studying some loathsome creature. He shook his head. "So Mr. Holstein, as I gather you are no longer a doctor," he said, "do you have any proof that you ever met my client?"

"What do you mean?"

Rottingham shrugged. "Oh, I don't know ... a photograph of the two of you together? Is there someone who saw him with you in your office?"

"No. We met at the Gentleman's Club."

"A strip joint," Rottingham said. "Surely someone would have seen you there."

"Maybe. I don't know of anyone."

"You don't know of anyone because maybe you never actually met with Reverend LaFontaine."

"Is that a question?" Holstein replied. "Because if it is, I did meet with him, several times."

"So you say, but there's no proof of this."

Holstein sat silently, just staring at LaFontaine.

"And you say that those phone calls from your telephone were to LaFontaine. But are you aware that the cell phone was registered only in the name of the Holy Covenant Church of Jesus Christ Reformed?"

"That's his church," Holstein said, pointing at LaFontaine.

"It was," Rottingham said. "But was anybody else a.s.sociated with the church?"

"Well, yes, Frank," Holstein replied, now looking directly at his interrogator. "And maybe Sarah, I don't know."

"That's right, you don't," Rottingham said. "And we don't know who it was you actually called, do we?"

"I called LaFontaine, but sometimes I talked to Frank."

"Mr. Holstein, do you have any proof that the cash you received came from LaFontaine?"

"It was part of the deal I made with him."

Rottingham walked over to the evidence table, where he picked up the photograph of Holstein with Sarah Westerberg. He held it up and showed it to Holstein, who looked down, and then to the jurors. "I only see two people in this rather explicit photograph," he said. "One is you, and the other is a woman you've identified as Sarah, a stripper you were fooling around with behind your wife's back. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"The Reverend LaFontaine is not in this photograph, is he?"

"No."

Rottingham sneered. "I have no further use for this witness, Your Honor."

Asked if he wanted to question Holstein further, Karp rose and requested that the recording between the doctor and LaFontaine after Detective Winkler's initial call be played.

"John, I got a call from a detective, he wants to know about you and the kids' records. What do I do?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. And don't call here again."

Karp looked up at Holstein. "Doctor, when did you place that call?"

"In April, after the detective called and said he wanted to talk to me."

"And who did you call?"

"LaFontaine."

"John LaFontaine. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"Not Frank."

"No."

"Not Sarah."

"No."

Karp turned and pointed at the defendant, who for a moment lost his composure and scowled. "That man sitting at the defense table, the defendant, John LaFontaine. Is that right?"

"Yes."

Recovering, LaFontaine yelled, "I forgive you!"

"I'll leave that to G.o.d," Holstein replied as the judge banged his gavel. "I can't even forgive myself."

The judge pointed at LaFontaine. "There will be no more outbursts," he said, and turned to Karp. "Do you have any more questions for this witness, Mr. Karp?"

"Just one, Your Honor," Karp replied. "Dr. Holstein, did the defendant at any time express any sort of remorse for what the two of you conspired to do to these children and their families?"

Holstein shook his head. "No, the only thing he ever said was, 'The brats are probably going to die anyway, somebody might as well make a buck.'"

28.

MARLENE GLANCED QUICKLY AT THE NOTE HER HUSBAND had given her as they sat on the couch that evening in their loft, before handing it back. " 'Talk to Warren.' Any idea who left it?"

"Darla swears it wasn't on her desk before everyone arrived for the meeting at lunch," Karp replied. "She says that everyone was sort of milling around in the reception area before going into the conference room, so it could have been one of them. Or maybe someone slipped in and out of the office while she was getting coffee."

"But whoever it was wants you to talk to Dirty Warren. And then he tells you that David Grale wants to meet with you?"

"That's about the size of it," Karp replied. "He says it has to do with Malovo and the Halloween parade, and that I have to come alone."

A car honked outside the building. "I believe my chariot awaits," Karp said. He stood and walked over to the coatrack at the front door and pulled on a brimmed hat he rarely wore and a heavy trenchcoat. "I'm off," he announced.

Marlene hopped up from the couch and walked over to give him a kiss. "What's with the Humphrey Bogart look?"

"Just trying to look the part, schweetheart," he replied in his best Bogie.

"Ah, of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, you had to walk into mine," Marlene said with a smile. "Sure you don't want me to go with you, Rick?"

"Nah, the boys and Lucy will be back from the synagogue in a half hour and want dinner," he said. "This won't take long. And besides, we'll always have Paris."

Marlene laughed and patted him on the chest. "Well, just remember that David has his own agenda," she said. "If he thought it would further G.o.d's work, he'd sacrifice you."

"I'll listen with the proverbial grain of salt," Karp replied, and walked out of the apartment.

Reaching the street-level foyer, Karp stepped outside and up to the yellow cab that waited at the curb. One of the uniformed police officers a.s.signed to the two patrol cars outside his residence was already talking to the driver.

"Evening, Mr. Karp," the officer said. "This guy says you called for a cab?"

"That's right, Eddie," Karp replied. "I'm meeting someone. It's for a case."

"I'd be happy to drive you," Officer Eddie said.

"That's okay," Karp replied. "I'm trying to do this low-key."

"That's why the Sam Spade look," Officer Eddie said. "But Chief Fulton will have my b.u.t.t in a sling if I let you go somewhere without an escort."

"I'll clear it with Clay," Karp said, turning to the cab driver. "I'm sure Mr. ..."

"Farouk," the cab driver said helpfully.

"Mr. Farouk will deliver me to my meeting and return me safe and sound," Karp said.

The officer looked doubtfully at the cab driver and then shrugged. "Well, as long as you clear it with the chief ..."

"I promise," Karp replied.

"And you take the cab back and forth ... no walking around," Officer Eddie insisted. He pointed a finger at the cab driver. "I have your name and cab number, no funny business."

"Business is not funny," Farouk replied with a frown.

"Now that that's settled, I need to get going," Karp said, and got into the back of the cab.

"Where to, sir?" the cabbie asked, looking in the rearview mirror.

"You know where the Bowery Mission is?" Karp asked.

"Yes, sir," Farouk answered, then realized what Karp was asking. "But oh no, sir, you don't want to go there. It's a rough place."

"And yet to the Bowery Mission I must go, my friend," Karp replied. "Step on it."

Fifteen minutes later, the cab pulled up to the front of a large dour brick building with a red neon sign that announced it as the home of the Bowery Mission. Looking out the window, Karp was not surprised to see the sidewalk in front of the mission crowded with small knots of unkempt, and in some cases dangerous-looking, homeless men and even a few women.

"Are you sure, sir?" Farouk asked. "If something was to happen to you, the police officer will make it very bad for me."

"Nothing's going to happen," Karp replied. "You've done a great job so far, and I'll make sure your superiors hear about it. Now if you can wait twenty minutes or so, I'll make it worth your while."

Farouk handed him a business card. "Thank you, kind sir. Call me when you are ready and I will be here in a jiffy," he said. "I do not like the look of these men and I would prefer to drive around the block until you call."

Karp glanced out the window and noticed that some of the rougher looking men were eyeing the cab and moseying over for a closer look. Then he saw Dirty Warren Bennett and the Walking Booger emerge from the shadows of the alley next to the building and walk swiftly toward the cab.

"Aha," Karp said with a grin, "my friends are here to meet me." He opened the cab door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Seeing a well-dressed man exit the cab, some of the sidewalk denizens picked up the pace toward him, but then Booger swerved to intercept them. The huge man bellowed something incoherent, but in a loud and aggressive tone, and the others shied away and went back to their places in front of the building.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Karp ... son of a b.i.t.c.h c.r.a.p whoop whoop ... thanks for coming," Dirty Warren Bennett said. "He's waiting inside."

Bennett then led the way back to the alley and a side entrance to the building. He knocked and another big man opened the door. "This is ... oh boy oh boy nuts t.i.ts ... him, Harvey."

The man nodded and started to say something that sounded like a greeting, but a coughing fit took him. So he just stepped aside and pointed down a hallway.

Karp was led through a small maze of hallways and through a couple of storage rooms whose shelves were stacked with canned goods, bags of rice, and blankets. His guide led him to a door and there knocked again. A m.u.f.fled reply came from within, at which Bennett opened the door. "Go ahead ... whoop b.a.s.t.a.r.d ... he wants to talk to you alone," the little man said.

Walking into what appeared to be a reading room with shelves full of books and several overstuffed chairs with lamps next to them, Karp stopped short as David Grale rose from his seat. It had been some time since they'd last seen each other and Karp was shocked by how gaunt and ill the man looked; the pale skin that covered his face and hands-the only parts visible-looked stretched and fragile, and dark circles hung beneath his eyes like purple half moons.

"h.e.l.lo, Mr. Karp," Grale said, extending a hand, "thank you for coming."

"Hi, David," Karp replied, wondering why it was that once again he found himself in the presence of a sociopathic killer and yet felt completely safe. "Warren said you had something important you wanted to talk to me about regarding Nadya Malovo and the Halloween parade."

A look of sadness pa.s.sed across Grale's face. "Yes, there's no time for pleasantries, even if I wasn't who and what I am," he said after a moment. "I have some information I'd like to share and, if you'll listen to what I have to say, a plan that I think may benefit us both."

"I'm willing to listen," Karp replied. "But if you're going to admit to any crimes, David, I think you should seek counsel first."

Grale looked surprised and then laughed. "You are the last of an honorable breed, Mr. Karp," he said. "A serial killer asks to meet with you to discuss stopping another killer, and you offer to protect his rights." The look of sorrow again crossed his face. "I truly appreciate who and what you are, Mr. Karp. Maybe someday you will have occasion to read me those rights; however, there is no need at this moment."