Read Death's Witness for Free Online

eighty grand a year, and I always will, because you’re a stiff, uptight asshole.
    Sorrentino also enjoyed watching the kind of obvious tension Neil Steinman was under. He had led this investigation from the beginning, this was his first trial in three years, and he was attempting to position himself to succeed the United States Attorney, a woman who was about to be nominated to a federal judgeship.
    Steinman’s chances of getting the appointment weren’t great, since he was a technician with no political instincts or connections.
    Moreover, the other likely candidate for U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York, his supervisor, was a more experienced lawyer. And he was a product of an old-line Wall Street law firm whom the big boys at the bar associations favored over Queens-born, Brooklyn Law School–educated Neil Steinman. The P A U L B A T I S T A
    loss of this trial—either through an outright defeat or a mistrial—
    would take him out of the running completely.
    And, as Sorrentino privately recognized, the trial had been going well for the government. Extremely well, in fact.
    Before Steinman could continue, Vincent Sorrentino said, “I don’t know what this fancy talk about less drastic alternatives means, Judge. This is not a law school course or a seminar. Except by a mistrial, how do you deal with the effect on the jury of the unexplained killing of a lawyer they’ve lived with day in and day out, for weeks? The simple fact that the jurors will focus on this 28
    event will distract them from the trial itself. They can’t concentrate on what’s happening in the courtroom.”
    “I don’t know, Mr. Sorrentino. That might be good for your client.” Judge Feigley was legendary for loose, enigmatic talk. She smiled impassively at Sorrentino.
    As soon as he heard Judge Feigley’s words, he moved abruptly forward, waving his half-frame glasses. “I have to object to that, Your Honor.”
    “Calm down, Mr. Sorrentino. The jury’s not here. And the newspapers are downstairs.”
    “With all due respect, Judge, your comment shows you are biased in the government’s favor—”
    “Take it easy, Mr. Sorrentino.” Since she loved this role of reprimand, she was much more animated than usual. “I haven’t formed any judgments about the merits of this case. You know that. I’m not going to tolerate your trying to distract me from the already difficult issue of whether I should let this case go forward.”
    “But, Judge, your comment suggests—”
    “Mr. Sorrentino, if you have a problem with my comment, you can save it for your appeal, but unless you stay with the issue I’ve got to deal with, you’re going to leave this room.”
    “I just take exception, Judge—”
    “Mr. Sorrentino, I think I told you to hold it down.”
    Sorrentino did. For the first time this morning, Neil Steinman was smiling. His teeth, as Sorrentino saw yet again, were bad—
    D E AT H ’ S W I T N E S S
    widely spaced, dark-edged. He was not a man who took care of himself.
    After another fifteen minutes at the conference table, it was clear Judge Feigley wasn’t going to decide what to do until late that afternoon at the earliest. She was legendary for her “all deliberate speed” approach. It was not unusual for her to take six months to resolve a relatively simple pretrial motion. A trial put her under far greater pressure to act much more swiftly, yet she still maintained the same maddening repose.
    “I’ve heard enough from all sides,” she said. “I’m going to 29
    reserve decision on this until a little later. In the meantime, I’m going to ask the Marshals to release the jurors for the day, and I may talk with each of them tomorrow. I’m not certain. Would anyone object to my speaking here in Chambers with each of them?”
    “What would be the purpose, Your Honor?” It was Jennifer Kellman.
    “The purpose, Ms. Kellman?” Judge Feigley gazed in disbelief at her. “To conduct a voir dire, to poll