For the People Chapter 68
With narrowed eyes, Yesenia Martinez stares across a heavy desk at Ryan and Esposito. "Yes, I was at Casa Maria on the unfortunate night Geraldo died. I'm at Casa Maria often. What does that have to do with my cousin's death?"
"Geraldo Martinez is your cousin?" Ryan queries.
"Yes, my first cousin, obviously on my father's side since Geraldo has the Martinez name. But again, what does that have to do with his death?"
"He didn't just die," Esposito retorts. "Geraldo Martinez was murdered, and by someone who was very familiar with his habits. How well did you know your cousin?"
"Geraldo and I worked together in our family business. He had a talent for finding suppliers of premium-grade products and negotiating favorable prices. But on personal matters, he kept to himself. He enjoyed discussing music, but I have the misfortune of being tone-deaf. To me, what Geraldo and the other mariachi players produced was simply noise. I usually left before they started playing."
"But did you know anything about the mechanics of how Geraldo played, for example how he cared for his instrument?" Ryan presses.
"I don't see what it could possibly have to do with Geraldo's death, but I have no idea about any of that. As I said, I have absolutely no interest in music," Yesenia insists.
"You said that Geraldo had a talent for negotiating favorable prices. Could another member of your family have been jealous of that talent? Or could a supplier have felt ripped off and wanted to get back at Geraldo?" Ryan queries.
"If other members of the family were jealous of Geraldo, they didn't tell me. But I can't see why any of them would feel that way. We all benefitted from the deals Geraldo made. As to a supplier feeling ripped off, as you put it, that's possible. We've had several who saw prices in the marketplace rise and tried to renegotiate their agreements. But Geraldo stood very firm and ensured that our counsel made the contracts airtight."
"And who is your counsel?" Esposito questions.
"Elijah Epstein. I can give you his contact information."
Esposito nods. "We'd appreciate that."
Yesenia hits a few keys on her laptop, and a nearby printer spits out a sheet of paper. She hands it to Esposito. "If you're right that Geraldo was murdered, get whoever did it."
"That's what we're here for," Esposito replies.
Kate isn't expecting to have to spend too much time in court. Dana Klimick's lawyer convinced him to agree to a plea deal for stealing the collectibles from Alan Trehosen's apartment. All Kate needs is for the judge to sign off on it. Usually, that kind of thing only takes a few minutes. But today Judge Judith Kitteridge has a full docket and appears to be in a foul mood. Kate thought she spotted defense lawyer Robert Donnellan going out the back door of Kitteridge's chambers. He didn't look too happy either. The rumor around the courthouse is that the two started sleeping together after Linwood Duffy's trial. There's nothing ethically wrong with that, as long as Donnellan doesn't appear before Kitteridge again as counsel. But it's never fun to deal with someone who's just had a lover's quarrel – especially a judge. Kate will do her best not to tick Kitteridge off any more than she obviously already is.
Kate sits impatiently as the parade of plea deals drags on until Klimick is finally brought in. Kitteridge scans the paperwork. "Ms. Beckett, you're proposing an extremely light sentence for a perpetrator who robbed the apartment of a man who was bleeding out on the floor."
"He was already dead," Klimick inserts before his lawyer, Milton Nussbaum, quiets him.
Kitteridge catches the thief in a steely gaze. "You're not helping yourself, Mr. Klimick. Ms. Beckett?"
"The defendant was helpful in identifying the alleged murderer of the man whose belongings he stole, your honor. The people consider him a cooperating witness. The proposed plea is within recognized guidelines."
"With the best break you can give him," Kitteridge notes. "All right Ms. Beckett, Mr. Nussbaum, in the interests of minimizing the prison population, plea accepted."
An assistant directs Ryan and Esposito to seats in a small conference room. "Mr. Epstein will be with you shortly. He's just finishing up with a client. Can I get you anything while you wait? Coffee? Water?"
"We're good," Esposito assures her, appreciatively regarding curves undisguised by a crisp skirt suit. "She is fine," he sighs after the assistant leaves the room.
"And wearing a diamond. She's engaged. Easy to pant over a woman you have no chance of getting near," Ryan points out.
"You better not start with that chicken thing again," Esposito warns.
"I won't. But you know anything I could say about this anyway."
The door opens, and Elijah Epstein strides in with a smile that gets nowhere near his eyes. "Detectives, how can I help you?"
"We're here about the murder of Geraldo Martinez. We were told that you represented him in some business deals. Did you?" Esposito questions.
"Attorney-client privilege is not vitiated by the death of the client," Epstein replies. "But I'm sure you gentlemen know that."
Ryan flashes an accommodating smile. "We're not here to dig into any of Geraldo Martinez's privileged matters. We're only interested in finding out who killed him. So all we need you to tell us is if you know of anyone who was angry enough at the outcome of a deal with Geraldo Martinez to consider ending his life."
Epstein leans on a chair opposite the partners. "We always endeavor to make the best agreements possible on behalf of our clients. Inevitably, those on the other side of a deal may be less than pleased with the outcome."
"Never mind less than pleased. Who was mad enough to kill him?" Esposito demands.
"I can think of several possibilities," Epstein admits. "Tempers from south of the border can get pretty hot."
"They get pretty hot north of the border too," Esposito points out.
"Of the possibilities that you have in mind, is there anyone with ready access to huitlacoche?" Ryan asks.
Epstein's eyebrows jump toward his receding hairline. "I don't see the relevance, but one of them is a huitlacoche producer. The stuff only grows on organic corn and requires controlled conditions. Farmers expect to get top dollar for it. When the market rose, a supplier was contractually obligated to sell to the Martinez Company at a lower price. The grower wasn't happy."
"Not happy – or pissed off enough to kill?" Ryan probes.
"That's for you to investigate," Epstein replies.
"Then we'll need anything you can give us on that supplier," Esposito informs him.
"Of course," Epstein acknowledges. "If you'll wait, my assistant will provide you with a suitably redacted copy of the file."
Rick's brows dance above his eyes as Kate recounts her experience with Judge Kitteridge. "Are you telling me there are sordid affairs going on in the hallowed halls of justice?"
"There are sordid affairs going on everywhere, Babe. You know that. You wrote stories about enough of them."
"But a judge? Oh well, I suppose she's as human as anyone, but why she'd want a worm like Donnellan, I don't know – unless it's the size of his worm. Or maybe the judge has a thing for bad boys. That would be a great reason to become a judge."
"I don't think that's it. She was pretty hard on Klimick. Actually, she was pretty hard on all the offenders I saw this morning, even the most minor ones. I can understand her being upset, but she shouldn't have let it affect her work."
"Says the woman who became a cop because she was driven by an obsession to nail her mother's killer."
"That was about justice, not petty anger," Kate argues. "If that's the way Kitteridge is going to behave, maybe she should step down."
Rick shrugs. "Who knows? She might. You can never tell how things will work out."
