“I’m not sure I can do that.”
“Come on, Bacchetti, it’s a murder case, a murdered cop. They’re going to want the perpetrator, not me.”
“All right, I give you my word that I won’t ask you to testify, unless I can get you immunity.”
“Understand, if you don’t get me the immunity I’ll take the Fifth.”
“That’s not going to be necessary, Mr. Elliot; you have my word.”
“Okay.”
“Now, how did you come into possession of the weapon?”
“I bought it from a guy on the street.”
“What guy? Who was he?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“Come on, Mr. Elliot, you’re not cutting it, here.”
“I mean, his real name. His street name is Lowrider.”
“And how did you come to know Lowrider?”
“I fell into conversation with him in Central Park; he was selling drugs. I told him I was interested in something for personal protection, and he said he could have something for me the next day.”
“And did he?”
“Yes, a twenty-five Beretta, nickel-plated.”
“How much did you pay him for it?”
“Twenty-five hundred dollars.”
Dino knew immediately that something was wrong here. “That’s an awful lot of money for a street gun, especially small caliber,” he said slowly. His gaze let the lawyer know that he was suspicious.
“Yeah, well, maybe so, but I don’t buy all that many guns on the street, you know?”
“Mr. Elliot, you’d better tell me all of it, and right now.”
Elliot began to look very uncomfortable. He looked around the bar, checked the position of the bartender, and drained his glass of whiskey. “All right, it had a silencer.”
Dino’s eyebrows went up. “I see,” he said. “Well, that would certainly put the price up. Now why…”
Elliot held up a hand. “That’s it; I told you what I said I would; I’m not answering any more questions.” He rose to leave.
Dino put a hand on his shoulder and shoved him back onto the barstool. “We’re not finished,” he said.
Elliot sat down but said nothing.
“And you kept the weapon in your safe?” Dino asked.
“Yes.”
“The same safe that held the thirty-five thousand dollars that you reported stolen?”
“That’s right.”