Private Vegas (Private 9)

“

Wait just a minute,” Lewis said. “The jury has heard the case. They get to decide if Mr. Del Rio committed the crime, despite Mr. Sutter’s highly suspicious, uncorroborated testimony.”

It was clear that Dexter Lewis was hanging on to whatever was still within his grasp. When he’d woken up this morning, he had a conviction in the bag. Lewis did not want Del Rio to walk, guilty or not.

Judge Johnson said, “As it happens, I’ve got some questions, Mr. Sutter. I want to be convinced you were really there. What was Ms. Carmody wearing when you came into her house?”

Sutter said, “Blue-striped shirt, short sleeves, khaki pants, flat shoes. She had a chicken in the oven, and a couple of empty beer bottles were on the kitchen table. All of that can be checked with the cops. Oh, and she was watching Dr. Phil.”

“And what did you say and do?”

“Okay. Like I said, I shoved her inside. She said, ‘Brad, what are you doing? What do you want?’ I punched her in the face. She staggered backward, got into the bedroom, tried to close the door. I pushed it in and I hit her again. I had no choice. It was either her or me and my family.”

No one stopped him, so Sutter went on.

“She kept calling out, ‘Don’t do this, Brad. Stop,’ and then she called, ‘Rick.’ Like she wanted him to save her. I picked a lamp up off the table, a blue one, about this big. And I hit her with it. She put up her arm, but I just kept beating her until she didn’t move anymore.”

Sutter was coughing and then crying. No one asked him if he needed a minute. No one offered him a tissue. In a while, he stopped sobbing and said, “You believe me now, Your Honor? I did it. And I want protection from the guy who put me up to it.”

The judge sighed, fixed her headband, clasped her hands in front of her. I thought she looked disgusted, like now, she’d heard everything.

She asked the jury’s indulgence and then had them return to their room. The courtroom buzzed, and the judge called for order, several times.

When she had as much silence as she could reasonably expect, she said, “Mr. Lewis? Based on Mr. Sutter’s testimony, you may have the wrong man on trial. What do you wish to do?”

Chapter 93

CAINE AND CRUZ were blocking and I had my hand at Del Rio’s back as we left the courtroom through a mob of people who’d been in the gallery plus the gang of raccoons who had, somehow, already gotten word that Rick was free.

Rick was in a state of shocked disbelief, like he’d been in the tunnel and heading into the light when a voice said, “Case dismissed,” and he was dragged back into life.

In front of the elevator, Cruz turned, grabbed Rick into a hard hug, said, “You’re okay, man. It’s all over.”

I thought about last night, how Cruz and I had followed Sutter from the church on West Boulevard to his house on Hickory Avenue in Torrance, then waited for him to get out of his car.

Then we’d crowded him.

Sutter saw me and yelled, “Stay away from me, Tom.”

I shouted that I wasn’t Tom, that I was his brother and that we needed to talk. I told Sutter that I knew what he’d done to Vicky and that I knew Tommy had paid him.

I told Sutter that I had the means to get into Tommy’s financials at any time, that I’d checked Tommy’s bank account and saw that he’d paid Sutter a hundred thousand dollars the day Del Rio was arrested.

In fact, I had seen the amount of the withdrawal, but not the name of the recipient. Calling Sutter out was a calculated bluff, but I was pretty damned sure that Tommy had paid Sutter to kill Carmody and hang it on Rick.

I told Sutter, “Confess what you did to Vicky Carmody and get Del Rio out of the box. Or else I’ll tell Tommy that you’re going to turn him in.”

Sutter went pale, broke out in an instant sweat. He said, “Don’t do that to me.”

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s your choice.”

Sutter made a practical decision on the spot. He agreed to tell the court what he’d done if I got my friends in high places to give him a deal.

We shook hands, and then Cruz asked Sutter if he wanted a little tune-up before we dropped him off at the precinct so that the cops would have reason to believe he needed protection.

Sutter had said, “Don’t hurt my vital organs. Or my junk.”

We did our best to oblige him.