PART 35 Read Online Free PDF Page B

living up to Don Vincenzo’s ideal of a beautiful lawyer as he was with getting out into the fresh air.
    â€œWhat do you think of that story?” he asked as they reached the street. He wondered if Sam was uneasy, too.
    â€œIt stinks. At least if there was somebody with him in the movies or something.”
    â€œEven so,” added Sandro cautiously, “the killing took place sometime in the early afternoon, about two thirty, according to the newspapers. All these details about Jorge and the whiskey bottle and the movies took place after three and have nothing to do with the killing at all. He could have killed the cop, gone home, then taken the subway to the movies.”
    â€œSure, he went to Times Square to get lost in the crowd for a while. This son of a bitch did it, all right. He was cool as a cucumber, too cool for a man under indictment for murdering a cop. He sat and talked about it like it was happening to someone else. He’s guilty, this bastard.”
    â€œWe do have little as hell to work with. What kind of a defense can we devise?” Sandro paused, then continued, struck by another thought. “But didn’t he say that he saw some guy and went someplace when he got up, before he saw Jorge later in the afternoon? Maybe those other things happened about the time of the killing?”
    â€œI don’t remember him saying that,” Sam replied. “I’ll look at my notes later. Or ask him next time.”
    The morning sun was hot as they turned the corner into Centre Street, walking past the huge doors of the Criminal Courts Building.
    â€œHe said the cops didn’t advise him of his rights. We could get them right there, couldn’t we, Sam?”
    â€œDoesn’t mean a thing, Sandro. Not a thing. People griped like hyenas when the Supreme Court required the cops to give admonitions. And what’d it do? The cops just have to change their testimony. You think if they can lie about beating a defendant, that lying about an admonition is a big deal?”
    â€œI guess not,” Sandro admitted.
    â€œYou know, Sandro. I’ve been thinking of something else. Judge Phillips’ll be sitting in the arraignment part when Alvarado pleads. A more liberal, lenient judge never sat on a bench. He’s a defendant’s man if there ever was one. Maybe the best thing we could do for our guy is to plead him guilty to something in front of Phillips.”
    â€œWhat kind of a plea do you think the D.A.’d give us in this case?”
    â€œMaybe murder in the second degree. He wouldn’t give us anything less than that. He might not even budge from murder one. Suppose we plead to the indictment, to murder one—the D.A. can’t stop you from pleading to what you’re indicted for, can he?”
    â€œNo, I guess not.”
    â€œAnd with Judge Phillips up there, this Alvarez—”
    â€œAlvarado.”
    â€œOkay, Alvarado. Phillips’d never send him to the chair on a plea. He’d give him life sure. Otherwise, we’ll have to try the case and end up with a conviction after five or six weeks. This guy is a sure fry in front of a jury.”
    Sandro quickly chased from his mind a picture of Alvarado being strapped into the electric chair. “You’ve handled these cases before, Sam. I’ll listen to you on that.”
    â€œLet me sleep on it, and I’ll give you a call. You take the arraignment, will you, Sandro?”
    â€œOkay. I’ll be able to check out those other places with Alvarado then, anyway.”

CHAPTER IV
    Sandro brought the small convertible to the curb at Lexington Avenue between 120th and 121st streets. He sat and looked around him. The sky above the tenements was seared with the setting sun. The wilting heat was releasing its victim’s throat, and the city was beginning to crawl into the night to revive. In many of the windows of the surrounding buildings, Puerto Rican men and women were