The Guilty Plea Read Online Free PDF Page B

university,” Greene said.
    “Good memory, Detective,” DiPaulo said. “Only my daughter’s left at home, and just for one more year.”
    Greene scanned the room. On the credenza near the entrance was a picture of DiPaulo hiking with his late wife, Olive, a lovely-looking Chinese woman. There were photos of their kids at various ages. Beautiful children.
    He returned his gaze to DiPaulo. Both men knew the time for their cordial chitchat was over. The defense lawyer had called him an hour earlier and asked if he could come over right away. “Something urgent” was all he would say.
    “Samantha Wyler.” DiPaulo checked his watch. “She’s my client. I assume you want to talk to her in relation to the death of her husband?”
    “Seven stab wounds,” Greene said. “I think murder’s the appropriate word.”
    DiPaulo nodded, keeping his face neutral, careful not to give away whether this was news to him or not.
    “Know where I can find her?” Greene asked.
    “I do. I need time to talk to her.” DiPaulo fiddled with his gold wedding band.
    “If she has an alibi for last night, I’d like to hear it. The sooner the better.”
    The lawyer sneaked another look at his watch.
    He’s stalling, Greene thought. Waiting for someone.
    The outer door opened and Greene heard the ding-dong of the bell. DiPaulo’s whole face broke into a grin.
    Sharp footsteps pounded down the hall, and a moment later a pencil-thin black woman in a long dress and high heels stood in the doorway. She was young. In her hand was a plastic shopping bag with a longo’s fine foods logo on it.
    “Excuse me,” the woman said, out of breath. “I’m looking for Detective Ari Greene.”
    Greene stood and extended his hand. “You found him.”
    “Barbara Delacroix.” She gave him a surprisingly firm handshake for someone with such a slender arm. “I’m a lawyer at Levine and Sundralingham.”
    Greene looked at the bag. “What can I do for you?”
    “Uh, can I talk to you alone, please, sir? If you don’t mind?”
    DiPaulo popped out of his seat, his smile broader than ever. “Let me show you two the boardroom.”
    Seconds later Greene was in a small, windowless room, sitting across from Delacroix at an oval-shaped table.
    “Detective Greene.” She put the bag on the table and spoke in an over-rehearsed monotone: “The firm of Levine and Sundralingham has been retained by a client who wishes to keep his or her identity anonymous. That client has instructed our firm to deliver to you the contents of this package.”
    Delacroix passed the bag across to him. She looked as if she’d just gotten rid of something highly infectious.
    Greene pulled the top back. There was a clear plastic bag sealed inside. It contained a red-and-white dish towel.
    “I don’t imagine you know what’s in here,” Greene said.
    “I … I’m instructed to tell you only what I’ve just said.”
    “Is it heavy?”
    “Not too … I’m not supposed to say anything else.”
    “Sharp?”
    “Yes …” She stopped. Her breath became forced. “I’m sorry, Officer—I mean Detective. I was only called to the bar ten months ago.”
    “You did fine.” Greene closed the outer bag. “Tell the lawyers at your firm: mission accomplished. You delivered the bloody knife.”
    Delacroix scurried out, and the door ding-donged again. Greene strolled across the hall and found DiPaulo behind his desk, hanging up the phone.
    They both knew what had just happened. Samantha Wyler must have given DiPaulo the bloody knife, and he’d set up a double blind, lawyer’s style. Step one: he hired Levine and Sundralingham. That way he was their client, and his identity was protected. Step two: he instructed his new lawyers to pick up the knife. Step three: he got Greene down to his office to facilitate the handover. This way no trail led back to his client Samantha Wyler.
    “Interesting meeting.” Greene lifted the bag.
    “Really.” DiPaulo flashed his golden smile and pointed