wearing a blue jacket with "Crime Scene Unit" in yellow across the back had gone into Mancuso's room and come out carrying a plastic evidence bag containing Janus's book.
In another room of the suite, she supposed, Goldstein was explaining to the district attorney that the inscription on the tide page of the book raised the tantalizing possibility that Mancuso had been driven by a concern for the well-being of wife and children when he had followed the implicit suggestion in the words that he do the honorable thing and take his own life.
If this could be proved, she mused as she waited patiently, the death of Paulie Mancuso was not suicide. It was murder, as surely as if someone had pushed him through the window.
Pondering this, she was startled to find Bogdanovic standing before her. "We're done here," he said. "The chief's waiting for us in the lobby."
"I didn't see him go out."
"That's why he's chief of detectives," he said, grinning. "He prides himself on being the unseen force. He had his heart to heart with Vanderhoff in a room across the hall. I'll drive him home and then I am to escort you to your hotel. Which one is it?"
"The Waldorf."
"Well, I'm impressed."
"It's courtesy of the Wolfe Pack."
"That's only fair."
They found Goldstein settled into the rear seat of the car. "I'm glad I don't have the day ahead of me that Vanderhoff has in store," he said. "Sooner or later the poor guy is going to have the press all over him demanding to know how his star witness, who was in protective custody, ended up dead."
"It's a good question," Bogdanovic said as he and Dane got in the car. "Suicide or murder, it happened under the noses of three of his own men. That's pretty embarrassing."
"You're a prosecuter, Maggie," Goldstein said. "If you were in Vanderhofs shoes how would you handle it?"
"There's a very simple solution, really. I'd say that it was under police investigation and refer the baying news hounds to the office of the chief of detectives."
Goldstein grunted. "Thank you very much."
As the car edged past a parked patrol car, Bogdanovic asked, "What did Vanderhoff say when you told him about that inscription in Janus's book?"
"He looked at me as if I'd told him Mancuso was accidentally dropped by some little gray beings from outer space while loading him into a flying saucer in an attempted alien abduction."
"So what is he going to say to the press?"
"The official line will be that for a reason known only to the deity, Mancuso decided to kill himself. He will also say that his death will have no effect on prosecutions of his former pals in organized crime because Mancuso had already provided evidence in writing and on video tape sufficient to convict all of them."
Dane shook her head slowly. "The man is whistling past the graveyard. Without Mancuso on the witness stand to verify those statements, any second-year law student could get a judge to toss them out as hearsay. And even if they were admitted before a jury, a good lawyer can argue that the statements were coerced. Given the attitude of the public in the wake of the Simpson case with its aspersions on police tactics, there is likely to be at least one juror willing to believe it. As you well know, one is all you need. I do not envy the task that confronts Vanderhoff."
"Don't underestimate Cornelius," Goldstein said as the car turned a corner and moved westward. "He's cut from the same cloth as Fletcher M. Anderson. Vanderhoff is a man with professional ambitions, and no fool."
Glancing at Goldstein's reflection in the rearview mirror, Bogdanovic asked, "Who the hell is Fletcher M. Anderson?"
"You tell him, Maggie."
"In the Nero Wolfe novels he was at first an assistant DA in New York City. For a time he was the bane of Nero's existence. Then he married rich and moved up to White Plains, where he became DA of Westchester County."
"To quote Wolfe," Goldstein interjected, " 'Nothing is more admirable than the fortitude
In another room of the suite, she supposed, Goldstein was explaining to the district attorney that the inscription on the tide page of the book raised the tantalizing possibility that Mancuso had been driven by a concern for the well-being of wife and children when he had followed the implicit suggestion in the words that he do the honorable thing and take his own life.
If this could be proved, she mused as she waited patiently, the death of Paulie Mancuso was not suicide. It was murder, as surely as if someone had pushed him through the window.
Pondering this, she was startled to find Bogdanovic standing before her. "We're done here," he said. "The chief's waiting for us in the lobby."
"I didn't see him go out."
"That's why he's chief of detectives," he said, grinning. "He prides himself on being the unseen force. He had his heart to heart with Vanderhoff in a room across the hall. I'll drive him home and then I am to escort you to your hotel. Which one is it?"
"The Waldorf."
"Well, I'm impressed."
"It's courtesy of the Wolfe Pack."
"That's only fair."
They found Goldstein settled into the rear seat of the car. "I'm glad I don't have the day ahead of me that Vanderhoff has in store," he said. "Sooner or later the poor guy is going to have the press all over him demanding to know how his star witness, who was in protective custody, ended up dead."
"It's a good question," Bogdanovic said as he and Dane got in the car. "Suicide or murder, it happened under the noses of three of his own men. That's pretty embarrassing."
"You're a prosecuter, Maggie," Goldstein said. "If you were in Vanderhofs shoes how would you handle it?"
"There's a very simple solution, really. I'd say that it was under police investigation and refer the baying news hounds to the office of the chief of detectives."
Goldstein grunted. "Thank you very much."
As the car edged past a parked patrol car, Bogdanovic asked, "What did Vanderhoff say when you told him about that inscription in Janus's book?"
"He looked at me as if I'd told him Mancuso was accidentally dropped by some little gray beings from outer space while loading him into a flying saucer in an attempted alien abduction."
"So what is he going to say to the press?"
"The official line will be that for a reason known only to the deity, Mancuso decided to kill himself. He will also say that his death will have no effect on prosecutions of his former pals in organized crime because Mancuso had already provided evidence in writing and on video tape sufficient to convict all of them."
Dane shook her head slowly. "The man is whistling past the graveyard. Without Mancuso on the witness stand to verify those statements, any second-year law student could get a judge to toss them out as hearsay. And even if they were admitted before a jury, a good lawyer can argue that the statements were coerced. Given the attitude of the public in the wake of the Simpson case with its aspersions on police tactics, there is likely to be at least one juror willing to believe it. As you well know, one is all you need. I do not envy the task that confronts Vanderhoff."
"Don't underestimate Cornelius," Goldstein said as the car turned a corner and moved westward. "He's cut from the same cloth as Fletcher M. Anderson. Vanderhoff is a man with professional ambitions, and no fool."
Glancing at Goldstein's reflection in the rearview mirror, Bogdanovic asked, "Who the hell is Fletcher M. Anderson?"
"You tell him, Maggie."
"In the Nero Wolfe novels he was at first an assistant DA in New York City. For a time he was the bane of Nero's existence. Then he married rich and moved up to White Plains, where he became DA of Westchester County."
"To quote Wolfe," Goldstein interjected, " 'Nothing is more admirable than the fortitude
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