Killer Smile Read online

  “This doesn’t sound like ‘Night and Day’!” Mary shouted, covering her ears, but Judy segued into dancing like an Egyptian, boogying around the room.

  “It’s ‘Dude Looks Like a Lady!’ Come on, get up and shake your booty!”

  Mary scoffed, then reconsidered. She needed the exercise and she couldn’t work with all that noise anyway. She pushed back the laptop, got on her feet, kicked off her pumps, and shook her butt as hard as she could in a skirt from Brooks Brothers. And the rock music wasn’t bad at all. He was no Francis Albert, but Steven Tyler rocked!

  Later, Mary became aware that Judy had fallen silent and she looked across the table. Judy was buckling her lower lip, eyeing what she’d written on her screen. Under the Stanford cap, her brow knit unhappily. Mary knew it wasn’t just fatigue. “What’s the matter, Jude?” she asked, setting down a warm Diet Coke.

  Judy looked up. “I’m worried.”

  “About what?”

  “About you, about this.” Judy slid off her baseball cap, revealing a flat ring around her shorn blonde hair. She spiked it up with her hand, and Mary knew she was stalling, because she never cared about hat head. Judy cleared her throat. “Listen, let me say right out that I think it’s great that you put all this together, and figured out what that snake and his son did.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You went all the way to Montana, and I’m not denigrating that. I told you how cool that was.”

  “Hold the positive reinforcement. Just give.”

  Judy sighed. “But I’m not sure about this new idea of yours. I’m not sure it holds up to a standard cost-benefit analysis. Can I be your sounding board?”

  “Of course.”

  “Let’s review.” Judy straightened up. “Cost. Bennie will hate this idea.”

  “True.”

  “Cost. You probably need her permission to do it and you’re not asking.”

  “Right.”

  “Cost. She could fire you for it.”

  “And the bad news?”

  Judy smiled, but it faded quickly. “Cost, and worst cost of all, it could be really dangerous. Justin Saracone has a fortune to protect, and the power and means to come at you. Even if Chico’s out of the picture, Justin has the dough to hire somebody else. He’s a killer, Mare. Look at Keisha, she’s still in a coma.”

  “I know.” Mary felt her stomach tense. She had called the hospital during the dinner break, and Bill had said Keisha’s prognosis wasn’t good. The longer she stayed under, the worse it got. It made Mary feel guilty, and angry, all over again. “All the more reason to do this.”

  “Maybe, but it means it’s definitely dangerous.”

  “Okay, it’s a little dangerous.”

  “Or a lot.”

  “Okay, a lot,” Mary admitted. Even though she felt a tremor of fear, she was determined, but she didn’t tell Judy about Mrs. Nyquist. It would be Mary’s replacement secret, because now she could fly with abandon.

  “So, you would agree, there are costs to this idea of yours. Great big downside?”

  “Me, dead. That can’t be good.”

  Judy couldn’t manage a smile, which showed what a good friend she was. “Now we come to the benefits. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, Mare, but I think you’re gonna lose.”

  Ouch. “You do?”

  “Yes. Honestly, it’s a high standard of proof at this stage of the game, and you don’t have much. I’ll buy that you have irreparable harm. The sale of rights to Reinhardt and the change in trademark would render Brandolini’s patent worthless, over time. But you can’t show you’ll win on the merits.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “Try it on me, try it right here.” Judy leaned back in the chair and put her Stanford cap back on. “I’ll be the judge. Judge Judy, get it?”

  “Calm yourself.”

  “And suck up a lot. We judges like that.”

  “Please.” Mary stood up and gathered her exhibits. “I’ll keep it short. Basically, I’m asking the court for a temporary restraining order. I want the court to restrain, or stop, Justin Saracone and Saracone Enterprises from selling the rights to the patent and trademark to Reinhardt and ultimately, from getting any more royalties from licenses of the hatch patent or its improvements, because they obtained the original patent by fraud.”

  Judy nodded. “So to get a TRO, or a temporary restraining order, you have to show that when this case goes to trial, you have a reasonable chance of success on the merits. In other words, you have to prove that Giovanni Saracone stole the invention.”

  Mary tilted her head. “You talkin’ down to me, Your Honor?”

  “I’m the judge. It’s my job.”

  “Okay. First, I prove that Amadeo Brandolini registered as an enemy alien. Exhibit A.” Mary set down a stamped copy of his alien registration card. “Second, I prove that he was arrested and sent to Fort Missoula. I can’t prove it through me, because I’m not a fact witness, but you can. You saw the FBI memo, too.” Mary set out an affidavit she’d drafted about the FBI memo from the National Archives as Exhibit B. “Third, I prove that Saracone was sent to the same camp, and that they knew each other in the camp.” Mary set out Exhibits C and D, which were copies of the photos she’d gotten from Fort Missoula’s archives. “I’ll authenticate them by affidavit of the museum director. Are you dazzled yet?”

  Judy smiled. “Keep going, counsel.”

  “Fourth, I prove that Amadeo died by asphyxiation in the camp, on July 17, 1942.” Mary set down the death certificate as Exhibit E. “Fifth, I prove that Giovanni Saracone was the only other person with him when he was asphyxiated.” Mary set down a piece of paper for Exhibit F. “Pretend this is an affidavit from Mr. Milton, which will be faxed to me tomorrow morning.”

  “Better be. Blank paper carries no weight with me.”

  “Remember, for these purposes, I don’t have to prove that Saracone murdered Amadeo, which he did. It’s not a murder trial, it’s a civil case of fraud. Capisce?”

  “Then why are we in federal court? Fraud is a state court cause of action, counsel.”

  “Under the Patent Act, the provision is ‘correction of a named inventor.’ And we’re squarely in dicta in Stark v. Advanced Magnetics. Also there’s ancillary jurisdiction because of the amount in controversy. You want me to get technical, Judge?”

  “I’m already bored. Proceed, counsel. You got bigger problems than jurisdiction.”

  “Now. Sixth, I prove that Giovanni Saracone, who was with Amadeo in the camp, filed for a patent application roughly ten days after Amadeo was killed.” Mary set down a copy of the patent application for the hatch as Exhibit G. “Seventh, I prove that Amadeo made a number of drawings of a marine hatch, which were given to me by his previous lawyer, Frank Cavuto.” Mary set down another blank piece of paper as Exhibit H. “This will be another affidavit from you, detailing what the drawings look like and that they were stolen from our offices during a break-in.”

  Judy cocked an eyebrow. “You gonna question me on the witness stand, counsel?”

  “Yes, and you’d better behave. I can’t sign it because lawyers make bad witnesses and they get disbarred besides.” Mary cleared her throat. “Eight, I refer to your affidavit and prove that Amadeo Brandolini’s drawings were identical to those submitted with the patent filed by Giovanni Saracone.” Mary set down a copy of the patent application, as Exhibit I. “Finally, I prove, by a copy of the police report, which we’ll get in the morning, that my office was broken into, which is why I can’t produce those drawings in court.” Mary sat down a piece of paper as Exhibit J. “Finally, I prove that Saracone had a lunch truck and was not a fisherman. Supported by a one-paragraph affidavit to that effect, faxed to me by my new best friend. Mr. Jackmann. That’s all he will say on the subject, and I’m only getting that much because Justin has made more enemies than Satan. The acorn doesn’t fall far.” She looked across the messy table expectantly. “Well?”

  Judy had on one of those
let-her-down-easy faces. “You still have no proof that Saracone stole the invention from Brandolini, and that is the critical fact. I mean, you can assert all you want, but without the drawings, you don’t even have a prayer.”

  No. “The drawings weren’t proof anyway. Amadeo hadn’t signed or dated them, and I couldn’t authenticate them even if he had. I have no other sample of his writing, except the X on his alien registration card. But I can prove the fact that they were stolen, and that fits perfectly.”

  “That’s not enough, Mare,” Judy said softly.

  “It has to be. I have to make this work. I know I’m right, Jude. I know I can win.”

  “You can’t.”

  Mary flinched. “I can. At least I have to try.”

  “No, you don’t. Not with the stakes this high. You’re too wrapped up in this case, you have been from the beginning. Be logical.” Judy spread her palms. “Why take such a big risk, if you’re only gonna lose?”

  “Do you fight only the fights you’re gonna win, Jude?” Mary shot back, then she heard herself, and to her surprise, she sounded like she was actually making sense. It came as a revelation, suddenly lifting her spirits. “I mean, if you know you’re gonna win, it’s not really a fight.”

  Judy sat back and broke into a slowly growing smile. “You know, you just said something that was either incredibly dumb or incredibly smart.”

  Mary laughed and slipped on her cowboy hat. “We’ll see, lil’ pretty. We’ll see.”

  Forty-One

  At noon, Mary stuck her head out of the conference room door and looked right and left. No one in the hall. No one in the waiting room. Everyone was at lunch. Most important of all, the reception desk was empty and Marshall was nowhere in sight. She was the one who’d tell Bennie on them and she must have gone to lunch, too. The coast was clear.

  “Andiamo,” Mary said, gesturing. According to plan, she had one stack of finished papers under her arm, and Judy had the other, and they hustled through the empty reception area to the elevator and hit the Down button.

  “We did it!” Judy cheered, but it caught in her throat when the elevator doors opened and Marshall was standing inside.

  Busted! Mary stayed calm. Judy stayed hyper.

  “Hello, ladies,” Marshall said, her eyes narrowing to secretarial slits. She stepped out of the elevator cab and intentionally blocked the doors, which slid closed behind her. She looked unusually stern this morning, in a severe braid and a black shirtdress with a white collar that reminded Mary of every nun she’d ever had. Marshall folded her arms. “Where were you going?”

  “Out,” Mary answered, and Judy added:

  “Fine, thanks.”

  Marshall cocked her head. “What are you up to?”

  “Nothing,” Mary answered, and Judy added:

  “Not today, thanks.”

  Marshall looked from one to the other. “Why are you wearing stupid hats?”

  The cowboy hat! Mary had forgotten she had it on. Judy wore her Stanford cap. “For attitude?” she answered, and Judy added:

  “I always wear stupid hats.”

  Marshall put her hands on her hips. “This can’t be good. Both of you locked in the conference room all morning, with chocolate and Joe Perry. This can’t be good. I’m responsible for you guys when Bennie’s not here, you know, and she’s going to be calling in again. You going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to beat it out of you?”

  “It’s better if you don’t know just yet,” Mary answered, and Judy added:

  “Better for us, that is.”

  Marshall frowned at Judy. “Hey, Miss, I held your calls all morning, and you have a ton of mail on my desk, some of it on those cases of Bennie’s that you’re supposed to be watching. Mr. Reitman called twice.” Marshall turned to Mary and began counting off on her fingers. “And as for you, you’ve got phone messages from MacIntire, that reporter, two from a Gail Lasko at the Daily News, one from Steve Levy on Channel Ten, one from the Legal Intelligencer, one from COURT-TV, one from your Uncle Joey, and a bunch of other personal ones. Some have been on my desk for days, with your mail.”

  “Sorry, gotta go.” Mary hit the elevator button and the doors slid open immediately, proving that her cause was just, if a little wacky and dangerous. She bolted into the elevator and hit the button to close the door. “Don’t worry, Marshall. We’ll explain later!”

  “Don’t wait up!” Judy added before she slipped inside, the doors closed, and the elevator spirited them away.

  By the time they had gotten downstairs and left the building through the back alley to avoid the press, Mary had lost her sense of humor and remembered her original purpose. She had made a plan and was executing it, and they had to part company among the rusty blue Dumpsters that lined the cruddy brick alley, which smelled coincidentally of chicken curry.

  Mary gave Judy a big hug. “Thanks for all your help. I really owe you.”

  Judy hugged her back, then released her, her brow dark with doubt. “You really have to go alone, Mare? I could go with you. It’s safer if we go together.”

  “Nah. It’s a two-pronged attack. We have to hit at the same time.” Mary peeked out of the alley for any stray reporters. There weren’t any; just the typical crowded sidewalk at noontime on a workday, with businessmen and women walking in groups, smoking, laughing, and talking on cell phones. She could blend right in and go. “I’ll be fine.”

  “But I have the easy job. You have the dangerous job.”

  “That’s as it should be. It’s my case, and my score to settle.” Mary managed a smile. “On your cases, you get to keep the dangerous jobs.”

  Judy eyed her unhappily. “Just be careful, okay? Do what you have to do and get out of there.”

  “I will.” Mary shooed her out of the alley. “Now, skedaddle! You go left, I’ll go right.”

  “You’re sure you’ll be okay?” Judy said, but Mary only gave her a gentle push in response, and she hit the sidewalk running and flowed into the foot traffic, manila envelope in hand.

  Good girl. Mary tucked her papers under her arm and hurried out of the alley.

  It was late afternoon by the time Mary arrived at the house, and she felt grim, professional, and purposeful, her anger simmering in her chest. There was no one on the exclusive tree-lined street, and she pulled into the driveway in front of the scrollwork S. She set her jaw and took off her cowboy hat, since she already had enough attitude. She eyed Justin Saracone’s property through the wrought-iron bars.

  Saracone, you bastard.

  The fieldstone mansion looked still in the sun, and the property was quieter than the other day, though not deserted. The front door was closed, but a sprinkler system was running on the vast lawn, watering the already lush bushes on the perimeter. On the circular driveway sat a shiny red Hummer and a black Mercedes sedan, either of which qualified as pretentious enough to be Justin Saracone’s. Mary hoped he was home. She cruised up to a squawk box on a gooseneck stem and hit the black intercom button.

  “Yes?” A man answered.

  It was him. Mary would never forget that voice. Her mouth would have gone dry, if it hadn’t gone dry three exits ago. Not with fear this time, but with fury. “This is Mary DiNunzio and I’m here to see you, Justin.”

  The box went silent, and she worried fleetingly that he wouldn’t let her in. She had figured that anybody who wanted to hit you himself was spoiling for a fight, and now, so was she. But in the next instant, there was a clunk as the iron gates parted slowly, dividing the S in perfect halves. Mary drove through, parked behind the Hummer, and cut the ignition. She grabbed her envelope and slipped a tiny green spray can of mace into her jacket pocket, just in case. No cowgirl went anywhere without her mace.

  She strode up the brick pavers and knocked on a tall front door of dark wood, with a frosted glass window she couldn’t see through. In a minute the door was opened and she felt the chill of central air-conditioning. On the rose marble threshold stood Justin Saracone.


  “Hello, Mary,” Justin said coolly, his dark eyes glittering and his mouth a mirthless smile. He wore an open shirt of a silky fabric with European vents and a black belt with gray trousers and expensive tasseled loafers. He extended a hand, and Mary put the manila envelope in it.

  “Consider yourself served.” Mary found herself shaking with controlled anger. “This complaint is being filed in court as we speak, on behalf of the estate of Amadeo Brandolini. I’m suing you and Saracone Investments for fifty million dollars, the profits you and your father got by stealing Amadeo’s patent in 1942 and licensing it illegally since then.”

  “You can’t be serious.” Justin’s smile stayed plastered on his face, as if he were humoring her, which only made her madder.

  “I’m also seeking a TRO to stop you from selling the rights under the patent and licenses to Reinhardt and from destroying the GO trademark. All of that would render Amadeo’s patent unmarketable and valueless, and that’s not happening as long as I draw breath. By the time this is over, I’ll make sure you don’t collect another penny in royalties for the illegal licensing of the original patent, or any of its applications.”

  “You don’t learn, do you?” Justin’s smile faded to the sneer she had seen right before he hit her, and Mary felt a new power surge through her body.

  “Actually, I do, and I also fly on planes, but that’s neither here nor there. I’m turning off the faucet on you. No more money, as of tomorrow. The hearing’s at ten. See you in court, pal. And by the way, if I lose tomorrow, I’ll take it to trial, and if I lose there, I’ll appeal it. I’ll never let you go, Justin. Cowboy up, pal. You’re in for a long, long ride.”

  “Are you done with your little speech?” Justin clapped.

  His arrogance sent Mary’s blood boiling over. She flashed on him punching her, and before she knew what she was doing, she balled her hand, hauled off, and hit him square in the face, smashing her hand into his obnoxious sneer.