The Man In the Middle

By Jack Dold

Vincent Scalabrese is the godfather of the New England underworld. Seven years before, he had come to the aid of a young Boston lawyer, Rebecca Walton, who was about to triumph in her very first murder defense trial. It would change his life. Rebecca was the daughter he had always wished for—extremely bright, hard-working, adventurous, imaginative. They formed an immediate relationship that soon became almost that of a father-daughter. Now, Vincent is once more called to protect Rebecca, who is defending a young college student accused of the murder of a club singer. While she easily clears him of the charges, Rebecca and Vincent find themselves in the middle of a massive conspiracy which threatens the very existence of America. Together, they begin to unravel a shocking tale of corruption that has infected both the government and the private offices of the ultra-wealthy in the high-tech and business worlds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 31, 2024
• ISBN: 9798823020633

Jack Dold

In the course of my 81 years, I have seen a great deal of the world. From my early years in Berkeley, through education at Saint Mary's High, Saint Mary's College, and U.C.L.A., I have been blessed with experiences that have far exceeded my dreams. The lessons learned from my teaching days at Bishop O'Dowd High School in Oakland provided the base for almost forty years in the travel business. And both of those careers have given me the inspiration for my retirement work as an author.

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OTHER BOOKS BY JACK DOLD

Crosshairs

You Don’t Stop Living

Boris

Eva

Canada—The World Next Door

Family on the Move

And the Swan Died

The Man in a Vacuum

In Search of Mark Twain

One Who Feeds the People

Thrills of a Lifetime

Crackers

Mornings at Rockville Corners

George Yee—A Valley Treasure

THE MAN

IN THE

MIDDLE

JACK DOLD

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© 2024 Jack Dold. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/27/2024

ISBN: 979-8-8230-2064-0 (sc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-2065-7 (hc)

ISBN: 979-8-8230-2063-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2024901167

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Rebecca

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

The Search

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Revellation

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

The War

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Waverly

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Vincent

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

REBECCA

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CHAPTER ONE

R ebecca Walton studied her I-phone intently, watching a video that had just come in from Las Vegas. A smile slowly worked its way into her eyes. She put the phone down on the desk, and let out a sigh. It was a sound of triumph more than re lief.

We’ve got her! she murmured to herself. We’re home free!

The courtroom was empty by this time. There was no one there to share her feeling of exhilaration, so she carefully stacked her papers and put them in her briefcase, snapped it shut, picked up her phone and looked around the back of the courtroom for her coat. It was a Friday evening and she had the weekend to gather any additional information she needed for court on Monday.

I might even call Artemus and invite him for a hot dog at Joe and Nemo’s she laughed to the empty room. This is a good night.

It was raining slightly as she walked down the steps of the courthouse in Boston, so she dragged a knit hat out of her bag and covered her head. She hadn’t noticed the long black car sitting on New Chardon Street. Two men had emerged, facing her.

Ms. Walton, we would like you to come with us, the larger of the two said, in a voice that would not accept a refusal. The other took her by the arm and quickly moved her into the back seat. It all happened so fast that Rebecca never even had a chance to object. The limo was already in motion before fear set in. It was quickly followed by anger.

What the hell are you doing? Stop this car and let me out.

She might as well have been talking to two statues. Neither man appeared to hear her, and they drove on without a word.

Rebecca sat back with an angry scowl on her face, and took a deep breath, slowly let it out, and forced herself to relax. She realized she would just have to wait and see what was in store for her.

The car moved across the West End of Boston to the Mass Pike where it joined the heavy commute traffic heading out of the city. She watched all of the familiar landmarks go by, memorizing them in case they would be of use sometime later. When they turned off of the Pike onto Route 27, Rebecca’s anger increased. She realized that she was being taken to Farm Pond in Sherborn.

By the time the car pulled through the gates of the elegant mansion, she was boiling over, not waiting for the men to open her door. She ran to the house and banged on the front door. An elderly man answered.

You son of a bitch, Vincent, Rebecca screamed. You know I have always accepted you as a Grandfather, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to accept you as a Godfather. What the hell are you doing, having me abducted in plain view like some sort of Mafia target?

Vincent laughed and tried to hug the angry young woman. She pulled away forcefully and glared at him.

Come with me, Rebecca. I just opened a very nice Chateau Yquem, and it will help soothe your nerves. We have much to talk about. I didn’t abduct you for my sake. I did it for yours.

Rebecca felt herself softening as she let Vincent lead her into an elegant parlor, where there was an impressive charcuterie platter and two glasses of wine laid out.

You must be tired and hungry, Rebecca, Vincent said with a smile. Have something to eat and drink and then I will explain what just happened.

Almost completely mollified by the charming man, Rebecca realized that she was in fact, ravenously hungry, having skipped lunch and eaten only a bagel for breakfast. She turned to face her abductor, and smiled.

I really am hungry, Vincent, she said. Thank you.

Vincent Scalabrese was the head of the largest of the underworld syndicates that operated in the Northeast. He had come to know her during her first major trial in Boston where she had defended Artemus Webb on a murder charge. Ironically, he had abducted her during that trial in much the same way as today. They had become close friends, with a bond that almost approached family strength. Rebecca was the energetic, imaginative, hard-working daughter that he had always hoped for, but never found in his own family. And she had come to regard him almost as a Grandfather. But never as the head of a Mafia family.

This really is a wonderful wine, Vincent, Rebecca said, holding out her glass for a refill.

It’s one of the finest sauternes in the world, my dear, Vincent responded. I thought it might take the edge off. I knew you would come here in full attack mode, and I had to set my defenses, he laughed. It’s one of the things I love about you. You never go halfway. Now, let me explain myself, and then we will have a fine dinner and talk.

My sources told me this morning that a contract had been taken out on you that was to be filled tonight. I didn’t think they would bother you inside the courthouse, but I couldn’t take a chance once you hit the street.

A contract? Who would want to kill me, Vincent?

I don’t know, but I’m working on that. It has to be in connection with your current trial. Who are you defending?

A young man who goes to Northeastern. His name is Jeremy Cromwell. He can’t be involved with your world in any way. He has no family around Boston, and almost no money to speak of. I know he has been set up on this murder, but I haven’t yet figured out why.

Are you going to get him off? Vincent asked. Then he laughed. Of course you are going to get him off. You haven’t lost a case in five years. How stupid of me. But seriously, how close are you to getting him freed?

As of this afternoon, I am certain of it. I just got a video from Las Vegas that throws the whole case out.

Then someone doesn’t want that to happen. They want your Jeremy to be found guilty and sent to prison. And my guess is that they will take him out as soon as he gets there.

Rebecca leaned forward, deep in thought.

You think this is a gang thing, Vincent?

No, I think there is someone very powerful who is probably the killer, someone wealthy enough to hire a hitman to hide his guilt. If it was somehow tied to the family, I would feel it.

He laughed sarcastically.

They are just using our services, but I am not going to allow that. On your way here, I got the contract removed, but that doesn’t mean you are out of danger. Someone who has killed once can easily do it a second time. Tell me about the case.

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CHAPTER TWO

"T he woman who was murdered was Samantha Fielding. She was a singer and dancer in several of the popular clubs around the city. She was a very pretty woman, a beauty queen who frankly turned on every man who saw her perform. She was singing at the Club Royale, one of the hot spots on Tremont. Apparently my client, Jeremy, was there one night and got completely wasted. The next thing he knew, he was lying in an alley out in Sou thie.

Someone murdered Ms. Fielding in her apartment. They found a gun in the hall with Jeremy’s fingerprints all over it. And a drink glass in her apartment, also with his fingerprints. His sweater was lying by the bed, along with his hat and one sock. The autopsy was inconclusive that she had been raped. There were traces of Jeremy’s skin under her fingernails where apparently she had scratched his face. He had scars on his cheeks.

That sounds like a pretty damning crime scene, Rebecca, Vincent said somberly. Then he smiled.

Just your specialty, a hopeless case. You don’t believe that Jeremy did it, do you?

I know he didn’t, Rebecca declared simply. First, he doesn’t drink. Second, he has a personality that is incapable of a violent crime. And third, in his condition he could never have gotten from that Brighton apartment house to the middle of Southie. And what I found out today is that the prosecution’s prime witness placing him at the scene of the crime, was in Las Vegas the night of the murder.

Vincent nodded appreciatively. For five years he had watched this young woman dredge up facts that would eventually free her clients. He didn’t even ask her how she had found the video from the Vegas hotel, but he asked a side question.

What hotel in Vegas was it, Rebecca?

Bellagio.

Vincent whistled, but remained silent.

Why that reaction, Vincent?

That’s a very high-end place. Was this witness wealthy?

Just the opposite. Her name is Sally Arnold. She was a tenant in an apartment house that was at best average. She had recently lost her job.

And she placed your client at the scene?

She said she saw him stumble out of Ms. Fielding’s apartment with a gun in his hand, drop the gun in the hallway and run down the stairs.

The Las Vegas video hasn’t been brought forth at the trial yet?

How could it, Vincent? Rebecca said with a sarcastic laugh. I’ve been kidnapped since I got the information.

Vincent raised his glass as a toast.

I think you should reveal what you have found to the judge in chambers, Vincent responded, and request the courtroom be closed to visitors until the end of the trial.

He paused.

Judge Callahan already knows you have been targeted, and can’t operate in public.

Rebecca was visibly surprised.

How did you know it was Judge Callahan, and how does he know about the contract?

Because I told him yesterday.

You told him? You know Judge Callahan?

Vincent laughed and again raised his glass.

Of course I know him. I know every judge east of the Mississippi. It’s my job to know them.

He paused, then added, And it’s my job to protect the ones I love.

So I have the whole weekend to get ready for my bombshell on Monday. I assume that you aren’t going to let me go home. Are you?

No Rebecca, you will be my guest for the foreseeable future. My boys will get you to and from the courthouse. I insist you trust me. This is not a matter to take lightly. I have an office set up for you upstairs. Let me know if you need anything.

Rebecca got up and held out her arms.

Vincent, forgive me for the way I acted when I got here. If ever I knew someone whom I could trust completely, it is you. And somehow I forgot that. I’m sorry.

She gave him a long, warm hug. And then kissed him on the cheek.

I’ll start tending to all of your orchids, Vincent. It will be a nice break for me. Thank you.

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Saturday was one of the most relaxed days Rebecca could remember. She got up late, had a spectacular breakfast, and spent the day wandering through the greenhouses that held Vincent’s world-class collection of orchids. By evening she realized that she hadn’t had a care in the world all day.

For five years, Rebecca had been the uncontested star in the Boston world of criminal law. Ever since her first trial, where she defended Artemus Webb in a sensational murder case, she had moved from one impossible defense to another, always managing to achieve an acquittal, sometimes from a very reluctant jury. Other defense lawyers now studied her cases, trying to discover the train of logic, imagination and indefatigable work that had led to her successes. Rebecca had virtually memorized the civil and criminal codes, and could pull up precedents from the entire run of American jurisprudence. Her brilliant mind was combined with both imagination and energy, as well as a complete lack of inhibition. In court she was invariably polite, scrupulous about the rights of witnesses, and very attentive to the body language of the members of the jury. She was a gladiator in defense of her client and in warding off attacks of the prosecution. In those five years she had become respected by lawyers on both sides as well as the judges who sat on the bench.

Vincent, how did you know I needed a day like this? she asked as they sat down to cocktails and dinner. I don’t think I had one serious thought in my head all day. It was wonderful. Why can’t I do that more often?

Vincent smiled and shook his head.

People like us are incapable of too many days like that, Rebecca. I can remember thinking, ‘Why can’t I be like someone else, someone who doesn’t worry about things, who doesn’t think so much, who doesn’t have to solve problems all the time? I would be miserable if I were that unthinking person, that person with no responsibility. So would you. You were born to act, to do things, to achieve results. So was I.

I know that, Vincent. If I had two days in a row like today, I would most certainly feel guilty. I just can’t sit around and do nothing. I have to be functional, or I feel I have wasted the day. To be honest, it pisses me off sometimes, not to be able to enjoy a day at Duxbury beach or a ride through the White Mountains at foliage time. Will I ever be able to do things like that?

You will, my dear. With time…and maybe after a failure or two in court brings a bit of human perspective into your life. Right now, you are riding so high, and you deserve everything you have achieved. But we all come back a bit to center eventually. My advice to you is to never forget the feeling of days like this. I had a friend who always said, ‘You only get ten heaven days in your life. You never want to miss one of them by not paying attention.’ Today was maybe your first ‘heaven day.’

Rebecca raised her glass and bowed a bit.

I’ll remember that Vincent, when I walk into court on Monday morning.

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CHAPTER THREE

I t had already been a good week in court for Rebecca and her client, Jeremy Cromwell. The attorney general’s prosecutor, Justin Wilkes, had opened with one of the most damning scenarios imaginable. The defendant’s fingerprints had been found on a glass at the murder scene, and on the murder weapon, a gun, found in the hall outside the apartment. His sweater, hat and one sock was near the murdered woman’s body. His face had been badly scratched, and tissue samples under the murdered woman’s fingernails had traces of his skin. He had been seen in a drunken state leaving the night club where Samantha Fielding performed, just a few hours before her death. And an eye witness had reported seeing him stagger out of Miss Fielding’s room and throw a pistol down in the hall.

Justin Wilkes was the very picture of confidence when he called his first witness, Sergeant Sam Forest of the Boston Police Department.

Sergeant, you were the officer who investigated the murder site?

I am. I was the first responder to the scene.

Can you describe the scene of the murder.

We found the victim, Miss Samantha Fielding, dead on the bed, with a bullet hole in her forehead. She was partially dressed, from the waist up.

Did you find any evidence in the room?

We did. We found a glass, half-filled with scotch and ice, with a full set of fingerprints. We also found a man’s sweater, hat, and one sock on the floor. And outside the room, in the hall, we found a 38-caliber pistol that subsequently was found to be the murder weapon.

Were there fingerprints on the gun?

Yes, they matched those on the glass in the room.

And have you determined whose fingerprints those were?

Yes. They are the fingerprints of the defendant.

Thank you Sergeant. I have no further questions. Your witness Counselor.

Rebecca rose and slowly walked towards the witness stand.

Sergeant Forest, the fingerprints you found on the glass and on the gun, were they from the right hand or left?

The officer took a notepad from his pocket and flipped through the pages.

They were from the right hand.

All of them?

Yes.

That is curious, Sergeant, because the defendant is left-handed. Sergeant, have you ever fired your pistol with your off-hand?

I have tried it at the range a few times.

And what was the result?

Not good. I think I missed the entire target every time.

So in your estimation, would it have been difficult for the defendant to have fired such a precise shot at Ms. Fielding with his off-hand?

I suppose it would be possible if he were very close, but the shot was from at least ten feet. No. I would say it would be very difficult.

Thank you Sergeant. Now, regarding the clothes found in the room, were they subjected to any tests?

Yes, we found traces of a man’s cologne on them.

Was the brand of cologne identified?

Yes. It was a very expensive brand.

Again he checked his notebook.

It is known as Creed Himalaya. Very expensive.

Sergeant, the defendant has never used anything more exotic than aftershave lotion. When you say ‘expensive,’ what do you mean?

I was told it is about $250.

Rebecca let out a laugh.

Not exactly the type for a starving college student, wouldn’t you say, Sergeant?

No further questions. Thank you Sergeant Forest.

The prosecutor, his confidence a bit shaken, called his next witness.

The defense calls Richard Mason.

An older man, impeccably dressed, came forward. He took his oath and settled into the witness chair.

Please state your name and profession.

My name is Richard Mason. I am chief financial officer of the Harvard Club.

Mr. Mason, were you at the Club Royale on the night of August 28, last year?

Yes.

Did you see the defendant, Jeremy Cromwell, there that night?

Yes.

To the best of your knowledge, do you know if he was drinking?

He had a glass that looked like a drink.

Was he alone?

No, he was with a young woman. I didn’t recognize her. She had a glass of wine.

Did you notice anything unusual during the show?

Well, yes. Mr…, uh…the defendant, got up, and rather unsteadily stumbled to the men’s room.

Did his date go with him?

No, she sat at the table for about five minutes, and then got up and walked toward the restrooms. I thought she was going to find out what had happened to her date. But she never came back.

And Mr. Cromwell? Did he come back to the table?

No. They both just disappeared.

No further questions.

Rebecca moved quickly toward the witness stand.

Mr. Mason, do you go to that club often?

"No, we had heard that Samantha Fielding had a