Free Judge & Jury by James Patterson, Andrew Gross

Koran.”
    Nordeshenko smiled. “All right.” He lifted the newspaper one more time. On the other side was another courtroom sketch, one Nordeshenko had cut out of the paper from the trial’s very first day.
    Both killers stared at it. Slowly the message started to sink in.
    “You want that drink now?” Nordeshenko asked.
    Reichardt’s look said, Lunacy. “This is America, Remi, not Chechnya.”
    “What better place to break new ground?”
    “Ouzo,” Reichardt called to the waiter.
    “Three,” said Nezzi, shrugging.
    The drinks came, and over the shouts for the football game, the men slugged them down, wiping their chins.
    The South African finally started to laugh. “You know it’s true what they say about you, Remi: you’d be fucking dangerous if you ever got mad.”
    “Shall I take that as a yes, you’re in?” Nordeshenko asked them.
    “Of course we’re in, Remi. It’s the only game in town.”
    “Three more,” Nordeshenko called to the waiter in Russian.
    Then he picked up the paper, the sketch of the jury disappearing under his arm. They wanted a trial, these stupid bastards, they were going to get one.
    They just didn’t know the meaning of the trial that was in store for them.

Chapter 24
    NO ONE WAS ON the witness stand in the courtroom that morning. The press was cleared. The jury was being kept in the jury room. Judge Seiderman stepped in from her chambers and sent a fiery look hurtling toward the defendant in the second row. “Mr. Cavello, I want to see you and both counsels in my chambers, now. ”
    As the judge was leaving the bench, she caught my eye. “Agent Pellisante, I’d like you to join us as well.”
    Our group made its way through the wooden door on the right side of the courtroom to the judge’s quarters. Judge Seiderman took a seat behind her desk, glaring. I’d never seen her so angry.
    And she was glaring directly at the defendant.
    “Maybe I didn’t quite get this across to you, Mr. Cavello, but if you think I will ever bow to intimidation or your mob-scare tactics, you have picked the wrong judge and this is the wrong courtroom. Do I make myself clear?”
    “Perfectly clear, Your Honor.” Cavello stood, staring right back at her.
    “But what I particularly don’t take to”—Judge Seiderman raised herself up—“is a defendant who thinks he’s big enough to toy and interfere with the criminal justice system.”
    “Can Your Honor explain what it is you’re talking about?” Kaskel asked, obviously confused.
    “Your client knows precisely what I’m talking about, Mr. Kaskel,” the judge replied, her gaze never wavering from Cavello’s chuckling eyes.
    She reached into a drawer, pulled out the copy of the Daily News, and threw it down on her desk. Facing up was a sketch of Cavello’s courtroom look at Ralphie yesterday. GANGSTER STOPS TRIAL DEAD.
    “This was in my bed last night. In my bed, Mr. Cavello! Under my covers. The evening edition broke around seven. My house was completely locked up and alarmed. No one had been inside since four that afternoon. You have an educated guess as to how this got there, Mr. Cavello?”
    “I’m not an expert on these things, Your Honor.” Dominic Cavello shrugged smugly. “But maybe that’s something you ought to take up with your alarm company. Or your husband. Me, I got a pretty good excuse. I was in that prison over there.”
    “I told you”—Miriam Seiderman removed her glasses—“these proceedings will not be disrupted by intimidation.”
    I had to give her credit. The judge was going toe to toe with Cavello. She wasn’t backing down. “This court has given you every opportunity to have this trial conducted in the open, Mr. Cavello.”
    “This court is making assumptions that it cannot possibly back up, Your Honor,” Hy Kaskel said. “Mr. Cavello has conducted himself by every rule and stipulation both sides agreed to in the pretrial hearings. You can’t point the finger at him.”
    “I am pointing