attorney and took his hands out of his pants pockets. “I can’t very well use Baynes and you know it, Paul.”
“Why not?”
“Because Donovan is one of Ethan Leighton’s closest friends. Weren’t you aware of that?”
I had forgotten to tell Battaglia about Baynes’s relationship with Leighton. It hadn’t seemed important as we rode to City Hall. The district attorney looked at me and scowled. Tim Spindlis mimicked his expression.
“I put Baynes next to me on the podium and when these reporters move on to story number two, the congressman who mistook his penis for a brain—excuse me, Alex—they’ll jump all over Donny. ‘Did you know about the love nest? Ever meet Leighton’s girlfriend? Donny, did he tell you about the baby?’ ” Statler was shaking his head. “Baynes is a good guy. I can’t hang him out that way.”
“That’s why you want Alex? Hang her out for press potshots? It’s not happening, Vin,” Battaglia said. “Sit down. Alex’ll tell you everything you ever wanted to know about human trafficking right now. Then we’ll get out of your hair.”
“Give me the basics, will you? Tell me the relevant laws while you’re at it.”
I knew how smart Statler was, and spent the next fifteen minutes trying to educate him about this difficult subject. The questions that would most interest the media—who the snakeheads were, where the Ukrainians would have been sent if they’d landed, and what would become of them now—were things that no one could answer tonight.
Battaglia folded his arms and listened as I told the mayor what information I thought he’d need for the press conference. Watching over us—hanging on the walls of the stately room—were all the major politicians from the time of the Revolution, heroes of the War of 1812, and luminaries from every walk of the city’s history.
When I paused to think of what other legislative issues might be raised, the mayor took another direction.
“What do you know about Leighton and his lady friend?” the mayor asked. “There must be some details you can tell me.”
“Not her case,” Battaglia snapped.
“But I understand one of the detectives who’s involved in the investigation also met with Alex on the beach. Someone from the task force.”
“Don’t let the press go there,” Battaglia said. I’d filled him in on what Mercer had told me. “They’ll have all they need from the criminal court arraignment. That’s been finished by now. Public hearing. More facts than we’ve got to give you.”
“Ethan’s a sick kid, don’t you think, Paul? Terrific wife and family, throws it all away for some little—who, who is she? What do you know about the girlfriend?”
“We don’t know anything yet,” the district attorney said. “Do we, Alex?”
I didn’t want to lie to the mayor, but I didn’t want to lose my job either.
“Don’t put Alex on the spot, Mr. Mayor,” Rowdy said. “We can have all that from the department. I’ll get a call into DCPI for those facts.”
The NYPD’s deputy commissioner of public information, Guido Lentini, would give the mayor’s aides anything they needed.
“The girl’s Hispanic, isn’t that right, Alex?” Battaglia said, realizing there was no need to stonewall Statler completely. He didn’t want to look like he didn’t have as much info as DCPI.
“She’s from Mexico,” I said. “Her name is Salma Zunega.”
“And there’s really a kid?”
“Yes, a baby girl.”
“This Ms. Zunega, is she here legally?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said.
“Where was Ethan coming from when he had the accident. Spanish Harlem?”
Battaglia laughed. “Don’t let your constituents hear you, Vin. Bad ethnic profiling. She lives across the street from you.”
“From me ?”
Like Bloomberg and Koch before him, Statler kept his own apartment, a lavish co-op on Fifth Avenue, rather than live in the mayor’s official residence, Gracie Mansion.
“Well, spitting distance from
“Why not?”
“Because Donovan is one of Ethan Leighton’s closest friends. Weren’t you aware of that?”
I had forgotten to tell Battaglia about Baynes’s relationship with Leighton. It hadn’t seemed important as we rode to City Hall. The district attorney looked at me and scowled. Tim Spindlis mimicked his expression.
“I put Baynes next to me on the podium and when these reporters move on to story number two, the congressman who mistook his penis for a brain—excuse me, Alex—they’ll jump all over Donny. ‘Did you know about the love nest? Ever meet Leighton’s girlfriend? Donny, did he tell you about the baby?’ ” Statler was shaking his head. “Baynes is a good guy. I can’t hang him out that way.”
“That’s why you want Alex? Hang her out for press potshots? It’s not happening, Vin,” Battaglia said. “Sit down. Alex’ll tell you everything you ever wanted to know about human trafficking right now. Then we’ll get out of your hair.”
“Give me the basics, will you? Tell me the relevant laws while you’re at it.”
I knew how smart Statler was, and spent the next fifteen minutes trying to educate him about this difficult subject. The questions that would most interest the media—who the snakeheads were, where the Ukrainians would have been sent if they’d landed, and what would become of them now—were things that no one could answer tonight.
Battaglia folded his arms and listened as I told the mayor what information I thought he’d need for the press conference. Watching over us—hanging on the walls of the stately room—were all the major politicians from the time of the Revolution, heroes of the War of 1812, and luminaries from every walk of the city’s history.
When I paused to think of what other legislative issues might be raised, the mayor took another direction.
“What do you know about Leighton and his lady friend?” the mayor asked. “There must be some details you can tell me.”
“Not her case,” Battaglia snapped.
“But I understand one of the detectives who’s involved in the investigation also met with Alex on the beach. Someone from the task force.”
“Don’t let the press go there,” Battaglia said. I’d filled him in on what Mercer had told me. “They’ll have all they need from the criminal court arraignment. That’s been finished by now. Public hearing. More facts than we’ve got to give you.”
“Ethan’s a sick kid, don’t you think, Paul? Terrific wife and family, throws it all away for some little—who, who is she? What do you know about the girlfriend?”
“We don’t know anything yet,” the district attorney said. “Do we, Alex?”
I didn’t want to lie to the mayor, but I didn’t want to lose my job either.
“Don’t put Alex on the spot, Mr. Mayor,” Rowdy said. “We can have all that from the department. I’ll get a call into DCPI for those facts.”
The NYPD’s deputy commissioner of public information, Guido Lentini, would give the mayor’s aides anything they needed.
“The girl’s Hispanic, isn’t that right, Alex?” Battaglia said, realizing there was no need to stonewall Statler completely. He didn’t want to look like he didn’t have as much info as DCPI.
“She’s from Mexico,” I said. “Her name is Salma Zunega.”
“And there’s really a kid?”
“Yes, a baby girl.”
“This Ms. Zunega, is she here legally?”
“I don’t know yet,” I said.
“Where was Ethan coming from when he had the accident. Spanish Harlem?”
Battaglia laughed. “Don’t let your constituents hear you, Vin. Bad ethnic profiling. She lives across the street from you.”
“From me ?”
Like Bloomberg and Koch before him, Statler kept his own apartment, a lavish co-op on Fifth Avenue, rather than live in the mayor’s official residence, Gracie Mansion.
“Well, spitting distance from
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