Jennifer had bought a small Newport sailboat, and on weekends she and Joshua would go out on the sound for a sail. Jennifer liked to watch his face when he was at the helm. He wore an excited little smile, which she called his “Eric the Red” smile. Joshua was a natural sailor, like his father. The thought brought Jennifer up sharply. She wondered whether she was trying to live her life with Adam vicariously through Joshua. All the things she was doing with her son—the sailing, the sporting events—were things she had done with his father. Jennifer told herself she was doing them because Joshua liked doing them, but she was not sure she was being completely honest. She watched Joshua sheet in the jib, his cheeks tanned from the wind and the sun, his face beaming, and Jennifer realized that the reasons did not matter. The important thing was that her son loved his life with her. He was not a surrogate for his father. He was his own person and Jennifer loved him more than anyone on earth.
42
Antonio Granelli died and Michael took over full control of his empire. The funeral was lavish, as befitted a man of the Godfather’s stature. The heads and members of Families from all over the country came to pay their respects to their departed friend, and to assure the new capo of their loyalty and support. The FBI was there, taking photographs, as well as half a dozen other government agencies.
Rosa was heartbroken, because she had loved her father very much, but she took consolation and pride in the fact that her husband was taking her father’s place as head of the Family.
Jennifer was proving more valuable to Michael every day. When there was a problem, it was Jennifer whom Michael consulted. Thomas Colfax was becoming an increasingly bothersome appendage.
“Don’t worry about him,” Michael told Jennifer. “He’s going to retire soon.”
The soft chimes of the telephone awakened Jennifer. She lay in bed, listening a moment, then sat up and looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was three o’clock in the morning.
She lifted the receiver. “Hello.”
It was Michael. “Can you get dressed right away?”
Jennifer sat up straighter and tried to blink the sleep from her eyes. “What’s happened?”
“Eddie Santini was just picked up on an armed robbery charge. He’s a two-time loser. If they convict him, they’ll throw the key away.”
“Were there any witnesses?”
“Three, and they all got a good look at him.”
“Where is he now?”
“The Seventeenth Precinct.”
“I’m on my way, Michael.”
Jennifer put on a robe and went down to the kitchen and made herself a steaming pot of coffee. She sat drinking it in the breakfast room, staring out at the night, thinking. Three witnesses. And they all got a good look at him.
She picked up the telephone and dialed. “Give me the City Desk.”
Jennifer spoke rapidly. “I got some information for you. A guy named Eddie Santini’s just been picked up on an armed robbery charge. His attorney’s Jennifer Parker. She’s gonna try to spring him.”
She hung up and repeated the call to two other newspapers and a television station. When Jennifer was through telephoning, she looked at her watch and had another leisurely cup of coffee. She wanted to make certain the photographers had time to get to the precinct on 51st Street. She went upstairs and got dressed.
Before Jennifer left, she went into Joshua’s bedroom. His night-light was on. He was sound asleep, the blankets twisted around his restless body. Jennifer gently straightened the blankets, kissed him on the forehead and started to tiptoe out of the room.
“Where you goin’?”
She turned and said, “I’m going to work. Go back to sleep.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s four o’clock in the morning.”
Joshua giggled. “You sure work funny hours for a lady.”
She came back to his bedside. “And you sure sleep funny hours for a man.”
“Are we going to watch the Mets game tonight?”
“You bet we are. Back to Dreamland.”
“Okay, Mom. Have a good case.”
“Thanks, pal.”
A few minutes later, Jennifer was in her car, on her way into Manhattan.
When Jennifer arrived, a lone photographer from the Daily News was waiting. He stared at Jennifer and said, “It’s true! You really handling the Santini case?”
“How did you know that?” Jennifer demanded.
“A little birdie, counselor.”
“You’re wasting your time. No pictures.”
She went inside and arranged for Eddie Santini’s bail, stalling the proceedings until she was sure the television cameraman and a reporter and photographer had arrived from The New York Times. She decided she could not wait for the Post.
The police captain on duty said, “There’re some reporters and television people out front, Miss Parker. You can go out the back way if you want.”
“It’s all right,” Jennifer said. “I’ll handle them.”
She led Eddie Santini to the front corridor where the photographers and reporters were waiting.
She said, “Look, gentlemen, no pictures, please.”
And Jennifer stepped aside while the photographer and television cameraman took pictures.
A reporter asked, “What makes this case big enough for you to handle?”
“You’ll find out tomorrow. Meanwhile, I would advise you not to use those pictures.”
One of the reporters called out, “Come on, Jennifer! Haven’t you heard of freedom of the press?”