The End

by Dave Lacey

  Chapter 32

  By the following morning, Nick had finished with the pile of printouts that contained all of the numbers called and received on the cell phone of Simon Kasprowicz. He had identified fifteen numbers that came up repeatedly on the call roster that could potentially be worth following up on. He then went through the text message details for the same phone, which eliminated a further five numbers. Next, he looked to see which number consistently sent texts to and received texts from Simon’s phone last thing at night. Nick figured that if Simon was dating somebody, they were more than likely the last person he would communicate with before turning in at night. Two numbers seemed to emerge as winners. Nick decided to call the first number. It was answered by a young woman.

  “Hello?” she said slowly, almost as if she’d had to rehearse it.

  “Hi, this is Detective Nick Moretti from the NYPD.”

  “What? What time is it? Why are you calling me? What’s happened now?” Her nasal voice was rising in pitch.

  “Calm down! Please, take it easy! I’m calling you because this cell phone number shows up consistently on the call roster of somebody who recently died.” Nick paused.

  “You mean Simon?” The woman started to wail, as if she were being assaulted. “I just can’t believe it! Why did this have to happen? I just, I just…” Nick cut in before it got out of hand.

  “Please, miss, take it easy. I’m sorry to upset you. I need you to answer a few questions, can you do that for me?” he asked.

  “I guess so.” She seemed to gather herself. “Whadda ya need to know?”

  “Okay. Were you and Simon dating? Were you in a relationship?”

  “Yeah, we was datin’. We was havin’ a relationship.” She started crying again, heavily. “We was in love.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss? Sorry, what’s your name?”

  “It’s Cara, Cara Matthews. He told me he loved me, that he was gonna break it off with her, we was gonna be together.” She cried even harder than before, which didn’t seem possible. But Nick’s interest had been piqued.

  “Thank you, Cara. You said ‘her’. Was there somebody else involved?” Nick probed.

  “Yeah, there was somebody else involved. She’s such a friggin’ snob. Made it sound like Simon wasn’t good enough for her. Bitch!” Her voice carried a touch of anger now.

  “Who was she, Cara, do you know?”

  “I just know her name was Sarah. And that he was going to marry her till he met me, then he fell in love.”

  The call continued for several more minutes, until Nick felt like he had everything he needed. He told Cara he would let her know if he turned up any relevant information, though he felt sure that he wouldn’t. But he did now feel certain that the other number would belong to Sarah, but if that didn’t throw up anything interesting, Nick wondered where this was going to go. Dialling the second number, he braced himself for disappointment.

  “Hello, who is this?” This did not sound like a young girl, and the voice came across with confidence and authority.

  “Hello, this is Detective Nick Moretti of the NYPD.” He took a flyer: “I wonder if I could speak to Sarah please?”

  “No, I’m afraid that’s not possible. Sarah’s very upset right now, her fiancé just–” Nick cut in.

  “I understand, ma’am, and I’m not looking to cause any trouble. I was just looking to speak to her for a few minutes?”

  “As I said, she can’t come to the phone right now. What’s this in connection with? Is it something to do with Simon’s death?”

  “Indirectly, yes.”

  “Well I’m sure you can tell me, Detective, I assure you I’m more than capable of understanding the situation.” There was the authority in her voice again, and Nick felt certain he had heard it before.

  “Can I ask your name, ma’am?”

  “I’m Barbara Miller, Sarah’s mother,” she said.

  “Senator Barbara Miller?” Nick asked, incredulous.

  “Yes, that’s correct.” Moretti’s free hand covered his mouth. His mind was having trouble resolving the idea that a senator’s daughter had been planning to marry a mob boss from Manhattan. The senator seemed like a straight batter too.

  “I guess I can call back at another time, I don’t want to bother you.” Nick needed time to absorb the new information and formulate a plan of attack. At least one thing seemed certain: this was what Ryabukha had wanted him to find; it was too weird to just be a coincidence. The senator seemed pleased at his sudden decision to leave them alone.

  “Well, that’s very thoughtful. Thank you, Detective.” She hung up.

  ***

  Burt Waldron opened the door for the senator just after eleven forty five, half an hour after she had received the call from Nick Moretti. Her eyes looked irritated, she wore no makeup, and her hair was simply pulled back and held in place with a hair band.

  “Burt, I wish this could have waited, Sarah’s not feeling good right now. And I’ve just had a call from some detective or other trying to speak to her.”

  Barbara seemed to have aged overnight, but Burt knew this was an illusion and that she would recover given time. If she managed to get over what he had to tell her.

  “Oh, really? What did he want? I presume it was a he?”

  “Yes, it was a he, and he wanted to speak to her regarding the death of Simon obviously. In the end he was quite thoughtful and said he’d call back.”

  “It was definitely the police?” he asked, realising how paranoid he had become of late.

  “Yes, it was the police.” She gave him a penetrating look. “Why are you acting so strange? Who else would it be?”

  “Sit down, Barbara.” She made as if to argue. “Barbara, please sit down. I have something to run past you, and I’d rather you were sitting down.” She took a seat under the window, her knees together and her hands in her lap.

  “Barb, things are moving a great deal quicker than even I anticipated, and I have perhaps a greater insight into this type of operation than most because of my job. A number of days ago, a young man was killed in New York. He was an associate of a man named Ambrosii Ryabukha, who is the head of the crime family that Simon’s father worked for. That young man knew what both you and I know. He knew because Ryabukha told him, and Ryabukha knew because Simon’s father told him. Simon’s father knew because Simon told him, and I’m sure you know where I am going with this?” She looked quizzical, held her head to one side as if querying his logic, then nodded quickly, once.

  “Good, because that’ll save time, and that’s a commodity we don’t have much of. If there’s any blame in all this, it’s mine. I was the one who started this sequence of events, and I’m the one who must shoulder the burden of guilt. Because of my crass inability to contain myself, I’ve caused the death of innocent people, and it is my great fear that there will be more deaths to come.” He held up a hand to still the protest on Barbara’s lips. “I’m terribly concerned, Barbara, that the men who are currently attempting to stem the flow of information are not men who will consider it a job well done if there are people still alive who know their secret. I’m concerned that they will not stop at Simon’s family, but that they‘ll continue to work their way up the chain, link by link.”

  “But that would mean…”

  “Yes, it would mean that Sarah’s in danger. And if that’s the case, then so are you and I. I’m not worried for myself, but I am worried for you and Sarah. I have a number I can call, and this afternoon I’m going to call it…and I’m going to threaten them with going public with the information.”

  “Burt, this is outrageous, they simply cannot get away with this!” Senator Miller stood in the middle of the room, her hands balled into fists and held out in front of her, her lips white with anger and forming a thin line. “I’ve worked tirelessly for this country for the past thirty years, and I won’t accept that they would do this, or that they could do this, and get away with it.”

  “Barb, don’t b
e naïve, you know how these things work. This kind of operation goes on all the time. It’s simply a case of covering your tracks. And nobody does that better than the secret agencies of this great country of ours.” There was no trace of irony in this last statement; he meant what he said.

  “Okay, we’ll bargain with them. We’ll tell them that we won’t tell anybody else, but that if they do anything to my daughter, we’ll most certainly go public. This is unbelievable.”

  “Oh it’s very believable, and I understand what you’re saying. But they won’t care now whether we tell anybody else or not – we had our chance and we blew it. The press is the only chip we have left to gamble with.” The senator was pacing the floor – Burt wasn’t even sure she was still listening to him – one hand on the side of her face, the other on her hip. “But I must be honest. The easiest and best way for them to keep a lid on this is to…” He couldn’t say it; all of a sudden he’d gone dry. Burt Waldron licked his lips, his hand rubbing his chin in an automatic gesture.

  “What, kill us? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  Chapter 33

  Ernestine Rook didn’t like how the last three hours had gone, not one little bit. Robbins, the agent he had decided to ship off to another unit, had somehow managed to go behind his back and above his head in one stroke. Rook didn’t think anybody had the number of the old man, other than himself and the other department heads. But it seemed that he was mistaken. Robbins had called the old man to advise him that he did not agree with Rook’s strategy, that he thought something should be done to bring order to the chaos that was the eastern seaboard situation. That little shit! Rook had immediately considered having him taken out and shot, but had talked himself down from that one.

  Robbins didn’t even know what it was he was protecting, the little dumbass. The old man hadn’t spoken to Rook yet, but had asked Robbins to advise him to await his call, and not do anything else until he had called. This whole situation had spiralled way out of control, to the point where Rook had considered letting it run its own course, and be damned with the consequences. There wasn’t much time left now; what difference would it make? He knew what the real problem was, what was really eating at him. It was the killing; there had been so much of it over the last twenty years, and for what? What difference would it make if people knew? What could anybody do about it now anyhow? His phone rang, snapping him out of his dystopian trance.

  “Rook?”

  “Yes, sir,” Rook answered.

  “Rook, are you tired of your assignment? Is there something you would like to tell me?” Ernestine was shocked at the man’s accurate assessment, but knew he could not answer in the affirmative.

  “No, sir. Why do you ask?”

  “Because when one of your little boys calls me and tells tales out of class, what else am I to think? I’m surprised at you. You used to have total control of your agents, but it would seem your standards have slipped.” Rook could feel his old rebellious streak coming back to him, as a flood of repressed bile and righteous indignation rose from the deepest recesses of his being. He could feel it physically welling up inside him until he realised there was really nothing stopping him from venting it, all of it. Everything he had bottled up for the last however many years, all the hate, all the resentment, all of the total, bitter frustration.

  “You know what, fuck you sir. I quit, you mean spirited, miserly old bastard. I’ve taken your shit for years, more years than I can either count or care to remember. I’ve suppressed it, ignored, it, begged it to leave me alone, but not anymore, you supercilious shithead. Never a good word, never gentle guidance, always the stick…well fuck you! This whole operation is an exercise in futility, an absolutely abhorrent cover up that’ll be utterly meaningless in the very near future. And yet you have managed to use it to exorcise your own demons, to corrupt your own dark, miniscule excuse for a soul, and you’ve dragged me almost the whole way with you. Not anymore. Goodbye you old fuck, and may you die before your chance comes!” Oh that had felt good, immeasurably satisfying. But, to Rook’s utter amazement, the reaction he received was not the one he had expected. From the other end of the line came laughter, full throated laughter.

  “Oh, dear me. Do you feel better, Rook?” He seemed genuinely curious.

  “I’m sorry, what?” Rook asked.

  “I said, do you feel better? Have you released enough repressed rage?”

  “I don’t think you understand. I’m done, you sick old bastard.”

  “And I’m impressed. I thought all the fight had gone out of you. I thought I’d been left with nothing but a middle-aged dry husk of a man. But, it would seem you’re still there, fighting mad no less.” The old man was still laughing, for Christ’s sake.” Wonderful, just wonderful.” The old bastard had clearly gone mad.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re pleased, that makes my life much easier.”

  “No, please, hear me out. Regardless of what you may think, I do value you, and I do need you. You have been my man for a long time now. We go all the way back to the beginning of all this, to the airstrip in Mexico. Of all of the department heads, you’re the one I value highest. Your compassion and thought processes are unrivalled. And you’re quite correct, I have never showered you with praise, but that’s my shortfall, not yours.” Rook couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  “Ernestine – you don’t mind my calling you that do you? Ernestine, we’ll continue to need your help over the coming months, and even more so when the time comes for action and beyond. Would it help if I begged? Scratch that, I’d never do that.” Rook laughed, in spite of his feelings from a few minutes before. “Good, there are signs of life still. Will you stay on?”

  “For now, if you require.” Rook gave ground grudgingly.

  “Very good. Here’s what I need you to do. You may do with Robbins whatever you wish, and I do mean whatever you wish. There’s a chain of command, and it’s there for a reason. He and the other agents need to learn that. Second, despite your personal feelings and delicate constitution, the Millers need to be excommunicated.” He paused, Rook guessed, to see if he objected. He did.

  “I don’t think it is necessary, and here’s why. The senator and Waldron are meeting now, and he’s explaining to her exactly the situation and what the likely outcome will be. She is, perhaps unsurprisingly, terrified and outraged. They’re already talking about alerting the press should any further steps be taken to close the loop. The threat hanging over those remaining in the know is, I believe, severe enough to ensure their silence. If we carry out your instructions, the likelihood of a conspiracy being uncovered grows exponentially.” Rook paused and ran his hand through his hair, exhaling loudly. “There’s a detective sniffing around the Millers. I don’t think he knows anything, but should anything happen to them, well…the odds get shorter all the time on our operation being uncovered. Lastly, how much difference would it make now anyway, people knowing? There’s so little time left – what could they do?”

  “More than you imagine. It would be anarchic, incredibly destructive. I understand all of your points, and I take them on board. However, the threat still remains, and if treated appropriately it would be contained. We’ll wait twenty-four hours, monitoring all contact and communication in and out of both households. If there’s no apparent threat, we may – may – follow your guidance and leave well alone. If anything happens that jeopardises us or our enterprise…”

  “I understand, and if that were to happen, I would take the initiative,” Rook stated.

  “It would need to connect with our previous…errands?”

  “Of course. I’m well aware of what’s at stake.”

  “I know you are, I know. Thank you Rook – be vigilant.”

  “I will, and sir…”

  “Please, do not concern yourself. One does not arrive at my current post without having been insulted, if you’ll forgive my rudeness, by eminently more gifted li
nguists than your good self. Although you’re deceptively good I admit.” And with a chortle, he was gone.

  ***

  “Sarah, honey, it’s mom. Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay mom, where are you?” Her daughter sounded a little dopey; a result of the tranquilisers, no doubt.

  “I’m at Burt’s house, but I’m coming home soon. I need you to go next door and sit with the Francesco’s for a little while, okay hun?”

  “But Mom, I don’t feel like talking, and they’ll wanna talk.”

  “No, Sarah, I’ve spoken to them and told them you need sleep. They’re more than happy for you to go sleep at their house for a little while, okay?”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  Barbara Miller’s shoulders relaxed slightly, she breathed a little easier, even though she knew that Burt was right, that the people they were scared of would not be outfoxed by such a ploy. She turned to Waldron. “I don’t like this. I need to go home and be with my little girl. I love you, but I need to be there.” Senator Miller was back, and all business.

  “Of course. I understand, Barb. I’m wondering if I should go with you.” Her look gave him his answer, and crushed him a little.

  “Burt, no. I’m sorry, but no. What if it’s you they want, and that brings them to us?” She could see from his face she had hurt him deeply, but there was nothing she could do or say that would make it better.

  “Okay, you should go then. I don’t want anything like that to happen.” He couldn’t look her in the eye. She walked over to him, hugged him, and kissed him gently on the cheek. The lyrics from an Elbow song they both loved came into her mind. She looked him in the eye.

  “Kiss me like the final meal?” Despite his desolate look minutes earlier, he responded.

  “Kiss me like we die tonight?” And she couldn’t stop the tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping onto his shirt as she leaned forward and kissed him deeply. She walked to the door and couldn’t look back, as the full measure of fear and deep sadness took hold. She knew this would be as hard, if not harder, for Burt. She really couldn’t look back. She drove all the way home with more hot tears cascading down her face.