City Of Lies

by R.J. Ellory

  Behind them, standing in the road, terror-stricken, tear-streaked faces, hands shaking, nerves shredded, were the hostages they had taken – people who could never have imagined how this day was going to go. And now it had gone, all of it, and as uniforms surrounded them, as helicopters broke the sky into pieces over their heads, they wondered if such a thing as this could ever be let go of, or if such a thing would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

  Better haunted than dead, one of them thought – a young woman of twenty-three called Faith Duggan. She’d been there when Ray Dietz had broken a security guard’s neck with no greater ceremony than a wishbone. Such things as this had always been part of other people’s lives. Now, on Christmas Eve of all days, those people had included herself.

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  By the time Frank Duchaunak – breathless, drenched in sweat – reached Bethune and Greenwich the party was over.

  He was immediately stopped by a Federal Agent who asked for his ID. When Duchaunak showed it the agent told him to stand right where he was, to not move, and then he took a radio from his belt and called someone.

  ‘We have him,’ the agent said, and Duchaunak – confused, unaware of what was happening – merely scanned the street for any kind of reference point.

  The agent put away his radio. ‘You are armed, Detective?’ he asked.

  Duchaunak nodded absent-mindedly.

  ‘I must ask you to relinquish your weapon,’ the agent said.

  Duchaunak turned and looked at him.

  ‘Your weapon sir . . . I need your weapon.’

  ‘The fuck you do—’ Duchaunak started, and then another man came hurrying towards him, an older man, dressed immaculately.

  ‘Detective Duchaunak,’ the second man said. ‘My name is Robert Hennessy. I am responsible for co-ordination between the Federal presence here and the local police. I have spoken with Captain McLuhan—’

  ‘He’s here?’ Duchaunak asked. The first agent stepped back, the weapon forgotten.

  Hennessy shook his head and smiled. ‘No Detective, he’s not here.’

  ‘What happened to the girl?’ Duchaunak asked. ‘I heard that the girl had been taken out.’

  Hennessy frowned. ‘Girl?’

  ‘Hollander . . . Cathy Hollander . . . the girl who was with Freiberg—’

  ‘Right, right, yes of course. Cathy Hollander.’

  ‘She’s dead? And Freiberg? Is he dead too?’

  ‘Freiberg . . . no Detective, he’s not dead. Right now we are still pursuing seven of the original felons.’

  ‘But the girl . . . you got the girl?’

  ‘Calm down, Detective. The girl is quite alright. She’s being taken care of as we speak.’

  ‘Alright?’ Duchaunak shook his head. He was still looking down the street, over his shoulder, every once in a while upwards as the sound of a helicopter caught his attention. ‘What d’you mean, she’s alright? Someone shot her. One of your people took her out, didn’t they?’

  ‘Cathy Hollander is one of us, Detective. Her name isn’t Cathy Hollander, never has been. She is a Federal Agent. It was she who provided all the information regarding the robberies that were planned today . . . she is the reason we were here, Detective—’

  ‘What?’ Duchaunak asked. ‘She’s what? What the fuck are you talking about? The girl has a police record going back fifteen years. She has aliases, names she’s used in other states—’

  Hennessy was smiling. ‘She has a fabricated police record Detective. She has a fictional history. Cathy Holl— her name is actually Ruth Delaney, but as Cathy Hollander she was put inside the Marcus camp a long time ago to break the back of this New York situation.’

  ‘But she was shot. One of your people told me she’d been shot.’

  ‘She was shot intentionally, Detective. She made herself visible to one of our sharpshooters on purpose. She wore a bulletproof vest and she was shot with a rubber bullet. It was a simple procedure to have the remainder of her crew leave her behind. These people do not take their dead along with them, not when they could be carrying money instead.’

  ‘I don’t understand—’

  ‘It’s okay, Detective. Come with me. We’re going back to see Captain McLuhan and there we can get you updated on what is happening with the remainder of the people involved.’ Hennessy reached out his hand to guide Duchaunak away from the sidewalk and towards a waiting vehicle.

  ‘And Freiberg?’ Duchaunak asked as he walked.

  ‘Who knows?’ Hennessy said. ‘He’s out there somewhere, doing his very best to evade capture. I’m sure we will have him in custody within the hour.’

  Duchaunak stopped suddenly. ‘And you know about John Harper?’

  Hennessy smiled once more, an expression that made Duchaunak feel small and insignificant. ‘Of course we know about John Harper. We’ve been keeping a very close eye on Mr Harper to ensure that he doesn’t get himself into any serious difficulties. We even had people in Miami telling Marcus’s people just enough to keep them wondering about him. We wanted to ensure that he did not become involved in what was happening today, at least not directly.’

  ‘And now?’ Duchaunak asked. ‘Where is he now?’

  Hennessy shook his head. ‘He was last seen leaving the vicinity of West Twelfth. I would’ve had someone go after him but he was safe and we have no reason to upset him further. I’m sure he will make his way back to his hotel and we will speak with him later.’

  ‘I need to see him,’ Duchaunak said. ‘I need to see John Harper.’

  ‘Later,’ Hennessy said. ‘First we’ll speak with Captain McLuhan, and then you can see Mr Harper.’

  Duchaunak shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I want to see him now. I’m going over to the hotel. I want to speak with him, and then I’ll go and see McLuhan.’

  Hennessy shook his head. ‘I cannot force you, Detective. I would much prefer it if you would come with me and see Captain McLuhan—’

  Duchaunak smiled at Hennessy. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘The kid must be scared out of his fucking wits. He helped us, you know? He was the one who met with Ben Marcus. He told me about West Twelfth. That’s the only reason I knew to come here. Let me go speak with him. Let me go give him some kind of an idea of what’s happening here. Tell McLuhan I’ll be at the precinct no later than noon.’

  Hennessy hesitated.

  ‘Am I under arrest for something?’ Duchaunak asked. ‘Jesus, I just want to go see the guy and make sure he’s okay.’

  ‘Okay,’ Hennessy said. ‘But go see your precinct Captain at noon like you said, okay?’

  ‘I will, I will . . . don’t worry.’

  ‘And I’ll have one of my people drive you over to see Harper.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Duchaunak said.

  Eighteen minutes later Frank Duchaunak walked through the front door of the American Regent Hotel. He glanced over his shoulder at the Federal Agent seated in a car against the sidewalk. He hurried past the reception desk, along a corridor that ran adjacent to the restaurant, took a back stairway down to the lower kitchens and hurried between racks of pans and cooking utensils to the rear service doors. He flashed his ID at one of the staff and told her he needed to leave by the rear exit. The girl obliged, opened the door for Duchaunak, and then watched him as he hurried up the concrete incline of the delivery entrance towards the street behind the hotel.

  Duchaunak knew that John Harper would not be in his hotel room. Truth be known he could have been anywhere in the city, but Duchaunak doubted it. He had an idea, just an idea, that John Harper might have gone home.

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  The man’s hand was steady, remained so even when John Harper appeared in the kitchen doorway. The gun seemed too small to do any real damage, but nevertheless it was a .38, a caliber sufficient to keep Walt Freiberg right where he was.

  Evelyn Sawyer smiled. ‘John,’ she said softly. ‘It’s good to see you.’ She glanced towards the man standing in the corner of the room, th
e one who held the gun on Freiberg.

  ‘I’d like you to meet someone,’ she said. ‘This is Thomas McCaffrey . . . he’s been staying with me for a few days.’

  Harper looked at McCaffrey, then turned and looked at Freiberg. Freiberg was seated in a straight-backed chair against the wall, his hands on his knees, at his feet two dark canvas bags.

  ‘Sonny,’ Walt said.

  ‘Don’t call me that, Walt,’ Harper said. ‘Please don’t call me that any more.’

  ‘Pay no mind to him, John,’ Evelyn said. ‘Walt has been busy this morning . . . busy doing the things that Walt does. Figured he could come over here and finish his outstanding business before he left New York for good. Right, Walter?’ Evelyn smiled. ‘He thought that he could come over here and charm me, didn’t you Walter?’

  Freiberg shook his head. ‘Evelyn—’

  ‘Don’t say anything else,’ Evelyn said. ‘I’ve heard enough out of you for a lifetime. You don’t have anything to say to me . . . it’s John that you need to be explaining things to.’ She turned and glanced at Harper. ‘You come on in and sit by me and Thomas . . . come and listen to what Walter has to say.’

  ‘I’m going to stay right where I am,’ Harper said. ‘I want to know what the hell is going on here. Who is this guy?’

  ‘Thomas?’ Evelyn said. ‘Why, he’s the man who shot your father—’

  ‘What the fu—’

  ‘Don’t lose it on me now, John,’ Evelyn said, her voice almost sympathetic. ‘Thomas was paid a great deal of money to shoot your father. How much was it?’

  ‘A hundred thousand dollars,’ McCaffrey said.

  ‘But Thomas only got half of that . . . half before and half after, that was the arrangement he made with Ben Marcus. Thomas did exactly what he was asked. He was there in the liquor store when your father arrived. He shot him. Meant to kill him, but hell, these things have a way of going wrong, eh?’ Evelyn smiled, shook her head. ‘But Thomas wasn’t to know. He didn’t know Edward was going to wind up in St Vincent’s.’

  ‘John, for God’s sake—’ Freiberg said.

  ‘I’m talking now, Walter,’ Evelyn said. ‘You’ll get more than enough chance shortly.’ She looked at Harper, shook her head slowly. ‘Thomas was hired to shoot Edward. He knew Raymond Dietz. He and Raymond did time together . . . where was that Thomas?’

  ‘Attica,’ McCaffrey said. ‘We did time at Attica.’

  ‘Right, Attica. And Ray and he got friends. Spend that much time in a room with someone and you’re going to make friends with them, aren’t you? It was Ray who gave Thomas the gun that he used to shoot Edward . . . and you know the irony of that? Gun was thirty something years old . . . same gun that was used in a robbery committed by Ray and Garrett back in 1974. That’s amazing, don’t you think, John? My husband’s gun, a gun that ended up with Ray Dietz, was used to shoot Edward Bernstein.’

  ‘I don’t want to hear this—’ Harper started.

  ‘But you have to hear it—’ Evelyn replied.

  ‘She’s a fucking lying, crazy bitch,’ Freiberg said.

  ‘Shut your mouth, Walter!’ Evelyn snapped. ‘Say another word and Thomas is going to shoot you in the face, right Thomas?’

  ‘Sure as fuck I am . . . you keep your fucking mouth shut Walter.’

  Evelyn smiled. ‘I was hoping you’d come, John . . . hoping that you’d come and join us in a little game of Truth or Dare.’

  Harper frowned.

  ‘Evelyn here has her mind all twisted up in back of itself—’ Freiberg started.

  ‘Shut the hell up, Walt!’ she snapped. ‘My mind is as clear today as it was back then. I know what I know, there’s no getting around that. You’re going to let me finish what I have to say, and then you’re going to have a chance to speak, okay?’

  Freiberg said nothing.

  Evelyn was quiet for a moment, gathering herself, calming down. She looked at Harper and there seemed to be a ghost of ironic humor in her eyes. ‘So Thomas went to meet with Raymond Dietz after the shooting. Went to collect the other fifty thousand dollars he was owed. When he got there he figured something was wrong. He didn’t see Raymond, saw someone else, and he knew that Ben Marcus was going to betray him. So what did he do? He thought about who might help him. He thought about the time he spent in Attica with Raymond Dietz, about everything they talked about. Raymond had told him all about Garrett, about me, about Edward Bernstein. He figured there was a chance I might not be too unhappy about Edward getting shot, so he took that chance. He came over here. We had a discussion, didn’t we, Thomas?’

  ‘We did, Evelyn, we did.’

  ‘Discussion was a little tense to say the least. Thomas had a gun aimed at me the whole time, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did, Evelyn, yes . . . but I apologized for that.’

  ‘Yes, you did, Thomas, you did apologize. So we had our discussion and we came to an arrangement. I would help Thomas. I would hide him here in the house, and he would protect me and you.’

  Harper frowned. ‘Protect me?’

  Evelyn smiled. ‘You were so naïve, John. You saw what you wanted to see. You had no idea who these people were . . . the kind of things these people could do. I agreed with Thomas that if anything happened to you he would find Walter Freiberg, Sol Neumann, Ben Marcus, whoever might have been responsible, and he would kill them for me.’

  Harper looked at McCaffrey, standing back behind Evelyn, the gun in his hand aimed unerringly at Walt Freiberg. Walt Freiberg looked back at Evelyn with hatred blazing in his eyes.

  ‘Walter?’ Evelyn said. ‘It’s your turn to speak now. John’s here, and you’re going to tell him the truth about what happened with Anne and Garrett, and then I’m going to have Thomas shoot you dead right where you’re sitting.’

  Walt smiled, almost laughed. ‘She’s a little fractious today,’ he said.

  McCaffrey edged forward.

  Harper stepped out of the doorway and flattened himself against the right-hand wall.

  ‘Evelyn?’ Walt said. ‘For God’s sake Evelyn, tell him to put the thing away.’

  ‘Shut up, Walter!’ Evelyn barked. She shifted back in her chair, almost as if she was preparing to stand the recoil herself when McCaffrey pulled the trigger.

  ‘Evelyn—’ Harper said, his voice weak.

  ‘It’s okay, John,’ Evelyn said, interrupting him. ‘Walt was just about to share a few home truths with us . . . going to give us a few details about our family history, weren’t you, Walter?’

  Walt Freiberg shook his head. He turned to look at Harper, and Harper could see that the man was scared. Walt Freiberg was never scared. Evelyn had cornered him, and there was something he did not wish to face.

  ‘So?’ Evelyn prompted. ‘Are you going to start with telling us how Garrett was there in the room when Anne took all those pills, Walter?’

  ‘What?’ Harper said. He stepped forward.

  ‘Stand back where you were, John,’ Evelyn said. ‘You don’t want to find yourself in the line of fire when Walter gets shot.’

  Harper instinctively stepped back. He felt his knees weaken beneath him. He looked at Freiberg, perhaps expecting him to make some attempt to defend himself, but there was nothing. He just sat there, his hands on his knees, the canvas bags at his feet.

  ‘You want me to carry on, Walter, or are you going to join in?’

  Freiberg shook his head slowly. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.

  ‘So,’ Evelyn said, ‘as Walter was all set to tell us, Garrett was right there when Anne took those pills. She didn’t want to take them, did she Walter? Didn’t want to take them at all, but you and Edward decided she was a nuisance didn’t you? Edward wanted to take John away from her but she wasn’t going to allow that, right? You decided that she was in the way, and so you told Garrett that if he didn’t take care of Anne then he would lose his wife as well as his sister-in-law. You were going to kill us both, weren’t you? You were going to k
ill me and Anne if Garrett didn’t make sure Anne was—’

  ‘John . . . you can’t listen to her,’ Freiberg said, and he raised his hand as if to emphasize something.

  ‘Don’t move your hands!’ Evelyn snapped. ‘Keep your hands exactly where they are.’

  Freiberg returned his hands to his lap.

  ‘You don’t have to listen, John,’ Evelyn said, ‘but you wanted to know the truth, and here you’re going to get it, pure and simple.’

  Harper didn’t say a word.

  ‘Garrett was there that day,’ she said, her voice cracking with emotion. ‘He was right there in the room upstairs. He told Anne that if she stood in Edward’s way then Edward was going to kill you. He would’ve done that. He’s that kind of man. Edward Bernstein would have killed his own son rather than let him stay with his mother. She knew what kind of man he was, and she knew what kind of people he was surrounded by. She knew that Edward was going to kill her, or he was going to kill you. That was her choice John . . . that was your mother’s choice. Give up her own life, or give up the life of her son.’

  Evelyn turned and looked at Harper. Her eyes were filled with tears.

  McCaffrey held the gun steady, never moving an inch from where it was aimed at Freiberg’s head.

  ‘So Garrett did what he was told. He sat there while she took those pills. He told me what happened. He told me how he lay her down and covered her with a blanket, and watched her as she went to sleep. He said she looked so peaceful, so content, like she knew in her heart of hearts that she’d done the right thing. He told me this, John . . . told me later. I said you were out with Garrett that day, but you weren’t. You were over with Francine and Grace.’ Evelyn paused. The atmosphere was unbearable. ‘Last thing she ever said was to make sure no harm came to you. That’s what she told Garrett, to make sure that no harm came to you. And then we had to protect you, protect you from your father, and because of what he’d done Garrett felt a duty to stop Edward taking you away. That’s why Garrett was killed—’