by Andrea Kane
“Very lucky. What did he take?”
A brief hesitation. “Actually, nothing was stolen.”
“I don’t understand.”
Morgan blew out a breath. “Karly, you’ve only been in town a few months. So there’s a lot you might not know, unless you’re an avid newspaper reader. My parents were murdered seventeen years ago. It’s just come to light that the police convicted the wrong guy—another violent criminal, just not the one who killed my parents. My partner, Jill—the one I mentioned to you—her parents are Congressman Arthur Shore and his wife, Elyse. They were my parents’ best friends. I’ve been sort of their adopted daughter since I was orphaned. So we’re all pretty much in the public eye. This could have been some sick prank, or a way to get in the newspapers. I don’t know. That’s what the police are investigating now.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Karly was staring at her computer screen as she spoke, rereading the articles she’d pulled this morning, after two sleepless nights. “I’m sorry this happened. If there’s anything I can do…”
“Not a thing. Jill and I are staying at Arthur and Elyse’s place, so we’re in good hands. Just understand that Winshore is operating at less than maximum efficiency. It’ll only be a day or two. By Monday, we’ll be back to business as usual. Would you mind if we postponed your follow-up session until then?”
“Of course not. I’ll call you next week and set something up. I’m just grateful you’re okay—you and Jill.”
“Me, too.”
KARLY SAT AT her desk for a long time after hanging up, a sick knot forming at the pit of her stomach. Then she reached for her purse, pulling out the envelope she’d unearthed from her box of personal odds and ends, recently unpacked from her cross-country move. She glanced inside the envelope. The note and business card were intact.
She knew what she had to do.
Penning a quick message on a Post-it, she peeled it off and stuck it to the outside of the envelope. Then she slipped the whole thing into a Tyvek envelope and sealed it.
She reached for the phone book, flipping through the yellow pages. It didn’t take long to find what she was looking for. A messenger service that was off the beaten path.
She pulled on her black wool coat, flipping up the hood so it covered her head and hair. Next, she slipped on a pair of sunglasses.
No credit cards, she reminded herself.
Rifling through her wallet, she found a hundred-dollar bill, and stuffed it into her coat pocket. Then she returned the wallet to her purse, which she locked in her bottom desk drawer. She couldn’t present ID she didn’t have. She’d simply say she left her purse at home. Cash was a wonderful motivator.
Five minutes later, she left her office and the building.
She was taking an enormous risk.
But she owed an enormous debt.
TWENTY-SIX
The Friday-morning sky was clear. The Poconos made a great backdrop. Lane’s jump had been spectacular.
Too bad Jonah felt like shit.
He’d been tired and light-headed since they got there, and the equipment setup and constant movement had made the dizziness and fatigue worse. He’d tried downing a muffin and some Gatorade, but neither helped.
Fighting his body’s discomfort, he struggled with the unwieldy camera, made heavy by the telephoto lens and motor drive. He had only one chance to capture the congressman on film. As it was, the pressure was on. They’d practically had to tear the congressman away from home, convince him that the publicity was necessary enough for him to leave his family—even for an abbreviated day. This shoot would be short and sweet, then home.
With Lane taking aerial shots from the plane, the ground shots were Jonah’s responsibility.
Normally, he’d be totally psyched and in his element.
But his hands were sweaty and his muscles were weak. He felt feverish, like he was coming down with something. Just his luck. He’d made an asshole of himself with that stupid skiing accident the other day and now he was getting the flu.
No way. The flu was just going to have to wait until after he got home tonight.
Turning his attention back to the task at hand, he pointed the camera skyward and followed Arthur’s smooth descent, the motor drive snapping each frame in rapid succession.
He was pretty sure he’d pulled it off—and pulled it off well.
But he still felt like shit.
AS AGREED, MONTY arrived at Charlie Denton’s office at twelve-fifteen. He walked in right on time, and with the agreed-upon pastrami sandwiches, chicken soup, and Dr. Brown’s cherry soda from Lenny’s for a “lunch-and-learn meeting.”
Monty wasn’t walking out without answers to two open questions: Were his suspicions right about who the CI in Angelo’s file was, and what was the basis for Charlie’s beef with Arthur Shore? His bargaining chip was giving Charlie George Hayek’s name, which he was more than willing to do—if he got what he wanted.
His gut told him that Denton would be a strong ally at this point, especially after Wednesday night’s break-in at Morgan’s place. The threats against her were escalating, which would prod Denton into action, given his loyalty to Morgan and to Jack. Plus, he was familiar with the criminal mind, saw the patterns in their actions. Like Monty, he’d realize that the perp’s escalating threats meant he was feeling vulnerable. And that meant they were closing in on him.
“The entire office is probably buzzing with the news that the lead detective on Jack’s murder case is visiting me,” Charlie complained in greeting, shutting the door behind Monty with a firm click. “I’ll be fielding questions all afternoon.”
“And you’ll handle them just fine. Say I was here to clarify details of the criminal cases Jack was prosecuting before he died. Your colleagues will like the fact that the angle I’m pursuing will further the image of Jack Winter as a hero.”
“He was a hero,” Charlie corrected him, sitting down behind his cluttered desk and pulling out a thick manila folder that he put in front of him. “Too much so. It probably got him killed.”
“We don’t know what got him killed. But we’re going to find out.” Eyeing the folder like a kid in a candy store, Monty forced himself to be patient. There was no point in jumping all over Denton. Better to put him in the mood to exchange confidences. And, if all else failed—well, that’s what Rhoda’s matzo-ball soup was for.
Calmly, he passed a sandwich, a tall container of soup, and a can of soda across the desk to Charlie, then plopped down in the opposite chair. “Lenny’s finest,” he announced.
“Bribery?” A corner of Charlie’s mouth lifted.
“Camaraderie.” There was no point in trying to snow the guy. He was a seasoned prosecutor. He’d see through BS in a minute. “The way I see it, we’re on the same team, especially now. I think Morgan’s life depends on it.”
Charlie’s smile faded. “How is she?”
“Holding up. Frightened. Ambivalent. After what she walked in on Thursday morning, she was ready to drop the case.”
“The D.A. won’t let that happen.”
Monty shrugged. “He can pressure whoever he wants, but without the right person digging in the right places, he’ll come up empty.”
Unwrapping his sandwich, Charlie shook his head in disbelief. “And you, of course, are that right person.” A humorless laugh. “Your arrogance is staggering. Somehow, the NYPD survived before you joined and they seem to be surviving just fine since you left.”
“This has nothing to do with my leaving the force. Frankly, they’re better off without me. I suck at following the rules, and red tape and paperwork were beginning to make my blood pressure go up. This has to do with my familiarity with the case, my gut feeling that we’re on the verge of solving it, and the fact that I’m not going away until that happens—rules or no rules.” Monty took a bite of his sandwich and a healthy tablespoon of soup. “Damn if Rhoda’s matzo-ball soup isn’t the best there is. You’re lucky she likes me. You and I each got a
large container instead of a small.”
“Yeah, well, thanks for that. It’s freezing outside. Chicken soup is just what I need.” Charlie ate some of the soup, then leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk. “I agree with you about Morgan being at risk. These threats are too aggressive. And they’re coming too close together. Someone’s scared.”
“The question is, who?”
One of Charlie’s brows rose. “I guess it’s show-and-tell time.”
Monty put down his lunch. “What have you got for me?”
“The CI you were asking about—you were right that he and Jack went back a long time.” Charlie opened the file, flipped through some photocopied pages. “I’ve got a log and some written reports I dug out of Jack’s old files, spanning at least a decade. The entries all have the same CI number on it.”
“The one I gave you—the one belonging to the inside witness who testified at Angelo’s trial.”
“Right.”
“Is there any personal data on this guy?”
“Nope. Only summaries of his meetings with Jack. These documents will give you the dates and times you asked for, plus details of each encounter. But all biographical info, photos, registration form, anything with the CI’s name on it, are in his restricted master file.”
“Did you go to the control officer who has it, try to persuade him to share?”
Charlie’s jaw tightened. “There’s just so far I’ll go for you, Montgomery. I’ve already gone out on a major limb. But what you’re suggesting smacks of blackmail and borders on career suicide. Now, do you want the copies of the reports I made for you, or not?”
“Damn straight I want them.”
“Good.” Charlie opened his manila folder and passed a chunk of pages across the desk. “Don’t read them here. Just stick them in Lenny’s take-out bag and take them with you when you leave. I don’t want anyone spotting you walking out of my office with pages that have our letterhead on them.”
“Got it.” Monty took the documents. He couldn’t wait to pore over them. In the meantime, he couldn’t help but notice that they were just a percentage of what Denton had in that folder. Clearly, the rest weren’t for sharing.
That had to be remedied.
“Who’s the CI you have in mind?” Charlie demanded.
“Let me read through this stuff first,” Monty replied. “If it matches up with the background check of the guy I suspect, you’ll hear from me.”
“That sounds like a stall tactic.”
“It’s not. I’ll call you by the end of the business day. You have my word.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“Do that. If this is who I think it is, the lead is all yours. Run with it. Earn yourself a commendation and a fat promotion.”
With a grimace, Charlie resumed eating his soup. “I’m not holding my breath on either of those. Solving this case will serve justice. That doesn’t mean it’ll serve everybody else.”
Monty shrugged, munching on his sandwich. “Toes get stepped on. People get over it.”
“Maybe in your world. Not mine. The D.A.’s office is a political one, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I noticed.”
“Yeah, well, between you and me, politics sucks.”
“I noticed that, too.” Monty studied Charlie’s expression. His lids were hooded and he was focusing on his lunch. But his wheels were definitely turning. He was wrestling with something.
“Anything you want to tell me?” Monty inquired.
Charlie’s chin came up. “Just a question. An off-the-record question.”
“Shoot.”
“I know who pulls my strings. On this investigation, who’s pulling yours—Morgan, or Arthur Shore?”
“First of all, no one pulls my strings—ever. That’s why I left the system. But if you’re asking who I’m working for, it’s Morgan. The congressman’s added leverage in getting things done. Why?”
“Is he privy to everything you and I discuss?”
“Not if I don’t want him to be. At least not from my end. I can’t vouch for what your boss tells him.”
“Yeah. He and the D.A. are tight. That’s part of why I’m walking on eggshells.”
Evidently, Monty’s other agenda had found him. “You don’t trust Arthur?”
Charlie rubbed his forehead. “Politically? I think he’s a hell of a congressman. He’s done great things for New York.”
“You helped get him elected. My rundown indicated that you worked on his political campaign.”
“For state assembly, yes.” Charlie polished off his soup. “We didn’t part on the best of terms. Then again, I’m sure your rundown mentioned that, too.”
“Yup.” Monty waited, biding his time.
“Our differences weren’t professional. They were personal. I have a kid sister. It was the summer before her freshman year in college when I worked for the Shore campaign. I was heading into my final year at law school. I convinced Trish to pitch in. It didn’t take long for her to start idolizing Arthur Shore. She and every other campaign groupie in the place. Trish began working late, stuffing envelopes for mailings. One night I showed up early to pick her up. She was in Shore’s office with him, alone and half-naked.”
Charlie blew out an angry breath. “The guy was in his thirties, married, with a kid. Trish was eighteen, barely out of high school, and impressionable.”
Monty was disgusted, but far from surprised. This was classic Arthur Shore. “You must have been ripping mad. What did you do?”
“To Shore? Nothing. If I started throwing around phrases like ‘sexual harassment,’ I’d be pumping gas instead of prosecuting criminals. I was a law school student. He was an assemblyman. He was also corporate counsel to a powerful real estate development company—one run by his father-in-law—with enough resources to squash me. So I did what I could. I wrapped Trish’s coat around her and dragged her out of there. We never went back.”
“And now?”
“Now nothing. Shore’s a congressman; I’m an A.D.A. Our paths don’t cross. He called me when the Winter cases were reopened and asked me to use my influence to get you what you needed. I agreed. I certainly didn’t bring up Trish, and he didn’t ask about her.”
“Did you ever fill Jack in on this incident? It still had to be pretty fresh in your mind when you came to work here. And Jack and Arthur were good friends.”
“Lara and Elyse were good friends,” Charlie corrected. “Jack and Arthur socialized by default. I won’t say Jack didn’t respect Arthur’s abilities; he did. But their morals were day and night. I didn’t need to fill Jack in on my story. There were many others like it.” A long pause. “Sometimes I think that’s what Jack and Lara were arguing about. I could be all wet, but I think Jack felt Elyse should be told what her husband was doing. Lara disagreed.”
“You heard her say that?”
“I heard her say Elyse knew everything she needed to. That could have applied to Arthur’s infidelity, or to something completely unrelated.”
“You didn’t mention any of this to me the other day.”
“I chose not to. It’s pure speculation on my part, and it could bite me in the ass big-time.”
“If I opened my mouth,” Monty surmised aloud. “Well, I won’t. This conversation remains between us. I am glad you told me, though. It explains a few things.” A thoughtful silence. “Denton, you can punch me out if you want to, but is there any chance your sister changed her mind and had that fling with Arthur? Maybe not then, but a few years later?”
“No.” A one-word, clipped reply.
“How do you know?”
“Because for the weeks following that incident, I didn’t let her out of my sight. After that, she left for Michigan. She lined up a part-time waitressing job there, got settled, and started class at U Mich in August. She came home for holidays, but by Thanksgiving she had a boyfriend—a normal boyfriend, one her own age. There were lots of other boyfriends over the years. Bu
t she never mentioned Shore again. Why?”
“Here’s the part where you’re going to pound me. Where was Trish on Christmas Eve, 1989?”
You could have heard a pin drop in the room.
“The night of the murders?” Charlie finally responded. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m dead serious. Do you know where she was?”
“In Spain. Junior year abroad. And I’m restraining myself from punching your lights out—but only because you’re doing your job and because I’m itching to know your reasoning. Arthur Shore wasn’t out scoring with an intern that night. He was at a Christmas Eve party with his wife. At her parents’ place.”
“True. But I have cause to believe he found time for a quickie. It would help to know what time and with whom.”
“You think the ‘with whom’ in question had something to do with the murders?”
“I think she’s a new player we didn’t know about seventeen years ago. I also think we have to determine if Congressman Shore needs to supply an alibi—which he would, if he were missing from his in-laws’ party between the hours of, say, seven o’clock and eight-thirty.”
Charlie let out a low whistle. “You’re stirring up a hornet’s nest.”
A shrug. “Worse comes to worst, I’ll lose my VIP status at Lenny’s.”
“No, worse comes to worst, you’ll lose your license. Who knows how pissed off Shore will get, or what favors he’ll call in if word leaks out that you asked him to provide an alibi for the night of the homicides. Any way you slice it, you’re asking him to prove he isn’t a killer.”
“I’m asking him to do the same thing everyone else who knew the Winters did. No more, no less. This is a murder investigation. If Shore’s innocent, he’ll be offended, maybe even royally pissed, but he’ll cooperate. He’s the one who rode my ass when the double homicide first occurred, until Schiller confessed. And he’s been just as aggressive this time around. I’ll handle him calmly, privately, and unemotionally. But no matter how he reacts, I’m getting what I need.”