The door opens and two men step out.
They’re not particularly large, maybe an inch taller than me and not much heavier. One of them looks at me, then Marcus, then back at me. “Not him,” he says. “Just you.”
I nod and ask Marcus to wait outside the door. He doesn’t seem happy about it, but it’s been prearranged, so he goes along with it. I let the two men lead me into the room, realizing with horror as they do that I forgot to make the call to Cindy at the FBI, so I could show it to Ricci on my phone.
I thought they were leading me into a hotel room, but that’s not what this is at all. It’s an apartment, as nice as any I’ve ever seen. It is amazingly elegant, and the main room is an atrium with a glass ceiling and a spiral staircase up to the second floor.
The furniture seems clearly very expensive and perfectly designed to complement the room, though I don’t have the slightest knowledge of furniture, designs, or even rooms. In the center of the room is a grand piano.
The room is set down a few feet, and one has to go down two stairs to get to it. I wonder if the people in the rooms below it have to duck down, because their ceilings are lower than everybody else’s.
Making the place somewhat less appealing to the eye are three very large men, none of whom are smiling. One of them comes over to me and frisks me, very carefully and intimately. If the TSA people frisked people at airport security like this, everybody would take trains.
I’m assuming that none of these people are Ricci, since they all seem to have basically the same level of authority. Once it’s determined that I’m not armed, they lead me into another room off the main one. Only one of the goons goes in with me, but he leaves moments later, leaving me alone in what seems to be a den.
The room has a desk and three chairs, all recliners, all facing a wall with eight televisions. There is one large one in the middle, probably sixty inches or so, and then a bank of seven others, each maybe thirty-two inches.
The one in the center has the Lions-Packers game on; it’s a measure of how scared I’ve been that I had forgotten that Thanksgiving is a big NFL football day.
I watch the game for about five minutes, still all alone. If I’m being kidnapped and held, I can think of worse rooms to do it in. There’s also a full bar, but I resist the temptation to make myself a drink.
I could really use a drink.
Finally, a door opens and a man comes in. I assume it’s Carmine Ricci. He’s dressed casually, tan slacks and a green pullover shirt, and seems to be in pretty good shape. He doesn’t have the sophisticated air of Dominic Petrone, and is at least twenty years younger. Ricci looks like he’s earned his stripes the hard way.
“You a football fan, Carpenter?”
I nod. “Big Giants fan. Huge.”
“I have a large bet on the Cowboys to win the NFC.”
“I hope they wipe the floor with the Giants.”
“Dominic Petrone says you’re a wiseass, but that I shouldn’t kill you unless you really piss me off.”
“Trust me, my goal is not to piss you off.”
“Then talk,” he says.
I ask him if he knows about the Galloway case and he says that he does, from reading the papers.
“Galloway is innocent,” I say. “He’s been set up; he didn’t set the fire.”
“Why should I care about that?”
I decide to go head-on. “Because your man Loney has been doing all the dirty work. Among other things, he threatened Galloway’s wife, he killed Danny Butler, and he has blackmailed a number of people, including a judge.”
I’m not sure if all the things I said are true, but I’m also not sure Ricci would know if I’m wrong.
He doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “There’s a lot more that I suspect, but which I’m not sure of. But rest assured I’m in the process of finding out.”
“Get to the part that will make me give a shit,” he says. I don’t think I’ve cowed him yet.
“This is all going to come out in the trial; I have an obligation to do it on behalf of my client.” I pointedly add, “If I were suddenly unavailable, my associates would do it. But I can leave your name out of it; Loney will be my target. But I need you to call him off.”
He thinks for a moment. “So you’re threatening me that if I don’t call Loney off, assuming I know who the hell Loney is, that you’ll drag my name through the trial?”
“I wouldn’t call it a threat,” I say.
“What would you call it?’
I think for a moment, but come up with nothing. “I don’t really have a name for it,” I say. “But I definitely wouldn’t use ‘threat.’”
“If my name comes up in that trial, you are a dead man,” he says.
“Will you call Loney off?”
“If my name comes up in that trial, you are a dead man.”
The door opens, and the guy who led me in comes in to lead me out. I don’t know if Ricci pressed some kind of button or the guy was listening on an intercom, but he knew when to show up.
Thirty seconds later I’m in the hall with Marcus.
“Okay?” he says.
“I’m okay.”
He nods and says, “Sushi.”
Six hours later we board the redeye, and Marcus shows that the trip out was no fluke; he simply spends every moment he is on a plane asleep.
It gives me time to think about how the meeting with Ricci went. Other than the fact that he didn’t kill me, it’s hard to know if I accomplished anything. Certainly he didn’t say anything to make me think I had, but I wouldn’t have expected him to openly agree to anything. The real answer will come from his actions, from what he does with Loney.
Although the fact is that I may never find out what Ricci does. Loney and Ricci operate in the shadows, and I haven’t come close to penetrating their world. Ricci could have him killed, or appoint him Emperor of Crimedom, and I probably wouldn’t know it.
And whatever I don’t learn, the jury doesn’t learn.
Carmine Ricci got the phone call about an hour after his meeting with Carpenter.
He was having lunch, or maybe even breakfast, though it was four P.M. Carmine rarely slept, and when he did it was almost never at night, so assigning names to meals based on the time he ate them was not something he bothered to do.
It was a call he expected, and no time was wasted on chitchat. “It’s done,” Fowler said.
“Without incident?” Carmine asked.
“Without incident.”
The fact that Fowler was able to dispatch Loney so easily impressed Carmine, though he would never admit it. Loney had been tough and smart, not Carmine’s most talented employee, but right up there.
“This puts you out of it,” Fowler said. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you.”
“Not quite,” Carmine said. “There is a large amount of money outstanding.”
“I understand. We’ve discussed and agreed to the timing of that. Thirty days from the conclusion of the operation.”
“Where does that stand?” Carmine asked.
“It will be very soon. I can’t say exactly.”
Carmine didn’t want to ask too many questions about the operation, but he was pretty sure that he knew the basic points. The firestorm that it would create would be too hot for anyone, even Carmine, so he wanted no connection to the actual events whatsoever.
Carmine had simply provided the muscle, and much of the financing. Substantial, secret collateral had been provided, but all parties knew that debts to Carmine were always paid in full, or the debtor did not live to borrow again.
“Carpenter was here to see me,” Carmine said. “He knew all about Loney.”
“That’s not a problem, seeing as how Loney no longer exists.”
“The next time I hear from you, you will be calling to arrange payment.”
Fowler smiled. “I look forward to it.”
Sam Willis finally got what he was after.
Actually, he didn�
�t personally get it; Hilda Mandlebaum once again had that honor. But they were a team, and their triumphs were joint ones.
The first step was getting Judge Holland’s phone records, supposedly safely tucked away in the phone company’s computer system. Once they had that to examine, Sam was sure that he identified the number that the judge called that belonged to Loney.
Andy Carpenter had provided the idea. He told Sam the date and time he had tried to reach the judge, mentioning Bauer’s name to the assistant. Andy figured that the judge might get worried and quickly call people related to the case, hopefully Loney.
Sure enough, a call was made from the judge to a cell phone just two minutes after Andy had called him. The call lasted four minutes. And when Sam obtained the phone records for that number, it was registered under a fake name.
It had to be Loney’s.
The next step was equally easy; they retrieved Loney’s phone records. But that was not the big prize, and they just printed out a copy of the records to show Andy. The big prize was delivering on Hike’s suggestion. Hilda, under Sam’s able direction, was able to use the phone company’s computers to track the GPS signal to learn where Loney was. They had the street address in Dover, Delaware. The significance of that was not lost on Sam. He knew that Judge Holland lived in the same city, and MapQuest quickly told him the two addresses were less than a mile away.
Andy was in Vegas, and when Sam tried to call him it went straight to voice mail. Marcus was with him, so he wasn’t an option. Sam considered calling Laurie, but she would just tell him to wait until Andy got back.
Sam didn’t want to wait.
Leaving his elderly crew behind to continue work on the list of missing persons from the time of the fire, Sam made the three-hour drive to Delaware. It was Hilda’s responsibility to keep track of Loney’s GPS signal, in case Loney was on the move. She would be able to redirect Sam to where Loney had moved to.
But Hilda kept reporting in that the signal had not changed, which Sam was pleased about. He used the drive to figure out what he would do when he got there.
He had no intention of being a hero; he was not going to go in, guns blazing. He had brought his gun, but only for protection, in case things were to go wrong. His goals were modest. He would confirm that Loney was there, and perhaps follow him if necessary to learn where he lived.
Perhaps more importantly, he would try and get a look at Loney. Loney was a mystery man so far, and Sam was sure that Andy would appreciate his getting a cell phone picture of him.
When Sam arrived at the GPS address, he was surprised to see that it was an abandoned warehouse. He had expected it to be a hotel or apartment building, and the fact that it was not caused him to rethink his plan. There was no real way to approach the building without being seen, and Sam had no desire at all to be seen.
So he sat in his car for two hours, a half block from the warehouse. It was a fairly deserted area, so there was a danger that Sam could be noticed by anyone inclined to care, but no one around seemed to pay any attention. And no one went anywhere near the warehouse; the abandoned building certainly seemed abandoned.
But Hilda was certain that the GPS signal still showed that the phone was in there, which meant that Loney very well might be in there as well.
It was not in Sam’s DNA to turn around and go home, so he got out of his car and walked down the street, toward the warehouse. He did so nonchalantly, as if he had not a care in the world, but his hand was in his jacket pocket, clutching his gun.
When he neared the warehouse, Sam walked around to the back and looked in the window. It was dusty and hard to see through, but Sam saw no signs of life. He checked some other windows to give himself a different vantage point, but again, there was no apparent activity at all.
Feeling more emboldened but fearing that this entire episode was a waste of time, Sam checked each window until he found one that was unlocked. He climbed through the window, not the easiest maneuver in the world for the unathletic accountant.
But before long he found himself in the very large warehouse, and he certainly seemed to be alone. Sam took out his own cell phone, and dialed Loney’s number. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard it ring; the GPS signal was right after all. The phone was there.
Sam headed for the sound, but it stopped ringing before he could find it. He had to call it twice more before he had enough time to locate it, but eventually did so.
What attracted his attention, more than the cell phone itself, were the obvious bloodstains just a few feet away. And it didn’t take a forensic scientist to follow the smeared blood to the large drum lying on its side.
Sam was scared to death, but determined to take the top off the drum and see what was inside. It came off easily, and Sam realized it had only recently been placed there.
There was no reason to empty or explore the drum, the body was obvious as soon as the top came off. And Sam was not about to examine it, or stick around; he made a beeline for the same window he came in, and ran to the street.
Sam had no idea what to do, but he knew who to ask. He called Laurie and told her the entire story. He had to stop a few times to catch his breath; he was that scared.
“Laurie, I’m sure I left my prints all over the place … on the window, the drum, I don’t know where else.”
“That’s okay, Sam, because you’re not going to deny you were in there. You’re going to report what you found to the police, and answer any questions they have.”
“They’ll ask me why I was in there in the first place.”
“Right. And you’ll tell them the truth; you are there because it’s part of an investigation being run by Andy for the Galloway trial. You were looking for Loney, but you really don’t know anything more specific than that. They really need to ask Andy why he sent you there.”
“Okay. Should I just call 911?”
The question made Laurie think of another way. “No. Just stay where you are; I’ll take care of it. Give me the exact address.”
He did so, and Laurie got off the phone and called Cindy Spodek. This had been an FBI investigation from the start, and she would rather Cindy take the lead, at least for the moment. Cindy knew Sam, and the people she was directing would therefore be less inclined to think Sam committed the murder.
So Laurie called Cindy, explained the situation, and Cindy promised to get agents there immediately.
Laurie hung up and waited for Andy’s plane to land. She would have quite a story for him.
Laurie calls me five minutes after I get off the plane.
I can’t talk to her, because I’m on the phone with Cindy Spodek, who called me one minute after I got off the plane. It would have been four minutes after I got off, but I spent three minutes waking up Marcus.
I tell Laurie I’ll call her back and that I’m on with Cindy. Based on the start of the conversation, I’d rather talk to Laurie.
“Andy, what the hell was Sam Willis doing in a Delaware warehouse with a dead body?” Cindy asks.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I say.
“You don’t know anything about this?”
“I know Sam Willis, but that’s it.”
“He found the dead body of one Alan Loney in a drum in a Delaware warehouse. He claims that you sent him there as part of an investigation.”
“Oh, that Delaware warehouse. I wasn’t sure which one you meant. The state is full of them.”
“Andy, unless you want to spend eight hours in a room with four agents who have no sense of humor and look exactly alike, tell me what you know about this.”
She doesn’t sound in a bantering mood. I’m not either, but I don’t know what the hell is going on, and I don’t want to say anything stupid. “Cindy, Sam is working on the investigation. We are trying to find Loney, and I gave him some leads to follow, all of which are protected by attorney-client privilege. I assume one of them took him to this warehouse, but it sounds like he got there too late.”
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She asks me a bunch of additional questions, some of which I evade because I really don’t know the answers, and the others I evade because I want to evade them. The entire time we’re talking, I’m wondering if crazy Sam actually shot the guy.
“Do you know the time of death?” I ask.
“Why? You trying to come up with an alibi?”
“No, I’m covered on that score. I was with Marcus in Vegas; believe me, people noticed us.”
“You saw Ricci?” she asks.
“I did. Charming gentleman.”
“Let’s see how charming he is when he finds out that his top man was stuffed in a drum in Delaware.”
“You were about to tell me the time of death,” I say.
She tells me the coroner’s estimate, which is soon after my meeting with Ricci. Could he have reacted to our talk by immediately having Loney killed?
I promise Cindy I’ll fill her in as I get more details, which we both know is an out-and-out lie. As soon as she lets me off the phone, I call Laurie, who gives me the version of events according to Sam.
“Do you think Ricci could have had Loney hit because of my threat?” I ask.
“I don’t think so,” she says.
“Why not?”
“Well, for one thing, you’re not really that intimidating. For another, I can’t believe that what you said was news to Ricci. Loney couldn’t have been doing all this behind his boss’s back; so if Ricci wanted him to stop, he wouldn’t have had to kill him to do it.”
Neither of us has any other explanation for Loney’s murder; we can just add it to the list of things we are bewildered by.
“How is Sam doing?” I ask.
“He’s on cloud nine,” she says. “Except for a high-noon shootout, this is the most fun thing that could have happened to him.”
When I get home we talk some more about it, and I call Sam to hear it fresh from his perspective. It’s a rather lengthy perspective, and he so obviously relishes the telling that I think the recounting takes longer than the actual event. For example, it takes a good five minutes for him to describe how he followed the bloodstains to the drum; unless the trail was half a mile long, that seems like a bit much.
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