Bad Faith

by Robert K. Tanenbaum

  The alarm bells went off in Marlene’s head. “What do you mean both husbands were killed?”

  “It was terrible,” Nonie said. “After their daughter died, Monique’s husband was mugged. They lived in a bad neighborhood in East Memphis and somebody beat him to death with a metal bar.”

  Nonie knew where Monique lived because she’d gone with Westlund on one of his home visits and helped pray over her daughter. It was the home that Marlene now found herself sitting in front of as a thunderstorm crashed and banged all around her.

  Looking at the property, Marlene wondered if anybody was living there now. It was early evening and the cloud cover had brought darkness, but there were no lights on in the house. An old, rusted-out Ford station wagon sat in the driveway. A child’s bicycle leaned against the sagging porch with knee-high weeds growing up through the spokes; judging by the rusted chain and flat tires, it had been a long time since it had last been used.

  When the rain let up, Marlene dashed across the muddy front lawn and up onto the porch, where she knocked on the unpainted door. In her peripheral vision, she saw someone peep from behind the curtain drawn across the living room window. But no one answered the door.

  Marlene knocked again. “Hello, Mrs. Hale? Could I please speak to you?”

  “Go away,” a woman’s voice answered from behind the door.

  “Please, it’s important,” Marlene pleaded.

  “I don’t care.”

  Marlene leaned her head toward the door. She could feel the woman’s presence on the other side of the door. “Please, Monique,” she said quietly. “This is about your daughter, and your husband.”

  “I said I don’t want to talk to you,” Monique Hale said angrily. “Y’all can carry yourself out of here or I’ll call the police.”

  “Call then,” Marlene said. “But first I want you to know that another child has died. He might have been saved but a con man named C. G. Westlund—you may know him as John LaFontaine—talked his parents into not seeking medical help.”

  “Which child?”

  “Micah Ellis.”

  “I was ’fraid of that,” the woman said. “Nonie must be taking it hard. She was tight with LaFontaine.”

  “Nonie’s missing,” Marlene said. “And David’s dead … murdered by one of LaFontaine’s followers.”

  The woman was silent for a full minute before speaking. “I’d like to help,” she said. “But I just can’t. My child is dead and my husband is dead. Ain’t nothing goin’ to change that.”

  “He needs to be stopped, Mrs. Hale,” Marlene said.

  “I’m scared. I know he killed my Charlie. Him and his thugs.”

  “I’ll see that you’re protected, Mrs. Hale,” Marlene said. “My husband is the district attorney of New York, and I know he will do everything he can to help you. … Mrs. Hale, somebody needs to speak up for Charlie, Micah, Nonie, David, and your daughter …”

  “Natalie. My daughter’s name was Natalie, after her grandmother.”

  “Someone needs to speak for Natalie, too,” Marlene said.

  At last Marlene heard the security chain sliding and the dead bolt clicking open. A small pale woman with stringy brown hair and a high forehead peered out. “Come on in,” she said, “and I’ll make us some tea.”

  Almost two hours later, Marlene left the Hale residence and called her husband to fill him in on the conversations with Aronberg and Hale.

  “Marlene, you never cease to amaze,” he said. “I think I better send Clay and Guma down to get statements. And maybe it’s time you let them finish this with that Memphis detective.”

  “You know better than that, Butch,” she replied.

  “Yeah, I do, but I thought I’d try,” he said. “Don’t suppose it would matter much to say I miss you and want you to come home. My world just isn’t the same without you in it.”

  “Now, that’s what I love to hear, even though I haven’t even been gone for a night yet,” she laughed. “And you know I have to see this debacle through to the end.”

  “So what’s next?” Butch asked.

  “I’m off to find Sister Sarah,” Marlene said.

  “Marlene, LaFontaine and his crew are thugs. They’ll use violence; be careful.”

  “I will,” Marlene said. Suddenly she missed her husband. The darkness she was stepping into was so seedy, and he had always been so resolute against such evil. “So what’s happening with you?”

  “You’ll never guess who wants to give me a statement, a full confession, tomorrow morning,” Karp replied.

  “The Mad Terrorist, Sheik Khalid Mohammed.”

  Karp laughed. “I can only wish.”

  “Who then?”

  “Nadya Malovo. Here in my office, first thing in the morning.”

  Marlene sat in silence. Alarm bells were going off again. “I don’t think I need to tell you that it’s you who needs to be careful, more than me,” she said. “That woman is the most dangerous person I’ve ever known.”

  “She’s just one crazy lady and security will be tight,” her husband replied.

  A chill ran up Marlene’s spine. “She is a very evil woman, and if she asked for this, you know she’s up to something.”

  Hanging up, Marlene entered the address Nonie had given her for Sister Sarah into the GPS. Nonie had said she’d only been there once, when Westlund apparently needed something from his devotee. “He told me to wait in the car,” she recalled. “He was in there at least a half hour. So I sat there looking at the number on her townhome, 2214, all that time, waiting for him, and the street address was easy. Park Place.”

  This time the GPS took her to a much nicer neighborhood and a row of modest townhomes. The rain had stopped, and Marlene had gotten out of the car and started to walk toward 2214 when a young man came out of the home next door.

  “You looking for Sarah?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Marlene replied, “do you know if she’s in?”

  The man brushed his long hair back with his fingers and eyed her suspiciously. “You a cop?”

  “No, just an old friend,” Marlene lied. “I was just passing through town and hoped to say hi.”

  “She’s probably at work.”

  “She’s working nights?” Marlene asked.

  “She wouldn’t make any money doing her thing by working days.”

  “I thought she was a schoolteacher,” Marlene said.

  The man laughed. “The only thing she teaches is how to take your clothes off. She’s a stripper.”

  Marlene smiled. “She went back to the old job? What about her son, Kevin, who’s watching him?”

  The man looked confused. “What son? I ain’t never seen no kid, and she’s never said nothin’ about a boy.”

  “It’s been a few years since I saw her last, but a mutual friend said she had a boy and he was real sick,” Marlene said.

  The man shook his head. “If Sarah has a kid, it’s the best-kept secret in this neighborhood.”

  The young man gave Marlene the once-over. “You a stripper, too? You got a nice little body. You was probably something back in the day.”

  Marlene fixed him with her one good eye. “Exactly what do you mean ‘back in the day’?”

  The young man smiled and held up his hands. “No offense, ma’am. I just meant that if you’re this hot now, you must have been on fire in your twenties.”

  “That’s better,” Marlene said with a smile. “Nice save. So where’s she doing the bump and grind?”

  “Gentleman’s Club on Lamar Avenue.”

  When Marlene got back in her car, she noticed she had a call from a Memphis-area-code phone. “This is Detective Wink Winkler returning your call. I’d like to talk to you, too. I’m out of town until tomorrow but will be in the office on Poplar Avenue by midafternoon. Stop by.”

  A half hour later, Marlene pulled into the parking lot of the Gentleman’s Club strip joint. It was early yet and the parking lot wasn’t very full, so it wasn’t tough to
spot the new BMW with the vanity license plate that read SARAH.

  Marlene entered the establishment and when her eyes adjusted to the low light, she was soon aware that she was the only unaccompanied woman in the place except for those gyrating on the dozen stages scattered around the spacious room. A pretty, young black woman with bare breasts walked up to her. “Welcome to the Gentleman’s Club,” she said with a smile.

  “Uh, thank you,” Marlene replied, trying not to be overly conscious of the fact that she was talking to a woman dressed in nothing more than short shorts. “I’m looking for Sarah.”

  The woman gave Marlene a knowing smile. “I know she swings both ways,” she said. “And I like sensual women, too. Maybe we can all get together after work?”

  “Sorry, but I’m kind of a one-woman gal,” she said.

  “Too bad,” the black woman replied with a pout. “But Sarah’s about ready to go on. She’s over there on stage four.” She nodded to a stage where a strobe light had begun to flash.

  Marlene thanked her and headed for a seat near the stage. A half-dozen men were scattered in the rows closest to the stage, but undeterred, she found a seat next to the stage. To the sound of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin,” a dark-haired white woman dressed like a schoolgirl pranced out on the stage, licking a large lollipop that she tossed to the closest of her admirers.

  A man sitting to Marlene’s left got up from his table and sat down next to her. “Maybe when she’s off work we can all get together, have a little fun?”

  “Beat it, creep,” Marlene snarled. “What’s with you people and your threesomes?”

  “Just trying to be friendly,” the man said, standing up and leaving in a huff.

  Marlene shook her head. Maybe I should have just waited for her to come home, she thought.

  Near the end of her dance and wearing nothing but a G-string, the dancer spotted Marlene and smiled before turning her attention back to the men also seated in the front row holding up dollar bills.

  Not exactly the image I had of Sister Sarah, Marlene thought, smiling back.

  After the music stopped and she picked up the dollar bills tossed at her, the stripper strolled over to where Marlene sat. “Hi, honey,” she said.

  “Hi, I liked your dance,” Marlene replied, noting that on closer inspection Sister Sarah appeared to be in mortal combat with the aging process.

  “Thank you,” Sarah replied. “I get off at one. Stick around and maybe I’ll give you a private show.”

  “Would you have a few minutes to talk now?” Marlene asked.

  Sarah’s demeanor changed. “You a cop?”

  “How come everybody keeps asking me that? You have a guilty conscience?” Marlene said, but she wasn’t smiling either. “No, I’m just a friend of Nonie Ellis and I’d like to ask you a few questions about the Reverend LaFontaine.”

  “I don’t know no Nonie and no LaFontaine,” Sarah replied, and started to turn away.

  “Nonie says you do,” Marlene replied. “She even knew where you lived, ’cause LaFontaine took her there when he was visiting you. I went by there a little earlier, met your neighbor.”

  “So?”

  “So where’s your son, Kevin?”

  “He’s with his father,” Sarah said. “They live out of state.”

  “Yeah? What state?”

  “California. I gotta go.”

  “That must be tough on you,” Marlene said. “Your boy survives this terrible disease and then goes off to live with his dad on the other side of the country.”

  “Yeah, it’s rough. I’ve got to—”

  “Go. Yeah, I know. You need to go shake your ass for a bunch of leering strangers. Not quite the saint that Nonie described.”

  Sarah looked at the stage and shrugged. “Everybody’s got to make a living,” she said.

  “Can I talk to you after work?”

  “I don’t get off until three and I’ll be too tired.”

  “How about tomorrow morning then?” Marlene asked. “After you get up.”

  “I don’t get up before noon.”

  “I’ll bring breakfast,” Marlene replied, handing the dancer one of her business cards. “In the meantime, if you want to talk before that, call me.”

  “‘Marlene Ciampi, private investigator,’” Sarah read. “You’re not Nonie’s friend.”

  “On the contrary, I may be her only friend,” Marlene replied. “And I take that seriously. I’ll see you tomorrow. And don’t make me come looking for you.”

  21

  “SO THIS IS WHERE THE FAMOUS BUTCH KARP PRESIDES OVER the machinations of American justice,” Nadya Malovo said as she sauntered into his office through the private entrance. “As I expected, old-fashioned, like the man himself … lots of wood and leather upholstery. All business.” She sniffed. “And I detect cigar smoke, though it is old and only lingers like a memory of days gone past.”

  She turned to look directly at Karp with a smirk on her face. “I take it you do not smoke cigars.”

  “Have a seat, Ms. Malovo,” Karp said, standing beside the conference table.

  “But of course not, that would be a vice for a man of such integrity. May I?” Malovo asked, nodding toward a wall of his office that was completely filled by books.

  “Be my guest.”

  Karp continued standing as the assassin walked over to the bookshelves, followed by U.S. Marshal Jen Capers and two men, a tall, steely-eyed, square-jawed type he assumed was a federal agent, and a plump shorter man. Her attorney Bruce Knight, I presume. He wondered briefly what Knight thought of Malovo. Surely he’s seen the file on her. Everyone deserves representation, but it can’t be easy defending evil incarnate.

  “The usual legal books,” Malovo noted. “But I’m impressed with the others. Melville. Faulkner. Descartes. Jefferson. Plato. … The complete set of Federalist Papers. Have you actually read all of these books?”

  “Most of them belonged to Francis Garrahy, one of my predecessors,” Karp replied evenly. “But yes, I’ve read them all. Now, I understand you’re here to confess to certain criminal acts, not comment on the décor of my office or the content of my library.”

  Malovo laughed. “Yes, this is not a social call,” she agreed, but then seemed to notice Clay Fulton, who was sitting in a corner chair. He had not gotten up when she came in. “Ah, Mr. Fulton. It’s been a long time. No hard feelings I hope.”

  Fulton didn’t reply except to glare at her. Several years earlier, he’d been part of a police convoy escorting Andrew Kane to a psychiatric evaluation facility in upstate New York when it was attacked by terrorists led by Malovo. The purpose had been to free Kane. But they’d used a school bus loaded with children to draw the police escort in, murdering the children as well as the officers who went to their aid. Malovo had shot Fulton in the leg but left him alive to carry his tale to Karp.

  Malovo smiled. “I guess not,” she said, “but looks like we’re on the same team now.”

  Fulton ignored her comment as Karp turned to the others. “Good morning, Marshal Capers. You want to introduce your party?”

  “Morning, Mr. Karp,” Capers said. “This is federal agent Michael Rolles and defense attorney Bruce Knight, who is representing Ms. Malovo.”

  Karp pointed to the conference table set up to the side of his desk. “If Ms. Malovo and Mr. Knight would have a seat at the table, and the rest of you make yourselves comfortable anywhere else, I’ll call the stenographer in.” He pressed a button on his intercom. “Would you please tell Dennis that we’re ready for him?”

  Dennis Sheen entered the room and took a seat at the end of the table as Karp sat on one side and Malovo and her attorney sat on the other. Capers and Rolles pulled up chairs behind her.

  When the stenographer nodded to indicate that he was ready, Karp proceeded. “Here today in my office is Nadya Malovo and her attorney Bruce Knight. Ms. Malovo I am informed that you have been apprised of your Miranda rights and have conferred this morning with your lawyer M
r. Knight regarding your rights and your request to make an incriminating statement regarding criminal acts you committed in New York. Correct?”

  “Yes,” Malovo said.

  “Are you now willing to waive your rights and make your statement in the presence of your lawyer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you been coerced or promised anything by me, or anyone else, to make these statements?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Ms. Malovo, it is a fact that you initiated this meeting with me to make this statement. This was of your own doing?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  Karp nodded. “Then let’s get going.”

  Three hours later, Karp pushed back from the table. Over the course of the interrogation, Malovo had admitted to complicity in dozens of murders and violent crimes, from the killing of the schoolchildren when Fulton was shot to deadly bombings of restaurants, knifings, shootings, stranglings, and even an attempt to blow up the Brooklyn Bridge and incinerate the lower end of Manhattan with a ship filled with natural gas. Everyone in the room seemed stunned, even those who were aware of her crimes.

  “I think that’s about it for my questions,” Karp said. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”

  Smiling, Malovo shook her head. “That wasn’t enough? But no, not at this time, though perhaps someday we will have the opportunity to speak again.”

  “Only if you want to take the witness stand at your trial,” Karp replied.

  “What trial?” Malovo sneered, her eyes glittering, whether with anger or glee he wasn’t sure. “You will have to live with the knowledge that I am enjoying my new life, tucked away in some quiet little American town. Perhaps I will have a husband and get a dog.”

  “We both know that will never happen,” Karp replied without emotion.

  Malovo’s eyes glimmered even brighter, and there was no mistaking the hatred in them. But she smiled again. “There is one thing,” she said. “A small gesture to you. And that is to warn you that you and your family are in danger.”