“Butler said you’re investigating me. Why?”
“You like to bet on sports, Wayne?”
“Just the football pool.” Haskel seemed to be sobering up fast. Fear did that. “Someone accuse me of illegal betting? Who?”
“Not betting, Wayne. Paying off bets with information.”
“What?” Haskel seemed relieved. “That’s bullshit! Who told you that?”
Minorini heard a slight scuffing sound, a shoe scraping on the pavement as its wearer pivoted. He and Haskel turned in unison. Butler stepped into view like a B-movie character, complete with 9-mm pistol.
Minorini was momentarily at a loss. “Butler?”
Butler pointed the gun at Haskel. “Paul’s put together a very nice case against you, Wayne. Your weapon, please.”
Suddenly stone sober, Haskel looked at Minorini. “What did I do?”
“You gave Joanne Lessing to Dossi.”
“You’re full of shit!” His breath puffed out like a silent shout. “How—What kind of crap is that?”
Butler said, “Agent Haskel, give me your gun.”
“Why did you kill Wilson?” Minorini asked.
Haskel reached for his weapon. “Video games.”
Butler said, “Slowly!”
“The phone records, Wayne,” Minorini said. “Dossi called you.”
Haskel looked incredulous. Then Minorini could see him start to put it together. He glared at Butler. Instead of handing him the gun he pointed it. At Butler.
Butler fired.
The report was deafening. The range was so close Butler couldn’t have missed.
Haskel looked startled. Blood began to seep from a hole below his collar bone.
Minorini took advantage of his distraction to step forward and take his gun. He held it out where Butler could see it. “Don’t shoot, Butler.”
Haskel coughed. His eyes widened—fear. But not of Minorini.
Minorini looked at Butler, still pointing his gun at Haskel. “I’ve got his gun.”
The gun in Butler’s hand wobbled slightly, as if he was trying to aim but found it too heavy for accuracy. “He was going to shoot you.”
Minorini spun Haskel’s gun in his hand, slipping his finger through the guard.
Butler fired. Haskel jerked as the bullet struck.
“At least we know we’ve got the leak plugged,” Butler said.
Everything was suddenly clear. Butler, not Haskel, had gotten in over his head! “You—”
Butler’s gun was pointing at Minorini now. Minorini had a sudden epiphany about Joanne’s dilemma. He pointed the gun at Butler and fired. The noise slammed his eardrums and reverberated around the garage.
Butler looked surprised. He stared at the bright red fluid leaking from a hole in his chest. Then he dropped to the floor. The gun clattered to the pavement and skittered under a car. Butler didn’t move.
Minorini felt Haskel’s neck for a carotid pulse and failed to find one. Haskel’s eyes were fixed and dilated. Minorini closed them and began to recite every obscenity he’d ever known.
When the enormity of what he’d done hit him, he groaned. He put the gun in Haskel’s hand and aimed it at the car behind Butler’s remains. He put Haskel’s dead finger over the trigger and squeezed. Then he took the weapon, grasping it by the slide, and put it on the floor.
He was sitting on the floor, holding Haskel’s head on his lap, when the first officers on the scene came to lead him away.
Fifty-Five
“Agent Minorini, there’s a call for you.”
“Take a message.”
“The woman’s called three times this afternoon. She sounds worried.”
“Who is it?”
“Joanne Lessing.”
He’d been watching a Chicago detective and two special agents sweat the sports bookmaker. It wasn’t much of a job. Once he was sure Butler couldn’t retaliate, the bookie had been happy to talk. He’d sold Butler’s debt to a private party. It hadn’t been a face-to-face meet, but he understood the ultimate recipient of Butler’s marker was Gianni Dossi. And with recent events, he figured Butler’d got his marker back.
Minorini told the secretary, “Thanks. I’ll take it in my office.”
The Chicago cops had kept him all night. They did let him wash the blood off. And one of the detectives escorted him upstairs to change his clothes—so they could confiscate what he’d been wearing—before they took him to Area 1 Detective Headquarters. They also took his gun.
They kept asking the same questions. He kept repeating what he’d told the first officers on the scene: Butler had set Haskel up to look like the leak in a recent investigation and the fall guy in Minorini’s own murder. Why? Because Minorini was about to discover Butler was in the bag for the mob. We’ll check that out. Please do. What was Minorini’s connection to Haskel? Partners for the last six months. So sorry for your loss.
Minorini had been through it before—from the other side.
When they finally let him go, he’d headed back to 219 South Dearborn, where the ninth and tenth floors resembled a torn-open fire ants’ nest. The Special Agent in charge of the Chicago office demanded to see him first. After he laid the same case out for him that he had for Butler, substituting Butler for Haskel as the bad guy, he’d added what he learned from the answer man. He had to repeat the story for the US Attorney, three US Marshals, and half a dozen special agents. He would also have to talk to Internal Affairs in the next day or so. In the meantime, he was on paid leave—not suspended unless they found something incriminating. He wondered what they’d make of Joanne. He didn’t care.
“Minorini.”
“Paul, it’s Joanne. I just heard the news. Are you all right?”
“I’ll live.”
“I’m sorry about Agent Haskel.”
“Yeah.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Spend the night with me.”
She hesitated. “I have to pick Sean up at O’Hare.”
“You got your car back?”
“No. I was going to take the Blue Line out there, and we can get the Air Transport bus home.”
“Let me drive you. What time’s his flight? And what time do you get off?”
“I’m off at four. His flight’s at 8:30 if it’s on time.”
“I’ll pick you up at four.”
They went to Paul’s place. They were scarcely in the door before he was on her, kissing her with a ferocity and hunger that were frightening. He said, “I need you,” and demonstrated by tearing off their shoes and coats, shedding his jacket and tie, fumbling in his fervor to undo her snaps and zippers.
When he had her naked, he pushed her onto the rug and began to kiss and nip her with an intensity that was less than gentle. He was overwhelming, touching her, tasting her, pushing his tongue then his fingers in her mouth and between her legs. He spread her arms and legs and went down on her. Frantically. Then he thrust his fingers in and played her until she cried, “Oh, God, Paul!”
He thrust himself inside and started banging her until she had to bite her wrist to keep from screaming from pain and ecstasy. She wrapped him with her arms and legs and squeezed…
Afterward, he lay on top of her for a long time, face averted, supporting his weight on his forearms. When he rolled off, she felt the pang of loss. He lay facing her with his head resting on his outstretched arm, looking somewhere distant. Tears leaked from his eyes.
She reached over to wipe them with a fingertip. “Was he a close friend?”
Paul looked at her. “No, but I got him killed.”
“We’ve all got twenty-twenty hindsight.”
“And I killed Butler.”
“Give it time. The pain fades.”
“You speaking from experience?”
She drew a quick breath, not quite a gasp, then paused, then said, “Yes.”
He didn’t press her to explain. He pulled her to her feet and sat her on the couch. She folded her arms tightly ac
ross her chest and drew her legs up in front of her. She felt weird, sitting there, naked, watching him tuck in his shirt and zip his fly. He kissed her on the forehead, and she realized—for the first time since she’d met him—he was unarmed.
“What happened to your gun?”
“Chicago Police have it.”
“Did you have to—?”
He looked at her—naked and vulnerable. Maybe he would tell her. Some day.
He shook his head. “Standard procedure whenever there’s a shooting.”
His laptop was next to the coffee table. He said “Excuse me a minute,” and lifted it up and turned it on.
She nodded. She got up and picked up her clothes and headed for the john.
He typed the commands to delete the hidden files he’d compiled on the Dossi case, files detailing his suspicions about Joanne. It wouldn’t be enough. Sooner or later, I.A. would ask to see his laptop. They’d look for deleted files. He opened the folder titled FLU and scanned the filenames. I LOVE U was too obvious, most of the others too benign. He finally settled on an obscure virus that he knew would keep rewriting gibberish on his hard drive until he reformatted it. Two or three rewrites and it would be safe to wipe the drive and reload his original software. The geeks could spend the rest of his lifetime trying to reconstruct his files. Joanne would be safe.
They’d just passed the junction on the Kennedy when Paul said, “You’re awfully quiet.”
“I feel like a death row inmate who’s been suddenly reprieved.”
“Funny, you don’t act like it. Lighten up.” He tilted his head to look at her. “You sure that’s all?”
She smiled. “Maybe a little of it’s…I’ll miss you.”
He looked as if he were trying to decipher the thoughts behind her confession. “You don’t have to,” he said quietly.
“Is that a proposal?”
“Yes.”
“What brought about your change of mind?”
“Only women can change their minds?” He held her gaze until she was afraid he’d crash the car.
She blushed and smiled wryly. “You don’t know me.”
“Who of us ever knows anyone? At least I know you don’t snore. Or hang your unmentionables around the house.”
He was laughing at her reservations. A week ago, she’d have given…But that was in another lifetime.
“Why don’t you come with us to my mother’s for Christmas—get to know the family? You might change your mind back.”
Why had she said that? A death wish?
He glanced at her, then back at the highway. “Is that a yes?”
“A definite maybe.”
“Sure, if it wouldn’t put your mother out too much.”
“She won’t be happy until I’m married again. She’ll be delighted.”
She wondered why he’d changed his mind. Surely not just because she was no longer a witness. He must know! Before this whole thing, he’d said he thought she was an innocent. He couldn’t still think so. It must be that he knew who killed Dossi and didn’t care. Or maybe losing a friend had made him rethink his priorities.
The idea that Joanne was a murderer didn’t disturb him as it should. He wanted her, wanted to make children with her. He didn’t wonder what kind of mother she would make. He knew she was a great mother—Sean was proof, a mother who would kill to keep her kids safe. And she was a lover to die for…
Sean’s plane was delayed an hour, and when it finally pulled up at the gate, he was one of the first off. He almost knocked Joanne over in his hurry to hug her. Then he noticed Minorini and said, “I guess my ma’s not a witness any more.”
“You ever thought of a career as a detective?”
After Paul dropped them at the house, when they were settled in the living room with mugs of hot cocoa, Sean recounted his adventures in the keys. “What happened while I was gone?”
“I fell in love.”
“Oh. OH!” He thought about it, looking confused, then said, “Congratulations. I think.”
“Paul’s coming to the farm with us for Christmas. What do you think of that?”
“I dunno. It’s all right, I guess. You gonna marry him?”
“Do you mind?”
“Naw. I’ll be going away to school in a couple years. I’m not gonna be around to take care of you forever.”
Fifty-Six
When Minorini arrived at the Lessings’s the morning they’d agreed to leave for the farm, there was no car in the carport. Joanne had told him she’d gotten it back, so he had to wonder.
Sean looked relieved to see him when he opened the door. “Mom went to the police station,” he said. “They called and said they really needed to talk to her about that guy that got shot.”
“Did they threaten to arrest her?”
“I don’t think so, but she didn’t think she had a choice about going.”
That’s how they did it. They didn’t have to read you your rights if you weren’t in custody.
“I’ll go check it out.”
The dispatcher buzzed Minorini into the back of the station and told him where to find Detective Gray. Gray was standing in the hall outside the interview room.
“I was just about to interrogate a suspect,” he said. “Care to watch?”
Gray watched Minorini closely as he stepped aside to let him see the suspect. Joanne was sitting inside, behind the two-way mirror. He’d expected it. He tried to keep his expression neutral, interested but not personally involved. There wasn’t anything he could do in any case. He’d warned her. He was sure she’d got the point. What she did next was up to her. He’d be seen as complicit if he protested. Maybe also if she gave it up, but certainly if he interfered.
And he wanted to see if she had the right stuff. She could do the crime, but could she live with it? Could she live with the accusation? If not, maybe she wasn’t the one for him. It was a crap-shoot, but he felt lucky. He felt like he’d picked the right lottery numbers. He smiled and told Gray, “Have at it.”
Gray seemed almost disappointed, but he just nodded and went into the room. Joanne had seemed curiously calm, not a good sign since it was commonplace that only the guilty are comfortable in custody. Now she looked wary.
Gray said, “Sorry to keep you waiting so long, Ms. Lessing.”
She shrugged. “What’s this about?”
“I’d like to ask you where you were the night Gianni Dossi was shot. You remember the date.”
“Are you asking me if I killed Mr. Dossi?”
“Did you?”
“Am I under arrest?”
“No.”
“Why would you ask me such a thing?”
“We’ve got a list of people with a reason to want Dossi dead. We’re trying to narrow it down by eliminating whoever we can.”
“I see. And if I had killed him—somehow—you think I’d admit it to you?”
Gray didn’t say anything.
Joanne stood up. “I’d like to go now.”
On the other side of the mirror, Minorini was saying, “Yes!”
He knew that men of integrity would never condone what she had done, even to save their lives. But he’d been with the Bureau too long to have such scruples. What she’d done—though premeditated—was closer to the spirit of self-defense than Haskel’s “justified” shooting of Wilson. And not even in the same ballpark as what Butler, or Minorini himself, had done. Furthermore, her action would cost her far more dearly. She’d never go to jail, but she’d have it hanging over her the rest of her life.
As soon as she was out the door Gray said, “You and I both know she must’ve done it.”
“Why? Because she benefited and we don’t have a viable suspect?”
“We don’t have any other suspect.”
“Impossible!”
“Why? She’s a hunter—you’ve seen her pictures. She’s a crack shot. I talked to two or three people she went to high school with—they all said so. And she has the best motive there is.”
“Yeah, but both of her brothers told me she never hunted with a gun—except once, when her old man dragged her along and she screwed up the hunt for everyone.”
“What is it? You got a thing for her? Why? ’Cause she’s the struggling single mom? Or ’cause you’d like to get in her pants?”
“She’s just the last in a long line of innocents the Bureau’s fucked over. And she’s raised her kid to be a nice, decent human being in spite of his having a jag-off for an old man. I don’t think she needs any more grief. Especially for something you haven’t any evidence she had anything to do with.”
“You took her to the morgue,” Gray said. “Why?”
“To ID Siano’s shooter. You’ve been tailing me. Why?”
“I’d give a month’s pay to have seen her reaction. She pass out? Or laugh? Or ask if she should get a lawyer?”
“None of the above.”
“And based on ‘none of the above’ you’re prepared to vouch for her?”
Minorini didn’t answer.
“You stayed pretty late after you took her home,” Gray said.
“Am I a suspect too?”
“You got an alibi?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. And she was in the custody of a US Marshal.”
“Carver, wasn’t it? Funny. Half a dozen members of the delivery room staff told me he was with his wife delivering their baby when Dossi was blown away.”
Damn, he was good! “Okay, but proving Lessing hasn’t got an alibi’s a long way from proving she did the hit. It would, however, put a poor SOB with a family to support out of work.”
“That’s the only reason you’d lie about Lessing’s alibi?”
Minorini relaxed inwardly. “I’ve known Carver since I came to Chicago, and he’s a straight shooter. As soon as he heard about Dossi, he told me what he’d done. I didn’t even think about it. I told him, since Lessing wasn’t hurt, no harm no foul. Just keep his mouth shut and forget it.”
“You didn’t tell him to lie if anyone asked?”
“Suborning perjury isn’t part of my job description.”
The Fall Page 21