MD03 - Criminal Intent
Page 33
“Ward will argue she killed him because she was upset about the miscarriage,” Rosie says. “The will, the prenup and the life insurance may be irrelevant.”
“Do you think she did it?”
“No, I don’t.” Her eyes turn to brown steel. “You can bet Ward does.”
I try to offer some hope. “Crown is back in the mix. He was angry about the miscarriage.”
“Angry enough to kill?”
“Maybe. What about his wife? She was there. Maybe she helped him.”
Rosie is still skeptical. “You think they did it together?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he did it by himself and she helped him clean up the mess. It wouldn’t have been the first time.”
She isn’t buying it. “They left before Little Richard and Kent.”
“So they say. Maybe they came back.”
“There’s no evidence they did.”
“Kaela Joy said a car came to the house a few minutes before three.”
“We have no evidence it was Crown and his wife. And even if they did, why would they have framed Angel?”
“Maybe she was the only one around.”
“If one or both of them drove Angel to the bridge in Big Dick’s car, how did they get back to the house to get their car?”
“Maybe he drove her to the bridge and she picked him up. Maybe he walked back.”
Rosie is exasperated. “Our client just admitted her husband hit her in the stomach and caused her to have a miscarriage. It doesn’t just give Crown motive. It gives her motive, too.”
We finish our coffee in silence.
We leave Sylvia’s house at six. I take Rosie back to the hospital and then head for home to change clothes. I’m working on my second consecutive all-nighter and my hands are shaking as I’m driving across the Golden Gate Bridge. Angel’s attempted suicide is the lead story on the radio. I hear Ward say she plans to proceed with the prosecution as expeditiously as possible, notwithstanding the circumstances. She just lost my vote.
I walk into my apartment at six-forty-five. I hop into the shower and try to wash away the exhaustion. The room is spinning when I get out. I notice the flashing light on the answering machine in my bedroom. I punch the button and listen to a familiar voice. “Mr. Daley, Jerry Edwards of the San Francisco Chronicle. We were looking for a comment on your client’s suicide attempt.” He pauses and adds, “We understand she was pregnant and that the father of the baby was Daniel Crown.” He leaves a phone number.
The next voice I hear is Tony’s. “I just wanted to be sure you’re coming to my meeting with Armando Rios at nine.” I walk into the kitchen and start pouring water into my coffee pot. On top of everything else, I have to be at Rios’s office less than three hours from now.
*****
Chapter 34
“I Want to be Sure the Same Thing Doesn’t Happen to Me”
“I’m a respected businessman in this community. I provide legitimate services to my clients.”
— Armando Rios. Mornings on Two. Tuesday, June 8. 7:00 a.m.
“What’s this all about?” Armando Rios asks Tony. Rios’s self-confidence turns into measured incredulity when he adds, “First you tell me you want to see me privately. Then you bring along a crowd that could fill AT&T Park.”
It’s nine a.m. Rosie decided to stay at San Francisco General with Angel. Tony, Rolanda and I are standing in a semi-circle in Rios’s office on the second floor of a restored turn-of-the-century Victorian at Eighteenth and Guerrero. Rios is a slight man in his late forties with a gleaming tan and beautifully-coiffed silver hair that matches his three-piece Wilkes-Bashford suit. Business casual is not appropriate attire for political operatives. We accept his offer of coffee. Then he takes a seat behind his antique mahogany desk. Tony sits in the chair across from him. Rolanda and I find spots on the soft leather sofa.
Tony folds his arms and says, “We need to talk.”
Rios scans our faces. “With all due respect, why are your relatives here?”
“They’re my lawyers.”
Rios studies a photo of his grandchildren on his credenza. Then he gives Tony a melodramatic frown and says, “You have a lot of lawyers.”
“I like to avoid legal problems.”
“And why is Dennis Alvarez sitting in a police car outside my front door?”
“He has an interest in this, too.” Tony leans forward and says, “We need to discuss what happened at Roberto Pena’s store.”
Rios answers quickly, “It was a terrible accident. I’ve asked some people in the neighborhood to help him out.” Although he has lived in the U.S. since he was a child, he still has the trace of an accent.
“It was arson,” Tony says.
“I don’t know anything about it. I understand they’ve initiated an investigation.”
Tony’s voice stays perfectly even when he says, “I want to be sure the same thing doesn’t happen to me.”
Rios’s feigned indignation gives way to the polished politician’s smile. He glances at a photo of a Little League team that he sponsored and says, “Tony, we go back a long way.” His accent may be Hispanic, but his inflection is straight out of The Godfather. “I gave you the respect of inviting you to my office. You are not returning it. You are treating me as if I’m some sort of criminal.”
Tony hasn’t moved. His arms remain folded tightly against his chest. His eyes are fixed on Rios. They’ve known each other for four decades. Tony knows when he’s being bullshitted. He lowers his voice and asks, “Are you, Armando?”
The phony smile disappears. “No.”
Their eyes lock. Tony says, “We had a deal, Armando.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You paid me twenty grand and I agreed to support the China Basin project. I paid half of it to the Democratic steering committee. You were supposed to make sure nobody got in trouble. I kept my side of the bargain. You didn’t keep yours.”
Rios’s grin makes another appearance. He gives me a quick glance and then returns his gaze toward Tony. His voice is soothing when he says, “My recollection is a little different, Tony. One of my clients asked for assistance in obtaining support for the studio project. I called upon you to help us. My client agreed to reimburse you for your time in an amount equal to ten thousand dollars. The reimbursement was paid. Our business is now concluded.”
Tony doesn’t like being patronized. “No, it isn’t,” he snaps. “The cops came to see me. You were supposed to make sure that didn’t happen. They know all about it, Armando. They knew all about you.”
Rios doesn’t flinch. He says in a measured tone, “I’ve given my statement to the police. They’ve made some baseless accusations about illegal political contributions.”
“Which you denied.”
“Of course I did, Tony. They weren’t true.” His face turns serious when he adds, “I’m a reputable businessman. Everything I do is subject to scrutiny. My reputation will be ruined if I break the rules. I can’t afford to let that happen.” He pulls a long Cuban cigar out of a humidor and caresses it with his fingers. “If the accusations were true, I would have been arrested.”
I can feel my heart start to beat faster. It’s one thing to arrange bribes. It’s another to look your lifelong friend in the eye and taunt him. It’s as if he’s saying, “Catch me if you can.”
Rolanda gives him an icy stare. Then she says, “Your luck is going to run out, Armando. You can’t burn down every store to cover your tracks. You can’t intimidate every business in the neighborhood. Somebody is going to point the finger at you.”
His tone remains patronizing. “I provide services to my clients,” he says. “They pay me to make sure they don’t get in trouble.”
“You didn’t do a very good job in my case,” Tony says.
Rios doesn’t respond.
Rolanda shakes her head. “Work with us,” she says. “Work with the police.”
Rolanda isn’t letting up. “Dennis Alvarez says they’ll give you immunity. They want to know who’s bankrolling this deal.”
Rios remains adamant. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Armando,” Tony says, “I came to you because we’ve been friends since we were kids. You can stop this before somebody gets hurt.” He pauses and emphasizes every syllable when he adds, “Next time, somebody is going to get killed.”
“There won’t be a next time. I regret there was a fire at Roberto’s store. I hope it wasn’t arson. In any event, I had nothing to do with it.”
Rolanda can’t contain herself any longer. “That’s bullshit,” she says. “Next you’ll say you had nothing to do with the pictures that were delivered to my father’s store.”
Rios glances at Rolanda and then shoots a confused look at Tony. “What pictures?”
Rolanda answers for him. “Pictures of me. Somebody has been following me, Armando. Somebody is threatening us. We need you to tell us who it is.”
Tony shows Rios copies of the photos. Rios is visibly troubled. His smug demeanor transforms into one of ashen seriousness. “Do you have any idea who took these?” he asks.
Tony’s eyes are equally somber. “We were hoping you could tell us.”
Rios swallows hard. “I can’t.”
Rolanda’s patience has run out. “You mean you won’t,” she says.
Rios puts down the cigar and says, “I mean I don’t know.”
Rolanda’s voice goes up a half-octave when she says, “What are you talking about?”
The posturing is over. Rios’s face turns deathly serious. “I don’t know who is responsible for the fire at Roberto’s store. And I don’t know who took these pictures.”
“Why should we believe you?” she asks.
“I’ve known your father since we were children. I was at your baptism.” He lowers his voice and adds, “I was a pallbearer at your mother’s funeral.” He lets out a large sigh and adds, “And because it’s the truth.”
“Then you’ll have to find out who’s responsible.”
“I can’t.”
Tony stands up and thunders, “So you expect us to take the risk? These people are following us, Armando. Whoever is doing this is going to kill someone.”
“There’s nothing I can do.”
Tony jabs a finger straight into his face and says, “Do you remember what Coach Nava used to tell us when we played basketball at the Y?”
“He told us a lot of things.”
“But do you remember what he told us to do when somebody started fucking with us?”
“I don’t recall.”
“He said to give them a hard elbow right in the middle of their chest. If they did it again, they knew they were going to get something coming back at them.”
“I’m not fucking with you, Tony.”
“Yes you are, Armando. You wear your fancy suit and your gold cufflinks. You sit in your big office and drink your cappuccinos. You get favors from your buddy the mayor and you arrange for kickbacks from Vegas developers.” Tony takes a deep breath and says, “To me, you’re still just another asshole from the neighborhood. If you fuck with me and my family, I’ll nail you right in the chest. I want you to give your thugs a message. The police are going to follow them everywhere they go. We have protection—they don’t. If your animals come after us, we’re going to nail them—and you. Do you understand?”
“I had nothing to do with these photos,” Rios says.
“I don’t believe you. And even if I did, I’m holding you personally responsible. If anything happens to Rolanda or me, the same thing is going to happen to you.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.” Tony lowers his voice and says, “I can’t believe this, Armando. When we were growing up, this neighborhood was like a big family. People looked after each other. They didn’t threaten their friends’ children. They didn’t burn down their neighbors’ businesses.” Tony points a long finger at Rios. “I don’t know you anymore. You used to be a stand-p guy. I used to look up to you because you became a lawyer and made something of yourself. You used to say you fought for the little guy. Now you’re part of the problem. You’re as corrupt as the system you used to fight. I’m glad your parents are not alive to see what you’ve become, Armando.”
Rios takes in Tony’s diatribe with stoicism. He fingers his cigar and looks out the windows at the traffic on Guerrero Street. Then he looks at his old friend and says in a barely-audible whisper, “What would you have me do?”
Tony glances at Rolanda, who says, “Work with us. Tell the police who is funding the payoffs. Tell them to call off the thugs.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Immunity from prosecution and an opportunity to spin the story any way you’d like.”
Tony glances at the pictures of Rios’s grandchildren on the credenza and adds, “And you may be able to reclaim your self-respect.”
Rios frowns. “And if I choose not to cooperate?”
Tony turns somber. “You’d better have eyes in the back of your head, because I won’t let you sleep until I find out who threatened us. Dennis Alvarez will give me a police escort to the Hall of Justice, where I’ll swear out a complaint that you’ve solicited bribes and arranged for the fire at Roberto’s store.”
“You have no proof. I have lawyers. The cases will be dismissed within hours.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll call Jerry Edwards at the Chronicle and give him an exclusive interview. I’ll tell him everything I know, Armando. I may even bring him over here and we’ll tape an interview for Mornings on Tworight in front of this building.”
Rios remains stoic. “You’ll make a fool of yourself and I’ll be exonerated.”
“And you can kiss your career goodbye. The mayor will distance himself from you. Nobody at City Hall will speak to you. An expediter without connections is worthless. You may have to go out and get a real job.”
Rios sits in irate silence. Tony’s face is red with anger. Rolanda clenches and unclenches her fist.
I observe the dynamics for a few moments. Then I try to strike a conciliatory tone. “The cops aren’t after you, Armando,” I say. “They’ll protect you if you cut a deal now. Things could change in a hurry if you wait.”
“My lawyers will protect me.”
I fire right back, “They can’t protect you from the people who burned down Roberto’s store.”
Silence. Rios puts the cigar into the humidor. I look at Tony, who is still leaning forward. I turn to Rios and say, “Armando, you know the bottom line. Somebody is going to get hurt. Somebody is going to go to jail. If you work with us, you can cut a deal. You can try to control the spin. You might even look like a hero.” I lean back to give him a moment to think. Then I add, “It all comes down to a matter of trust.”
Rios ponders for a moment. He punches a button on his phone and tells his secretary to hold his calls. He goes over to his wet bar and pours himself a cup of coffee. Then he returns to his chair and sits down. We wait. He stares out the window. He tugs at his neatly-trimmed mustache. Finally, he measures his words carefully when he says, “I want you to understand something. The arrangements I made to obtain support for the China Basin project involved an exchange of rather modest sums. They did not at any time include the possibility of violence or intimidation. I do not condone such tactics or threats directed at my friends or their children. I don’t do business that way and I never will.”
His attempt at self-exoneration is heartfelt—and completely irrelevant. I say, “We need more than an apology. We need information. Who ordered the fire at the liquor store?”
The corners of his mouth turn down. “I don’t know.”
“Who sent the photos to Tony?”
“I told you. I—don’t—know.”
“That’s bullshit, Armando”
Ro
landa leans forward and says, “Somebody is going to get killed, Armando. You can stop this now or you can take your chances with Carl Ellis or Dominic Petrillo or young Richard MacArthur or whoever else is calling the shots. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes if you decide to play ball with them.”
“I have no control over the people who are involved in this matter,” he says. “I have no idea who arranged for the fire at Roberto’s store.”