The Same Mistake Twice
Page 11
He pointed at the bulky bandage on his son’s thigh. He knew the bandage concealed ten stitches.
“How’d you do that? Didn’t get a chance to ask.”
His wife had dragged him to the lobby to vent her fury.
“Skateboarding.”
“At midnight?”
“Mom doesn’t care what I do.”
“Yeah, she does. She’s got a lot on her mind. That’s partly my fault.”
The boy gave one of those shrugs that kids seem to know will provoke their parents to rage. Tillotson told himself to breathe.
“I have to go to work for a while. Some bad guys need catching.”
His son shrugged again. He had heard those words before, too.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tillotson came, and she left him alone in the kitchen with Paul. Their low voices brought back memories even older than her hooking career, of priest and penitent in the confessional. It wasn’t far from the truth.
Tillotson lingered after the uniforms had handcuffed Paul and led him away.
“No hard feelings?”
“There shouldn’t be, since I did your job for you again.”
His smile seemed real.
“I guess I earned that.”
The smile vanished.
“We’re not going to get Rebecca Grogan for Epstein, though.”
“Or anything else. I just remembered. I did invite her to come over for a palaver.”
“You just remembered.”
“That’s right.”
Tillotson showed her the palm of his hand.
“Don’t tell me. And whatever happens, if it has your fingerprints on it, I’ll have to come after you. Understand?”
As soon as he left, weariness felled her like a club from behind. She stumbled to her bed and stretched out. She told herself it was only for a moment, but the next thing she saw was gray light coming through her bedroom window. She struggled to a sitting position on the edge of the mattress and felt for the floor with her feet. She had to get out of the house before Rennert’s man came for her.
She didn’t even take time to brush her teeth. If her morning breath offended anyone, it wasn’t her problem.
Gary Rennert himself answered the door. It wasn’t yet six o’clock, but he had already dressed in a white shirt, the trousers to a dark gray suit, and a solid blue tie. He stepped aside to let her come in.
“Your son didn’t kill anyone,” she told him. “He’s a coward and a bully, but he’s not a killer.”
“Thank you.”
He didn’t invite her past the foyer. She could have used a little more enthusiasm from him, but she needed him for something else.
“Rebecca is, though.”
She explained about Phil Epstein.
“That explains a lot,” said Rennert. “I wondered what happened to him. But I told myself there were a lot of reasons for a man like Epstein to disappear.”
“You told me you know how to get rough. This might be the time to do it.”
He considered her words.
“You know, ’Justice for Phil Epstein’ is not the most stirring slogan I ever heard. Not after the money he cost me.”
Diana started to say, “What about justice for me?” But the words fled her mind.
The check, she thought.
She might still be able to do this the right way.
Someone must have cashed Rennert’s check, or he would have known ten years earlier that something had gone wrong. James hadn’t lived long enough to go to the bank. Neither had Epstein, probably. Rebecca had taken Epstein’s wallet off his body. She must have found the check and forged James Zakrewsky’s signature. Maybe she had enlisted her son to pose as the dead boy.
Diana’s excitement lasted only a moment. The check sounded like proof to her, but she knew Rebecca and had heard the woman’s confession, which Rebecca would never repeat. Would a skeptical prosecutor base a murder case on a forged signature and not much else? Did the check still exist? Would Gary Rennert testify that he had written it and given it to Epstein to pass on to James?
She looked at Rennert and realized that he knew what she was thinking. And she understood that he would not take the witness stand and admit what he had done to hide his son’s crime. Rebecca’s punishment would depend on what Gary Rennert felt she deserved.
“She’s a loose cannon,” he said. “I should have realized that years ago.”
He shook his head.
“First I was wrong about my son, then about Rebecca. I just didn’t want to see it. It’s not like me to make the same mistake twice.”
“How will you handle it?”
“The only thing I can do. Make life hell for her. I hope you can live with that.”
“Look at me.”
Her sharp tone surprised them both. It gave her a perverse pleasure when he obeyed.
“What do you see?”
She challenged him with her eyes.
Call me a whore. I dare you.
“I see a realist,” he said.
“Then you don’t need to ask.”
END