After I let him out into the backyard, I headed for the stairs leading up to our bedroom, where Evie would be sleeping on her belly, hugging her pillow, but would want to hear all about my adventures, so I’d drop my clothes right there on the floor and slide onto the bed beside her and lift her hair away from her neck and nuzzle her throat and stroke her hip until she moaned and mumbled and rolled onto her side…
I stopped with one foot on the bottom step. Evie was gone. Our bed upstairs was cold and empty.
For a moment I’d forgotten, and it felt good. For that moment I felt complete again.
I woke up a little after nine on Friday morning and had a moment of panic. Julie was going to kill me for being late.
Then I remembered that I’d declared an Office Holiday, a four-day weekend for the busy law practice of Brady L. Coyne, Esquire.
When I went downstairs and let Henry into the backyard, I saw that Roger Horowitz was sitting at the picnic table. He was wearing his brown suit and reading a paperback book.
Twenty-nine
HENRY WENT OVER AND sat beside him so that Horowitz could scratch his ears.
“Breaking and entering,” I said.
He looked up at me. “I entered,” he said, “but I didn’t break. You gotta get that lock fixed.” He jerked his thumb at the door in the garden wall that opened to the alley.
“Been here long?”
“Started to worry,” he said. “You slept late.”
“Want some coffee? It’s all brewed.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
I fetched two mugs of coffee, took them out, and sat across from him.
He took a sip, then cocked his head and looked at me. “Your nose is all swollen. Your eyes, too. How’re you feeling? How’s the hand?”
“Good,” I said. “I feel good.”
“Sleep okay?”
“Took a couple aspirin.” I smiled. “Nice of you to come all the way to my house to see how I was feeling.”
“Sure,” he said. “What are friends for?” A manila envelope lay on the table by his elbow. He opened it and slid out about a dozen eight-by-ten black-and-white photographs. They were mug shots. “Recognize any of these guys?”
They were men in their twenties and thirties. Two African Americans, one Asian, one Hispanic, the rest Caucasians. Several of the white guys had moles on their faces. I pointed at one of them. “Him,” I said. “Mole-face Louie. He’s Paulie Russo’s enforcer. The one who gave me the kidney punch. He beat the crap out of Dalt Lancaster. Robert, too. The one, I assume, whose face was delivered to me in a shoe box.”
Horowitz nodded. “His name’s Malatesta. We can’t find him.”
“That’s because he’s dead,” I said.
“I know. Point is, we can’t track him down. Russo says he hasn’t seen him for a couple days, doesn’t know where he is. That’s what everybody says. We got no leads, no corpus delecti, no nothing.”
“Corpus delecti.” I smiled.
“It means delicious corpse.”
“I doubt it,” I said.
He slid the photos back into the envelope. “I just wanted to be sure we were talking about the same guy.”
“He’s under a concrete foundation in Southie or chained to four cement blocks on the bottom of the harbor channel,” I said.
Horowitz shrugged. “I’m sure you’re right.”
“I assumed this was Mendoza’s case,” I said. “She’s the one who’s got the face in the shoe box.”
“Member of the Russo family? Everybody’s case. Feds’re interested, too. We’re all trying to cooperate.” He took a swig of beer. “They’re saying Robert Lancaster will be moved out of intensive care this afternoon or tomorrow morning. I imagine you’ll want to visit him.”
“Of course,” I said. “He’s my client, also my friend. I care about his health and his well-being.”
“About what time do you think you might go?”
I shrugged. “Midafternoon tomorrow, I guess.”
“I’ll meet you there at three.”
After Horowitz left, I pulled on a pair of hiking boots and left my cell phone on the kitchen table, and Henry and I drove to Bolton Flats.
Henry had a long rambling run. He flushed a pair of mallards from the brook, a few meadowlarks from the fields, one bobolink from a patch of briars, and dozens of robins and sparrows and red-winged blackbirds from the bushes.
Yesterday’s rain had washed the clouds out of the June sky. The air tasted clean, and I felt good. I had a long muscle-stretching walk and managed not to think about much of anything except the sweetness of the air in my nostrils and the honesty of the sweat on my forehead.
We stopped at a farmstand at Nine-Acre Corner in Concord on the way back, and I bought a loaf of rosemary-and-olive bread, two pints of strawberries, and three bunches of fresh-picked local asparagus.
I ate hunks of bread dipped in olive oil, roasted asparagus spears drenched in butter and drizzled with melted Vermont cheddar, and strawberries sprinkled with brown sugar. If Evie had been there, she would’ve insisted that we have slices of chicken breast and a salad of spring greens with the bread and asparagus, and she would surely have whipped some cream and baked some shortcake for the strawberries. But Evie wasn’t there.
After dinner, Henry and I watched the ball game in the living room, and I fell asleep on the sofa.
Robert had a private room on the second floor of the Addison Gilbert Hospital in Gloucester. He was sleeping when I got there a little before two on Saturday afternoon. Aside from an IV drip, all of the other tubes and wires had been removed from his body.
I pulled a chair up beside him and poked his shoulder.
His eyes blinked, then opened. He turned his head and looked at me. “Hey,” he said. “Brady.”
“How’re you feeling?”
“Not so bad. Tired, mainly.”
“Ready to tell me all about it?”
“I guess so.”
“Do you want me to act as your lawyer?”
He blinked. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“You tell me.”
He looked at me for a minute, then nodded. “I guess I might.”
“All right,” I said. “You got me. Lieutenant Horowitz will be here in a while. He’s with the state police. He needs to talk to you. But first I want you to tell me your story.”
He nodded. “Where do you want me to start?”
“That time we met at Dunkin’ Donuts, you promised me you’d talk to your family,” I said. “Instead you disappeared. Start there.”
“My first thought, honest to God, was, join the army, go to Iraq.”
“Of course,” I said. “Get yourself blown up. Solve everything.”
“Well,” he said, “it would’ve, right?” He waved his hand in the air. “I couldn’t face my father. I wanted to get it taken care of without him knowing what I’d done. I didn’t want to disappoint him. That was probably stupid, but it’s what I was thinking. I was pretty panicked. So I called Uncle Mike.”
“Your father’s best friend,” I said.
Robert shrugged. “I felt I could trust him. He was the only one I thought I could trust. He always treated me like a man, not a kid. I told him I was in trouble, needed his help.” Robert smiled. “He said sure, anything. We got together, and when I told him that I owed those people a lot of money and I was afraid they’d come and beat me up or maybe kill me, he said he’d take me to his boat. I could hide out there, be safe until we figured out what to do. I made him promise not to say anything to my father.”
“And he suggested you tap your grandmother for the money.”
Robert nodded.
“That was Mike’s idea?”
“Yes. But I went along with it. She’s got tons of money. I figured if she knew I was in trouble, she’d do it.”
“But you didn’t just ask her.”
“That was Uncle Mike’s idea, too,” Robert said. “He said it would be better if Grandma di
dn’t know what I’d done, that she’d be ashamed of me. Because of my father, how he’d lost all his money gambling. Uncle Mike said that she’d probably cut me out of her will or something. He made it sound like what we were doing was for Grandma’s benefit.”
“So you agreed to pretend to be a hostage?”
“Right. I trusted Uncle Mike.” He shook his head. “So he wrapped me up in duct tape and had me read this thing he’d written while he videotaped me.”
“In the cabin in his boat,” I said.
He nodded. “I didn’t understand why we were asking for all that money. I mean, I only owed about fifty grand. But Uncle Mike said that it would be more believable if we asked for that much. So I did it. I read it just the way he wrote it.” He looked at me and shook his head.
“Then what?” I said.
“Then he didn’t take off the tape. Suddenly he was different. He said if I didn’t cooperate with him, do everything he said, he’d kill me. He made me swallow some pills, and they knocked me out. After that it’s all kinda fuzzy. I know he kept making me swallow pills. He didn’t give me any food. Just water sometimes. He left me alone a lot, and mostly I slept. Next thing I really remember is being here in the hospital.”
“What about Kimmie?”
“I remember she was there sometimes. This was after Uncle Mike taped me up and made me swallow those pills and everything, so it’s pretty fuzzy. Sometimes Kimmie was the one who gave me the pills and the water.”
“What you’ve told me is the truth, Robert?”
“Yes. It’s the truth.”
“If you had to swear to it in court…?”
“Am I going to have to do that?”
“Probably.”
He looked away from me for a moment. Then he said, “So am I in trouble?”
“Without you—”
“I know,” he said. “If I hadn’t been stupid in the first place, none of this would have happened. That’s not what I meant.”
“You conspired in a felony,” I said.
“But—”
“You’re also the only witness in this case. We’ll see how it goes.”
“You’re my lawyer, right?”
“I am.” I looked at my watch. It was almost two-thirty. “Lieutenant Horowitz will be here in about half an hour. I’ll be with you when you talk to him.”
Robert shrugged. “I’m more worried about what to say to my parents and my grandmother.”
“Don’t look at me, pal. I offered to help you with that once. Now you’re on your own. I’m just a lawyer.” I stood up and patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you grab a nap so you’ll be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for the lieutenant?”
He closed his eyes. “Whatever my lawyer says.”
I was in the waiting room when Horowitz arrived. A woman was with him. She was wearing dark tailored pants and a white shirt and shiny black shoes. Her blond hair was cut very short. The only thing that didn’t fit was the makeup around her eyes and the multiple piercings on her ears.
Horowitz introduced her as Agent Loudon. She held out her hand to me. “FBI,” she said. “Call me Grace.”
I took her hand. “Family lawyer. Call me Brady.”
“So,” said Horowitz, “we’re gonna get Lancaster’s statement now. You gonna join us?”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t remember much,” I said. “They had him drugged, beat him, starved him. He was all dehydrated when we found him, which raises hell with your electrolytes, messes up your memory. It’s all fuzzy and confusing to him. Blurry, you know?”
“You’re saying he’ll make a poor witness?” said Agent Grace Loudon.
“No,” said Horowitz, “he’s saying he wants something. So whaddya want, Coyne?”
I spread my hands. “I’m worried, in his condition, that he’ll say something that you guys will take the wrong way.”
Horowitz narrowed his eyes at me, then turned to Agent Loudon. “He wants immunity for his client.”
She cocked her head and looked at me.
I looked right back at her.
“Immunity?” she said.
I shrugged.
“We already got this whole scenario pretty much figured out,” she said. “We know your client conspired in a scheme to extort a quarter-million dollars from a judge. I don’t see how we can grant him immunity.”
“Well,” I said, “I don’t see how I can allow him to talk to you, then, risk incriminating himself.” I shrugged. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of good witnesses anyway. You don’t need Robert Lancaster.”
Agent Loudon looked at me, then smiled. “Hang on a minute, please.” She grabbed Horowitz by the elbow and dragged him out to the corridor.
They were back about five minutes later. Grace Loudon sat down beside me. “Lieutenant Horowitz says, knowing you the way he does, we might make more progress if we didn’t play games with each other.”
“I don’t play games,” I said.
She smiled. “Assuming Robert Lancaster’s role in all of this was what we understand it was, and assuming he cooperates fully in our investigation, I’m prepared to recommend to the federal prosecutor that we do not charge him with any crime.”
“You willing to put that in writing?” I said.
“In writing?” She shook her head. “Certainly not.”
I looked at Horowitz and arched my eyebrows.
He nodded.
“Can we shake on it, at least?” I said.
Agent Grace Loudon smiled and held out her hand.
We shook. “Good enough for me,” I said.
Robert was lying there with his eyes shut and his hands folded peacefully on top of his blanket.
I poked his shoulder. “Wake up,” I said. “You’ve got guests.”
His eyes popped open. He looked at Grace Loudon, then Horowitz, then me. “These are the people you want me to talk to?”
“Yes,” I said. “Lieutenant Horowitz, state police, and Agent Loudon, FBI. You don’t have anything to hide.”
“I don’t?”
“No. Just tell them everything. I’ll be sitting right here. If they ask you something, um, inappropriate or irrelevant, I’ll interrupt. If you want to consult with me before answering a question, we can do that. And if I hear you lying or exaggerating or doing anything but telling the truth, I’ll help you get back on track. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said. “I want to get it off my chest.”
Thirty
ROGER HOROWITZ CAME TO my house six days after Federal Agent Grace Loudon deposed Robert Lancaster in the hospital. It was a sultry evening in late June. I cooked us cheeseburgers on my backyard grill, and we ate them with bottles of Sam Adams lager at my picnic table. Horowitz sneaked pieces of his burger to Henry, who knew a sucker when he saw one and sat expectantly beside him the whole time. We talked about the Red Sox and hybrid automobiles and the upcoming mayoral election and the weird weather we’d been having.
When I brought out the coffee, Horowitz said, “Michael and Kimberly Warner have agreed to plead guilty. Robert Lancaster will not be called upon to testify. Thought you’d want to know.”
“They made a deal, huh?”
“Kimberly Warner caved,” he said. “Spilled out the whole story. When her husband heard about it, he talked, too. They’ll both spend some time in federal prison. Him a few years more than her.” He shrugged. “The prosecutor decided there was no purpose in dragging the family through the mud.”
“Judge Lancaster had some input, I imagine.”
“I don’t know about that,” he said. “Wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Good deal all around, then, huh?”
He shrugged. “The victim survived, and the ransom money was recovered. The judge will get it back when the feds decide they don’t need it for evidence. It could’ve been a lot worse.”
“They were going to kill him, you know.”
He shrugged. Can’t prove it. Neither of ’em would admit to it.” He took a sip of coffee
. “So how are they doing?”
“The Lancaster family?”
He nodded.
“Robert’s back at school finishing up his summer classes,” I said. “When that’s done, his father’s taking him to Idaho for a week of trout fishing with my son Billy, who’s a guide out there.”
“They’re doing good, then.”
“They’re both compulsive gamblers,” I said. “Same as alcoholics. They’ll have to fight it all their lives. We’ll see.”
We sat there in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The sky over the city was darkening, and the stars were beginning to pop out.
“Any news on the guy with the missing face?” I said.
“Louie Malatesta?” Horowitz shook his head. “No faceless dead bodies have turned up. No one’s been spotted walking around without his face, either. Nobody knows nothing. Be nice if we could nail Paulie Russo for it, but I’m not holding my breath.” He leaned forward and peered at me. “You notice the giant elephant that’s been clomping around here in your backyard?”
“Huh?”
“The most obvious thing that we haven’t talked about?”
“Oh,” I said. “Evie.”
He nodded.
“She’s in California with her father,” I said. “He’s dying of pancreatic cancer. They’ve given him maybe six months.”
“So how’s she doing?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
The next day around four in the afternoon I drove directly from Judge Adrienne Lancaster’s big Tudor in Belmont to Paulie Russo’s headquarters in the North End with a red gym bag decorated with a Nike swoosh on the seat beside me. I called Paulie from my car to tell him I was on my way.
One of his associates was waiting for me on the delivery platform in the alley. He frisked me and peeked into the gym bag. When he was satisfied that I was neither armed nor wired, he said, “Okay, Mr. Coyne. Mr. Russo’s waiting for you.” He held the door for me, then followed me up the back stairs.
Paulie looked like he was about to go play a round of golf. He was wearing a blood-colored polo shirt and vanilla-flavored linen pants. A pair of wraparound Ray-Bans was perched on top of his head.
He stood up when I walked in. I went over to his desk, dropped the gym bag on it, and sat down.
One-Way Ticket Page 23