Guardian of Lies: A Paul Madriani Novel

Guardian of Lies: A Paul Madriani Novel Page 30

by Steve Martini

  Harry was almost afraid to ask. “What other papers?”

  “Let’s see, there are warrants for arrest on two counts of first-degree murder, aiding and abetting, breaking and entering, grand larceny, and conspiracy to commit all of the above. Let me think. I don’t want to forget anything. We’re still weighing the issue of witness tampering, seeing as he was sitting on top of his codefendant and telling her what to say and what not to say.”

  “He is her lawyer,” said Harry.

  “Was,” said Templeton. “And I’m sure he wasn’t going to let that get in his way. And, of course, there is the bus thing.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Word on the street is, it was your client who was the target. They’re still counting bodies, but if it turns out that your partner was involved, you might want to tell him the stuff on the bus isn’t going to be covered by lawyer-client privilege. He can try to argue attorney work product, but I doubt if the judge will buy it.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” said Harry.

  “All the same, if we tag him on that one, you can expect a lot more paper. Figure a ticker-tape parade,” said Templeton.

  Harry was getting grim looks from the deputies standing around the desk.

  “Oh, yeah! And we’ll be adding a fugitive arrest warrant later today, just to add a little international spice.”

  Harry stood there looking at him.

  “Well, do you want to call him and give him the news?” said Templeton. “He’d probably rather hear it from you than read it in the newspaper. Or maybe he doesn’t read Spanish? You do know where he is?” Templeton looked at him and waited to see if Harry was going to fess up. When he didn’t, the Dwarf said, “You might try Costa Rica. At least according to the airline, that’s where his plane landed. You did know he was down there?”

  “So what? There were no warrants outstanding when he left,” said Harry.

  “You might remind him of that and see if you can coax him back. By the way, you wouldn’t know how he got out of the country, seeing as the state had placed restrictions on his passport, would you?”

  Harry looked at him and just swallowed a little saliva.

  “Well?”

  “No.”

  Templeton knew he was lying. He also knew that the federal government had been pushing buttons and pulling levers. The Dwarf had been given the shaft. It didn’t take a mind meld to know what was up. Let the horse out of the barn and follow him.

  By morning Templeton would have the FBI in a legal headlock. If they were tailing Madriani, once a fugitive warrant was issued for the lawyer’s arrest and the FBI received notice, they would be compelled by law to arrest him immediately. The state would then have to arrange extradition. If the FBI failed to take Madriani into custody and he slipped through their fingers, the federal government would have to answer for its conduct in a courtroom and explain to a judge the reason for their actions. In a case of multiple murder, Templeton would be all over them, national security or no national security. The Dwarf would climb on a stump and start pumping out headlines ending in question marks—what was the federal government up to, and why did they allow a multiple murderer to leave the country and then run free?

  “Larry.” Howser was trying to catch Templeton’s attention from the other side of the desk.

  “Well, are you going to call him or not?” Templeton’s gaze was locked on Harry.

  “If I do, I’ll let you know,” said Harry.

  “Larry!” Howser was standing there looking down at the open drawer on the other side of the desk.

  “What?” Templeton was aggravated by the interruption.

  “I think you better look at this.”

  He walked around to the other side of the desk. “What is it?”

  Howser pointed. “Right there.”

  At first Templeton didn’t say anything, at least not with his lips. Instead the Dwarf stood there looking as if he had just found the original gold nugget at Sutter’s Mill.

  “Okay. Okay. I want everybody outta here,” he said. “Clear the offices. I want everybody outside now. And call the crime lab, tell them to send a van over here right away. I want two CS technicians, and tell them we’re gonna need photos.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Harry.

  “Maybe you can tell us how you’re gonna explain that?” said Templeton.

  “What?” Harry edged his way around the desk.

  “That.” Templeton was pointing toward a lot of clutter, pens and paper clips, some loose change, rubber bands, and a roll of Scotch tape in a center section of the top drawer of Paul’s desk. “Right there.”

  The second Harry saw it, all the blood seemed to drain from his head. He began to sway. For a moment he thought he might actually fall.

  Templeton grabbed his arm as if he could hold him up. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m okay. I’m fine,” Harry lied.

  “I know. I know,” said Templeton.

  In that moment Harry and the Dwarf seemed to communicate on a level that transcended language. With the evidence he had and the charges he’d brought, it was clear that even Templeton, deep down, harbored nagging doubts that another lawyer could have done this.

  But there in front of them in the drawer was one of the bags of catnip. It looked identical to the bags found by the police and photographed, the catnip used to take down the motion sensors in the side yard, the path used by the killer to enter Emerson Pike’s house.

  FORTY-TWO

  I had just finished shaving when I stepped from the bathroom and noticed that someone had slipped an envelope under the door to my room at the Sportsmens Lodge. I reached down, grabbed the envelope, and opened it. It was from the front desk, “a message from a Mr. Hinds. You are to call him in San Diego.” I knew that Harry wouldn’t call the hotel unless it was important. He must have called the cell phone and realized it was turned off.

  A few minutes later Herman and I descend into the basement of the Sportsmens Lodge, near the exercise area. The place is deserted except for some of the hotel staff taking care of laundry. Herman watches the stairs while I make the call.

  Harry answers the phone on the first ring and doesn’t even say hello. “I hope you’re sitting down. Let me get outside.”

  I give him a few seconds to get out of the office so that federal bugs can’t pick up the conversation.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Templeton dropped the world on us early this morning,” says Harry. “He raided the office, seized all the files in Katia’s case. There’s a warrant out for your arrest.”

  Even though Harry and I have talked about this, the possibility that Templeton might charge me, the actual news that he has now done it knocks the breath out of me.

  “Where are you now?” says Harry.

  When I don’t answer he says, “Are you there?”

  “I’m here.” I am swallowing hard.

  “Are you still in the hotel?”

  “Ye Ah, yeah. Down, we’re, Herman and I, are down in the basement.”

  “Get your stuff together and get outta there,” says Harry. “Do it now.”

  “First tell me what’s happened.”

  “Trust me. You don’t have time to talk,” says Harry. “Gather your bags, check out, and don’t leave by the front door. Is there another way out?”

  “Yeah. Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Templeton knows you’re in Costa Rica. He’s working on a fugitive warrant. The minute he gets it, he’ll bring fire down on the FBI to pick you up. You can bet on it. You were right; he had a hold on your passport, so he’s hopping mad. He knows the feds had it lifted. He’s already leaking information to the press to turn the heat on Rhytag. I got a phone call from a friend. It’s already been on Fox News. San Diego lawyer charged with murder, and the report is that you’re hiding out in Costa Rica with federal authorities close on your heels. You’ve got to move.”

  “He still has a pretty thin case,” I tell him.

  “Not after he found the bag of catnip in your desk drawer.”

  “Oh, shit.”

&
nbsp; “You might want to think about where it came from,” says Harry, “and we can talk about it later.”

  “I forgot all about it. I found it the day we were out at Pike’s house.”

  “I’m not the one you have to convince,” says Harry.

  “It was cumulative evidence. The cops already had their own collection of the little white bags, all of them the same. I couldn’t see how one, more or less, was going to change anything,” I tell him.

  “Yeah, well, the Dwarf must have feline DNA in his blood then, because he looked like he wanted to roll in your drawer and have an orgasm when they found the bag there,” says Harry. “And one other thing; it seems the cops have been holding back another piece of evidence.”

  “What evidence?”

  “You remember the promotional pens we had made up last year, the plastic ballpoints? We did a batch of them for New Year’s, along with the calendars, to give to clients.”

  “I remember.”

  “Forensics found one of the pens in the study, underneath Emerson Pike’s desk, when they processed the crime scene.”

  There is a pause on the phone as Harry allows this to sink in. “Are you there?” he says.

  “Yes.”

  “According to their investigative notes, you told the police you’d never been to Pike’s house and that neither Pike nor Katia had ever been to our office. So Templeton is dying to know how the pen got there.”

  My mind is racing with all of this.

  “We don’t have time to talk about it now. Just get your stuff and get outta there. If the FBI doesn’t pick you up, the Costa Rican police will. Get back to Katia’s house, find the camera, get the pictures, and scoot. Lose the federal tail and get out of Costa Rica as fast as you can. It’s the only chance you’ve got.”

  “Herman and I were going to wait until tonight, try one more time after dark.”

  “You no longer have that luxury,” says Harry. He’s right.

  “I understand. Listen, I’m sorry about the item in the desk drawer.”

  “Save it for later,” says Harry. “Just don’t come back here unless you have something solid by way of evidence. Otherwise you and Katia are going down for the count. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’ll nail you the second you enter the country. That is if they don’t catch up with you down there first. So get moving,” says Harry.

  “How is she doing?”

  “Katia?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t ask,” says Harry. “Just get moving. I don’t care what you did, or why you did it, just find whatever you need. And call me tomorrow.”

  “Harry, listen to me.”

  “Just keep me posted. Let me know where you are.” With that the line goes dead on the other end as Harry hangs up.

  Having watched Tomas die, Nitikin decided that he could at least use the lethal dragon’s breath to his own advantage. This, as he maneuvered for final leverage with Alim.

  Alim Afundi’s man, who had retrieved the ramrod against the tree, paid for his effort in agony. He lingered for two more days after Tomas died. He was more distant than Tomas from the source of radiation, but unlike Yakov, he was without the protection of a lead-lined suit. It was the reason Yakov had selected him to help finish the job. Nitikin knew the man was dead the moment he felt the heat of the ionizing flash.

  Alim wanted to use the expedience of a quick bullet to end the man’s pain, but he was facing a small rebellion. The dying man’s brother was part of Afundi’s group, and Alim had resorted to his pistol as the tool of command once too often. To shoot another of his followers, even under the guise of putting the man out of his misery, might inspire thoughts of mutiny among his dwindling band.

  Now that the bomb was assembled, Afundi needed to move the device and do it quickly. Instead they were forced to sit and watch as his follower died on his own clock, bleeding from every orifice.

  Nitikin could read the anxiety in Alim’s eyes. Yakov had never been informed as to the final target, but he knew that Alim was running out of time. During the weeks of preparation the Russian had picked up bits of information from friends in the FARC and subtle signals from Alim himself. He knew that the device was to be shipped, at least partway, by sea inside a container that had been specially lined with lead. Yakov had seen the container. It was ready to go.

  He also knew that the container was to be transferred from a small coastal freighter to a larger oceangoing ship at the port of Panama City. Nitikin had been told by one of his FARC comrades that a fax had been received from a shipping company in Panama and that the transfer was to take place in three days. This did not leave Afundi much time. If his man did not die today, Yakov knew that Alim would have to find some excuse to clear the hospital room by nightfall so that he could smother the man with a pillow.

  Nitikin picked this moment to enter the sweaty death room where Alim’s man lay dying. He caught the eye of the interpreter and motioned him with a finger. Alim got up and followed the interpreter as they both approached the Russian.

  “I want you to give them a message,” said Nitikin. He gestured toward Alim’s men. “Tell them that the device now contains a safety mechanism and that it will not be armed and cannot be detonated until this mechanism is removed. You can tell them that the device is now completely safe.”

  The interpreter whispered the message to Alim, who nodded and smiled. This was good news, something to quell the fear of his men as they watched their comrade die.

  In a forceful voice the interpreter delivered the message to Alim’s men. The four remaining men nodded, and three of them offered up reassured smiles.

  Nitikin now finished the message. “They must understand that only I can remove the safety mechanism, and that can only be done after the device is transported to its final target. It would not be safe to move the device otherwise.” He waited and watched.

  This time when the interpreter whispered in Farsi to Alim, Afundi did not smile. Instead he said something to the interpreter and gestured that he wanted to step outside, presumably to discuss the matter with Nitikin there.

  Yakov refused to budge from the door. “Tell them.” His voice was raised a full octave and several decibels in volume.

  Alim glanced over his shoulder and realized the men were watching. He could tell by the looks on their faces, they knew something was wrong. Afundi looked at the interpreter, his lips drawn and tight. There was nothing he could do. The Russian had boxed him in. He nodded. Then he studied his men as they listened to the translation, the rasping breath of their dying comrade as background. They looked at each other for a moment and then began to whisper among themselves. Alim walked over and joined them. They talked for a few more seconds. Alim patted one of them on the shoulder as he smiled and spoke to them. He was doing PR. He needed them to move the bomb, and Yakov knew it.

  After a few more words with his men, Alim looked at Nitikin and said something in Farsi. “They understand. What you say is acceptable to them,” said the translator.

  The words did not square with the livid expression that flashed in Afundi’s eyes at this moment. But the Russian didn’t care. He had gambled on the superstition of Alim’s men. They wanted someone between themselves and the demon that belched blue fire from the hut in the jungle. Of the three men in close proximity, only Nitikin had survived to tame the beast. Surely they had to wonder whether the dragon’s egg he had hidden all these years returned the favor by declining to take the life of its sentinel and guardian.

  FORTY-THREE

  So what do I tell them?” Thorpe was already on the phone from FBI headquarters to Rhytag at Justice. A reporter from the Associated Press had already called wanting to know if it was true that a San Diego lawyer wanted for murder was on the lam in Costa Rica and the FBI was about to make an arrest.

  “What did you tell them so far?” said Rhytag.

  “I didn’t take the call. I had my secretary tell them I was busy.”

  “Tell them no comment,” said Rhytag. “Tell them it’s a matter under investigation and that w
e don’t discuss active investigations.”

  “That’ll hold ’em for a while,” said Thorpe. “But we have to make a decision. Do we pick him up or do we continue to tail him?”

  Rhytag had to think about this for a few seconds. “Damn it. We should have handled the state’s prosecutor with a little more diplomacy.”

  “We could let him in on it, tell him about Nitikin and the device,” said Thorpe.

  “It’s too late for that. Templeton’s already gone to the press. They’re not going to let it go now. If Templeton suddenly backs off, the media is going to want to know why. You don’t allow someone under a fugitive arrest warrant for two murders to wander free unless there’s a reason,” said Rhytag.

  “We can tell them we’re still looking,” said Thorpe.

  “Except for one thing; the Costa Rican authorities already know we have Madriani under surveillance. They don’t know why, but sooner or later word is going to get out that we had him on a string. Then all hell is gonna break loose. And what if he slips the tail?”

  “You’ve got a point there,” said Thorpe.

  “You do know where he is?”

  “We’re in contact with our agents down there now. He’s still in his hotel room. No one has seen them yet this morning. We posted one of our agents inside in the restaurant just a few minutes ago.”

  “I take it there was no word from your people on where he might be headed or what he’s doing down there?”

  “Not yet,” said Thorpe. “We did get a line on the other defendant’s house, Solaz. One of our resident agents called in the location. It’s only a few blocks from the hotel where Madriani is staying.”

  “Then that’s a definite possibility,” said Rhytag.

  “We had one of the agents go by the place just after nine this morning. He rang the doorbell but nobody answered. We’ve had it checked out before and the place is deserted. The mother’s not there. We had the local authorities run a background check on her. She has no record.”

  There were a few moments of silence. “Your call,” said Thorpe. “What do we do?”

 

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