He laughed. “That sounds like me. I knew everything. After I got my ass kicked, you helped me fend off the criticism, but I never asked what you thought. Maybe I wanted to see my name in the paper. ‘Young prosecutor upholds ideals of truth and justice.’ Maybe that’s why I did it.”
Elaine saw that he wanted to know. More than anything, he had to know—as if her opinion would have been listened to then, or if given now, two years later, would make any difference.
She said slowly, “I think—knowing you—that you did it because you believed it was right.”
“But was it right?”
“It may not have been wise, Dan, but … yes. It was right. Very right. That was about the most foolish—but the bravest—thing I’ve ever seen from a lawyer.” He gave her a wondering look. She retreated by laughing and sliding off her bar stool, tugging him by the wrist. “Okay, that’s enough. Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
She pushed through the crowd on the dance floor. “Come along quietly. Charlie!” She pointed at Dan as she dragged him toward the band. “Guess who has a birthday this week.”
Dan pulled backward. “Elaine, for God’s sake.”
He put a hand over his face when the band went into a jazz version of “Happy Birthday.” Terry, the bartender, made a loud whistle through her teeth. The people jammed into the bar sang along, ragged and off-key.
CHAPTER 32
Seeing who was on duty at the guard shack, Dan banged his head lightly a few times on hands curled over the top of the steering wheel. When the car ahead had gone through, Dan drifted forward. He held his driver’s license out the window.
The guard glanced at the list of names on his clipboard. “You’re here to see Lisa Galindo, right? Your name isn’t on here.”
“She must have forgotten to call you.”
“Apparently so. I’ll see if she’s home.” He stepped back inside to use the telephone.
Dan’s arm hung outside the car, and he tapped a rhythm on the door. Headlamps shone in his rearview. He had driven up last night; Rick had asked him to. He and Lisa had spoken for over an hour. At the end Dan had given her one piece of good news—the police had dropped him as a suspect.
The guard hung up and came out to say there was no answer. “I let it ring seven times.”
“She took our son to Boca Raton. I guess she’s not back yet. Well, look. I’m spending the weekend. I’ll be moving in next week, in fact. She gave me a key.”
“Oh? Congratulations.”
“Thanks. But she didn’t give me the spare gate opener.”
The guard was shaking his head. “If it was up to me, I’d let you in.”
“Who’s going to know, for Pete’s sake?”
“Nope. Can’t do it. I’ll call her again in a while and see if it’s okay for you to come in. Meanwhile, there’s a McDonald’s in the shopping center you could wait at.” He pointed with his pen at the turnaround. “Would you clear the road, sir?”
Cursing silently, Dan took a fast left around the guard shack. His headlights swept across the flower beds, and his tires skidded on the herringboned bricks. He parked a half mile away in the lot outside the country club. Parking was not allowed on the grass that edged the streets of Lakewood Village. Cars would be towed. Dan walked back toward Heron Hills as if he were out for a stroll.
There was no way in except past the guard shack—unless a person swam the moats or vaulted over the walls at the entrance. The landscaped, peach-colored walls were six feet high and about twenty feet long, with the name of the subdivision cut into the concrete. Dan timed it so that he got near the entrance just at a break in traffic. He jogged to the wall, put a toe in the O of Heron, grabbed the top, and went over, landing lightly behind some bushes. He brushed the dirt off his jeans, pushed the branches aside, and cut behind someone’s yard. He looked over his shoulder. The guard was checking the ID of some other poor bastard.
It took Dan two minutes to walk to the house. He let himself in with his key and flipped on the light in the foyer. Immediately the cocker spaniel started its racket, coming across the living room, ears flopping.
“Shut up!”
The dog whined and slunk off to hide behind one of the sofas. There were two, both upholstered in white, facing each other across a glass-topped table.
Dan went to the kitchen to look for the gate opener. He opened and shut drawers. It wasn’t sitting out on the counter or the table in the breakfast nook. He checked Lisa’s bedroom. The dresser, nightstand, desk. She had cleared out one side of the walk-in closet for him. In his car—which he would retrieve as soon as he found the damned gate opener—were most of his shirts, ties, and suits. He thought he could bring boxes up each time he came. The furniture could stay in Miami. She already had everything she needed, and better quality than his.
Passing Josh’s room, he noticed the glow coming from the fish tank, heard the aerator bubbling softly. He went inside and watched the goldfish and guppies for a minute. Dan had bought a new aquarium for himself, thanks to Rick and Sandy, a twenty-gallon beauty with two hundred dollars’ worth of angel fish—which he should not have done since he would only have to dismantle the thing and transport it all the way up here to Lakewood, but oh, well. Turning to leave, he noticed the white envelope on Josh’s desk, the word DAD in Superman-style letters. Dan had left it there Wednesday morning, not meaning to. He read it again as he went back to the living room. To my dad. Your the best. Love, your son, Joshua D. Galindo.
Dan read it again and smiled. Your the best. He slid the card into the envelope.
The house was quiet. The dog sat by the sliding glass doors, looking out. There was the dark glass, then the terrace splashed with light from inside. Dan walked toward the doors, his own reflection coming closer. The gas barbecue grill was out there under a zip-up cover. Dan had bought it for $749 on sale at Home Depot, a top-of-the-line model. They’d had cookouts with the neighbors. He didn’t think it had been used since he left. He wondered if Bob and Meredith had gone back to Ohio yet, and then remembered he hadn’t even liked Bob.
Lisa would be here any minute. She had taken Josh to his grandparents’ house for the weekend, although Dan had told her he would be spending most of the time with Rick, getting his side of things, trying to decide what to say to John Paxton in the meeting on Monday.
She had cried. Angry tears. She had said it didn’t surprise her, really. Look at the kind of people Rick hangs out with—rock musicians and God knows what. Like that girl you dated. And Sandy! I knew what she was the first time I saw her. Look at that new BMW. That diamond on her finger. Flaunting it at family dinners. Daddy and Rick hardly speak to each other now. What am I going to tell them? And Josh! Oh, my God.
The dog’s head swiveled toward the front door, then its claws were scrabbling on the tiles. It barked at nothing for a while, then, satisfied that the intruder had gone away, it came back to watch Dan.
Dan saw the gate opener on the console table in the foyer. He had walked right past it on his way in. The table was glass on long, slender legs, with a beveled mirror above it and a pale blue rug on the floor. The style in Lakewood Village went toward glass tables, tile floors, light wood, cool colors. Potted plants to bring the outdoors in. Magazines in a neat row on the coffee table. Lisa had done a good job decorating the house. Josh knew not to leave his toys in the living room, and to straighten the fringe on the rug if his shoe scuffed across it. She preferred him to come in by the kitchen.
The cocker spaniel was sitting at Dan’s feet, panting softly. He knelt to pet its long, silky ears. “Hey, Poppy.” Hearing its name, the dog looked around at him. “I’m going to leave now. Be good.”
In one of the kitchen drawers Dan had seen a pad of lined note paper. He found a pen beside it. He wrote, Dear Lisa, I waited for you awhile, but what I have to say is brief and there would be no point in our arguing over it. I have decided to stay in Miami. I had hoped we could start over, but I don’t think it woul
d work out. I’m sorry. Call me if you want. I’ll be home tonight.
He hesitated over how to close it. Love, Dan? Regards? Sincerely? He wrote, All the best, Dan.
A postscript: Please let Josh make birthday cards on his computer the way he wants to, without pointing out his spelling errors (unless he asks you). He was embarrassed to give me my card. I thought it was great the way it was.
He left the note on the counter, put the key and gate opener on the note, and turned off the lights.
CHAPTER 33
Dan parked as close as he could to his apartment and opened the trunk. A garment bag of suits over one arm, he unlocked his front door. The new aquarium filled the living room with its soft light. Dan hit the switch for the lamp as he passed it, then made three more trips back and forth from car to bedroom. He was dropping his suitcase near the closet when he noticed the light blinking on his answering machine.
He stood by the small table under the window and pushed the button, not surprised by the shrill voice that came out of it.
This is Lisa. I can’t believe you. I was just at my parents’ house, and I told them—Oh, my God. Oh … damn you. Stay in Miami. And don’t think you’re going to take Josh to the Bahamas! This is the most—
Dan hit the button to erase the message. As the tape spun backward, a noise came from the hall outside his bedroom door. A footstep. A squeak of wood.
He turned slowly around.
A person was there in the doorway, a figure in black jeans, black sweater. He tensed at the same instant he recognized her. Martha Cruz was the first to speak, pointing vaguely toward the living room. “The front door was open.”
Relief flooded through him so strongly he felt dizzy. He dragged in a breath. “What are you doing here?”
Her eyes seemed enormous. “I have to talk to you.”
“I didn’t see your car.”
“I left it around the corner,” she said. “I came straight from rehearsal at the studio.”
“Afraid someone will come looking for you?”
“Miguel? He can look all he wants, I’m not going back to him.” When she came farther into the room, Dan could see by the one light on his dresser that there was a discoloration on her cheekbone, which he had first thought was a shadow.
“Come here, let me see your face.” She lowered her head, but Dan took her chin and lifted her hair out of the way. There was an ugly purple bruise at the corner of her left eye. “Son of a bitch,” he murmured.
“Last night he lost his temper when I told him I left the boat keys at your office. He thinks I did it on purpose, which I did not.”
“They’re on my key ring.” Dan took it out of his pocket. The silver ring with Salazar’s keys on it swung with the others. “I meant to mail them yesterday. I’ll give them to a courier on Monday.” He tossed the key ring onto his dresser, keeping himself calm in front of her, wanting to ram the keys down Salazar’s throat. In the mirror he could see Martha fluffing her hair over the bruise. All hidden now.
Dan glanced in the direction of the front door. “I’d better lock up.”
“He doesn’t know I came here.” Martha followed Dan to the living room, then stood on the porch while he closed his car. He motioned her back inside and locked the front door of his apartment, putting on the chain for good measure.
“I was about to make some tea,” he said.
“I’ll have some too. Thanks.”
In the kitchen she sat sideways in a chair and tossed a small shoulder bag onto the table. Dan put on the kettle and took two mugs from the cabinet over the sink. “Martha, we’ll have to decide where to put you. It wouldn’t be a good idea for you to stay here tonight, given the circumstances. What if I call Rick and Sandy?” He turned to see what she thought.
Her dark hair shadowed her eyes. “Rick’s in trouble, isn’t he?”
Dan hesitated. “What do you mean?”
“Is he going to jail?”
“Jail?” Dan leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms.
Martha said, “Our new guitarist, Bobby Doyle, told me that you came to the studio on Thursday and made Rick go with you. And yesterday at Miguel’s house, Rick was totally freaked and he wouldn’t tell me anything. I think it’s because of Victor Ramirez. He’s a narc.”
“Who told you that?”
“It’s true.”
“Just answer the question, Martha.”
She took awhile with it. “Tonight Arlo Pate said that Bobby Doyle has this narc radar. Bobby is such a stoner, Arlo wasn’t sure, but he’s worried because he heard Miguel talking on the phone yesterday to Victor about meeting him on Sunday. Arlo doesn’t know what it’s about, but he thought he should tell me.”
Standing at the counter, Dan could feel his control over Rick’s case, so tenuously grasped, beginning to slip from his fingers as if they were greased. He asked quietly, “Is Miguel aware of what Bobby Doyle thinks?”
She shook her head. “Bobby and Scott and Arlo all agreed not to tell him because the concert is so close, and if Miguel found out—”
Dan said, “Martha, what’s going on here?” The kettle behind him started to tick on the stove.
“Bobby is right about Victor. He works for the DEA. Kelly told me about two months ago. She said they made her spy on Rick. She didn’t want to, but Victor made her do it. Victor isn’t his real name, it’s Vincent Hooper. Kelly said they were trying to get Miguel, and they were going to use Rick to do it—”
At the sound of a car door slamming, Martha got up and walked to the open archway, looking toward the living room.
“It’s nothing,” Dan said. “Come back and sit down.”
She took a breath, a ragged inhalation, then looked around at him. “Did you know about Kelly? You don’t act surprised.”
“I found out recently,” he said.
“How?”
“Never mind that. What about Rick?”
Martha returned to her chair. “I was Kelly’s best friend, and she needed to tell someone. They arrested her for possession of heroin last summer. When she started dating you, she wanted to tell you everything—her arrest, the DEA, Miguel, Rick—but I said no, are you crazy? I hadn’t met you then, but I knew you were Rick’s lawyer, so I told her, Kelly, if you tell him, he’ll go straight to Rick, and then Miguel will find out. It would be awful. So she didn’t say anything, and neither did I. We just waited for the demo tape to be done and waited for the concert. She couldn’t stand it. She started making mistakes in the songs, she was so scared, but they wanted more and more information on Rick. And they kept after her and after her.”
“Hold it,” Dan said. “Let me get this straight. You told Kelly to keep her mouth shut because you wanted a record contract?”
“That wasn’t the reason!”
“You didn’t let Kelly tell me because you didn’t want to screw up your relationship with Miguel. He was paying for the band, wasn’t he? Keep that money coming in, never mind what happens to your manager.”
She stared back at him with her mouth half open, but an answer didn’t occur to her. She let out a breath. “Are they going to put Rick in jail?”
“They might,” Dan said. He thought of the meeting that he and Rick would attend on Monday morning at the U.S. attorney’s office. Dan would be pitching a defense of threats and extortion. He had hoped it would buy some time, perhaps even persuade John Paxton to reconsider seizing all of Rick’s assets. If Salazar got wind of who Victor was and canceled the meeting, the DEA might blame Rick. But now it appeared that the DEA’s cover could be blown by the pot-fuddled observations of one rock guitarist. And Martha Cruz had known for two months and had said nothing.
A low whistle came from the teakettle, increasing steadily in pitch and volume. Dan turned off the stove. He heard Martha’s whispery, tear-clogged voice. “I was so scared.”
“You were selfish.”
She swung her head up, glaring at him. He could see the bruise beside her eye. “Right! Self
ish. I’m a selfish slut for sleeping with Miguel Salazar. Think what you like, I don’t care. He said he’d help me, and I let him. He knew what I wanted. My music. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. It’s all I’ve got. I have my voice, my hands—” She held them up, slender and strong, rings on most of the fingers, short nails painted dark red. “That’s what I have. It’s all Kelly had. No fancy college, no money. Can you possibly understand that? Mr. Lawyer?”
She dropped her hands back in her lap. “Kelly and I decided not to do anything that might hurt the band. We’d think about the demo, we’d get the songs going for the concert, and that was all. After we got signed, everything would be all right. That’s what we thought. Then it started getting worse, and then it was too late.”
She was crying silently. No sobs, just tears running slowly down her cheeks. “When Kelly told me Rick should be our manager, I said what? He’s never had a band that made it. We need somebody good. Kelly told me shut up, you don’t know everything.” Martha laughed, then cleared her throat. “He kept us together. When we lost Bill-E, our bass player, then Leon, our drummer, Rick wouldn’t let us give up. Then Kelly.” Her voice was tight. “Rick said, Martha, you can’t give up now. So he found me a new guitar player. I know we’re not going to get the demo from Victor—there’s no way—but it doesn’t matter. Mr. Friedman from Capitol Records, you can come to the concert or not, and if you don’t sign us, too bad for you. Somebody will. But without Rick—I don’t know the business. What would happen to me? Maybe that’s selfish, but like I said, think what you want to.”
A tear wobbled on the point of her chin, a speck of light. She dug her chin into the shoulder of her sweater. “What’s going to happen to him?”
“I’m not sure yet, Martha, but don’t expect him to be managing the band.” Dan tore a sheet off the roll of towels over the sink. “The government wants to seize everything he’s got, and he’ll be lucky to stay out of prison. We’re trying to work a deal with the prosecutors. I can’t tell you any more than that.”
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