Ties That Bind aj-2

by Phillip Margolin

  Dupre averted his eyes and licked his lips nervously.

  "This isn't twenty questions, Jon. If you want to have any chance of walking out of here you have to tell me everything. I told you I'll hold it in confidence, and it's not going to do you any good if you're dead."

  Dupre took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll tell you. There are some other tapes. I only held out because they're all I've got left. I was counting on them to bargain with if things got really bad."

  "I've got news for you, things are really bad right now, and they are going to get worse if we don't get some breaks. Now, what is on those tapes?"

  Amanda had a hearing in another case at three. She called Kate on her cell phone as she walked across the street from the Justice Center to the courthouse. Kate was out, and Amanda left a message saying that it was urgent she call her. As Amanda went through the security checkpoint, her eyes darted around the main floor, lingering for a moment on a tall man in a leather trench coat before shifting to a slender man in a windbreaker and a Mariners' baseball cap, lounging on a bench, and finally passing over a muscular woman in a navy-blue pea coat who was staring at her. Everyone looked dangerous.

  Amanda walked up to the fifth-floor courtroom. Inside, she saw a few lawyers and court personnel she knew. There were also some court watchers; unemployed or retired men and women who preferred watching court cases to viewing the daytime soaps. None of the men who had kidnapped her were in the room.

  Frank was waiting for Amanda outside the courthouse to take her home when she was finished with her hearing. He slipped her the .38. When they got to the parking garage, Frank pressed the button for their floor. Just as the elevator doors closed, Amanda thought she saw someone start up the stairs. Was he the slender man in the windbreaker and baseball cap she'd seen in the courthouse? Amanda tightened her hold on her gun.

  They got to their car and drove home without incident. Frank parked in the garage. Amanda hefted her briefcase and waited for Frank to open the door and punch in the alarm code. They walked through the kitchen and into the living room. Amanda pulled her .38. A man was sitting in the dark. He was over six feet tall, rangy, and dressed in tan slacks and a dark turtleneck sweater. His shiny black hair was fastened in a ponytail, and he had the high cheekbones and bronze complexion of a Native American. The gun didn't seem to bother their visitor, because he smiled when Amanda sighted on him.

  "I'm George. I work with Anthony," he said in a deep clear voice.

  Frank relaxed. "Put the gun down, Amanda. He's here to help you."

  "Who . . .?"

  "He's a bodyguard. I hired him."

  George stood up and crossed the room with a confident stride.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Jaffe." He smiled warmly. "I hope you'll forgive my dramatic entrance but I wanted to test Mr. Jaffe's security procedures. Obviously they're wanting, but we'll shore them up."

  "Where is Anthony?" Frank asked him.

  "You won't see him unless there's trouble, but he's around."

  Amanda was still holding her gun.

  "Do you know how to shoot your weapon?" George asked.

  Amanda nodded.

  "Good, but I don't want you shooting one of the good guys. Our code word is 'red'. If there's a problem and someone shouts it out, you'll know they're friendly." George's smile widened. "Don't shoot them.

  "I've had you under observation for a couple of days. There are some procedures I'd like to go over. I'll try not to make them cumbersome but they are necessary if we're going to keep you safe."

  "How intrusive are you going to be?" Amanda asked.

  "I'll be with you all the time but I'll try to blend in as much as possible."

  Amanda looked skeptical. George would stand out in any crowd.

  "I know," he smiled, as if he'd read her mind, "but part of the value in having a bodyguard is that it scares some people away. The people you're dealing with don't scare that easily, so it helps if they think I'm all you've got. Think of me as a diversion. The people you won't see until they're needed are very good at what they do."

  Chapter Forty-Four.

  Kate waited until the sun went down before driving to Jon Dupre's riverfront house. In her pocket was the combination to his safe and a description of the envelope containing the tapes from the Travis fund-raiser, which Dupre had given Amanda at the jail; a .45 lay on the seat next to her. If she ran into any of Pedro Aragon's men, she wanted to be carrying a gun with stopping power.

  Kate left the highway several miles south of Portland and drove along an unlit, two-lane country road for fifteen minutes before turning off onto a long dirt driveway. As she approached Jon's house from the side, she saw a deck projecting out over a swath of lawn that ended at the river. Kate parked her car around the side of the house where it wouldn't be seen from the road. Then she went around the back, with her gun leading the way. All the doors were locked, but Kate had a set of lock picks she'd taken off of a perp when she was a cop. She'd practiced with them for fun but found that they occasionally came in handy. Now she jimmied the rear door and let herself into a finished basement. The alarm started to hum but she had the code.

  Kate switched on her flashlight and played its beam over the finished basement. There was a wet bar at one end of the room and a pool table in the middle. A large-screen TV dominated one wall. Someone had been watching it recently. A beer can and a half-eaten pizza sat on a table next to a lounger.

  According to Jon, the safe was under the floorboards in the laundry room at the bottom of the basement stairs. Kate decided to check out the rest of the house before opening the safe, to make sure that she was alone. The pizza and beer bothered her.

  Kate crept up the stairs and opened the basement door slowly. The lights were off in the house. Kate stood still but heard no sounds on the main floor. She searched through the rooms quickly until she reached the bedroom. The rest of the house had an unlived-in feel, but someone had been using the bedroom recently. The blanket and top sheets had been thrown back as if someone had just gotten out of bed. A carrying bag with woman's clothes sat on the floor next to the dresser. There were men's clothes, probably Dupre's, in the dresser.

  Kate checked the bathroom and found a toothbrush, a half-used tube of Crest, and a hairbrush on the sink. A small black kit with more bathroom items sat on a shelf. Kate hurried back to the basement determined to find the audiotapes and get out before the person staying in Dupre's house returned.

  The safe was concealed under several linoleum tiles. Kate pried up the tiles and used Dupre's combination to open it, listening all the time for any sound from the top of the stairs. The safe was crammed full of videotapes, ledgers, and papers. Before she could sort through them, headlights swept across the back lawn. Kate drew her gun and listened. Moments later, car doors slammed and the front door opened.

  Kate closed the safe and replaced the linoleum tiles. She was halfway across the basement when the door at the top of the stairs opened and the lights came on. Kate ducked behind the bar. A huge man wearing a parka and a smaller man in a windbreaker stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The big man was carrying a duffel bag.

  "Look at that TV," the smaller man said. "It's almost as big as the one at the sports bar."

  "We're not here to watch the tube. We're supposed to clean out the safe."

  "There's a boxing match on ESPN, Chavez-Kramer. It'll be great on a big screen."

  "I'm doin' what I'm supposed to. You do what you want."

  The big man went into the laundry room. The small man grabbed the remote. Kate felt sick. On the big screen, two welterweights were circling each other. Halfway through the round, the large man hurried out of the laundry room and covered his ears. There was an explosion and the small man jumped out of his seat, a gun in his hand.

  "Why didn't you tell me you were ready to blow the safe?" he screamed, waving the gun at the big man.

  "I didn't want to interrupt your viewing pleasure."

  "Fuck you. You s
cared the shit out of me."

  The big man sighed. "Turn that off, will you. Let's get this over with."

  "I'm watching the fight," the smaller man insisted stubbornly as he stuck his gun back in the pocket of his windbreaker.

  A few minutes later, the big man emerged, carrying the duffel bag. Kate had a decision to make. There was no way she could get out the back door without attracting attention, but, if she waited for the men to leave, they would get away with the contents of the safe. Kate was an excellent shot and she was in a perfect position to take out both men, but she had no idea who they were. What if they were cops?

  Kate stood up, gun drawn.

  "Freeze, police!" she shouted. Both men jumped.

  "You, watching the TV, take your gun out with your fingertips and drop it on the floor."

  The small man hesitated and Kate blew out the TV screen.

  "Geez," the man screamed, throwing an arm up to block the flying glass.

  "Do it now!" Kate yelled, aiming between his eyes.

  The small man did as he was told. Kate told him to kick the gun over to her. When the gun skittered over to her she bent down and put it in her belt.

  "Okay, you," she said, pointing the gun at the big man. "I want the duffel and your gun. Be smart and I won't have to shoot you."

  Without warning, the large man hurled the duffel bag at Kate and pulled out his own .45. Kate shot him in the knee a fraction of a second before the duffel hit her in the shoulder, knocking her off balance. The large man screamed as he collapsed. His gun went flying.

  The other man charged. Kate shot him in the hip, knocking his legs out from under him. He grunted and crashed to the floor. The big man's teeth were clenched from pain but he was crawling toward his gun.

  "You stupid fuck," Kate shouted at the big man. His fingers were inches from his gun. "Grab it so I can kill you."

  The way Kate sounded made the big man freeze. She walked over and kicked him in the head, furious that he'd forced her to shoot both men. She grabbed the gun and the duffel. Then she backed out the door and pulled it shut. She didn't take a breath until she was on the freeway and she was certain that no one was following her.

  Kate parked in Frank's driveway and Amanda walked out to meet her. Once she saw the grim look on her friend's face, she expected the worst.

  "I just shot two guys," Kate said. "I hope it was worth it."

  Amanda knew Kate's history with guns and was very concerned.

  "Are you okay?" she asked.

  "I'm shaking like a leaf."

  Amanda led Kate into Frank's den. Kate dumped the duffel bag on the desk and sat down. Amanda went to the liquor cabinet and poured her friend a drink. Kate leaned forward, resting her forearms on her knees. She had been in two shootouts before this and it was always the same for her. During the action she was calm and focused, as if she was in a bubble that sealed off her emotions and slowed time to a crawl. When the action stopped, she was like a junkie going through withdrawal cold-turkey, and the raw emotions she'd sealed away while she was fighting for her life came flooding back. Her senses overloaded, filling her with fear because she had almost died, and self-loathing because she'd enjoyed the rush of combat.

  "Tell me what happened,"Amanda said as she handed Kate a glass of scotch. Kate's hand shook when she took her first drink but it was steadier by the time she finished telling Amanda about the gunfight at Dupre's house.

  "Any idea who they were?" Amanda asked when Kate was finished.

  "No, but they were after the contents of the safe."

  "Did you call the cops?"

  "Not yet. I wanted to check with you first."

  "We should call. Jon gave you permission to go to his home and take the stuff in his safe. Those two men are burglars. They had no right to be there. They were stealing."

  "Stealing what, though? If we send the cops to Dupre's house we'll have to tell them why I was there. They'll want to see what's in that duffel bag. I'm guessing that won't help our client."

  "Let's find out," Amanda said, dumping tapes and papers onto the desktop. The audiotapes from Travis's fund-raiser were supposed to be in a plain white envelope. Amanda found several such envelopes containing audiotapes, but they had dates on them that did not match the evening of the Travis fund-raiser. Amanda played them on a tape recorder but she could tell within minutes that, although interesting, the tapes were not the right ones.

  Kate had been going through a ledger while they listened. Every once in a while she would pick up a videotape and compare it to a notation in the ledger.

  "If these tapes show what I think they do we could destroy a lot of careers."

  "But not the careers I'm interested in," Amanda responded. "The tapes from the fund-raiser aren't here."

  There was a television with a VCR in the den. Kate turned it on and slipped a tape into the VCR. She and Amanda watched quietly.

  "Damn, I didn't know you could do that," Kate said as one of Dupre's escorts engaged in a series of sexual contortions.

  "I certainly didn't think he could do that," Amanda answered. "I don't know how I'll ever be able to appear in court with him again with a straight face."

  "If we give this stuff to the cops, they'll charge Jon with every prostitution crime in the criminal code, and the lives of every person on these tapes will be ruined," Kate said. "So, what do we do?"

  "Good question," Amanda answered. She looked troubled. "I don't think we have any obligation to turn over these tapes. They're not evidence of any crime that's been charged. I'll call the state bar in the morning and talk to one of the lawyers who answers ethics questions, to see what they think.

  "We've got to call the police about the shooting, though," Amanda said. "Those men could be seriously hurt. Now, go home and get some sleep."

  "If I can."

  Amanda placed her hands on her friend's shoulders and squeezed. "You didn't do anything wrong, Kate. You just protected yourself. I'll see you in the morning."

  Chapter Forty-five.

  On the evening of February 17, 1972, a clerk on a smoke break had seen three men gun down Jesus Delgado in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven in Northeast Portland. The clerk had written down the license number of the beat-up, dark blue Toyota in which the three killers had escaped. Moments after dispatch broadcast this information, the car passed Portland police officer Stanley Gregaros.

  Stan was riding solo because his partner had developed a bad case of food poisoning early in their shift. The young cop followed the suspects as they zigzagged to a warehouse in a deserted industrial block. Gregaros crept around the side of the building expecting to find a gang of brutal thugs. Instead he saw three white kids in their early twenties, dressed in rugby shirts, crewneck sweaters, and chinos. They looked more like fraternity brothers than a trio of assassins. What gave the lie to the picture were the weapons, ski masks, and black clothing that the boys had piled on the hood of their car.

  Gregaros knew that he should not approach three suspected murderers alone, no matter how uncharacteristic their looks and attire, but the only other car in the lot was a shiny black Ferrari--exactly the type of car these rich kids would drive. He feared that the frat boys would be gone by the time he radioed for backup, so he walked around the corner of the building and ordered the trio to freeze.

  Gregaros expected the boys to quake with fear but, after their initial surprise, they had calmly followed his instructions to put their hands against the warehouse wall and spread their legs. While he was patting down his prisoners, Harvey Grant, the smallest boy, wondered aloud what the young policeman would do with fifty thousand dollars? Gregaros had laughed at the brazen and ridiculous bribe. Fifty thousand dollars was a lot of money for someone like Stan, who had been born poor, grown up hard, and joined the force after a tour in Vietnam with the Marines.

  When Gregaros asked Grant where he would get that kind of money, Grant asked him if he knew that Jesus Delgado was the dead man in the 7-Eleven parking lot. Gregaros stood
back and looked at the boys again. "No, it's not possible," he told himself. These guys couldn't be connected to Mexican gangsters. Then he took another quick look at the automatic weapons and ski masks stacked on the hood of the Toyota.

  "Let us go and we'll take care of you," Grant had said. "Who knows, this might not be a one-shot deal. We can use a man inside the Portland police."

  Gregaros hesitated.

  "There's a downside to rejecting the offer," Grant continued.

  "Oh?" Gregaros had said.

  Grant had turned his head and smiled. Stan thought that he looked like one of those nerds on College Bowl.

  "If you arrest us," Grant said, "we'll swear that we parked our car in this lot so we could smoke some weed, and found the Toyota just as it is, moments before you arrested us. It will be your word against ours. Do you know who we are?"