Betrayal (39 page)

Reward; risk.

Hardy had written the Allstrong office number down in his notes as a matter of course while he was doing his research last night. Returning from word processing where he’d dropped his draft marked
URGENT
, he closed his office door, went behind his desk, sat down, took out his notes, and pulled the phone over in front of him, punching the numbers with a steeled deliberation.

“J
ACK
A
LLSTRONG,
please.”

“I’ll see if he’s in. Can I tell him who’s calling?”

“I don’t know. How can you tell him who’s calling if he’s not in?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said you’d see if Mr. Allstrong was in. But if you were going to tell him who was calling, then you must know he is in. Isn’t that right?”

Hardy hated to launch this logic assault on the poor receptionist, but with the attack on Evan, he believed he was running out of time. “Please tell Mr. Allstrong that my name is Dismas Hardy and that it’s extremely important that I speak with him as soon as possible.” He spelled his name out for her. “I’m an attorney working on the appeal in the Evan Scholler matter, with which I’m sure he’s familiar. Please also tell him that I’m continuing the work begun last summer by a lawyer named Charlie Bowen. If he’s busy, tell him I’ll be happy to wait here on the line for as long as it takes.”

As it turned out, it took less than a minute. A voice with an undefinably Southern accent and devoid of nervousness, anger, or fear came through the wire. “This is Jack Allstrong.”

“Mr. Allstrong, my name is Dismas Hardy and—”

A big, booming laugh. “Yeah, I already know that. You made quite a first impression on our Marilou, I must say. And normally she is some kind of a tough nut to crack. She says you’re working with Lieutenant Scholler?”

“Evan. Yes, sir.”

“Evan, right. I always think of him as Lieutenant. That’s what he was when he worked with us.” He paused. “God, that whole quagmire with him and Ron Nolan just turned into a hell of a thing, didn’t it? The messes people get themselves into. And two better young men you couldn’t have imagined. But I don’t suppose you ever had a chance to meet Ron?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“That’s a shame. He was a fine man, a fine soldier, a loyal employee. What happened to him was just nothin’ less than a goddamned tragedy, Mr. Hardy, I’ll be honest with you. And I know it was because of the lieutenant’s head wound to some extent, so I don’t blame him the way I might otherwise. War, and this one’s no exception, it can do horrible things to people. Anybody’s been in one knows that for a fact. You a veteran, Mr. Hardy?”

“Yes, sir. Vietnam.”

“Well, then, you know what I’m talking about. But at least this war, the soldiers themselves, the men on the ground, they’re getting some respect. And about goddamn time, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, I would,” Hardy said. “But I’m calling because I’m about to file an appeal to see if I can get Mr. Scholler out of prison and—”

“Wait!” Allstrong’s voice hardened up. “Now, wait just a second here. You say you’re trying to get the lieutenant out of prison? I thought nobody doubted that he had killed Ron.”

“Well, the jury thought it was beyond reasonable doubt, which is not—”

“Now, hold on. We don’t need to be splitting hairs here, Mr. Hardy. I think I’ve made it clear that until he was injured and even after that, Lieutenant Scholler had my complete respect. He was a good soldier, a natural leader, good to his men. But I don’t think I’m comfortable with the idea that the man who killed one of my first employees, and a damn good friend, is going to be out walking the streets again, a free man. And I certainly don’t think I’m inclined to help with this appeal of yours.”

“Sir, I don’t believe Evan Scholler did kill Ron Nolan.”

“Well, that’s a good one. You might be in the minority with that opinion. I haven’t talked to anybody else who thinks that.”

“Not even Charlie Bowen?”

Allstrong didn’t hesitate for an instant. “Not him either.”

“So you talked to him?”

“Couple of times, at least. Last summer sometime, was it? I don’t know. Whatever happened to him anyway? One day he’s here asking me all kinds of questions, I’m thinking he’s moving forward on this appeal like you are, and next thing you know he’s gone.”

“That’s what happened,” Hardy said. “He disappeared.”

“Just like that?”

“Apparently.” Hardy found his temper starting to flare, and decided it was time to push on Allstrong, see if he could get a bit of a rise. “Did you know Charlie Bowen’s wife?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“She never called you there?”

“She might have called here, although I don’t know why she would have. But if she did, she never talked to me. Why do you think I would know anything about her?”

Hardy laid out his conjecture as factual truth. “She was working on some of the files Charlie was working on when he disappeared. Then, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but six weeks ago, she committed suicide.”

For the first time, Allstrong hesitated, then made a little kissing noise. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, of course. Over Charlie walking out on her?”

“That’s the general assumption, I presume. Although there are other theories.”

“About why she killed herself?”

“Not just why, but whether. There’s some evidence that she might have been killed by someone who wanted to make it look like a suicide.”

“Why would anyone do that? Want to kill her, I mean?”

“Maybe because she’d found out something to do with her husband’s death. And in that case, maybe Charlie Bowen wasn’t a simple disappearance either. Maybe he was murdered too.”

“That’s a lot of maybes.”

“Yes, it is. And here’s another one. Maybe Charlie’s work on this appeal is what convinced somebody they needed to kill him.”

“Who would that be?”

“Whoever actually did kill Ron Nolan.”

“Ahh.” Allstrong mustered up a kind of chortle. “And this is what brings us around to where you don’t think it was Scholler who killed him.”

“That’s right. These are my theories about the Bowens, both of them. I think they were both murdered, and I think the person behind those murders also tried to have Evan Scholler killed this morning at Corcoran Prison. But that one didn’t work.” Hardy didn’t know if Allstrong had already received this news from his sources within the prison, and he thought it wouldn’t hurt to hear it now from him.

And while there was no sign that this information registered as anything but another unimportant detail about Hardy’s case, by degrees the superficial warmth was leeching out of both men’s tones. When Allstrong spoke next, his easy Southern geniality was entirely missing. “Well, all of this is interesting, I’m sure, but it really doesn’t have shit-all to do with me. And I’m afraid, as I told you, I’m not going to be too disposed to help you get Ron Nolan’s killer out of prison. So if there’s anything else specific I can help you with, let’s hear it. Otherwise, I got a business I’m trying to run here.”

“I appreciate that,” Hardy said. “I thought you’d be interested in finding Ron Nolan’s killer in any event, though. Whether or not it was Evan Scholler, you’d want to know who really did it, I presume. And whatever you can tell me now might help me get to the truth. I’m basing my appeal on stuff I think the FBI discovered that they didn’t reveal to Evan’s prosecutors at the time of the trial. I assume you’re familiar with fragmentation grenades?”

“Sure.”

“Well, then you may know that Nolan, who was in your employ at the time, had several of these in his home.”

“I understood that Scholler put them there to frame Ron.”

“No, sir.” Hardy easily came out with the next untruth. “Since the trial, that’s been pretty much discredited. The FBI concluded there was no way Evan could have gotten these things back home, whereas Nolan could have just packed them in his duffel.”

“And why would he do that?”

“Because he liked them to cover his tracks after he assassinated people.”

Allstrong laughed out loud, although through the phone Hardy picked up as much nerves as humor in it this time. When he got his breath, he said, “That accusation is really beneath contempt, Mr. Hardy. Ron was my recruiter out here. He didn’t assassinate people.”

“Yes, he did. The FBI has made that clear enough to the Khalil family, who were among his victims. That’s the evidence I’m trying to get in front of the court this time around. If Nolan was killing people on contract, then revenge becomes a motive for his own death, and that might give Evan an out.”

Allstrong came out with the question Hardy had been leading him toward. “You say Nolan was killing people on contract? That’s absurd.”

“The FBI doesn’t think so.”

“So who was paying him?”

“Well, the FBI makes the case to the Khalils that it was one of your former clients in Iraq, a man named Kuvan Krekar.”

“Kuvan is dead. He’s been dead now a couple of years.”

“I know that. He was killed by the Khalils over in Iraq, but I don’t think Kuvan was paying Nolan anyway. For what it’s worth, a couple of inspectors with San Francisco’s homicide department think the same thing I do, and they won’t be giving up on their investigation anytime soon. They think that whoever paid Nolan to kill the Khalils also had a hand in the deaths of Charlie and Hanna Bowen. You got any idea who that might be?”

“None at all.”

“That’s funny, because all of us have the idea that it’s someone in your company, Jack. Allstrong Security.”

After a long pause, Allstrong said, “If that ridiculous accusation ever sees the light of day, Mr. Hardy, I hope you’re prepared to spend the rest of your life defending the lawsuit I’ll bring against you.”

“I’
M GLAD
I did it,” Hardy said. “I had to shake something up. It was kind of fun.”

Frannie sat next to him at the bar of the Little Shamrock. Her brother, Moses McGuire, was standing across from them both behind the bar. “It was kind of fun,” Frannie said to Moses, mimicking Hardy’s voice with heavy irony. “
I think it’s kind of fun
to threaten a man who’s already killed at least two people and tried for three trying to keep this information from getting out.
I think it’s kind of fun
that he can put me on his kill list next so me and my family can live in fear of being murdered every day from now on. I really think that’s kind of fun.” Frannie’s color was high, her eyes shining with anger.

Hardy put a hand over his wife’s. “That’s not going to happen, Frannie. And you know why? Moses knows why, don’t you, Mose?”

McGuire sipped his soda and lime. “Because you told Allstrong the cops were on it too. Killing you the way he’d done the Bowens wouldn’t get him anything. But”—he held up a finger—“here’s the tiny flaw my smart little sister has picked up on in your strategy, Diz. If this guy is juiced enough that he can pull strings inside the FBI, and apparently he is, what on God’s good earth makes you think that he can’t get around Abe Glitsky and Darrel Bracco?” He turned to Frannie. “Did I express that succinctly enough, you think?”

She bobbed her head once, still furious. “Perfectly,” she said.

“Guys, come on,” Hardy said. “He’s not going to kill two cops, for Christ’s sake. And who knows who else is in on the investigation. That’s just not going to happen.”

“He doesn’t have to kill them,” Frannie replied. “But what about if he has them ordered off from on high? Where does that leave you then?”

“Me, me, Monty, call on me.” Moses wasn’t smiling, either, though. He leaned over into his brother-in-law’s face. “That leaves you hanging out there alone in the breeze, Diz.”

“Okay, but if that unlikely event happens, which I doubt—”

“Then you’ll have an accident, like Charlie Bowen did,” Frannie said.

“No, Abe would never rest if—”

Frannie slammed her palm down on the bar.
“You’d already be dead, you idiot!”

In the silence that descended, Hardy put his hand gently over Frannie’s again. “Well,” he said, “then I’d better get this whole thing done fast, shouldn’t I?”

H
ARDY COULD BE GLIB
all he wanted, but in fact Frannie and Moses weren’t all wrong, or even mostly wrong. He knew that he’d possibly put himself in an elevated state of jeopardy and could live with that—he also thought he’d mitigated the problem dramatically by telling Allstrong that the police were already involved in this same investigation.

But the more he lived with it, the more he found himself worrying. He hadn’t adequately considered that his phone call to Allstrong might also have put Frannie in danger. That had not been his intention, though it might very well be the result.

So Date Night, even at their old favorite restaurant Yet Wah, ended early. Frannie, still very upset over Hardy’s call to Allstrong, went straight up to bed. Hardy went to his chair in the living room and punched up Darrel Bracco’s number on his cell phone. The inspector picked up and Hardy told him his story—putting a press on Jack Allstrong in person—to a considerably more enthusiastic response than Frannie had given him. When he finished, Bracco said, “So we know both the Bowens were talking to Allstrong. I got that from the phone records too. But so what?”

“So what is what else this tells us.”

“What’s that?”

“This is close to him, personally. It’s not just some corporate thing.”

“How do you know that?”

“Mostly,” Hardy said, “because he came to the phone to talk to me when there was no reason he needed to. He’s got two hundred people under him down there. I guarantee he’s got several levels of bureaucracy between him and the front desk. But I call him up out of thin air and mention Evan Scholler and the Bowens and he came right away. He wanted to know what I knew, to see how exposed he was. And I’m confident that I made it pretty clear.”

“Why did you want to do that?” Bracco asked. “Warn him we’re coming.”

“My wife had the same question,” Hardy said. “But maybe rattling his cage gets him to do something stupid.”

“Something stupid to do with you, maybe.”

“Maybe, but unlikely. I made it clear to Allstrong that now it’s not just one lone attorney, and then several months later, his wife, also acting alone. The police are part of it now. If any of us disappears or has an accident, the heat only goes up on him. So he’s got to figure another way out, make this investigation go away, and I’m trying to make it easy for him.”