Authors: William Bernhardt
“Right.”
“Just get to their office, Baxter,” he said, punching the tiny buttons on the phone. “I’m calling Swift. Maybe she can call in backup.”
“But why?” Ben asked, genuinely curious and stalling for time. “Why would you go in for kidnapping? You have a successful restaurant.”
“Are you kidding? No one makes money from restaurants. It’s a money pit. And campus clubs are the worst. The kids are so damn fickle.”
“But kidnapping?”
“Look, I grew up in Chicago. The mob rules, right? Everyone I ever knew was crooked. That was how we made money. It was expected.”
“Mike told me he thought you were protesting too much when you said you had no mob connections.”
“This job had nothing to do with the mob. Those jerks coulda never come up with something this smart.” He wiped his brow with his free hand. “I left all that behind. Tried to start fresh. Clean. But I wasn’t making money and the debts were piling up. If I didn’t come up with some money—major money—I’d lose everything.”
“So you went in for kidnapping. Then murder.”
“I never wanted the murders. But Manny was making threats, saying he’d talk, and then Charlie—” He tightened his grip on Christina’s hair. “Aw, what’s the use? You wouldn’t believe me. And you’re both dead anyway.” His lip curled as he pointed the gun at Christina’s skull.
“You don’t have to do this,” Ben said, trying to keep his voice calm even though he was more terrified than he had ever been in his life. Not Christina. Please, God, not Christina. “You can stop the killing now.”
“Too late,” Roma said, sweat dripping from his chin. “Too goddamn late.”
Outside Ben’s office, in the front lobby, they all heard the sound of a door slamming shut.
“Who’s that?” Roma hissed, lips tight.
“Probably Jones, my office manager,” Ben answered. “Or my investigator, Loving.”
“Like hell. I already took care of both of them.”
“Ben? Christina? Where are you? I’ve got the stuff from the courthouse.”
It was their new intern. Vicki.
“Any luck?” Baxter asked.
Mike shook his head. “No one’s answering. Not in the office Ben’s been using, not in any office in the building that I can find a number for.”
“It’s late,” Baxter said, as she wove in and out of traffic, hitting speeds well beyond the limit. “Probably all gone home or not answering.”
“That doesn’t help me. I found a doorman at the Marriott across the street who thinks he saw Ben and Christina go in half an hour ago. Half an hour!” He wiped his brow. “And you know what that means.”
“If they’ve been back that long, and they’re not answering the phone . . .”
“Yeah.” Mike bit his lower lip, trying to fight back the emotions that were flooding to the surface. “If that killer has been there for half an hour—”
Baxter swerved into the next lane, leaving a semi eating her dust. “I’m driving as fast as I can.”
“It won’t matter. We can’t possibly get there in time. Neither will backup.” He sat silent for a moment, hands gripping the console. “They’re on their own.”
“Goddamn it,” Roma muttered under his breath, still gripping Christina by the hair. “Goddamn it to hell.”
“Don’t drag Vicki into this,” Ben whispered. “She’s just a kid. She knows nothing.”
“Goddamn it to hell!” He released Christina, then waved them both away from the door. “Get back! In the corner.”
Ben did as he was told, but he kept talking. “I haven’t told her anything about the case. All she does is fetch coffee and hold paper clips. There’s no need to hurt her.”
“Shut up!” Roma hissed.
A moment later, Vicki’s petite frame appeared in the doorway. She was carrying a large banker’s box. “Ben?”
A second later, she saw the man, and a second after that, the gun. A small cry escaped from her.
“Get up aganst the wall,” the man barked.
“What’s happening?” she said, in a tiny trembling voice.
“Get up against the wall!” he shouted.
“Do as he says,” Ben told her. “Please.”
She scooted forward, her lips parted, her face ghost white. Her hands began to shake. Ben wondered how much longer she could hold that box.
“Hurry!”
She scooted forward—too fast. She stumbled, and the box tumbled out of her hands, taking Roma by surprise. Reams of paper spewed forth, knocking him backward. The gun spilled out of his hand. He stepped backward, hit the desk, then fell, as the floor was covered in paper.
“Oh!” Vicki screamed. “I’m so sorry. Don’t hurt me! Please! I’ll clean this up.”
“Just get in the corner!” Roma bellowed, but Vicki knelt down and started rummaging through the paper—
—and came up holding a gun.
Ben and Christina gaped. Roma’s hand was barely an inch away from his own weapon. “Don’t do it,” Vicki cautioned.
He didn’t listen. He grabbed it. Vicki fired, but missed. Roma rolled away.
“Don’t be a fool,” Vicki said. “I will shoot.”
Roma came up, gun in hand—
And Vicki fired. The bullet caught him in the neck, slamming him back against the wall. His eyes fluttered shut.
“Call 911,” Vicki ordered. “Fast.” She ran to Roma’s side, looked at the wound, pressed two fingers against the side of his neck. “Damn,” she muttered. “He’s not going to make it.”
While Christina made the call, Ben stared at his intern. And her pistol. “What the hell is going on?”
“I think a ‘thank you’ might be in order here,” Vicki replied. There was a strength in her voice that he didn’t recall being there before.
“What were you doing with a gun in your files?”
“A girl has to know how to protect herself. Especially if she’s working for someone like you.”
“My God,” Ben said, slapping his forehead. “The press will be all over this. We’ll have to get you a lawyer. Someone outside the firm. It was self-defense, of course, but we’re going to have to convince the cops that—”
Vicki pushed herself back up to her feet. “Relax, Ben. You don’t have to worry about the cops.”
“How can you be sure?”
She smiled. “Because I am a cop.”
49
“It was always about the kidnapping,” Ben explained. “From the very start. First an audacious plan to get money, then a desperate plan to keep it.”
Ben sat in Judge Lacayo’s chambers with Christina, Drabble, the judge’s clerk, and most important, Mike, probably the only man in the room the judge really trusted. Although as far as that went, he was being pretty deferential to Ben today, especially compared to how the man had treated him since the trial began. Funny how a judge’s attitude changed once a law enforcement officer came in and told him that the far-fetched story the lawyer had been telling since the trial began was actually true.
“Mario Roma needed money,” Mike said. “Actually, I don’t know if he needed it so much as wanted it, but he was the one who concocted this plan. He had some contacts in Tulsa and he knew the Metzger family. And he’d seen Tommy. He knew the parents were loaded, attached to their child—but more than a bit negligent. He knew capturing the kid would not be that tricky. The hard part would be getting the money, keeping the money, and not getting caught.”
“But he apparently managed it, right?” Drabble said.
“Right—because he enlisted help. He knew a small-time hood named Manny Nowosky because he hung out in Roma’s club. Probably pushed drugs there, too, but Mario turned a blind eye to that. Call it a reciprocal favor. Manny brought in a street chicken he knew named Charlie. But Mario needed one more person to make it all work, so he recruited Tony.”
“Tony didn’t write a word in his journal that suggests that he was involved in anything criminal,” Christina protested.
“Well, it would be a pretty stupid move if he did, given that someone might read his journal, which, come to think of it, we all have.”
“But he comes across as such a caring, gentle person. Everyone who knew him says the same thing.”
“I know,” Mike said, “but there’s no other explanation. Anyway, the kidnapping was a success. They made off with the money. But that wasn’t the end of the story. I don’t know exactly why Mario set out to get Tony. Maybe he was afraid he would talk. Maybe he didn’t want to split the loot. At any rate, Manny and Charlie lured Tony out so they could kill him. They couldn’t have known two frat hoods would make their job all the easier. They probably followed Tony and the two frat boys out of the club and watched while the beating took place. By the time the frat boys left and they got to him, strangling Tony was a cinch. Delivering his corpse to the frat house was an obvious way to divert suspicion.”
“But why was Manny killed?” Christina asked.
“Now there I can make a much more accurate guess. We found fifty thousand bucks hidden in Manny’s rental home after he was killed. We checked the numbers. The cash didn’t come from the ransom money, at least not directly. Roma must’ve laundered it somehow. The way I see it, Manny was making demands, threatening to talk unless he got paid immediately. Unless I miss my guess, Charlie the Chicken joined in the ill-considered extortion attempt.”
“And then?”
“And then, after paying Manny a little something to keep him quiet, Mario decided to tie up the loose ends. With an electric drill. This was not only safer, it would allow him to keep all the money for himself. Once he took out Charlie, he must’ve thought he was safe.” He paused. “Till he tuned in to Ben’s idiotic press conference.” He shook his head. “Roma must’ve left the club the second he heard that. Tied up Jones and Loving and shoved them in that closet where we found them. Took out your lame attempt at security, poor Boxer Johnson, who was lucky to get away with nothing worse than a concussion. And then Roma came after you.”
Mike pursed his lips. “Let me tell you, Ben. Of all the stupid things you’ve done in a lifetime of stupid things, this one is the worst.”
“It wasn’t a bad idea,” Ben said defensively. “I didn’t think he’d move that quickly. I thought maybe he’d come that night, perhaps the next morning . . .”
“You were dead wrong.”
“And in any case, I had a security guard watching. We were in radio contact and—”
“And it was a bad idea.”
Ben sighed. “Well, it worked out in the end.”
“It only worked out because I got undercover security assigned to your sorry little butt without telling you—since you refused it when I offered it. Not that easy to find a cop with a law background, either, let me tell you. Vicki Hecht is her real name. Graduated Northwestern Law School, 1992. Practiced law for five years, didn’t care for it. Became a cop. And saved your miserable little life.” Mike leaned in close. “But if you ever do anything like that again I will personally wring your neck.”
“Why, Mike, I didn’t know you cared.”
Mike bristled. “About you, I don’t. But I’ve gotten used to Christina.” He gave her a wink. “She’s cute.”
“You should have told me what you were doing.”
“Nah. If you’d known, you’d have blown it. Or kept Vicki out of the loop. Or sent her away.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do, Ben. I know how stupid you can be. It’s staggering.”
Christina gave Mike a stern look. “You told Vicki to put that stuff in her résumé about speaking French, didn’t you? You knew that would reel me in.”
Mike spread his hands. “What can I say?”
Christina feigned a hurt expression. “I feel so used.”
“If I may, ladies and gentlemen,” Judge Lacayo said, easing forward in his black leather chair. “I hate to interrupt a delightful conversation just because this is my chambers, but could we talk about the case at hand?”
Ben tucked in his chin. “Sorry, your honor.”
“Major Morelli, are you absolutely certain about this?”
“With some regret,” Mike answered. “Because I hate it when Ben and Christina are right and I’m wrong. But yes, I’m certain.”
“Then Johnny Christensen—”
“Did not kill Tony Barovick. Hurt him badly, yes, and should be tried for aggravated assault. But not murder.”
The judge glanced at the prosecutor. “Mr. Drabble?”
Drabble did not look happy, but Ben couldn’t fault him for that. “Your honor, my people are saying the same thing. We want to drop the murder charge and refile for aggravated assault, if double jeopardy permits.”
Lacayo nodded thoughtfully. “Very well. The clerk will so enter it into the court record. Ms. McCall, for the time being your client is free to go.”
Christina closed her eyes, a smile spreading across her face. “Thank you, your honor.”
“By the way—”
“Yes?”
“Am I right,” the judge asked, “in thinking that this was your first trial as lead counsel?”
Christina nodded.
“You picked a hell of a case to start out with. Talk about trial by fire.” Judge Lacayo fell back into his cushioned chair. “Well, ma’am, I hope Mr. Kincaid gives you a raise for this, because you handled it like a pro.” He smiled. “You’ll be welcome in my courtroom anytime.”
Mike was not surprised to find Special Agent Swift and Sergeant Baxter waiting for him outside the judge’s chambers.
“Congratulations, tiger,” Swift said. “You hit the jackpot.”
He bowed his head with mock modesty. “Aw, shucks.”
“You came through like a champ. You solved the case.”
“Yes,” Baxter said, inching forward. “
We
did.”
“And I want to thank you for doing it,” Swift added. “This kidnapping has been a burr in my side for far too long. You can’t imagine how pleased I am to finally have it removed.”
“Glad I could be of service.”
“You know,” Swift said, a smile dancing playfully on her lips, “I don’t normally do this—well, never, actually—but I think I could get you in at the Bureau without any trouble. Especially now, after this case.”
“That’s nice, but—”
“Now think about it, sugah. You might get tired of chasing down trailer trash liquor store shooters someday. You might want to move up to the big time.” She sidled closer to him, an eyebrow arched, a finger tugging at his belt. “And if you joined the Bureau, we’d see a whole lot more of each other.”
“I appreciate the offer,” Mike said. “Really. But I like it in Tulsa. With my friends.” He paused a moment. “And my partner.”