Leader of the Pack (Andy Carpenter) (12 page)

I could easily read the paper online every morning, as I do everything else, but I’m afraid if I cut off delivery of the physical paper, Vince will find out and cut off part of my body.

The story is on the front page, which is actually giving it more credit than it deserves. The attempt to kill Marcus and me jazzed it up a lot, but there is no proof that it was related to the Desimone case at all. Our attempt to reopen that case is in itself news, but the overall story is still somewhat short on substance. I hadn’t provided Vince with that much to work with.

That’s about to change.

I call Vince to thank him for running the story, and he says, “I can’t believe I put that drivel on the front page. You know what my problem is? I’m too nice.”

“That’s always been your problem, Vince. But this time it’s going to pay off.”

“I like the concept of paying off.”

I give him the follow-up to the story, which includes the Montana information, and the fact that we’re filing a petition with the court today. He can run the story in the online edition the moment we file, and follow it up as soon as possible in print.

“If you time it right,” I say, “Dylan will find out about it from you.”

I actually think I can hear Vince salivating through the phone. “He’s going to go bat-shit,” Vince says. “This is beautiful.”

I get up, shower, and go downstairs to take Tara on our walk. I stop in the kitchen to have some coffee, only to see Marcus standing next to the refrigerator. The door is open, and Marcus is in the process of emptying it.

Marcus can eat like no one I’ve ever seen. I almost expect him to lift the open refrigerator, lean his head back, and pour the contents down his throat.

I wave feebly and do an about-face, heading back up the steps. Tara stays down there with Marcus, maybe hoping for him to drop some scraps.

Laurie has just gotten on the treadmill, which is a device I completely do not understand. I don’t like walking anywhere, and in a million years would not walk nowhere.

This particular treadmill has a video screen that shows fake mountains, I guess under the very misguided assumption that mountain walking is an appealing concept. It isn’t; in fact, it’s one of the reasons they invented tunnels. I never really envied the Von Trapp family much.

Laurie is constantly telling me how much better exercise makes her feel, but I’ve never been a fan of gasping and sweating.

“You saw Marcus,” she says, while walking furiously.

“I did.”

“I hired him as your bodyguard. I knew you wouldn’t do it on your own, Andy. But people are trying to kill you. People who do that kind of thing professionally.”

I know she expects me to argue about this; Marcus has protected me in the past, and each time I’ve resisted his hiring. But he does it silently and unobtrusively; I never know he’s there until I need him, or until I walk into the kitchen.

“OK,” I say, no doubt shocking her, and I head back down the steps. I put on Tara’s leash and take her for a walk; there’s no trace of Marcus the entire time. I can’t even hear the sound of chewing. But the truth is that I feel confident and a hell of a lot safer knowing he’s there.

After the walk, I shower and head to the office, where Hike is waiting for me with the finished petition. I make a few edits on it, but they don’t improve it much. He did a terrific job, but it probably won’t carry the day on its own. We’ll have to do that in the hearing that will be called to decide the matter.

One factor that works against us is the judge who will preside, Judge Henry Henderson. He handled the original trial, and he has unfortunately not retired since, demonstrating that prayer, at least when lawyers do it, has its limitations.

Judge Henderson is commonly referred to by those who practice before him as “Hatchet,” a nickname he did not get by being warm and fuzzy. Legend has it that he got the name after various lawyers left his courtroom with fewer testicles than they had entered with.

Over the years, my charm has been even less effective on judges than it has been on women, but Hatchet Henderson has been the most resistant of all.

He’s generally impartial, torturing both the prosecution and defense equally. But in the original trial, I felt that he sided with the prosecution more than he should have, and his comments at the sentencing seemed to confirm that. I doubt he will be terribly sympathetic to Joey’s getting another shot, but the system doesn’t allow for me to go judge shopping. It’s going to be Hatchet all the way.

The actual filing is a formality, done with the clerk, and Hike heads down to the courthouse to do it. I call Vince to give him a heads-up that it will be filed in twenty minutes, and he almost seems appreciative. And human.

There are reporters assigned to the courthouse from various local outlets, and they will pick up on it when it’s filed. But they’ll have to digest it, and follow up, while Vince will have all his journalistic ducks in a row.

It’s a half hour later that Vince calls and says, “I just spoke to Dylan.”

“You did?”

“Of course. I had to give him a chance to comment before we went to press.”

“And?”

“I should have taped the call; you would have loved it. He went absolutely nuts; there’s nothing he said that I can print.”

“Did he deny it?”

“Does ‘It’s bullshit, it’s bullshit, it’s bullshit’ constitute a denial? Then he mentioned something about ‘nailing Carpenter to the wall for this.’ It was the most fun I’ve had in a really long time.”

“Glad I was able to brighten your day,” I say.

“He should be calling you any minute.”

“No, not a chance. He might call me, but first he’ll be digging out the file and figuring out what happened, and how culpable he is. He’ll want to know exactly where he stands right away. I know I would.”

“When will you get this in court?”

“We asked for an immediate hearing, due to the gravity of the miscarriage of justice. If I know Hatchet, he’ll be crazed about the possibility that Dylan screwed up the trial by violating the discovery rules. He’ll want to get to the bottom of this as soon as possible.”

“Let me know.”

“I will. But Vince, you know this can’t be contained anymore, right?” I’m telling him that it’s no longer a story his newspaper can dominate, that other news organizations will be all over it.

“I hear you, but we were the first ones in. We got to have all the fun.”

At twelve thousand feet, Simon Ryerson couldn’t feel the poverty. Not that he was looking for it. In fact, his attention wasn’t really on the poor villages at all, which were tucked into the basins below the focus of Simon’s attention.

He was staring at the Montaro River and the massive, aptly named Montaro Dam that kept it under control. It was a significant structure, probably the most impressive Simon had seen since his South American travels began.

“How long did it take to build?” Simon asked.

The pilot, Victor Lescano, shrugged. “There is no easy answer to that. It has been here in some form for centuries, but as the need became greater, more work was done. More work is always being done.”

“How long will it take to come down?”

Lescano smiled, though there was no humor in it. “Not centuries. Minutes.” He pointed down toward the villages. “They will have very little time, and nowhere to go.”

“Do not warn them.”

This time Lescano did not smile. “Do not tell me my job,” he said. “We are committed to this, once we get the money.”

“You will have it. When will the explosives be planted?”

“They are in place already,” Lescano said.

Ryerson was surprised and pleased to hear this. “Show me the airfield.”

Lescano nodded and turned the helicopter toward the east. Within thirty-five minutes they were at the airfield, with a runway surprisingly large and clearly adequate.

“Excellent,” said Ryerson. “Now all we need is the cargo.”

“That is being taken care of.”

“I’ve heard that before, but the matter is growing more urgent now.”

This surprised Lescano; it was the first time Ryerson had ever indicated that things weren’t going perfectly smoothly. “You are having difficulty?”

“Nothing unexpected, and nothing that can’t be easily handled. But we prefer to move quickly. Which brings us back to the cargo.”

“Nothing like this has ever been done before,” Lescano said. “It cannot be accomplished overnight.”

“The money you will be making is equally unprecedented.”

Lescano didn’t respond to that. There was no need to; they both knew the enormous amount of money that was on the line here.

“Have matters been cleared with your man at the Transportation Department?” Ryerson asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. I like a civilized country in which money carries the day.”

Lescano pointed to the villages, receding as they flew away. “Those people have no money.”

Ryerson nodded. “And they will not carry the day.”

“I have no idea who that is,” I say, when Sam shows me the picture. “But I do know you shouldn’t have taken it.”

“It was easy,” Sam says. “No problem.”

“Finding the location was enough,” I say, though I’m actually happy Sam did much more than that. I just don’t want to encourage him too much, because I don’t want him taking risks in the future.

“I figured if someone took the phone outside the house, then it’s probably not Carmine’s. We just need to find out who this guy is.”

“Sam, this is a big help. Thanks.”

He waves me off. “No sweat. Glad to do it.”

I call Pete Stanton to confirm he’ll be at the precinct this morning. He says that he will.

“I need your help,” I say. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“That’ll barely give me time to get my hair done,” he says, and hangs up.

“Let’s go,” I say to Sam.

“You want me to go with you?” he asks, his pleasure at being asked obvious.

“Absolutely.”

When we get to the precinct, we’re quickly brought back to Pete’s office. When he sees us he says, “Well, if it isn’t the Hardy boys.”

“If you would catch an occasional criminal, we wouldn’t have to,” I say, and then put the picture that Sam had taken on his desk.

“Who’s that?” Pete asks.

“That’s what we were hoping you could tell us.”

“I don’t have the slightest idea. Give me a hint.”

“He hangs out at Carmine Desimone’s house.”

“And how would you two know that?”

“We ran a stakeout,” I say. “Staked the whole thing right out. You should try it sometime.”

Pete starts to say something, but then just shakes his head in disgust. “Wait here,” he says, and then walks out of the office, leaving Sam and me sitting there.

“He’s got an attitude, huh?” Sam asks.

I shake my head. “He was just showing off for you.”

It’s about five minutes before Pete comes back, still holding the picture, but with a cop he introduces as Carl Griffith. “Carl knows him.”

“Who is he?”

Pete jumps in before Carl can answer. “First tell me you won’t be going near him. I don’t want to have to start running a tab at Charlie’s.”

“If I talk to him, it will be on a witness stand. Or Marcus will be with me.”

That’s good enough for Pete; he knows Marcus’s talents very well. He turns to Sam, who says, “Don’t look at me; I’m just an accountant.”

Pete nods the OK to Carl, who says, “His name is Tommy Iurato. He is a seriously dangerous individual.”

“He works for Carmine Desimone?” I ask.

Carl nods. “A member of the family going on eight years. From the new school.”

“What does that mean?”

“You know that phrase, ‘Honor among thieves’?”

I nod. “What about it?”

“The new school doesn’t teach that.”

“Is it possible he’s operating independently of Carmine?”

Carl shakes his head. “I would strongly doubt it. Iurato’s not a leader; he’s a follower. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill you, but it wouldn’t be his idea.”

“Could he be taking orders from someone else, besides Carmine?” I ask.

Pete jumps in. “Like who?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. But I believe Nicky Fats was murdered in that house. Is there any chance Carmine ordered it done?”

“No way,” says Carl.

“Then maybe someone else did.”

Carl seems adamant about this. “It is inconceivable that Carmine would tolerate it.”

“Maybe Carmine had no choice.”

Carl shakes his head. “Carmine got to be Carmine by making sure he always has choices.”

Sam and I leave Pete’s office and head back to mine. On the way, I say, “I need you to do something, but you have to promise me that you won’t leave your office to do it.”

“Come on, Andy, don’t put it that way. Tell me what you’re talking about.”

“Not until you promise; these are dangerous people.”

“Fine,” Sam says, no doubt lying through his teeth. “I promise.”

“You’ve got Iurato’s phone number, the one that Alex called.”

“Right.”

“Can you find out who Iurato calls? And who calls him?”

“Of course.”

“From your office?”

“Fine. From my office. You happy?”

“Thrilled.”

I had an affair with Rita Gordon.

I say it that way because it sounds really adult, and it fits the technical definition of affair, which includes the words “an event or series of events.” What we had was an “event,” though certainly not a series. There is also nothing in the definition that says the “event” has to last more than forty-five minutes, and ours didn’t.

It was back when Laurie had moved to Wisconsin, and I thought we were over for good. Rita was in retrospect probably doing me a favor, sort of welcoming me back to the dating world.

It was a wild forty-five minutes.

Since then we have reverted back to our previous type of relationship, which consists of friendly, usually sexual banter. Rita is the court clerk, so I’m able to occasionally combine the banter with information gathering, and this is one of those times.

“How did Hatchet react to the petition?” I ask. I’m in her office, so I can’t claim that I just coincidentally ran into her. Therefore I come right to the point.