Part 28 (1/2)

”What?”

Decker vividly remembered his telephone conversation with McKittrick. ”I think McKittrick told the mob how to find her, provided they killed me in the bargain. I think he blames me for the CIA's decision to kick him out. I think he's a sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d who planned to ruin my life from the moment he was a.s.signed to help turn Diana Scolari into Beth Dwyer.”

5.

The small living room became silent.

”That's a serious accusation.” Miller bit his lower lip. ”Can you prove any of this?”

”No.” Decker didn't dare tell him about what had happened in the van.

”How did you find out that Beth Dwyer's real name is Diana Scolari?”

”I can't tell you.”

”Why not?”

Decker didn't respond.

”Listen very carefully.” Miller stood. ”You are in possession of information indicating there was a serious breach of security in the protection of an important government witness. I am ordering you to tell me how you came by this information.”

”I'm not at liberty to say.”

Miller glared. ”I'll teach you about liberty.” He picked up the telephone. ”You'll be giving up your liberty for quite a while until you tell me what I want to know.”

”No. You're making a mistake,” Decker said.

Miller glared harder. ”I'm not the one who's making a mistake.”

”Put down the phone. Please. All that matters is saving Beth's life.”

Miller swung toward Esperanza. ”Do you hear this bulls.h.i.+t?”

”Yes. For the past twenty-four hours, he's been playing mind games with me,” Esperanza said. ”What worries me is, he's beginning to make sense. Beth Dwyer's safety is the priority. If Decker cut corners to get his information, I'm prepared to deal with that later, provided it doesn't compromise me.”

”Plausible deniability,” Decker said.

”What?”

”That's what we used to call it in the Agency.”

”How about calling it accessory to a felony?” Miller asked.

”Tell me what Beth Dwyer was going to testify about.”

Miller wasn't prepared for the abrupt change of topic.

”Did she really shoot her husband in the head and get away with two million dollars of mob money?” Decker asked.

Miller gestured fiercely. ”Where the h.e.l.l did you learn this stuff?”

But Decker ignored the outburst. He was too busy recalling something the gunman had said on the telephone-”d.a.m.n it, Nick's going to be furious.”

”A man called Nick is involved,” Decker said. ”Do you know who that is? What's his last name?”

Miller blinked in astonishment. ”It's worse than I thought. There'll have to be a complete review of witness relocation security procedures.”

”Beth's in danger,” Decker said with force. ”If we share what we know, we might be able to save her life.”

”Diana Scolari.”

”I don't know anything about Diana Scolari. The woman I care about is Beth Dwyer. Tell me about her.”

Miller stared toward the darkness beyond his window. He stared at his hands. He stared at Decker. ”Diana Scolari is the wife-or used to be the wife until someone shot the son of a b.i.t.c.h in the head-of Joey Scolari, the chief enforcer for the Giordano family in New York City. We estimate that Joey was responsible for at least forty mob executions during his eight-year tenure. He was a very busy man. But he didn't complain. The money was excellent, and just as important, he loved his work.”

Decker listened, distressed.

”Three years ago, Joey met the woman you know as Beth Dwyer. Her unmarried name was Diana Berlanti, and she was working as an activity director on a cruise s.h.i.+p in the Caribbean, where Joey had decided to put himself on display to give himself an alibi while one of his lieutenants eliminated a problem back in New York. Diana attracted his attention. Understand, he was a good-looking guy, stylish dresser, knew what to say to women. They normally fell all over him, so it wasn't any surprise that Diana didn't tell him to get lost when he started making advances. One thing led to another. They were married three months later. The courts.h.i.+p was convenient for him. He arranged it so they kept going back to the Caribbean. It gave him a chance to have a natural-seeming reason to visit certain islands that have banks with numbered accounts and no objection to laundering money. Same with the honeymoon.”

Decker felt sick.

”It's important to emphasize that, according to Diana, she had no idea of Joey's real occupation. She claims he told her he was in the restaurant business-which is true enough; Joey did own several restaurants as part of the same money laundering scheme. Anyhow, time pa.s.sed, and, no surprise, Joey's attention span was limited-he started to get tired of her. For a while, they lived in his penthouse in the city, but when he needed the place for his extracurricular activities, he put Diana in a big house with walls around it across the river in one of those mob bedroom communities in New Jersey. Plenty of guards. To keep her safe, he claimed. Actually, they were to keep her from going back to the penthouse and catching him with his girlfriends. But an equally important reason for the guards was to make sure she didn't get any ideas about moving out after the numerous times he beat her up.”

Decker's temples throbbed.

”And I mean he beat her up a lot,” Miller said. ”Because Diana had started asking questions not only about his fidelity but also about his business. You know how intelligent she is. It didn't take her long to realize what Joey really did, what kind of monster he was. So now she had a big problem. If she tried to leave-and there wasn't much hope of success with so many guards-she was certain he'd kill her. If she stayed and he suspected she was noticing too much, he'd also kill her. Her temporary solution was to pretend to lose interest in his women and his business, to pretend to be compliant. She spent her days doing what under other circ.u.mstances would have given her a great deal of pleasure-painting. Joey got a kick out of that, found it amusing. Sometimes, after he beat her up, he would build a big fire in the den and force her to watch him b.u.m her favorite paintings.”

”Jesus,” Decker said. ”Why did the b.a.s.t.a.r.d marry her?”

”Obviously for the pleasure of possessing someone he could hurt. As I said, Joey was a monster. Until nine months ago, in January, when someone solved her problem by blowing Joey's brains out. Or maybe she did it. There are two conflicting stories. Diana claims she was outside in the back of the estate, painting a winter scene, when she heard a shot in the house. Cautious, not knowing what to expect, she took her time going inside. Her a.s.sumption was that whatever had happened, Joey and the guards would take care of it. Her first surprise was to find the guards gone. Her second surprise was to find Joey dead in his study, his brains across his desk, his safe open. That safe normally held a considerable amount of cash, she knew. She'd seen bags of it delivered from time to time. She'd caught a glimpse of Joey putting it away. She'd overheard references to amounts. Her best guess was that two million dollars was missing. The implications of that didn't strike her at the time. All she cared about was taking the opportunity to escape. She didn't even bother to pack, just threw on an overcoat, grabbed Joey's keys, and drove away.”

”To the Justice Department,” Decker said.

”What other direction did she have? She knew the mob would be looking for her after she disappeared. But she figured their motive would be to keep her from talking. She didn't realize until later that Joey's G.o.dfather blamed her for the death, that the mob figured she killed Joey and took the money. It was a matter of family pride now. Blood pride. Revenge.” Decker nodded. ”So the Justice Department spent months debriefing her, relocated her with a new ident.i.ty in Santa Fe, and finally summoned her back to New York to testify.”

”Under protection.”

”You mean McKittrick's protection.”

”Unfortunately.”