Part 52 (1/2)

”Kilmer?”

”Sounds good to me,” I said.

The wet bar was hidden behind mahogany shutters that swung away with a touch. Raines took down three snifters that looked as fragile as dewdrops and poured generous shots from a bottle that was old enough to have served the czar. The brandy burned the toes off my socks.

”Have a seat and tell me what's on your mind,” he said in a flat, no-nonsense voice.

The leather sofa was softer than any bed I'd been in lately. He sat behind his desk with a sigh and rubbed his eyes.

I was beginning to like him in spite of myself. I had remembered him as just another football jock, but Raines had about him the charisma of authority, even as weary as he seemed to be. He dominated the office, not an easy thing to do considering the view.

”This thing with Disaway,” said Callahan, ”it goes a little deeper than splitting a foreleg because of Butes.”

Raines swirled his brandy around, took a whiff, then a sip, and waited.

”Disaway was favored to win a race this past Sunday-”

”He dragged in eighth,” Raines said, cutting him off.

”Yeah, right, well, we have what I would call very reliable information that the race was fixed for Disaway to lose. Would you say the information is good, Jake?”

”I'd say it's irrefutable,” I said.

The muscles in Raines' jaws got the jitters.

”I can't tell you exactly how it was done,” Callahan went on. ”Probably cut back his feed for a couple of days and overworked him a little, raced him a little too much, then probably gave him a bag of oats and a bucket of water a couple of hours before the race and he was lucky to make the finish line. But there's no doubt that he was meant to lose. Money was made on it.”

”By who?” Raines demanded.

Callahan hesitated for several moments. He was in a tight spot. To tell Raines about the recording was to admit that there was an illegal tape in Tagliani's house.

”I'm sorry, sir,” Callahan said, firmly but pleasantly, ”I can't tell you that. Not right now. The thing is, it worked as a double. He lost so big Sunday, his odds were way up for today's race.”

”He went off at about fifteen to one,” Raines said. He took another sip of brandy but his dark eyes never left Callahan's face.

”That's right, but he was posting $33.05 until a few minutes before post time. According to your man at the hundred-dollar window, a bundle was laid off on him just before the bell and his odds dipped to $26.00 and change.”

”Do you know who placed the bundle?” Raines asked.

Callahan shook his head. ”It was several people, spread across both windows.”

”Who was responsible?”

”Could've been anybody from the groom to the owner. Thing is, sir, we can't prove any of this. Except we know the loss on Sunday was fixed.”

”We can prove the horse was dosed with Butes,” Raines said angrily.

”Yeah,” said Callahan, ”except it isn't against the law in this state.”

”Well, it's going to be,” stormed Raines. ”I've always been against the use of Butazolidin on any horse up to forty-eight hours before a race. I know horses, Callahan.”

”I know that,” the big man answered.

”But I don't know the kind of people that fix horse races and you do. I need some proof to use on Thibideau so this won't happen again.”

I decided to break in at this point. Callahan was playing it too close to the vest.

”Mr. Raines, Pancho here's reluctant to discuss this because it involves some illegal evidence-gathering. I trust you'll keep this confidential, but the fact is, we know the race was fixed, but we are powerless to say anything about it. The proof is on a tape which is nonadmissible.”

He stared at both of us for a few moments, toyed with a pipe on his desk, finally scratched his chin with the stem.

”Can you tell me who was involved?”

”A man named Tagliani,” I said. If he knew the name, he had either forgotten it or was one of the better actors I had ever seen in action. There was not a hint of recognition.

”I don't think I'm familiar with-”

”How about Frank Turner?” I said. ”That's the name he was using here.”

I could see Callahan's startled look from the side of my eye but I ignored it.

The question brought a verbal response from Raines.

”Good G.o.d!” he said. ”Is this fix tied up in some way with the homicides in town?”

It was obvious that he had bought the soft-pedal from the press just as everyone else in town had. Just as obviously, he was totally in the dark about who Tagliani really was and the ramifications of the a.s.sa.s.sinations.

”Not exactly,” Callahan answered, still trying to be cautious.

I decided it was time to let the skeleton out of the closet. I told him the whole Tagliani story, starting in Ohio and ending in the Dunetown morgue. I told him about Chevos, the friendly dope runner, his a.s.sa.s.sin, Nance, and their front man, Bronicata. I told him about the Cherry McGee-Longnose Graves war, a harbinger of what was to come. The more I talked, the more surprised Callahan looked.

Surprised was hardly the word to describe Raines. He was appalled.

I was like a c.r.a.p shooter on a roll. The more aghast they got, the more I unloaded. I watched Raines' every muscle, trying to decide whether he had truly been misled by t.i.tan and the others, or whether he was one of the greatest actors of all time. I decided he had been duped. Whatever had been weighing on his mind earlier in the day probably seemed insignificant compared to what I was telling him. I saved my best shot until last.

”I'm surprised t.i.tan, Seaborn, Donleavy, or the fellow who owns the newspaper and TV station-what's his name . . . ?”

”Sutter,” he said hoa.r.s.ely.

”Yeah. He's handling the cover-up. I'm surprised one of your a.s.sociates didn't tell you before this,” I said.

Pause.

”They've known about it for several weeks.”

Callahan looked like he had swallowed his tongue.

Raines got another five years older in ten seconds.

I'm not sure to this day whether I was venting my anger toward the Committee, Chief, and the rest of the Dunetown crowd, or telling the man something he should know, whether it was a petty move on my part because I wanted his wife, or a keen piece of strategy. That's what I wrote it off as, even though it was still a reckless thing to do. Whatever my motives were, I knew one thing for sure: A lot of h.e.l.l was going to be raised. Some rocks would certainly be overturned. I was anxious to see who came running out.