Part 67 (2/2)
”Why?”
”I kind of like him.”
”Well, that's one h.e.l.l of a good, legitimate reason,” she said caustically.
”Why would he deny it?” I said. ”Everybody thinks he did it anyway, and he wanted to. Somebody beat him to it.”
”Any ideas?” she asked, then, waving her hand vigorously in front of her face, said, ”How silly of me, I'm sure you do.”
”Same cast,” I said.
”Are you saying Tagliani killed his own man?”
”Cherry McGee and Graves were in a Mexican standoff and Donleavy was on the spot again. He had to stop all the shooting before Raines got nervous. When Tagliani couldn't nail Graves, he eliminated McGee. McGee was a hired hand, he wasn't family. Tagliani couldn't have cared less.”
She whistled softly through her teeth. ”Can we prove any of this?” she asked.
”Donleavy and Seaborn may break down and unload it all,” I said. ”But if you're as good as they say you are, it doesn't make any difference. Donleavy can only hang once, and most of the Taglianis who were involved are probably dead.”
She looked at me like she was waiting for a second shoe to drop. Finally she said, ”Well?”
”Well what?”
”Well, what do you want out of all this?”
I said, ”Cohen, alive and spilling his guts. Then I'll have my RICO case. It would help me a lot if you got a court order to freeze the pyramid account until we can get into it. I'd like to know n.o.body's going to push the erase b.u.t.ton on the computer before we get there.”
”I'll take care of that in short order,” she said, running in high gear, her eyes as bright as a Mexican sunrise. ”n.o.body's going to believe this,” she said, standing up and flipping her gla.s.ses on the desk.
”There is one more little favor . . . ” I began.
She eyed me slyly. ”I knew it,” she said.
”Did either Winslow or Lukatis have any priors?” I asked.
”I wish you'd let me in on this thing you have about Lukatis.”
”It's personal,” I said.
She pondered my question a little longer.
”Yes, there was a case on the books against Winslow,” she said finally.
”For what?”
”Controlled substance.”
”What happened to it?”
”Dead-docketed.”
”For . . . ?”
”Lack of evidence.”
”Ah, good old lack of evidence,” I said.
”Look,” she said, ”if I don't have the goods, I can't go to the grand jury. My buck and wing is terrible.”
”I'm not blaming you,” I said quickly. ”Was it dropped before or after the trip with Lukatis?”
”I really don't remember.”
”Guess.”
”You son of a b.i.t.c.h.”
”Well?”
”Probably after.”
”Beautiful. And t.i.tan asked you to drop the case, right?”
She had to think about that one for a while.
”Not exactly,” she said. ”He just didn't come up with the goods for an indictment.”
”Fair enough,” I said. ”Okay, we're even, kiddo. By the way, I suggest you push for a no bond on Donleavy. If I'm right, he probably has half a million dollars waiting for him in Panama. If he gets on the street, he'll turn rabbit.”
”Over my dead body,” she snapped.
”Don't say that,” I groaned. ”We've got enough of them already. Who knows, kiddo, you just might ride the Raines case into the governor's mansion.”
I winked at her as she scurried by and headed for the booking desk.
71.
NANCE SHOWS HIS STRIPE.
The Breezes reeked of money. The conservative, two-story townhouses were Williamsburg gray with scarlet trim, and the walkways wound through ferns and flowering bushes that looked almost too good to be real. Some intelligent contractor had left a lot of old oaks and pines on the development and there wasn't a car in sight; the garages were obviously built facing away from the street. The lawn looked like it had been hand-trimmed with cuticle scissors.
There was a combined exit and entrance in the high iron-spike fence that enclosed the compound. It was divided by an island with a guardhouse and around-the-clock guards. The one on duty, a tall black weightlifter type, was starched into his tan uniform, and his black boots glistened like a showroom Ferrari.
He looked at me through no-s.h.i.+t eyes and s.h.i.+fted his chewing gum from one cheek to the other. He didn't say anything.
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