Bad Faith

21

“So this is where the famous Butch Karp presides over the machinations of American justice,” Nadya Malovo said as she sauntered into his office through the private entrance. “As I expected, old-fashioned, like the man himself … lots of wood and leather upholstery. All business.” She sniffed. “And I detect cigar smoke, though it is old and only lingers like a memory of days gone past.”

She turned to look directly at Karp with a smirk on her face. “I take it you do not smoke cigars.”

“Have a seat, Ms. Malovo,” Karp said, standing beside the conference table.

“But of course not, that would be a vice for a man of such integrity. May I?” Malovo asked, nodding toward a wall of his office that was completely filled by books.

“Be my guest.”

Karp continued standing as the assassin walked over to the bookshelves, followed by U.S. Marshal Jen Capers and two men, a tall, steely-eyed, square-jawed type he assumed was a federal agent, and a plump shorter man. Her attorney Bruce Knight, I presume. He wondered briefly what Knight thought of Malovo. Surely he’s seen the file on her. Everyone deserves representation, but it can’t be easy defending evil incarnate.

“The usual legal books,” Malovo noted. “But I’m impressed with the others. Melville. Faulkner. Descartes. Jefferson. Plato. … The complete set of Federalist Papers. Have you actually read all of these books?”

“Most of them belonged to Francis Garrahy, one of my predecessors,” Karp replied evenly. “But yes, I’ve read them all. Now, I understand you’re here to confess to certain criminal acts, not comment on the decor of my office or the content of my library.”

Malovo laughed. “Yes, this is not a social call,” she agreed, but then seemed to notice Clay Fulton, who was sitting in a corner chair. He had not gotten up when she came in. “Ah, Mr. Fulton. It’s been a long time. No hard feelings I hope.”

Fulton didn’t reply except to glare at her. Several years earlier, he’d been part of a police convoy escorting Andrew Kane to a psychiatric evaluation facility in upstate New York when it was attacked by terrorists led by Malovo. The purpose had been to free Kane. But they’d used a school bus loaded with children to draw the police escort in, murdering the children as well as the officers who went to their aid. Malovo had shot Fulton in the leg but left him alive to carry his tale to Karp.

Malovo smiled. “I guess not,” she said, “but looks like we’re on the same team now.”

Fulton ignored her comment as Karp turned to the others. “Good morning, Marshal Capers. You want to introduce your party?”

“Morning, Mr. Karp,” Capers said. “This is federal agent Michael Rolles and defense attorney Bruce Knight, who is representing Ms. Malovo.”

Karp pointed to the conference table set up to the side of his desk. “If Ms. Malovo and Mr. Knight would have a seat at the table, and the rest of you make yourselves comfortable anywhere else, I’ll call the stenographer in.” He pressed a button on his intercom. “Would you please tell Dennis that we’re ready for him?”

Dennis Sheen entered the room and took a seat at the end of the table as Karp sat on one side and Malovo and her attorney sat on the other. Capers and Rolles pulled up chairs behind her.

When the stenographer nodded to indicate that he was ready, Karp proceeded. “Here today in my office is Nadya Malovo and her attorney Bruce Knight. Ms. Malovo I am informed that you have been apprised of your Miranda rights and have conferred this morning with your lawyer Mr. Knight regarding your rights and your request to make an incriminating statement regarding criminal acts you committed in New York. Correct?”

“Yes,” Malovo said.

“Are you now willing to waive your rights and make your statement in the presence of your lawyer?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been coerced or promised anything by me, or anyone else, to make these statements?”

“Not at all.”

“Ms. Malovo, it is a fact that you initiated this meeting with me to make this statement. This was of your own doing?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

Karp nodded. “Then let’s get going.”

Three hours later, Karp pushed back from the table. Over the course of the interrogation, Malovo had admitted to complicity in dozens of murders and violent crimes, from the killing of the schoolchildren when Fulton was shot to deadly bombings of restaurants, knifings, shootings, stranglings, and even an attempt to blow up the Brooklyn Bridge and incinerate the lower end of Manhattan with a ship filled with natural gas. Everyone in the room seemed stunned, even those who were aware of her crimes.

“I think that’s about it for my questions,” Karp said. “Is there anything you’d like to add?”

Smiling, Malovo shook her head. “That wasn’t enough? But no, not at this time, though perhaps someday we will have the opportunity to speak again.”

“Only if you want to take the witness stand at your trial,” Karp replied.

“What trial?” Malovo sneered, her eyes glittering, whether with anger or glee he wasn’t sure. “You will have to live with the knowledge that I am enjoying my new life, tucked away in some quiet little American town. Perhaps I will have a husband and get a dog.”

“We both know that will never happen,” Karp replied without emotion.

Malovo’s eyes glimmered even brighter, and there was no mistaking the hatred in them. But she smiled again. “There is one thing,” she said. “A small gesture to you. And that is to warn you that you and your family are in danger.”

“Is that a threat?” Karp asked evenly.

“Not from me,” she replied. “I do not know the details yet. However, I am aware of a plot that has something to do with your plan to be the grand marshal at the Halloween parade in the Village.”

“Hold on a minute,” Rolles said, getting to his feet. “You haven’t said anything about this to me. The agreement is that you talk to me first.”

“That is all I know at this time,” Malovo said to the agent. “When I learn more details, I will, of course, tell you first. However, since I probably will not be speaking to Mr. Karp again, I wanted to pass this on personally. … After all, our relationship precedes yours and mine.”

Five minutes later, when Malovo and the others were gone, Karp sat quietly at the table tapping on a yellow legal pad. He looked over at Fulton, who’d remained quiet throughout the interrogation. “So what do you think?”

“I think we had her dead to rights before this confession,” Fulton replied. “But that just put her on death row.”

“Except that her deal with the feds will keep her out of our hands,” Karp noted. He thought about it a little more, then shook his head. “She wasn’t confessing; she was bragging.”

“I agree,” Fulton said. “Throwing it in our faces, knowing we can’t do anything about it.”

“But why?”

The detective shrugged his big shoulders. “Because she’s a soulless sociopath?”

“She is that,” Karp said. “But she’s a very calculating and manipulating soulless sociopath. I don’t think Nadya Malovo does anything without some ulterior motive, and I’m not sure taunting us is all she’s up to.”

“Well, when you figure it out, let me know,” Fulton said. “And hopefully it will be something that will give me the chance to repay her for the hole she put in my leg.”

Karp nodded. “Hopefully you’ll aim a bit higher.”

The discussion was ended by Mrs. Milquetost on the intercom. “Agent Jaxon is here to see you.”

“Send him in, Darla,” he said.

When Jaxon entered a moment later, Karp asked, “So you hear it all?”

“Yeah. Thanks for setting that up,” Jaxon replied. “Would have liked her to talk more about the Sons of Man; she didn’t give up anybody we aren’t already aware of.”

“Maybe she wasn’t privy to who was pulling all the strings.”

“Yeah, maybe. I appreciate your letting me listen in.”

“I’ll shoot you a copy of the transcript as soon as I get it back. Maybe there’s something in it. In the meantime, were you able to get anything on those two names I gave you?” Karp asked.

Jaxon reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “You’re not supposed to have this,” he said, laying it on the table in front of Karp.

“I understand,” Karp replied as he read it. Then he swore. “The reason nothing came up on the records search for Bernsen and Westlund, whose real name apparently is LaFontaine, is because they’re informants for the ATF?”

“Looks that way,” Jaxon replied. “Apparently they got into some big trouble in Mississippi and were agreeable to working with the boys with Alcohol and Tobacco to infiltrate the Brothers of the South motorcycle club in Tuscaloosa. The ATF didn’t want them showing up if, heaven forbid, they got pulled over for a speeding ticket or some freelance larceny. So their records, and fingerprints, are kept in a ‘need-to-know only’ federal database. I had to pull some strings to get it, but at least I knew where to look.”

“The felony convictions mean Bernsen isn’t allowed to carry a firearm, much less apply for a concealed-weapons permit,” Fulton said, scowling. “I’ll pick the son of a bitch up now.”

“Can’t do it,” Jaxon replied, and pointed at the paper in Karp’s hand. “At least not using that. They don’t have an official record, and my ass would be grass for giving it to you.”

“Might be better this way,” Karp said after thinking for a moment. “I’ve already filled Clay in on what’s going on, but Marlene’s in Memphis looking into LaFontaine’s activities. Might not want to tip him off now.”

Karp then filled Jaxon in on what Marlene had learned. “What time are you and Guma flying down?” he asked Fulton.

“First flight we could get was four o’clock,” the detective replied. He stood up. “In fact, I need to go wrap up a few details, then find Guma and get out to LaGuardia.”

“Good luck,” Karp said.

“Don’t think I’ll need it,” Fulton replied. “We’re just mopping up after Hurricane Marlene.”