Betrayers

21

TAMARA

Judge Alfred Mantle was doing pretty well for himself. His house in Monterey Heights, on one of the winding streets below Mt. Davidson, was one of those big Spanish-style jobs you saw in the city’s upper-class residential districts. Lots of fancy tile, lots of shrubbery and tall, thin cypress trees. House lights, porch light, spotlights strewn among the landscaping-all blazing in the foggy early-evening gloom. Not many black folks could afford to live up here; sure bet that most, if not all, of the judge’s neighbors were white.

Tamara drove on past, parked a little ways above the house. She didn’t really want to be here, but on the phone he’d said she could either come here tonight-his wife wasn’t home and wouldn’t be back until late-or see him in his chambers at City Hall sometime tomorrow. Pretty obvious why he wouldn’t agree to meet her on neutral ground. In his house or in his chambers, he’d have the psychological upper hand. Or thought he would.

The street and sidewalk were wet and the cypress trees dripped, a kind of lonely, desolate sound. But nothing could dampen her spirits tonight, not unless she screwed up with the judge-and she wasn’t going to let that happen. All she’d told him on the phone was who she was, that she needed to talk to him about the Operation Save fund and the man he knew as Lucas Zeller, and that it’d be in his best interest to meet with her ASAP. He’d asked a bunch of questions that she’d pretty much evaded; the answers were better given face-to-face. He made it plain that he didn’t like being approached this way, by a private investigator of either sex, but in the end he agreed to see her.

She rang the bell, listened to chimes floating around inside. There was one of those one-way magnifying glass peepholes in the door and she had the feeling he was right there on the other side looking out at her, sizing her up in the bright porch light before he let her in.

She did a little sizing up of her own when he finally opened the door. Up close he was even huskier than he’d seemed at a distance. Large head and thick neck, like a football player. Real judge’s face: stern eyes, streaks of gray in the curly black of his hair, and an expression blank as a wall.

The first thing he said to her was, “You’re not what I expected, Ms. Corbin.”

“No? Not a sister, you mean?”

“Not a sister and not so young. You sounded older on the phone.”

“I’m not as young as I look,” she lied.

He stood aside to let her come in. When he shut the door behind her he said, “We’ll talk in my study,” and didn’t quite put his back to her as they moved through the house.

Some house. The furniture was modern and expensive, the decor black and white, mostly, with lots of African sculptures and carvings and such on shelves and in nooks and crannies. His wife’s doing-Tamara knew that as soon as she walked into his study. Everything in there-desk, chairs, sideboard, wall paneling-was dark, gleaming wood, masculine and somber. There were a couple of framed paintings, also dark toned, and some framed documents that looked to be copies of his law degrees. A big polished silver golf trophy reared up on a shelf above the sideboard.

Mantle indicated a chair in front of the desk, went around, and sat down in a big leather chair behind it. He folded his thick hands together on the blotter and sat statue stiff, studying her some more with those stern eyes. Not saying anything, waiting for her lead.

She didn’t waste any time. “Lucas Zeller,” she said, “isn’t who he claims to be. His real name’s Delman, Antoine Delman. And his business isn’t investments; it’s petty theft and con games.”

Nothing changed in the judge’s expression. He still didn’t say anything, just kept looking at her. Hadn’t blinked even once since they’d sat down. She wondered if he was trying to quietly intimidate her. Wasn’t working, if that was it. She’d grown up with Pop’s stares and glares; the hard eye didn’t phase her anymore.

She said, “He doesn’t work alone. Has himself a partner-his mother. Her name is Alisha Delman.”

That got a couple of blinks out of Mantle. “Alisha?”

“As in ‘Psychic Readings by Alisha.’ That’s her specialty-posing as a psychic to help set up marks.”

Silent stare. Mr. Stone Face.

“They both spent a couple of years in prison,” Tamara said, “for running a con in Southern California-bilking black investors in a charity scam. A fund that was supposed to help struggling African American families keep their homes. The investors put up the cash and take a tax write-off; the families pay back the money at a reasonable interest rate, everybody makes out. Only the fund doesn’t exist and the only folks who make out, if they don’t get caught, are the Delmans-they disappear with the investment capital. Sound familiar, Your Honor?”

The stony look.

“Operation Save is their new con,” she said. “More sophisticated than the one they worked down south. They set up a Web site this time, desktop-published some brochures with fake quotes and statistics. I’ll bet you looked at the Web site but didn’t investigate Operation Save any further than that. Am I right?”

More silence. She let it go on, let him be the one to break it. Took more than a minute. His lips barely moved when he said, “How do you know all this?”

“It’s my business.”

“You seem to believe it’s mine as well.”

“No, I meant the business I’m in. The detective business.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Who hired you?”

“I can’t tell you that. Privileged.”

“Stop playing games with me, young woman. Tell me what makes you think I’m associated in any way with Lucas Zeller.”

“Antoine Delman,” Tamara said. “And I don’t think it; I know it.”

“What do you know?”

“That he and Alisha are behind Operation Save. That he’s been working on you and Doctor Easy to invest-others, too, probably. And that his mother’s been working on Viveca Inman.”

“Am I supposed to know these people you’re talking about?”

“Come on, Judge, you were with Hawkins last night at the Twilight Lounge on Ocean. And you were driving the BMW you just bought from Mrs. Inman.”

The look. Seemed like you couldn’t crack it if you used a hammer.

Finally he said, “You were there and you followed me,” in the same tone you’d use to talk about the weather. Statement, not a question.

“Straight to Psychic Readings by Alisha,” Tamara said. “You drove Mrs. Inman there, went to the Twilight meeting and then back afterward to pick her up. Got together with her to decide whether or not to invest in the O.S. Fund. Right?”

Mantle didn’t answer. He seemed to be thinking on something else. He said, “How did you-,” and then stopped, and moved for the first time since he’d sat down: his hands unlocked and he spread them out flat on the desktop. “Stewart,” he said then. “Deron Stewart.”

Her turn to be silent.

“He’s another one like you,” the judge said flatly. “A paid snoop.”

“Operative.” No reason not to admit it. There wasn’t any need now for Stewart to keep working undercover. “That’s right; he is.”

“Why? Why the deception?”

“To find Antoine Delman.”

“And what other purpose?”

“No other purpose.”

“I don’t believe you. You know what Stewart knows.”

Be straight with the man, she thought. Always the best way to go, and besides, it’d give her a certain amount of leverage. “About the club. Yes.”

“The club,” he said in that talking-about-the-weather tone again. “Tell me how you found out about it.”

“I knew Delman was on the down low, never mind how.”

“I don’t like that term.”

“Okay, then I won’t use it again.”

“How many people have you told about the club?”

“None except Stewart. And I guarantee he won’t repeat it.”

Another long silence. Then, “Do you realize how serious a crime blackmail is, Ms. Corbin?”

“Blackmail? That what you think I’m here for?”

“Well?”

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” Tamara said. “My agency has one of the best reps in the city.”

Silence.

“I don’t care what you do in private, Judge. Or what any consenting adults do in private. None of my business. Believe it.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“To save you and Mrs. Inman and Doctor Easy and anybody else who’s thinking of investing in Operation Save from being ripped off. Call it my Operation Save.”

“Very noble of you.”

“I’m not trying to be noble. Like I said before-”

“ As I said before.”

She almost smiled. Correcting her grammar in the middle of a conversation like this. Judge Mantle was some piece of work.

“ As I said before, I’m trying to put Antoine Delman and his mother behind bars where they belong.”

Another silence, a short one this time. “Do you have proof they’re who and what you claim?”

“Enough to be sure I’m right about them and Operation Save.”

“Then why haven’t you gone to the police? Or have you?”

“Not yet. The one thing I don’t know for sure is whether or not any money has changed hands. The Delmans’ scam doesn’t become a felony until that happens.”

“You don’t need to explain the law to me, Ms. Corbin.”

“ Has any money changed hands, far as you know?”

Mantle said carefully, “It’s my understanding that some investments in the charity have been made.”

“By anyone you know personally?”

“Yes.”

“Who? Doctor Easy?”

“Yes.”

“How much were you planning to invest?”

The look. She thought he was going to stonewall the question, but he didn’t. He said, “Twenty-five thousand dollars.”

“Mrs. Inman?”

“The same.”

“Doctor Easy?”

“Thirty thousand.”

“Cash?”

“There was never any mention of cash.”

“Doesn’t need to be on this kind of scam. Cashier’s checks are just as good. Even personal checks, if they’re guaranteed to clear right away.”

Silence.

“Delman been pressuring you and Mrs. Inman to invest?”

“Not exactly.”

Uh-huh. The soft sell, while Alisha worked on her. “Delman steered you to Alisha when he found out Mrs. Inman was into psychics, right?”

“He gave me her name, yes.”

“And you’ve been waiting for Mrs. Inman to make up her mind. If she decides to go ahead, so do you.”

“Yes.”

“You believe in psychics, too, Judge?”

Silence.

“Has Mrs. Inman made up her mind?”

“Yes.”

“Going ahead?”

“Yes.”

“When? How soon?”

“Next Monday. At her home.”

“So there’s plenty of time for the SFPD to set up a sting. All we have to do-”

“We? You expect me to go to the police with you?”

“Somebody has to.”

“And you picked me. Do you have any idea what the publicity on something like this could do to my reputation, my career on the bench, my marriage?”

“How can it hurt you? You’re a potential victim, that’s all. All you’ve done is consider an investment in what you believed was a legitimate charity.”

“That’s not what concerns me,” Mantle said.

“No? Oh… the club.”

“That’s right, the club.”

“None of that has to come out-”

“Unless Delman brings it out. Or it comes out some other way.”

“Well, that’s a risk whether you go in with me or not. The Delmans are going down, one way or another-I promise you that. Do us all a favor and help me bust them.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll have to talk to Mrs. Inman,” Tamara said. “Tell her I went to you first and you turned me down. And tell the police the same thing.”

Mantle deliberated again. Somewhere in the house a clock bonged; it was so quiet Tamara could hear the faint after-echoes.

He said finally, “It’s my place to discuss this business with Mrs. Inman, not yours. Dr. Hawkins as well. They have a right to know the situation before I agree to do anything.”

“That’s fair. Maybe you could convince them to go in, too. The more witnesses, the better.”

“They may want their names kept out of it, if possible.”

“But you’ll come with me in any case? If I have to go in alone, I won’t keep anybody’s name out of it.”

“You seem to have left me no choice.”

“Can you talk to them tonight?”

“Not Mrs. Inman. She’s attending a charity benefit in San Jose. Sometime tomorrow. That should be soon enough to suit you.”

“You don’t sound very grateful, Judge.”

“It remains to be seen if I have anything to be grateful for.”

Tamara laid one of her business cards on the desk in front of him. “You can reach me at one of those numbers anytime. The sooner the better, okay? For everybody’s sake.”

Mantle didn’t answer. Didn’t say another word to her. Just got up and looked at her until she did the same, then ushered her out into the cold night.