Malice

29

"Mr. Fulton just called from the lobby. he says the package arrived and he's on his way up."

"Thank you, Mrs. Milquetost," Karp replied to his receptionist, "show him in when he arrives, please." He then sat back at his desk on the eighth floor of the Criminal Courts Building, looking down at the worn yellow legal pad with all of its arrows and balloons and names. Then he tossed it in the trash can. It had served its purpose, but he wasn't going to need it anymore.

Next, he gathered the photographs of the murdered schoolchildren and placed them in a large manila envelope. "Sleep tight, kids," he said. "Tonight we'll get him."

Karp stood and looked out the window. He loved April in Manhattan. The trees in Foley Square across Centre Street were in full leaf and had yet to fade in summer's heat. The city felt young, renewed, ready to take on the world. He should have been enjoying his latest triumph. But even the end of the O'Toole trial had seemed anticlimactic.

First, a representative for the university's Board of Regents had met with him and O'Toole and gone a long way toward "healing" by apologizing for Huttington and Barnhill and what the coach had endured. The representative made no excuses, except to say that the regents had trusted the university president and attorney. So when their attorney, Karen Welt, then offered a large settlement and a lifetime "should he want it" contract as the baseball coach, O'Toole accepted it. "It's where I want to be," he'd said. "And I think we've all learned a great deal."

The ACAA was another matter. The association had replaced Zusskin, who was under indictment for suborning perjury and for the obstruction of the administration of justice. And the defense had switched to contending that the association had been duped by "the criminal masterminds" Huttington and Barnhill, as well as betrayed by Zusskin and Larkin.

"The panel was merely following the rules as set forth in the American Collegiate Athletic Association bylaws," the attorney, a nervous young man, said in his closing argument.

However, by the time Meyers finished his closing-throwing in the word "malice" at least a dozen times-the jurors looked like they could hardly wait to get to the deliberation room and cut his client a big, fat check. Like the ACAA hearing panel, they took less than an hour to return with a judgment in the plaintiff's favor.

If Mikey O'Toole had wanted, he could have retired a very wealthy man. But coaching was in his blood, he told Karp. "I'd just get bored being retired."

Then it was back to New York for Karp and Marlene, where, with a nod from the doctors and a kiss from his wife, Karp returned to work at the DAO. In the meantime, Zook kept them informed about the progress of the cases against those implicated in the Santacristina murder.

Most of it was going well, except for three disappointing developments. The first was that Barnhill wasn't talking, and according to Huttington, he was the link, along with Big John Porter, to who knew how and why the computer system at the university was being used by an unknown group, or groups, connected to the Unified Church.

The second was that before the police could apprehend Big John, his pickup truck was discovered upside down in the Payette River. The truck had apparently swerved off the road for some unknown reason and rolled down the embankment. He'd managed to get out of the truck but never made it to shore.

"His body was found about a hundred feet downstream," Zook said. "Funny, but he was only a yard or two from shore when he must have slipped and hit his head on a rock. Actually, he hit his head on a rock over and over, if you get my drift. But other than that, we don't have enough to say it was foul play."

The third development had rendered asking Porter and Barnhill about the computers moot. The FBI had flown in specialists to try to break into encrypted files on the Cray computer. However, their attempts triggered a computer virus that had crashed the system, frying every bit of data in the files.

Karp was wondering what was in those files when Fulton popped his head in the door. "I got that tape you wanted," he said.

"Great. Care to stick around while I look at it?" Karp said. "I could use your eyes."

Two hours later, Mrs. Milquetost buzzed to say that Jon Ellis had arrived for his appointment. Karp and Fulton rose to shake the hand of the assistant director of special operations for Homeland Security.

"Thanks for coming," Karp said. "I know this is all short notice."

"No problem," Ellis replied. "Clay here said you needed to talk and might need my help with something important."

Karp nodded. "I got a call from some guy-sounded Russian-said to meet him tonight in East River Park under the Williamsburg Bridge. He says he has a copy of a photograph purporting to be of Jamys Kellagh meeting with Nadya Malovo and Andrew Kane in Aspen. Says it's a fax and not good quality, but good enough to nail this Kellagh character."

"I thought there was only one copy according to that reporter's story," Ellis said.

Karp shrugged. "So did I, but this guy claims that a copy was made. Now he wants to give it to me. But I have to meet him in person at the park, tonight at midnight."

Ellis looked thoughtful, then nodded. "So what do you need from me?" he asked. "Obviously, we're itching to take Jamys Kellagh down."

Karp grinned. "I thought you might be interested. And to be honest, except for my man Fulton here, I'm not sure who I can trust to provide security."

Ellis grinned back. "Well, if you can't trust Homeland Security, then who can you trust?" His face turned serious. "Forgive me if this is out of line, and I asked your daughter this once before, but what about Jaxon? I know he's out of the agency, but he's a friend and, heck, he probably has more firepower and technology as a private guy than I do with the government."

Karp looked troubled, then sighed. "You're right. I've known him for years and I've always liked him. And I'm not saying he can't be trusted. But considering some of the unanswered questions, I'd like to leave him out of it for now."

"Of course," Ellis said. "I think he's one of the good guys, too, even if he went for the money. And hell, I've been involved in a lot of this, you could just as well put me in the same category."

"I've got to trust somebody," Karp replied. "This photograph could break this wide open. But I can't take a chance that it's a setup."

"Yeah, you've got to trust somebody," Ellis agreed. "It's too bad that in these times, you can never be sure who. It's a dirty business, though, when it makes friends suspicious of their friends."

The men stood to shake hands again, then Ellis left, saying he'd be in touch regarding the security arrangement. "With any luck," he said, "tonight we get our man."

A few minutes before midnight, Karp and Fulton pulled into the parking lot of East River Park near the Williamsburg Bridge.

"You ready?" Karp asked as they began to walk toward the bridge. "You gave him the envelope, right?"

Fulton nodded. "Yeah, but I still don't like this. It's too dangerous."

"So is Jamys Kellagh. We had to lure the tiger out of his cave."

"Yeah, but I don't like using you as the sacrificial goat."

Karp and Fulton walked along the path that followed the river, as had been arranged. Up ahead, they saw a tall figure step into the light beneath a streetlamp.

"Looks like him," Karp said.

"Looks like somebody else we know, too, if you know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah, except I'm a lot better-looking."

As they approached the tall man, Karp glanced around. With all the bushes and trees, there were a lot of places for assassins to hide. He noticed that two bums-one on a bench and the other against the seawall-were sleeping near where the tall man was standing. Dangerous for them, too, he thought, but there was no time to worry about it now.

"Mr. Karp," the tall man said, stepping forward with his hand extended.

"Mr. Karchovski," Karp replied. "You have something for me?"

"Yes," Ivgeny Karchovski said, handing him a large manila envelope.

"I'll take that," said another voice.

The three men turned to see Jon Ellis stepping out of the shadows with a gun drawn and pointing at them.

Karchovski started to turn as if to run, but put his hands up as other men also stepped out of the shadows with guns. He turned to Karp and snarled, "You betrayed me! I'll get you for this, Karp!"

Karp scowled and turned to Ellis. "I thought you were going to stay back and only show if I gave you the signal."

Ellis laughed. "What, hoot twice like an owl? You really are an idiot, Mr. Karp. But look at it this way, Myr shegin dy ve, bee eh. In case that brat daughter of yours, who by the way is simply going to have to disappear one of these days, hasn't told you, that means 'What must be, will be.' And what must be is a finish to your annoying habit of getting in our way."

Karp's jaw dropped. "Jamys Kellagh," he guessed.

Ellis gave a slight bow. "My nom de guerre, or one of them," he said. "But I prefer my anonymity, so if you will hand over the photograph, I'll make sure it never sees the light of day."

He reached for the envelope, but Karp pulled it back. "How do you live with yourself?" he asked.

Ellis was at first surprised and then amused. "I sleep like a baby, Mr. Karp," he replied. "There is a war going on and people die in wars."

"Is that what you call murdering schoolchildren to free a man like Andrew Kane? War?"

Ellis shrugged. "Collateral damage. It happens. Get over it, or you should have if you'd wanted to live. And what does it matter if a half dozen kids die, if it prevents the mud people, like your friend Clay here, and Jews, like yourself, and all those prehistoric Arabs from overrunning Western civilization?"

"But you're working with the terrorists?"

"A temporary measure," Ellis said with a shrug. "We will eventually, as the saying goes, 'bomb them back into the Stone Age.' But until then, we need them as the bogeymen. Every time they blow up something, Western democracy slides a little closer to our side of the political spectrum."

"So you're a fascist creep, too?" Karp chided.

"Now, now, name-calling is not nice." Ellis laughed. "We prefer thinking of ourselves as the true patriots. After all, this country was founded by white men."

"White men who created the Constitution so that all men could be free," Karp replied.

"And many of them had slaves," Ellis pointed out. "But let's not argue history. We believe the means are justified. We will do what's best for the American people…white American people. It's people like you who endanger this country, so we'll protect Americans from themselves and you."

Shaking his head, Karp replied, "Jon, you got it all backward. And when chicken-shit traitors like you get it wrong, you really get it wrong. And besides, who's going to protect the country from you?"

Ellis looked amused. "Why, no one, Mr. Karp. There will be no bleeding hearts, or constitutional apologists, to lead us all down the road to ruin." He pointed the gun at Karp's face. "But enough of this; give me the photograph."

"Why?" Karp said, holding the manila envelope over the water. "You have to kill us anyway. Maybe somebody finds this photograph in the river-I sealed it in a plastic bag-and takes it to the police. Why should I make it easy for you?"

"Oh, please, Butch, killing you is going to be very easy any way you look at it," Ellis said with a smile. "For one thing, you're a fucking Jew, and Hitler had the right idea about fucking Jews. And as for your Russian friend, they'll probably give me a medal for killing the gangster who lured you here and shot you in cold blood. I arrived too late to save you, or Clay for that matter, but I got the man who got you. Maybe Marlene will be real grateful. She's still pretty good-looking for her age."

Karp's shoulders sagged as he handed Ellis the envelope. "Check it out," he said.

"Oh, I will," Ellis replied, and glanced inside the envelope. He looked back up with a scowl. "What is this, Karp?" He reached inside the envelope and pulled out the yearbook photographs of six children.

"Those are the kids you had murdered," Karp said. "I wanted to show them to you before Clay placed you under arrest."

Ellis's face transformed instantly into a mask of rage and hate. "Fuck you, Karp," he said, and started to raise his gun, but then began to shake violently as the gun clattered to the sidewalk. He collapsed to the ground, where he twitched and then lay still.

At the same time, the men with Ellis who'd started to rush forward to help him were suddenly surrounded by other men with guns, shouting for them to drop their weapons. Karp turned to the bum behind him, who kept a Taser pointed at Ellis. "Cutting it a little close, weren't you, Espey?" he said.

"You said to wait until he saw the photographs and admitted to the murders," Jaxon said with a smile. "I had him in my sights the whole time."

Karp shook his head. That afternoon, when he met with Jaxon and explained the plan, the agent asked, "Why not me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why don't you think I'm the traitor, Jamys Kellagh?" Jaxon said. "Lucy does. There are plenty of good reasons to think it could be."

"And don't think I haven't considered them," Karp said with a smirk. "But there are a few better reasons why I know it wasn't you."

"Such as?"

"Well, let's start with Stupenagel's stories," Karp said. "I'll bet you're the anonymous government source who's been leaking her the information."

"Damn straight."

"Uh-huh," Karp said, then laughed. "It's probably something you don't even think about, but you've been saying 'Damn straight' ever since I've known you."

"So?"

"So Stupenagel is pretty good at quoting people verbatim," Karp said. "I noticed in three of her stories that the 'anonymous government source' kept ending his quotes by saying 'Damn straight.'"

"Pretty flimsy," Jaxon pointed out.

"On its own, maybe," Karp acknowledged. "But I also asked Clay to get me the tapes of the attempted assassination of Senator Tom McCullum from Channel Nine. They almost didn't let him have them, kept saying they wouldn't release anything that hadn't been shown on television, and even then only if they got subpoenaed. But Clay placed a call to the traffic division and started to tell them about all the illegally parked cars outside the station, and suddenly he had a tape."

"Again, my question, so what?"

"So Clay and I watched them a couple of dozen times, and we noticed something," Karp said. "When the shooting started, Ellis just stood to the side and watched McCullum, as if he expected him to get shot. But one 'former' FBI agent, named Espey Jaxon, jumped in front of the archbishop-the man he was supposed to protect-and it was one of your men who charged the gunman. Not exactly the behavior of co-conspirators."

"Anything else?"

Karp nodded. "Yeah. I think I'm a pretty good judge of character. I knew that murdering children was not part of who you were. Oh, and by the way, it was Lucy who suggested that we watch the tapes. She's a pretty good judge of character, too."

It took a moment for Jaxon to respond to the last statement. He swallowed hard and said hoarsely, "I think I better call my 'niece' the next time I'm in New Mexico and take her out to lunch."

Karp smiled. "If I'd had any other doubts, you just answered them."

A groan escaped Ellis, who was gradually coming around. Jaxon nodded to his men who had patted the agent down and cuffed him. "Glad we could take this asshole alive. The federal government's going to try to claim jurisdiction, you know."

"Been through that fight once recently," Karp said. "They'll have to wait for justice New York DAO style."

Ellis was brought to his feet, still groggy from the fifty thousand watts of electricity that had coursed through his body from the Taser. He suddenly pitched forward as if stumbling and brought his hands to his mouth.

"Grab him! He just ate something," Jaxon shouted to his men. He jumped behind Ellis and began giving him the Heimlich maneuver to dislodge whatever the man had swallowed. "Get an ambulance! Now!"

"Don't bother," Ellis croaked. "Cyanide salts. I'll be dead before he can dial the number."

Ellis crumpled to the ground, breathing deeply but rapidly. A convulsion shook him, followed by another. "Others will follow me," he whispered, his jaw clenched in pain. "They will not fail. Myr shegin dy ve, bee eh."

Ellis vomited and was racked by more convulsions, then his body stiffened and went limp.

Karp reached down and picked up the envelope with the photographs of the murdered children. Tomorrow, he would place it in the evidence file that would be boxed and sent to storage. But he knew he would never forget their faces.

"I'm tired, Clay," he said as the big detective walked up. "I'm tired of all of this."

Fulton nodded, then patted him on the shoulder. "Me, too, boss," he said. "But tomorrow's another day, and it's time to take you home. Your lady's waiting, and so is mine."