Motion to Kill

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

“You had me going for a while, Angela. You followed the first rule of the con artist. Tell the truth you have to tell. A little honesty buys a lot of credibility and makes it easier to lie about the important stuff.”

She wouldn’t look at him, but she looked her age for the first time since he’d known her. She shrugged, as though it was no big deal.

“All I wanted was something I could use to bargain with Sullivan. I knew that he’d hold my unauthorized loan from the firm over my head forever. There weren’t enough blow jobs to pay that debt off.”

“So why bug Scott’s phone and Harlan’s phone too?”

“I didn’t care where I got the information as long as I could use it.”

“When did you find out about the subpoena?”

“After the retreat. I came to the office every Sunday night to check the tapes. Scott had called someone, and they talked about it.”

“Who did he call?”

“It was a man’s voice that I didn’t recognize.”

“Why did you remove the wiretaps from their phones and not Sullivan’s?”

“God knows I wanted to. I was afraid what Scott might do if he found out. I didn’t want to deal with another partner who could blackmail me between the sheets or anyplace else. So I got rid of the ones in Scott’s office and Harlan’s office first. I was going to take out Sullivan’s, but the cleaning crew showed up. I didn’t want someone saying they’d seen me in Sullivan’s office, so I left. I planned on getting rid of it on Monday, but you ordered his office sealed before I could.”

“What did Scott and the other man talk about?”

“Scott told the other guy that Sullivan was dead. Then Scott told him that he’d convinced you to handle the grand jury subpoena. The guy got mad, but Scott told him that he could control you. Then the guy told Scott to find some documents and hung up.”

“What documents?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are the tapes, Angela?”

“In a safe place.”

“Does anyone else know they exist?”

“No. An FBI agent interviewed me last week. He asked about the wiretaps but I didn’t confess.”

“Did he interview you at the office?”

“At home. He said he didn’t want to disturb me during the day because he knew how crazy things must be at the office.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He said the FBI’s investigation was very confidential and that I should keep quiet. Otherwise, the suspects could be tipped off. Since I knew who had done the taping, I wasn’t about to open my mouth.”

“What was the guy’s name?”

“I don’t remember, but he gave me his card.” She fumbled in her purse and produced Gene McNamara’s business card.

“Angela, I need the tapes. Someone tried to kill me. The tapes may help me figure out what’s going on.”

“Sorry, Lou, but I’m not sticking my neck out. They’ll find out who did the taping, and then I’m finished.”

“Just give me the tapes, Angela, or at least let me listen to them. I’ll make certain your name stays out of it.”

She stopped stirring her drink and looked at Mason as if about to answer. Her gaze went over his shoulder to the front of the bar and froze.

“Oh, shit!”

She looked down, but it was too late. They had company. Mason turned around.

Diane Farrell took a long drag on her cigarette, dropped it on the floor, and ground it out with her heel. She began a slow walk toward them, stopping along the way to kiss one woman and squeeze the butt of another.

“Well, Lou, are you coming out of the closet or are you just curious? Really, Angela, I thought you had better taste.”

She dismissed Mason with a pathetic sigh, gave Angela a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, and headed for the bar.

“Let’s get out of here,” Angela said. She left a twenty-dollar bill on the table and he followed her out.

“Sorry, Lou,” she said hurriedly as he caught up to her. “You’ll have to walk back to your car.”

“I don’t get it. It’s no big deal when you take me into that bar. Then Diane shows up, and you can’t wait to get rid of me.”

“You’re right, you don’t get it.”

“Then what is it?”

“You’re the problem. Scott told the staff that we weren’t supposed to talk to you or Sandra. I’ve got enough problems without losing my job. Don’t do this again.”

“We can help each other.”

“I don’t think so. Good-bye.”

The air was thick and still. The peaks of the thunderheads were no longer visible as clouds rolled over the city. People quickened their pace. Mason marched in double time, watching the clouds and the cars.

Anna and her wayward husband were holding hands on their front porch when Mason pulled into his driveway. Any guilt he had about the TR6 vanished with Jack’s friendly wave. At least something was working out.

The salvage crew had swept through his house, leaving a card table and chairs in the kitchen and his computer and bed frame upstairs. A pile of underwear and socks was on the floor of his closet. The rest of his clothes were piled in one corner of the bedroom.

There were three messages on his landline. Blues said he was tired of Mason not answering his cell phone and to meet him for dinner at eight at Constantine on Broadway. He checked his cell. The ringer was turned on, but for some reason his calls were going straight to voice mail. The second message was from Kelly, saying she had to go back to Starlight and would call him tomorrow. The third call was from Sandra Connelly. He replayed her message twice.

“Lou, it’s Sandra. I’m meeting Vic Jr. at seven thirty tonight at a bar in the West Bottoms. The address is 312 Front Street. Meet me there. I want a witness.”

Mason wasn’t crazy about the idea, but he figured it would still be light out, and Vic Jr. had never struck him as dangerous. Besides, even if Sandra did carry a big knife, he knew she was counting on him to be there. He’d be only a few minutes late for dinner with Blues. The first drops of rain were beginning to fall as Mason left.