Running of the bulls

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

9:45-10:42 p.m.

In the hour that had passed since Maggie spoke to Mark Andrews, Marty made a round of phone calls that began with Gloria, who already had talked to the girls and to the Moores, and who was on her way to them when he called.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

He was surprised by the concern in her voice. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you safe?”

“That’s an entirely different question.”

“I don’t know what this is about,” she said. “But I know it has to do with Maggie Cain. Whatever she’s gotten you into isn’t worth your life, Marty. You need to know that. You can back out of this right now, just walk away from it, and be safe. Those girls need their father. You and I may be divorced and have our differences, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need you, too.”

“So, it’s just you, me, Jack and the girls?”

“And whoever comes into your life. We can make it work. If you’ve gone this far to protect your daughters, I know you’re in a bad spot. I’m asking you to get out of it.”

But he wouldn’t. That’s not how he operated and she knew it. Each job was a risk. It always had been. It always would be. He looked across the table at Maggie, who was looking across the room at Roberta. Just moments ago, Roberta had said to Maggie’s face that she was going to kill him. While he loved Roberta, he’d never bought into her belief that she was psychic. He’d always believed that it was part of her shtick, a way to appeal to her customers, another way to make money.

But now things were different. Another part of him couldn’t deny what he’d seen in her face-genuine fear, real concern, a premonition of sorts, if that was possible. There was no question in his mind that Roberta believed what she was saying. She believed Maggie was going to kill him.

“What did the girls say to you?”

“They’re scared,” Gloria said. “They don’t understand what’s happening.”

“How long before you’re there?”

“Ten minutes?”

“And you won’t leave the Moore’s?”

“I know the drill.”

“I’ll call you later.”

“You don’t need to do this.”

It was as if he was talking to the old Gloria again. For once, she’d dropped her artist bullshit facade and was just talking to him. “Keep an eye on the girls,” he said. “Bring Jack with you. Nothing’s going to happen on your end. I’ll make certain the same is true on my end.” He paused. “And thanks.”

“For what?”

“You know what.”

He severed the connection and, after trying to absorb what had just transpired between him and Gloria, whom he hadn’t had a civil conversation with in months, he called Jennifer Barnes. By now, she would be at Peter Schwartz’s house with a full crew and soon would go live with her story. She answered on the second ring.

“It’s me,” he said.

“Ted Yates is dead.”

Marty ran a hand through his hair.

“It came over the scanner a few minutes ago. He was having a drink at The Townhouse and collapsed at the bar.”

Marty knew The Townhouse. He and Gloria were once members-she’d insisted upon it. He was about to tell Maggie the news when Jennifer said, “There’s more. Alan Ross was found in an alley in the South Bronx thirty minutes ago. His neck was broken.”

Marty saw the questioning look on Maggie’s face and told her the news.

“They testified against Wolfhagen,” she said.

Marty held up a hand. “How did Yates die, Jennifer?”

“They’re thinking heart attack.”

“I’m thinking coincidence. Yates and Ross testified against Wolfhagen. Was Yates with anyone?”

“That’s all I’ve got. You’re positive they testified?”

“Is this for your report?”

“It is.”

“Then you’re about to break the story of the year. I am positive. Start making the links. Mention the Coles, Andrews, Ross, Yates, Schwartz-all of them. Google the others who testified and are still alive. Get the word out now. If you have to go to the Channel One site to report this first, do it so AP picks it up. If they’ll give you a news break for a special report, even better. This is going national. You’ll be everywhere. Be prepared.”

“I owe you one.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Are you okay?”

He looked at Maggie, who was looking intently at him. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I’ll find out soon enough. Are Hines and Patterson on the scene?”

“They’re standing next to me.”

“Are they working together?”

“Put it this way, they’ve agreed to go on camera together.”

“The end of the Cold War.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Do you want me to give them a message?”

Always the sly reporter. “No,” he said. “I need to talk to them myself.”

“You’re not holding back on me, are you?”

He didn’t want her to know anything about Mark Andrews or the safe house until he was certain it was legit and that he and Maggie weren’t being set up. “There’s more to the story, but I can’t share it with you yet.”

“Why?”

“Because it might be dangerous.”

“And your point? I dated Gotti’s son, for God’s sake. What else do you have?”

“I meant it might be dangerous for me.” She started to apologize, but he pushed forward. “You’ve got a great story to lead with. Let’s roll it out with exclusives delivered by you. Once I know more, you’ll have more. This story is yours-all of it-just give me time. If I gave you the wrong information, you’d look like a fool. I’ll call the moment I know something.”

She was nothing if not competitive. A silence passed while he waited for her to say something. She didn’t.

“Okay?”

“I’ll wait for your call,” she said, but the way she said it, he already knew she wouldn’t. She’d look for other angles. She’d try something. “I’ll talk to you later. And please be careful. I need you around, okay?”

“Jennifer-”

The line went dead.

He called Roz, his contact at the FBI, and hoped she was at her desk and working late. She wasn’t. He tried her cell. No answer. He called her home. Nothing. He wanted to ask her if she knew anything about Andrews and a safe house, but obviously she was out and not taking calls. And so he called Skeen to see if he did a postmortem on Andrews. He found him at home.

“When was that?” Skeen asked. “A couple of months ago?”

“A month and change.”

“I didn’t do it. Somebody else must have.”

“Anyway you can find out for me?”

“I can make a call.”

“I’d appreciate that, Carlo.”

“It’s late,” he said. “Give me a bit. I’ll call you when I know something.”

“Next week, lunch is on me.”

He called Hines.

“Schwartz looks pretty tonight,” Hines said.

“Thought you’d like that.”

“I could have done without the maggots, the rubber fetish gear and the smell, but thanks for the tip.” He lowered his voice. “And fuck you for also sharing it with Patterson.”

“This is big,” Marty said. “I need you both.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“It’s bigger than you think, Mike.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Call Patterson over. I need her to listen to this, too.”

“Christ.”

“Just do it.”

He listened to Hines say something to Patterson and knew that Jennifer was correct-they were working together. She must have been standing right next to him.

“She’s here. I’m assuming you don’t want this on speaker.”

Not with Jennifer and others listening. “Can you get to your car?”

“We can do that.”

They did that. Marty heard doors open and slam shut.

“Put me on speaker.”

“You’re on.”

“Hello, Linda.”

“Spellman.”

“Are we friends again?”

“We never were friends.”

“Are we talking again?”

“Depends on what your serving.”

“I’ll let you decide if it’s any good. Mark Andrews might be alive.”

“Then it’s rancid,” Patterson said. “Andrews is dead. Everyone knows it.”

“Who is everyone? He was run over by bulls in Pamplona. He presumably was shipped home to the States with that written on his big toe. It was never treated as a homicide and because it wasn’t, you couldn’t have been involved in any way with it.”

“The man was buried. It was in the papers. I read the stories, saw the photos. His mother actually agreed to go on the evening news. She was devastated. Her darling son. She bleated like a goddamn sheep while I was trying to eat my dinner. It was nauseating. When they asked her how she’d cope without him, she started bawling like a baby. I shut the fucking thing off.”

“It’s interesting you say she agreed to go on the news. Would you have?”

“Of course not.”

“Why?”

“Are you an idiot? Because my son was dead. He was gored to death. Do you know what that would do to a mother? Do you have any idea how personal…” And then Linda Patterson heard herself, processed what she said and her voice trailed off.

“Are you getting it, Linda?”

“I’m getting it.”

“Andrews came from old money. There’s a protocol there. She wouldn’t have gone on camera. If she had, it would have been viewed as unseemly.”

“But if she needed to, she’d do it to help her son.”

“That’s right.”

Hines again. “What have you got, Marty?”

“Someone claiming he’s Mark Andrews just called me. He says for the past four weeks, he’s been here in the city. He’s at a fed safe house. They’re taking care of him. My client was once involved with him for years. She’s here with me now. She talked to him. She’s convinced it was him. Trouble is, I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know-maybe we’re being set up. Maybe somebody knows we’re getting close to figuring out who’s knocking off those who took the stand against Wolfhagen. Wolfhagen has been out of Lompoc for two years-long enough to lay low and for people to forget about him. Now those people are dropping dead. Initially, they did it right. They started out slow. Six months ago the Coles were murdered and supposedly a month ago Andrews was murdered. But now, over the course of just two days, we’ve got Schwartz, Ross, Yates. And God knows who else. I think we can agree it’s likely that there’s another Schwartz chilling out there.”

“Where’s the safe house?”

Marty told him.

“Nice neighborhood.”

“Your tax dollars at work.”

“You were asked to go there?”

“My client was asked. I’m taking her.”

“Two for the price of one,” Hines said, and paused. “If that wasn’t Andrews on the phone, why are they targeting you?”

“Somehow, they found out I’m working the case. They want me out of the way so they can finish what they started.”

“No offense,” Patterson said. “But you’re just a shitty little P.I., Spellman. If they know you’re on the job, then they know we’re on the job. Why target you before us?”

“No offense, Linda, but you wouldn’t know as much as you do without a shitty little P.I. like me leading you to Schwartz and now potentially to Andrews. Neither would you, Mike.”

“Your death would be easier to manage,” Hines said. “Ours wouldn’t. Maybe it’s you first. Get you and your client out of the way, then get the rest who testified against Wolfhagen, and worry about us in the meantime.”

“Are you seriously playing devil’s advocate?” Patterson asked.

Hines let it slide.

“Fine,” Patterson said. “What if it’s true, Spellman? What if it was Andrews on the phone? What if he’s alive?”

“Then we all win. But until I actually see him and know that he’s safe, I’m assuming otherwise.”

“When are you leaving to meet Andrews?” Hines asked.

“Now,” Marty said. “But I can’t do it alone. This is part of the same case. If you’re going to own this and run with it, I need you both to be there.”

But before Hines could answer, Marty heard Patterson scream.

Confused, he heard a muffled sound and then what sounded like doors opening, the cell phone hitting something hard, then tumbling onto something soft. He called out Hines’ name but there was no response, even though Marty could hear him shouting to someone. And then Marty heard the unmistakable sound of something else-explosives.

Maggie leaned forward. “What’s wrong?”

“Quiet.”

He pressed the phone harder to his ear and felt a chill race through his body. It wasn’t just Patterson screaming now-many people were. He could hear explosions, he could sense a growing chaos. He slid out of the booth and went into the kitchen, where he could get away from the Moroccan music.

Maggie followed him. Roberta was across the room, fixing something at the stove. She turned to look at him. Steam rose in waves in front of her face. She dropped the spatula she was holding and came over to him.

He held up his hand, looked around the room and spotted a radio. “Turn it on.”

“What station?”

“880.”

She flipped it to the local CBS news affiliate and turned up the volume. They were recapping the day. Stocks had closed lower. The President was traveling to China. The Middle East was in turmoil again. Marty half listened to the radio and to the tension heightening on the other end of the phone. The newscaster switched to the weather. Clear skies. Heat on the rise. Storms by Tuesday.

And then, on the phone, he heard the biggest explosion yet. He took a step back at the sheer force of it and shouted Hines’ name. Roberta reached out to put a hand on his arm, but the moment she touched him, she jerked her hand away as if she’d been scalded.

The cell phone went dead. Marty lowered it in his hand and was about to tell them what he heard when Roberta, her hands to her mouth, said, “Those poor people.”

Maggie was standing just inside the swinging door. “What people?” she said. Neither answered. “What’s happening?”

The news broke.

Each turned to the radio.

Terrorists had attacked New York City. Bombs had leveled a portion of 75th and Fifth. Buildings were in the street. The majority of the damage extended from East 73rd to East 76th. Parts of East 77th Street also were affected. Hundreds were feared dead. Marty immediately dialed Jennifer’s number, but all he got was a rapid busy signal, which told him the very last thing he wanted to know.

At least on some level, the terrorist attack also had reached her.