CHAPTER 29
The Reverend Bullard Winston and I sat in a conference room in State Police Headquarters at 1010 Commonwealth Avenue and talked about Mickey Paultz. With us was a large mean AFT cop named Riordan, a state cop named Devane from the state organized crime squad, a scruffy narcotics cop from Quiney named McMahon, an assistant prosecutor from the Norfolk County D.A.'s office named Rita Fiori, and Martin Quirk.
Ms. Fiori said, "I'm not clear what interest Boston homicide has in this affair, Lieutenant Quirk."
"Unofficial," Quirk said. He jerked his head at me. "I know Spenser and he asked me to set up this meeting."
Ms. Fiori crossed her legs. She had elegant legs. "Then I think our first order of business is to establish jurisdiction." Her tailored suit fit well around the hips.
Riordan sighed. McMahon, the Quincy cop said, "Rita went to Harvard."
Rita smiled at him. "And one of the things I learned there, Artie, is that a case needs someone in charge of it . . . and it shouldn't be some asshole narc."
Winston sat in something like a trance as the discussion of who was in charge roiled around us. He was pale, his shoulders slumped, his breathing was shallow. He sat motionless for the full half-hour of discussion that finally resolved in Devane, the statie, being acclaimed case coordinator. When it had been settled Devane looked at me.
"Okay," he said. "Let's hear from you." Devane had a neat mustache and looked a little like Wayne Newton.
I said, "My associate, Reverend Winston here, will give you a full statement detailing the way Mickey Paultz laundered money through the Reorganized Church of the Redemption."
McMahon murmured, "Saints preserve us."
"And I will produce the names of two witnesses who will, if granted immunity, testify under oath that Mickey Paultz sold them heroin in wholesale amounts clearly intended for resale."
Devane said, "Who are the witnesses?"
"First the immunity," I said.
"We can't do that without even knowing who they are," Fiori said.
"That's the deal," I said.
"Where'd you come up with these witnesses?" Devane said.
Beside me Winston remained motionless, looking at the floor. A vein pulsed in his right temple. Otherwise he might have been dead. I shook my head.
Quirk said, "Off the record."
I looked at Devane. He nodded.
"Joe Broz," I said. "Broz gave them to me."
"Broz?"
"Yes, Vinnie Morris actually, but you know when Vinnie talks, it's Joe's voice."
Devane nodded again.
"Can we trust them?" Fiori said.
"We can trust them to say what Vinnie told me they'd say."
"Are we suborning perjury here?" Fiori said.
"Probably," I said.
Fiori smiled at me. Her teeth were even and white, her hair was reddish-brown and fell thickly to her shoulders. Her eyes were enormous and blue and innocent. "But in a good cause," she said.
"Yes, ma'am."
"What's Broz get out of this?" Devane said. I shook my head.
Quirk said, "He eliminates a competitor."
Devane said, "And maybe replaces him."
Quirk shrugged. "One creep at a time," he said.
They were quiet then, Riordan sprawled in his chair, his frame too big for it, his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms folded over his chest. Rita Fiori bit her lower lip, and looked at Devane. He looked at Riordan, Riordan nodded. Fiori nodded.
Devane said, "Okay, immunity."
I took an envelope out of my coat pocket and handed it to Devane.
"Names," I said. "They'll come in with their attorney whenever you want. His name's there too."
Devane opened the envelope, looked at the names. Passed the envelope around. "Anybody know them?" he said.
McMahon said, "I do. Both of them."
Fiori looked at Winston. "Hadn't we ought to get a statement from the Reverend Winston?" she said.
Devane pushed a tape recorder across the conference table closer to Winston. "We'll tape what you say," he said. "And transcribe it and give you a copy of the typescript. Do you wish an attorney present? You have that right."
Winston looked at me. I shook my head. Winston said, "No." His voice sounded dry and out of use. He cleared his throat.
"You understand," Devane said, "that you are not receiving immunity."
"Yes."
"Although the judge will know of your help here."
I handed Winston a Xerox copy of his earlier statement. Devane pushed the button on the tape recorder. Winston began to talk, referring to the earlier statement, but supplementing and enlarging, his voice growing stronger as he talked, as if the catharsis of confession had begun to quicken his spirit.