“I may have to stop for a minute.” I heard her breathing, like a runner at the end of the race, “No, no, I’m okay. Anyway, I got it on recorded, clear, and you can hear it, too. Them, me begging them to stop.”
“And you sent the congressman a copy?”
“Damned right, Personal and Confidential to his office, in a box from one of his porno videos tapes. He loved porn, and he’d send the tapes or DVD’s or even flash drives to my apartment for us to watch together. He always needed to see something before—”
“And he paid?”
“I got a big check and a receipt from some lawyer. I saved the envelope and made copies of everything for my safe deposit box. The receipt said it was for ‘videography and miscellaneous services’ and said ‘Paid in full,’ like a warning, you know? I knew what would happen if I said anything, after the money. He knew I had a copy of the flash drive in a safe deposit box, along with all of my medical reports. Timmy doesn’t know that he can open the box, too. I gave a letter to a lawyer to be opened if anything happened to me. That letter would have told Timmy what to do. I guess it’s blackmail, but it’s less than I’d have gotten if I’d sued him.”
She had a point. Lawyers get settlements, but if you do it yourself, it’s extortion. Sometimes I was glad I didn’t practice law.
“Do you know who killed him?”
“Nope. Wasn’t me, wasn’t Timmy, wasn’t you. That’s what I know.” Then she hung up, without another word.
I cradled the phone, walked over to the picture window and stared at the Japanese maple in the front yard. Maybe it would live, despite my best efforts. Mrs. Pina’s grandson was trying hard to keep it alive. It looked a little better I thought.
So, she was so scared that she arranged a “Dead Man’s Switch.” The name came from the controls on a railroad engine. If the engineer took his hand off the controls, the switch would open and the train would stop. More than one spy was walking around free because of a Dead Man’s Switch.
If Lois was harmed in any way, the “Gentleman from Rhode Island,” would be exposed as a sexually dysfunctional rapist and serial cheater with a seriously ill son. The Dead Man’s Switch only worked if the target was aware of it, with no ability to prevent its activation. It worked if the target was afraid of the consequences. Hers was simple and deadly.
Now the target was dead. No, there were two others. Did both of them know about it? Was there a way to short circuit the switch? If they felt threatened, but were unaware of the switch, Lois was possibly in danger.
Tim was off and I didn’t have a home number for him. The automatic call back was blocked so I couldn’t go directly back to Lois.
I wished that I’d asked. I had been a pretty good interrogator in my time, a good investigator, a decent attorney but I hadn’t gotten enough clarity or specifics. Or was it that I didn’t think of her as a “subject”? I didn’t know if she knew the possible sources of danger, and I should have made sure. She knew about the Congressman and I felt my dislike for the dead man starting to rise.
After I tried and failed to find Tim Foley’s number, I started scribbling on a legal pad, laying out a time line. Most of the details were concentrated in the time leading up to closing time a couple of nights in the past, the rest being vague notations, with a gap before his death. I had Lois noted.
I called the strip joint, and was told that “we ain’t an answering service, pal.” I didn’t like the “pal,” but he hung up before I could tell him so. If I sat and waited, then things would happen to me. Before I had time to change my mind, I picked up the embossed business card and dialed a Boston number.
“Federal Bureau of Investigation, how may I direct your call?” said a real, live receptionist. My tax dollars at work. I asked for Special Agent Dana Kilroy, and was told that she wasn’t available.
“I’m sorry, sir, but unless it’s an emergency, I have instructions to send callers into her voice mail.” She did so, without waiting for my answer.
Agent Kilroy’s voice in the recording was clear and professional, her greeting brief. The cool neutrality sent me into a high school state of nerves. Just like the combination of a business-like attire and attractive lingerie, it seemed to be a mixture of the professional and the sexy. Of course, erotic thoughts made me think that I was being unfaithful to Isabel, so guilt was close by. I took a deep breath and asked her to call, leaving my home phone number, one I was sure she already had. “We should talk, but I’d prefer some sort of neutral ground.”
The phone rang a half hour later, “Commander Costa?”
“Yes, Agent Kilroy.”
“I’d prefer that you come here to the office to talk, or that we meet at the Newport Police Headquarters.”
“Nope. Not unless you take me into custody, and if you wanted to do that, you would have.”
Her sigh was exasperated, but her voice was controlled, “Commander, do you enjoy goading us? What if I tell you that I’m aware of your ‘investigation’? What if I tell you that I spoke with my father, and that he spoke to some old friends but I’m keeping that confidential for the time being?”
Kilroy. Her father. My old boss. No wonder she’d been able to get past the obstacles surrounding my records. Vice Admiral Thomas Reilly Kilroy. He probably still had lots of old friends. He had to be retired, but his reach would still be long, and capable of parting bureaucratic obstacles.
“I’m sure the admiral was a big help, Agent Kilroy, but I have no idea what it gained you. Regardless,” I spoke right through her attempt to interrupt, “I won’t be interviewed in Boston, or with DaSilva and Petersen unless I’m in custody. I will be glad to speak privately and unofficially with you.”
After a long wait, she took a breath and named a restaurant about halfway between Providence and Boston. She told me to meet her there at nine o’clock. There was no “goodbye,” just a silent phone. For the first time since the hotel hired me, I called in sick.
Marisol woke from her nap, and I fixed her a sandwich. We chatted until Mrs. Pina came down. ‘Sol and I went to her room to check her homework. When I returned to the living room, her plump protectoress was carrying a laundry basket from the cellar. I checked a couple of cable news channels. No surprises, full investigation, no information released, just the updates about Morley’s official memorial service, showing a clip of his wife and children. The family’s private funeral would be conducted after the autopsy.
I watched the well-groomed, preppy son, the impeccable wife and grave, shy daughter. Whatever I was looking for, I didn’t see. The son looked as he was supposed to, arm around his mother’s waist, and holding his sister’s hand. The man of the family. They were a political family, and they knew how to work a visual image. The local papers would have that picture of the three of them. I turned it off, and got a cup of old coffee.
My daughter walked into the living room and sat next to me on the couch. We had an unspoken agreement not to mention the murder. When I looked at the kitchen clock, it was already seven-thirty. “I have to go out,” I said to her and Mrs. Pina, “but not to work. I’ll be home as early as I can.”
I dressed in the “Newport Uniform,” khakis and a blue jacket, with a blue oxford cloth shirt, and no tie. I finished shaving, and was rubbing on some cologne, when I realized that I was taking a lot of care with my appearance.
It isn’t a date.
Mrs. Pina sniffed as I walked by and made an approving face. Marisol looked me up and down. “Oh, yeah,” she said, “you’re slamming.” I made a mental note to find out if “slamming” was a good thing, and if so, how she knew. I kissed her on the forehead, and got into my car. It seemed safe, looking at the sky, so I put the top down and pulled out.
I drove up Route 24 onto 95, and fought my way through the usual build up at the interchange to get into a useable lane when the light dawned. She knew about my investigation, she’d said. Assuming that nobody had called the police or her, then I’d been under surveillance. My phone was tapped,
too. I said, “Shit,” aloud. By law, anyone who spoke on that phone would eventually have to be told about it. Any of Marisol’s friends, as well as all of the people who’d thought we’d spoken in confidence would get an official letter from the Newport Police.
I was relieved to think that I must have seemed like an innocent man, but I’d dropped Lois and Tim squarely into the mess. They had motive and there was the question of possible extortion. I was angry with myself and the intrusion. Of course they’d put me under surveillance and tapped my phone. They left me on the loose to see what I’d do. Basic stuff, Cop 101, and I had blithely worked the phone and wandered around. It was called “situational awareness,” and I’d blown it.
“It isn’t a chess game,” I’d been told years before, “the opposition isn’t obliged to wait their turn to move, nor are you.”
I said, “shit,” quietly, one more time, and tried to adjust.
Lois’s phone call would have given them enough to work on.
Chapter 5
The decorations in the restaurant were supposed to call coaches, carriages and country inns to mind. I nodded to the bartender when I saw him. He looked surprised, but nodded back. I watched his eyes when he had no orders. They swept the lounge, and when he caught me looking, he smiled and nodded. He leaned against the back shelf with his arms folded, providing privacy to his customers, yet ready to serve them on short notice. I knew the position well, and knew that he’d shift sometimes, to get the shelf away from the back of his thighs and ease his back.
I smelled grilling beef, and decided that whatever happened, I was going to finish supper. I looked at my watch to see that I was four minutes early. The hostess seated me, handed me a menu the size of a wall map, and I told her that I was expecting a guest, just in time to see her.
Agent Kilroy strode up to the table. I should have been thinking about what she was going to ask. I shouldn’t have noticed her short wine-red dress and black stockings. Or that she was wearing heels. I shouldn’t have noticed that her hair was loose with reflected golden light or that she was beautiful. She looked like a woman, not the enemy. I was thinking of satin sheets and a sex-scented bedroom. I should have been thinking of a daughter and a wife who still seemed to be within reach.
Remembering the stinging slap on the back of my head from my grandfather, his “manners reminder,” I smiled and stood until she sat. Her walk was smooth, still athletic and graceful. The heels added an entrancing sway to it. Nothing provocative about it, I’d have said. Except that it was. She stroked the back of her skirt down and tightened it across her rear as she sat. I was careful to be looking directly into her face when she swung her legs under the table.
I glanced over her shoulder and noticed that a couple of the men who had seen her come in found her attractive, too. What the hell should I care? Except that I did. I smelled cinnamon, and saw her tan, where her watch had slipped a bit. I heard the slither and rasp of nylons as she crossed her legs under the table. I might have imagined that sound. Except that I didn’t.
She had tapped my phone, had me followed, broken open records that were supposed to be unbreakable, and I was as hard as a bar of iron. Along with that, I was comparing her to Isabel. Those are bigger, she’s a bit taller and her legs are just as nice, but maybe slimmer and that’s different; wonder if it would feel different?
“Something from the bar?” said the motherly waitress.
“Chardonnay for me,” said Dana Kilroy.
I was surprised, but it was okay with me. I ordered a light beer, and the waitress trundled away.
“So,” we said together. I laughed, but she only smiled. When she smiled, there was a slight curl to her upper lip.
Focus, dumbass, I thought. You aren’t a kid. “You look very nice,” I said.
“I had plans to go to a show tonight, but this was more important. I didn’t have time to change.”
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh.” She paused, “But thank you, anyway.”
“Commander—”
“Agent Kilroy, it’s been ‘Mister’ for some time.”
“Mr. Costa, you apparently know that you’ve been under surveillance.”
“No, Agent Kilroy, I didn’t until I was halfway here. I figured it out. Too late, but I did figure it out. My phone, too?”
She nodded. “I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am about your daughter being exposed to that interview. She’s what? Twelve?”
“Eleven.”
“She didn’t deserve that, and I really do regret it.”
I looked at her, carefully. I believed her. “Thank you, Agent Kilroy.”
“You know, I think this ‘Agent Kilroy’ and ‘Mr. Costa’ business is slowing things down. Dana?”
“Sure, Dana, please call me Paul.”
“Detective Petersen had surveillance and said you lost him in Warwick, so you must have known about it.” I thought about that for a minute. I hadn’t seen any surveillance, and the only place I’d gone was the ‘gentleman’s club’ to meet Tim Foley.
“Your phone tap should tell you who I spoke with and where I went, so it’s time for cards to come onto the table.”
“I certainly agree,” Dana said, leaning forward. I looked into her neckline enjoying the low cut black bra that forced up a smooth curve of creamy skin. I pulled my eyes back up to meet hers. She was smiling a bit, but it turned off abruptly.
“Excuse me,” I said, knowing she’d caught me.
She smiled again. “This once.” That sounded a lot like flirting as I remembered it, so I smiled back at her. “Cards on the table?”
I nodded. “Petersen,” I said.
“Detective Petersen is newly appointed as a detective, and we rely on Sergeant DaSilva to guide him. He had surveillance on you and said you deliberately lost him in Warwick.”
“Any doubt that he said ‘deliberately’?”
“None.” Seeing her concentrate on something that wasn’t my arrest was a relief.
“I’ll get to him in a second or two. Let’s start with what I know. First, I did not murder the Congressman. Second, he was scum, and lots of women are apparently in his wake, damaged, if not destroyed. Somehow, he’s been able to cover that up.”
“And he’s a murder victim, possibly yours.”
I ignored her and continued. “Not only is ‘Detective’ Petersen inexperienced, and an arrogant, abrasive jerk, who doesn’t know a good interrogation when he sees one going on, but he’s a liar.”
“I know you don’t like him, and I know you deliberately provoke him, but this isn’t helpful.”
“Oh, I don’t like him, but that isn’t it. He’s lying. I didn’t go anywhere near Warwick. If you check my phone logs, you’ll know where I went and when. It won’t take you long to find out. Warwick would have taken me a good half hour out of my way in nasty traffic. He’s lying. I didn’t do any counter-surveillance because I didn’t know he was there. Maybe he lost me, I don’t know, but I didn’t shake him off in Warwick or anywhere else. I think he was with me until I got home.”
“Why would he lie?”
“Great question, isn’t it? I don’t know. He knows where I went, and he isn’t bright enough to come up with anything better. There’s a reason he doesn’t want you looking at that strip joint. I don’t know if it’s important, but he must think so. Did he call in and tell anyone as soon as he supposedly lost the tail? Was there a delay of about an hour? “
“Yes,” she said after a moment’s pause. It sounded as if she was thinking aloud. “He reported that he had been trying to pick you up again. You know, anything, any evidence or sign that isn’t directly pointing at you seems to be ‘bullshit’ as far as he’s concerned. Detective DaSilva and I believed it’s because he doesn’t like you.”
I thought about how delightful it was, hearing her force “bullshit” through lips I was fantasizing about.
“Petersen said that he was looking for me?’ Alone? Warwick?”
“That’s what
he said.”
“Not in this lifetime. Warwick’s a maze, one-way streets, divided highways, heavy traffic. He should have reported immediately when he ‘lost’ me, right?”
“Yes, but Sergeant DaSilva passed it off as inexperience.”
“Dana, when you were a green agent, did you ever blow off procedure? Didn’t you rely on it to keep you out of trouble?”
She nodded.
The waitress returned with our drinks.
“Let’s order,” I said. I heaved the huge menu up into view, moving it around to see it, and finally fished my half glasses out of my shirt pocket.
“I only need them to see,” I said.
“Contacts,” she answered, gesturing toward her eyes while studying the menu.
“Please tell me they’re not tinted and that’s really the shade of blue your eyes are.”
“What shade is that?” asked Dana, with a smile.
“Cerulean,” I said, wondering what made me say that.
“No tint. Transparent, like you.” That required either a lot of conversation or none at all. I chose the latter. I might have been blushing a little, too.
The waitress came back, and took our order. It was silly, but I was careful to avoid garlic or onions. “Thought FBI agents had to have perfect vision,” I said, trying to avoid the subject of the murder. I managed to avoid murder, but fell right into dumb.
“Nope, just correctable.” She plunged a fork into her salad, and began to eat. “Sorry to just dive in, but I’m starved. It’s been a long time since breakfast.” The cherry tomato on her fork waved in the air as she thought of something. “Mm, wait.” I took a bite of my salad, and waited.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “I’ll have a private talk with DaSilva. In the meantime, could we talk about you?”
I opened my mouth to speak, and closed it as the waitress arrived with the main course. “Your cologne is nice by the way, no musk,” said Dana. Never, not once in hundreds of interrogations, had I ever complimented a subject on a choice of cologne or perfume. Not even Isabel.
Last Call Page 6
