Betrayal dh-12

by John Lescroart

  If Jack Allstrong had personally ordered Nolan to eliminate the Khalils, and paid him in cash, which is exactly what Hardy conjectured had happened, he could count on there being no record of it whatsoever. Especially after all these years.

  Or-Hardy corrected himself-Charlie Bowen had come up with the only evidence there might have been, and perhaps had inadvertently passed it on to his wife. But by now, whatever that had been must be gone. And similarly, the murders of Charlie and Hanna had been carried out with professional efficiency.

  Even if Bracco discovered that Charlie and/or Hanna Bowen had called or gone down to visit Allstrong on the last day of their lives, what would that prove? Would it lead to a discovery of Charlie's body, which had probably long since become fish food? Or would it place an Allstrong mercenary in Hanna's garage pulling her body down to make sure to break her neck as she dropped from her stepladder?

  Hardy knew it wouldn't.

  And so long as Allstrong didn't confess to anything-and if there was no proof he'd ever done anything wrong, why would he?-then in the face of all the accusations in the world, he'd remain untouchable. In fact, Hardy realized, with the size of the operation Allstrong was running, by now he'd undoubtedly have surrounded himself with protection-administrative assistants, senior staff, his own lawyers-to keep him insulated from riffraff such as Hardy himself or even Sergeant Bracco who might come calling on him with impertinent questions. Hardy might never even get to talk to him.

  At the sound of the newspaper hitting the porch, he opened his eyes again. The darkness outside had lessened by a degree.

  It was going to be a long day.

  Three and a half hours into the work portion of that day, Hardy glared malevolently at the phone as it buzzed at his elbow. He was eight pages into his brief about the Brady violation. He made a good case that the FBI's information should have been disclosed to Washburn. This would have allowed him to cross-examine the now-disappeared, allegedly ex-FBI agents on the entire question of Nolan's involvement with the frag grenades. He'd turned off his cell phone and left strict instructions with Phyllis to hold all of his calls. He needed to concentrate.

  But here was the phone, buzzing at him. Hence the glare.

  He put his pen down and reached for the receiver. "This must be an emergency," he said in a mild tone. "Is the building on fire?"

  "No, sir. But Lieutenant Glitsky said I should disturb you. Apparently somebody tried to kill Evan Scholler at the prison this morning. Lieutenant Glitsky is holding now. Shall I put him through?"

  "That would be a good thing, Phyllis. Please." He heard the click of connection. "Is Evan all right?"

  "He's alive, though he's cut pretty bad. He was lucky. The shiv hit a rib or he'd be room temperature by now."

  "So he's going to live?"

  "No promises, but good chance, evidently."

  "So what happened, Abe? He get in a fight?"

  "Well, finding out what really happened is always a little iffy there, but by first reports, it's starting to look like he was a target of some kind. The guy who went for him was a Salvadoran gangbanger out of L.A. named Rafael Calderon. Nobody had ever seen these two guys together before this morning."

  "So you're saying somebody ordered this?"

  "I'm not saying anything. I'm telling you what I've heard so far. And I've heard that your man Evan had been an ideal inmate. No word about any enemies, or what he might have done to make them."

  "So the order came from outside?"

  "Don't know. It could have been something personal we don't know about. I'd hesitate to conjecture. But maybe you've got something you want to tell me?"

  Hardy, recalling his research the previous night, couldn't keep the thought from jumping to the front of his mind-Allstrong Security was developing a presence in El Salvador. Beyond his net surfing last night, he'd read several lengthy magazine articles and even pieces of a couple of books delineating the relationships between U.S. mercenaries and the Salvadoran gang networks in that country, and took it as gospel that the connections between them ran deep. He took a minute to get Glitsky up to speed, then asked, "Did they question Calderon?"

  "Calderon wasn't as lucky as Scholler."

  "Are you telling me he's dead?"

  "That's right."

  "Did Scholler kill him?"

  "No. Scholler was on the ground, bleeding. When the guards heard the screaming and yelling from the assault and got there, they got Calderon surrounded and he went more or less insane. He still had his shiv on him and he charged them. They reacted with what, after the hearing, I'm sure will be called appropriate force in self-defense."

  Hardy realized that he was gripping the phone so tightly that his knuckles were white. He knew that if Calderon had taken the job of assassinating Scholler in prison and either botched it or got caught afterward, both of which had happened in this case, he could expect to be killed by his handler or by another gang-connected inmate before he could be questioned and give anything away. And he knew that whoever had put out the contract would just as easily put out another one.

  After the phone call, Hardy couldn't get his mind back on the draft of his brief. He decided to walk down to the Hall of Justice to clear his mind. The fine weather continued, and if Glitsky had already gone to lunch, Hardy could walk down a couple of blocks and catch a meal at any one of a number of the good new joints in SoMa, South of Market. But Abe was in, at his desk drinking a bottled water and eating a rice cake. Glitsky opened his desk drawer, pulled out a handful of peanuts in the shell, and slid them across his desk.

  Hardy cracked a shell. "This is Allstrong again, Abe."

  "Calderon? It might be at that."

  "It is, absolutely."

  Glitsky shook his head. "Don't get me wrong. I want it to be with all my heart, but I don't have enough, Diz. If makes you feel any better, I think it's possible, and I didn't think that a few days ago. I'm waiting for Darrel before I jump to any conclusions."

  "I made that jump when I heard about the stabbing. There is no other conclusion."

  "Not to be disagreeable, but don't kid yourself. You were all over this at least yesterday, maybe before."

  Hardy chewed reflectively. "You want to hear how it works? Why it's Allstrong?"

  "Sure, but the short version, please."

  "Okay, six weeks ago Hanna gets killed. Allstrong's now had to kill two people involved in the Scholler appeal. He thinks it's probably all done as far as getting rid of evidence is concerned, but he knows that as long as Evan Scholler's in prison, there's going to be this appeal coming up again and its attendant risks, meaning people like Bowen or me coming around asking him provocative questions. Maybe there's even more evidence someplace that he was actively involved in a domestic homicide."

  "Let's hope," Glitsky said.

  Hardy nodded. "So Allstrong gets another idea."

  "Kill Scholler."

  "You're reading my mind." Another peanut. "Scholler dies, the appeal is over. Cuts it off at the source. But of course, the problem is that Scholler's in prison. Not untouchable, but more complicated, through El Salvador and backup through one of the L.A. gangs." Hardy held up his hands in a voilà gesture. "There's your six weeks between Hanna and now."

  "Brilliant." Glitsky ate another peanut. "You've got it all figured out."

  "I've got Bowen figured out too. They dumped him out in the ocean."

  This brought Glitsky forward in his chair. "How do you know that?"

  "I dreamed it," Hardy said, grinning. "But it's what happened, Abe. You're going to find his DNA in one of their airplanes, I promise."

  "Just as soon as I get to look in one of them." Sitting back, Glitsky folded his hands on his lap. "I want to believe you, Diz, I really do. I'll jump on all of this with both feet as soon as I can go to a judge to give me a warrant. Or I get any other reason to send Bracco to talk to the guy. But until I do…" He shrugged. "I'm waiting on Bracco. He finds something or he doesn't. Usually, if something's there, he
does."

  "Yeah, but meanwhile, my client's still a target."

  Glitsky glanced at the wall clock. "Diz. I think that's a reach. I really do. Or, at worst, by your own math, the next attack is six weeks away."

  Glitsky was half joking, but the next attack felt far closer than six weeks away to Hardy.

  Back in his office, galvanized, he told Phyllis to hold his calls again and spent the next two hours working on his brief. One thing he could do, as a lawyer, was actually file his appeal and get things shaking. He, too, had been waiting for Bracco to come up with actual evidence that either of the Bowens had called Allstrong, but there was another, and much more direct, way to go about getting this information. He could pick up the phone and ask.

  It wasn't Glitsky's way, and Hardy, in his enthusiasm to simply figure out what had happened, had gotten hung up with that process. But Glitsky was trying to solve two homicides in his jurisdiction and bring a killer to justice. Hardy, on the other hand, had only one job. He was working to free his client.

  It was a crucial difference, and it now had gained added urgency with the prison assault on Evan this morning. Hardy had been hoping that once the police could somehow prove an Allstrong/Bowen connection, it would strengthen the argument in his appeal. But he really didn't need that to file-the FBI and the Khalils might eventually lead to Allstrong and Nolan, but the issue was whether or not those initial interrogations should have been part of the prosecution's discovery, and on this point there was little doubt.

  Easy though it might be to make an actual phone call to Allstrong, there was another component to the equation that Hardy could ignore only at his peril. These guys had proven themselves seriously proactive about people who threatened their business interests. If Hardy's theories were correct, and he was by now all but certain that they were, they had killed both the Bowens and made an attempt on the life of Evan. And all of this without leaving behind a shred of evidence that would tie them to these crimes.

  Hardy realized that as soon as he made that one simple phone call, the threat level in his own life was going to go up in a hurry. He would be putting himself exactly where Charlie Bowen had gone before he disappeared forever.

  But he needed the information. He had to know for sure; he couldn't file his appeal until he knew.

  Reward; risk.

  Hardy had written the Allstrong office number down in his notes as a matter of course while he was doing his research last night. Returning from word processing where he'd dropped his draft marked URGENT, he closed his office door, went behind his desk, sat down, took out his notes, and pulled the phone over in front of him, punching the numbers with a steeled deliberation.

  38

  "Jack Allstrong, please."

  "I'll see if he's in. Can I tell him who's calling?"

  "I don't know. How can you tell him who's calling if he's not in?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "You said you'd see if Mr. Allstrong was in. But if you were going to tell him who was calling, then you must know he is in. Isn't that right?"

  Hardy hated to launch this logic assault on the poor receptionist, but with the attack on Evan, he believed he was running out of time. "Please tell Mr. Allstrong that my name is Dismas Hardy and that it's extremely important that I speak with him as soon as possible." He spelled his name out for her. "I'm an attorney working on the appeal in the Evan Scholler matter, with which I'm sure he's familiar. Please also tell him that I'm continuing the work begun last summer by a lawyer named Charlie Bowen. If he's busy, tell him I'll be happy to wait here on the line for as long as it takes."

  As it turned out, it took less than a minute. A voice with an undefinably Southern accent and devoid of nervousness, anger, or fear came through the wire. "This is Jack Allstrong."

  "Mr. Allstrong, my name is Dismas Hardy and-"

  A big, booming laugh. "Yeah, I already know that. You made quite a first impression on our Marilou, I must say. And normally she is some kind of a tough nut to crack. She says you're working with Lieutenant Scholler?"

  "Evan. Yes, sir."

  "Evan, right. I always think of him as Lieutenant. That's what he was when he worked with us." He paused. "God, that whole quagmire with him and Ron Nolan just turned into a hell of a thing, didn't it? The messes people get themselves into. And two better young men you couldn't have imagined. But I don't suppose you ever had a chance to meet Ron?"

  "No, I didn't."

  "That's a shame. He was a fine man, a fine soldier, a loyal employee. What happened to him was just nothin' less than a goddamned tragedy, Mr. Hardy, I'll be honest with you. And I know it was because of the lieutenant's head wound to some extent, so I don't blame him the way I might otherwise. War, and this one's no exception, it can do horrible things to people. Anybody's been in one knows that for a fact. You a veteran, Mr. Hardy?"

  "Yes, sir. Vietnam."

  "Well, then, you know what I'm talking about. But at least this war, the soldiers themselves, the men on the ground, they're getting some respect. And about goddamn time, wouldn't you say?"

  "Yes, I would," Hardy said. "But I'm calling because I'm about to file an appeal to see if I can get Mr. Scholler out of prison and-"

  "Wait!" Allstrong's voice hardened up. "Now, wait just a second here. You say you're trying to get the lieutenant out of prison? I thought nobody doubted that he had killed Ron."

  "Well, the jury thought it was beyond reasonable doubt, which is not-"

  "Now, hold on. We don't need to be splitting hairs here, Mr. Hardy. I think I've made it clear that until he was injured and even after that, Lieutenant Scholler had my complete respect. He was a good soldier, a natural leader, good to his men. But I don't think I'm comfortable with the idea that the man who killed one of my first employees, and a damn good friend, is going to be out walking the streets again, a free man. And I certainly don't think I'm inclined to help with this appeal of yours."

  "Sir, I don't believe Evan Scholler did kill Ron Nolan."

  "Well, that's a good one. You might be in the minority with that opinion. I haven't talked to anybody else who thinks that."

  "Not even Charlie Bowen?"

  Allstrong didn't hesitate for an instant. "Not him either."

  "So you talked to him?"

  "Couple of times, at least. Last summer sometime, was it? I don't know. Whatever happened to him anyway? One day he's here asking me all kinds of questions, I'm thinking he's moving forward on this appeal like you are, and next thing you know he's gone."

  "That's what happened," Hardy said. "He disappeared."

  "Just like that?"

  "Apparently." Hardy found his temper starting to flare, and decided it was time to push on Allstrong, see if he could get a bit of a rise. "Did you know Charlie Bowen's wife?"

  "I don't believe so."

  "She never called you there?"

  "She might have called here, although I don't know why she would have. But if she did, she never talked to me. Why do you think I would know anything about her?"

  Hardy laid out his conjecture as factual truth. "She was working on some of the files Charlie was working on when he disappeared. Then, I don't know if you've heard, but six weeks ago, she committed suicide."

  For the first time, Allstrong hesitated, then made a little kissing noise. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that, of course. Over Charlie walking out on her?"

  "That's the general assumption, I presume. Although there are other theories."

  "About why she killed herself?"

  "Not just why, but whether. There's some evidence that she might have been killed by someone who wanted to make it look like a suicide."

  "Why would anyone do that? Want to kill her, I mean?"

  "Maybe because she'd found out something to do with her husband's death. And in that case, maybe Charlie Bowen wasn't a simple disappearance either. Maybe he was murdered too."

  "That's a lot of maybes."

  "Yes, it is. And here's another one. Maybe Charlie's wor
k on this appeal is what convinced somebody they needed to kill him."

  "Who would that be?"

  "Whoever actually did kill Ron Nolan."

  "Ahh." Allstrong mustered up a kind of chortle. "And this is what brings us around to where you don't think it was Scholler who killed him."

  "That's right. These are my theories about the Bowens, both of them. I think they were both murdered, and I think the person behind those murders also tried to have Evan Scholler killed this morning at Corcoran Prison. But that one didn't work." Hardy didn't know if Allstrong had already received this news from his sources within the prison, and he thought it wouldn't hurt to hear it now from him.

  And while there was no sign that this information registered as anything but another unimportant detail about Hardy's case, by degrees the superficial warmth was leeching out of both men's tones. When Allstrong spoke next, his easy Southern geniality was entirely missing. "Well, all of this is interesting, I'm sure, but it really doesn't have shit-all to do with me. And I'm afraid, as I told you, I'm not going to be too disposed to help you get Ron Nolan's killer out of prison. So if there's anything else specific I can help you with, let's hear it. Otherwise, I got a business I'm trying to run here."

  "I appreciate that," Hardy said. "I thought you'd be interested in finding Ron Nolan's killer in any event, though. Whether or not it was Evan Scholler, you'd want to know who really did it, I presume. And whatever you can tell me now might help me get to the truth. I'm basing my appeal on stuff I think the FBI discovered that they didn't reveal to Evan's prosecutors at the time of the trial. I assume you're familiar with fragmentation grenades?"

  "Sure."

  "Well, then you may know that Nolan, who was in your employ at the time, had several of these in his home."

  "I understood that Scholler put them there to frame Ron."

  "No, sir." Hardy easily came out with the next untruth. "Since the trial, that's been pretty much discredited. The FBI concluded there was no way Evan could have gotten these things back home, whereas Nolan could have just packed them in his duffel."