Last to die

by James Grippando

  Theo set the glass on the bar. They’d never met, but Theo had heard plenty from Jack. “You must be Gerry the Genius.”

  “You and your buddy Swyteck got a real running joke there, don’t you? For the last time, it’s Gentleman Gerry.”

  “What brings you here, Gent?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Stupidity.”

  Gerry smiled, then winced with pain. “Shit, it even hurts to laugh.”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  He brought the glass to his lips with care, but the left side of his mouth was badly swollen, causing a trickle to run down his chin. “You’re right. It’s my problem. And your brother’s.”

  “Only because you’re good at throwing around bullshit allegations.”

  “Are you seriously going to stand there and tell me this wasn’t your brother’s work?”

  “You got that right.”

  “Who are you, his alibi?”

  “No. His sparring partner. Him and me been boxing each other for years. So I can look at your face and tell you in two seconds it wasn’t Tatum who done it.”

  “How?”

  “Tatum has a mean left hook. Nobody ever sees it coming. One time my right eye was swollen shut for three days. But your right eye is perfect. It’s the left side of your face that’s all beat to hell. So tell me,” said Theo as he delivered a mock left hook to Gerry’s unscathed right eye, “how does that happen?”

  “Your brother isn’t a one-armed bandit. He has other punches.”

  “He also gots a brain. If he beats you up, he ain’t gonna let you see his face.”

  “I saw what I saw.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Gerry forced a crooked smile, trying hard to ignore the pain of any facial movement. “All right. Maybe I didn’t get as good a look at my attacker as I led the court to believe in my affidavit. But I didn’t come here to argue about the evidence.”

  “Then why you here?”

  “Because I have something to say to your brother. Frankly, I feel safer saying it to you. I’m sure you’ll deliver the message for me.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’m offering a deal.” He checked over each shoulder, as if to make sure that no one around them could overhear. “If Tatum will renounce his shot at the inheritance and get out of the game, I’ll recant my testimony.”

  “You’ll what?”

  “I’ll tell the judge I made a mistake. It was dark, I’d been drinking, it happened very fast. On reflection, I don’t think it was Tatum Knight who beat me up after all.”

  “And for that, you want my brother to give up his shot at inheriting forty-six million bucks?”

  A waitress pulled up to the station at the end of the bar. “Couple a’ Buds, Theo.” He set two open long-necks on her tray, and off she went.

  “There’s more,” said Gerry. “If Tatum does drop out, I’ll pay him a quarter million dollars, cash, right now. It’s not contingent on me inheriting the money or anything else. He drops out, I give him the money. It’s that clean.”

  “You trying to buy your way to the prize?”

  Gerry pulled an ice cube from his soda and applied it to his fattened lip. “Brains, not brute force. That’s what it takes to win Sally Fenning’s game.”

  “Funny, you don’t look so smart.”

  “I’m not the one with a restraining order entered against me, am I?”

  “You must want that money pretty bad.”

  “There’s nothing illegal about cutting deals with the other beneficiaries to induce them to drop out. It’s just business. The mining business.” Gerry flashed a crooked smile, calling Theo forward with a curl of his finger, as if to let him in on a big secret. “This is what I call a gold mine.”

  “You’re using trumped-up assault charges to get my brother to settle cheap and drop out.”

  “I said I’d withdraw the charges. I didn’t say they were trumped up.”

  Theo shook his head, then chuckled, “Who you think you’re talking to, fool?”

  “Excuse me?”

  The smile drained away as Theo leaned closer and said, “This is blackmail.”

  “That’s not the way I see it.”

  “Doesn’t matter how you see it. I see it as blackmail. Tatum will see it as blackmail. And that’s not a good thing for you.”

  “Am I supposed to be scared now?”

  Theo got right in his face, pressing his huge hands into the bar top. Gerry was trying to be a tough guy, but the twitching eyelid gave him away. To his surprise, however, Theo backed down. Gerry seemed pleased to have won the staring match, until Theo walked over to the stage, grabbed the microphone from the stand, and said, “Ladies and Gentlemen, your attention, please.”

  The noise level dropped a notch, though it wasn’t completely quiet.

  Gerry shifted nervously on his bar stool, clearly apprehensive.

  Theo continued, “I don’t mean to rat anybody out, but I just heard that tonight we have with us Mr. Gerry Colletti, seated right over there at the end of the bar. You might be interested to know that Mr. Colletti is a former representative from the state of Massachusetts, where he was the author of the very first mandatory biker helmet law in the U.S. of A. Dude, take a bow.”

  A chorus of boos rolled across the room. The bikers at the pool table shot a volley of death glares that had Gerry sinking into the woodwork. Two guys with bulging biceps started toward the bar. The ugly one had identical tattoos on each forearm, the word “villain” spelled “villian,” as if to brag that he was too stupid to check a dictionary. The tall guy was wearing no shirt, just tattered blue jeans and a black leather vest. His metal dog tags rattled with each tap of the fat end of a pool cue into his open palm.

  Theo was feeling pretty smug as he walked back behind the bar. “Club soda’s on me, Genius. Have a nice walk to your car.”

  Twenty-two

  Jack and Kelsey were surrounded by books.

  The homicide detective’s tip that Deirdre Meadows had written a true-crime story about Sally Fenning was a good lead, but Jack had struggled over what to do next. Going straight to Deirdre was one option, but he wanted more facts before taking that shot. That was where Martin Kapstan came in.

  Just Books was hands-down the best bookstore in Coral Gables, and Martin made it that way. The store itself was beautiful, an old Mediterranean-style building, perfectly restored, and plenty of book-filled rooms for browsing. With signings and readings virtually every night of the week, it would be difficult to name a national best-selling author in the last twenty years who hadn’t made an appearance there. But it was Martin who set the store apart. He’d started out as a high school teacher, and he’d never really lost that guiding touch. Every aspiring author in south Florida sought his advice, and somehow he always found time to give it. Some of them found success. All of them found a little hope. Kelsey figured that if anyone knew anything about Deirdre’s unpublished script, Martin was the guy.

  “Damn, we should have come last night,” said Kelsey. She was checking out the event calender posted by the door. They’d just missed Isabelle Allende.

  Kelsey had worked a summer at Just Books before Nate was born, before law school, before interning for Jack, before her sphere of knowledge had begun to shrink to the point where she felt as though she knew absolutely nothing about anything except what she happened to be working on at the moment. She seemed a little embarrassed by how long it had been since her last visit, but Martin greeted her with his usual gentle smile and soft-spoken manner. She introduced Jack, and the three of them stepped outside for coffee in the central courtyard. Martin and Kelsey spent a few minutes catching up, then Martin asked, “How long you two been dating?”

  They both let out a nervous chuckle. Kelsey said, “Oh, we’re not-”

  “No we’re not…we’re friends,” said Jack. “And of course we work together.”

  “Oh. I just assumed from the way Kelsey gushed on the phone
about-” Martin stopped in mid-sentence, as if someone had just flattened his big toe.

  “About how crazy Nate is about Jack,” said Kelsey, her smile strained.

  From the look on Martin’s face, it seemed as though he had something else on the tip of his tongue. “Right. I understand you and Nate are great buddies.”

  “I’m his Big Brother.”

  “That’s terrific.”

  “Yeah, it’s been great.”

  All three tasted their coffee, as if thankful for the silence. Then Martin said, “So, how can I help you?”

  Jack asked, “Have you been following the newspaper stories about a very wealthy woman named Sally Fenning? She was shot to death downtown about two weeks ago.”

  “I did read about that.”

  “Kelsey and I represent one of the heirs to her estate.”

  “Yeah, she mentioned that in our phone conversation.”

  “It turns out that one of the other heirs was writing a book about Sally. She’s a reporter for the Tribune. Her name is Deirdre Meadows.”

  “I’ve met Deirdre,” said Martin.

  “You don’t happen to know anything about the book she wrote, do you?”

  “As a matter of fact I do.”

  Kelsey smiled proudly, looked at Jack, and said, “Told you.”

  Jack said, “I don’t want to intrude on anything she might have told you in confidence, but can you tell me anything about it?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid. I’ve never read it. I offered to read it, but Deirdre didn’t feel comfortable sharing it.”

  “Why not?”

  “The way she explained it, her lawyer told her not to let anyone read it, except for her literary agent and any publishers they sent it to.”

  “What was the fear? Someone stealing her ideas?”

  “I think her real concern was a libel suit.”

  Jack did a double take. “From Sally?”

  Martin nodded. “As I understand it, she started out writing the book with Sally Fenning’s cooperation. About six months into it, Sally decided she didn’t like the angle Deirdre was plying. Actually, to say she didn’t like it is an understatement. She threatened to sue Deirdre for libel.”

  “So her lawyer told her not to let anyone read it?” asked Kelsey.

  Jack gave the lawyer’s answer. “She was probably trying to keep her legal exposure to a minimum. Obviously, if the only people who read the allegedly libelous material are a handful of potential publishers, Sally’s damages would be negligible.”

  “That was my take on it,” said Martin.

  Jack asked, “Do you know what, exactly, Sally claimed was libelous?”

  “I don’t. It was a strange conversation we had. Deirdre wanted my opinion on whether a libel suit would help or hurt her chances of getting published. She seemed to think it was a good thing, that publishers would like the added publicity.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I said, sure, the publicity department might like it. Hell, I know some publicists who would have an author set her hair on fire and run naked around the bookstore if it would move a few extra books. But publishers also have legal departments, and the lawyers weren’t likely to be too keen about a libel suit.”

  “You didn’t exactly tell her what she wanted to hear.”

  “I don’t think it fazed her much. She said she could verify everything she wrote. Supposedly she had the full cooperation of the prosecutor on the case.”

  “Mason Rudsky?”

  “She didn’t mention his name,” said Martin.

  “Had to be Mason. He was the prosecutor assigned to the case.”

  Kelsey said, “He’s also a beneficiary under Sally’s will. Just like Deirdre.”

  Martin shrugged, as if not sure what to make of Kelsey’s last remark. His pager chirped, and he checked it. “Would you two excuse me for one minute?”

  “Sure,” said Jack.

  Martin left his coffee on the table, as if to promise a prompt return. As soon as he was gone, Kelsey looked at Jack and said, “A libel suit. I guess that’s why Deirdre’s on Sally’s list. She was telling lies about her.”

  “It would be nice to know what the lies were.”

  “What’s your guess?” asked Kelsey.

  “I don’t have a clue. But if Deirdre was spreading falsehoods about Sally and her daughter’s murder, it could explain why Sally hated her and put her in the same category as the other named beneficiaries who had made her life no longer worth living.”

  “But we have to consider the other possibility,” said Kelsey.

  “Right,” said Jack, picking up her thought. “What if the charges in Deirdre’s manuscript-whatever they might be-are true?”

  “Maybe Sally was ticked off not because Deirdre was spreading lies, but because she uncovered some horrible truths that Sally would have rather kept secret.”

  “Could be,” said Jack.

  “Especially if she had Mason Rudsky’s full cooperation,” said Kelsey.

  They locked eyes, both considering it. Then Jack said, “Whether it’s packed with lies or dirty little truths, one thing’s for sure.”

  “What?”

  He leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting toward the store window and the wall of books inside. “I want to know what Deirdre Meadows wrote.”

  “So do I.”

  Then he looked at Kelsey and said, “Almost as badly as I want to know what you and Martin really talked about on the phone.”

  “What?”

  “Whatever you said that made him think we were dating.”

  She blushed and lowered her eyes. “Silly boy. Didn’t anyone ever tell you? Stick to mysteries you can solve.”

  “No mystery is unsolvable. Some are just more fun than others.”

  She brought her cup to her lips and peered over the rim, saying nothing.

  “Don’t you agree?” asked Jack.

  No answer, but she didn’t look away.

  “You know, you can’t ignore me forever,” said Jack.

  More silence, but Jack knew there was a grin hiding behind that coffee cup.

  “Oh yeah,” he said with a smile. “Now this is getting fun.”

  Twenty-three

  A a court hearing on Tuesday morning, Jack was on the receiving end of a laserlike glare from Assistant State Attorney Mason Rudsky. Clearly, Rudsky wasn’t happy about his seat in the witness stand, especially when it meant cross-examination from a criminal defense lawyer.

  It wasn’t Jack’s preference to take on the State Attorney’s Office, but he was being stonewalled. After he and Kelsey left Just Books early Friday evening, Jack called Deirdre Meadows and asked about her book. She didn’t want to talk about it. The following Monday morning, Jack visited Rudsky and explained how Deirdre had bragged to the owner of Just Books that the prosecutor had lent his “full cooperation.” Rudsky refused to confirm or deny the allegation, and he flashed the same phony smile and gave the same pat answer each time Jack asked a question: “I’m very sorry, but the investigation into the murder of Sally Fenning’s daughter is still an open file. I can’t discuss it.”

  Jack wasn’t one to take “Up yours” for an answer. If the reporter wouldn’t tell him what was in her book, and if the prosecutor couldn’t talk about the investigative file, then Jack was going to see the file for himself. He filed a lawsuit under the Sunshine Act, which is Florida’s very broad version of the Freedom of Information Act. The law was written to make sure that government was conducted “in the sunshine,” so that private citizens had access to government records. The law applied to criminal matters, except for active investigations. One thing Jack had learned as a prosecutor was that judges took a dim view of prosecutors who tried to circumvent the law by claiming that stale files were “active.”

  Jack stepped toward the witness. The cavernous old courtroom was exceptionally quiet, not so much as a cough or the shuffling of feet from the gallery. The hearing was closed to the public,
at least until the court could determine whether the file should be made public.

  “Good morning, Mr. Rudsky.”

  “Good morning.”

  Rudsky was a career prosecutor who took his job and himself too seriously. He had an unusually large head, and when he got angry his face flushed red, as if his bow tie were tied too tightly. He was beet red already, and Jack hadn’t even started.

  “Mr. Rudsky, you were the assistant state attorney assigned to the murder of Sally Fenning’s daughter five years ago, were you not?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Are you handling the murder of Sally Fenning as well?”

  “No. Patricia Compton is heading that team.” He pointed with a nod to the lawyer seated on the other side of the courtroom. Compton was his attorney for purposes of this hearing.

  “Are you part of her team?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Objection,” said Compton. “Judge, what does the composition of a completely different prosecutorial team have to do with the question of whether the investigation into the murder of Sally Fenning’s daughter is active or inactive?”

  “Sustained.”

  “Let me put it another way,” said Jack. “Mr. Rudsky, does the fact that you are not assigned to the Sally Fenning murder have anything to do with the fact that you are a named beneficiary under her will?”

  “Same objection.”

  “I’ll overrule this one. The witness shall answer.”

  “I don’t know,” said Rudsky. “I don’t make the assignments.”

  “Other than your role as prosecutor in connection with the murder of Sally Fenning’s daughter, Katherine, did you have any kind of relationship with Ms. Fenning?”

  “No.”

  “Were you surprised to learn that you were a beneficiary under Sally Fenning’s will?”

  “Totally.”

  “Can you think of any reason that she would have named you as a beneficiary, other than your role as prosecutor?”

  “I couldn’t even hazard a guess.”

  “Was Sally Fenning happy with the way you handled the case?”

  Compton was back on her feet. “Objection. This is getting very far afield.”