I backed down the corridor and smiled at my father for the last time.
Chapter 99
THE FBI MAN fitted a wire around me.
“You’ll be miked at all times,” Ellie said. We were at Sol’s, which we’d been using as a sort of base. “Our people will be all around. All you have to do is say the word, Ned, and we’ll be all over Dennis Stratton.”
There was a whole team of agents now. Moretti’s replacement was a thin-lipped guy with slick, dark hair and horn-rimmed glasses who was calling the shots. Special Agent in Charge Ficke.
“Here are the ground rules,” Ficke said. “First, you don’t make a move without Stratton. No intermediaries. You don’t bring up Moretti’s name. I don’t want him to think there’s a chance he divulged anything. Don’t forget, Stratton probably never met Anson. He never met your father. Get him talking about the heist if you can. Who set it up? Ask to see the check. The check is enough to get him. Are you up to doing this?”
“I’m up to it, Agent Ficke. How do we handle the painting?”
“Here . . . Check it out.”
A female agent brought out a bundled, heavily taped package. “What’s in it?” I asked.
“A lot of trouble for you if they get to open it,” Ficke replied. “So, ask to see the check before they do. If they give you a hard time, we’re coming in to get you.”
I looked at Ellie. “You’ll be there?”
“Of course I’ll be there.”
“There’ll be backup on every level,” Ficke said. “Once you get what we need, or they open the goods, we’ll break down the door. You’ll be okay.”
I’ll be okay. I eyed him. Like some expendable private being waved out to test a minefield. Go ahead, you’ll be okay. One thing everyone in the room knew: Stratton had no intention of letting me leave that hotel room alive.
“I want to talk to Ellie,” I said.
“She’s not running this show,” Ficke said rather sharply. “Any questions, address them to me.”
“I don’t have any questions. I need to talk with Ellie. And not here. Alone. Outside.”
Chapter 100
WE WENT OUT on the pool deck. I saw Ficke watching us through the blinds, so I led her down the steps to the beach, my office, as far away from him as possible.
Ellie rolled up her pants and left her shoes on the stairs. Then we walked out onto the sand. The sun was starting to set. It was going on six.
I took Ellie by the hand. “Nice out here, huh? Kind of makes me miss my old lifeguard days. Didn’t know how good I had it then.”
I held her by the shoulders, and brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes. “You trust me, Ellie, don’t you?”
“You don’t think it’s a little late to be asking me that question, Ned? I didn’t arrest you when I had the chance. We stole a car. Withheld information, kidnapped a material witness . . . In my book, that goes as trust.”
I smiled. “You should’ve gotten out of that car when I told you to. Things would be a whole lot different.”
“Yeah, you’d probably be in jail, or dead. And I’d still have pretty good job security. Anyway, as I recall, I didn’t have much choice at the time. You did have a gun.”
“And as I recall, the safety was on.”
I pulled her close and I could feel her heart beating forcefully against my chest. Neither of us knew what was going to happen tonight. And afterward, the whole world would be different. I had felony charges waiting for me. I’d have to do time. Afterward, I’d be a felon and she’d still be an FBI agent.
“What I’m asking, Ellie, is for you to keep trusting me. Just for a while longer now.”
She eased away from me and tried to read what was in my eyes. “You’re scaring me, Ned. We can nab him. This whole thing’ll be over. Please, just for once, play this one by the book.”
I smiled. “You gonna be there for me, Ellie?”
“I told you,” she said, looking at me with resolve in her eyes, “I’ll be right outside. I wouldn’t let you go in there alone.”
I know you wouldn’t. I pulled her against me again and looked beyond her at the setting sun.
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I meant afterward.
Chapter 101
JUST TURNING ONTO the long drive leading up to the Breakers took you back to another world.
The twin majestic towers awash in glowing light, probably Palm Beach’s best-known sight. The stately loggia of arches welcoming visitors to the lobby, the rows of light-kissed palms. Once, Flaglers and Mellons and Rockefellers went there in lavish private rail cars. Now it was people who were trying to act like them.
Tonight I was going to crash it for a while.
I pulled Ellie’s Crown Vic behind a Mercedes SL 500 and a Rolls in the redbrick circle leading to the lobby doors. Couples stepped out in tuxes and fancy gowns, adorned with glittering jewels. I was in a pair of jeans and a green Lacoste shirt, which was hanging out. Even the parking attendant gave me a look as if I didn’t belong.
I’d heard about these society galas, even waited at a couple when I first came down. They were near the center of the Old Guard social life down there. For this and that charity, the invitations read. More like so a few doyennes could show off their jewels and parade around in stylish gowns, eating caviar and sipping champagne. Who knows how much actually made it to the “cause” being celebrated? I remembered hearing somewhere that a woman whose husband died suddenly kept him on ice for weeks until the party season ended.
Here goes nothing, Ned. . . .
I tucked the thick wrapped bundle the feds had given me under my arm and went inside the lobby. Lots of people were milling about, some in formal attire, others in the red jackets of hotel personnel, a few in casual wear. I figured any of them could be Stratton’s men watching me. Or FBI.
The FBI was probably freaking out about now, wondering what the hell was going on.
I glanced at my watch—8:40. I was twenty minutes ahead of schedule.
I headed straight to the front desk. An attractive desk clerk named Jennifer greeted me. “I think there’s a message for me,” I said, “under Stratton.”
“Mr. Kelly,” she said with a smile, as if expecting me. She came back with a sealed hotel envelope. I showed her ID and ripped open the flap. Written on a hotel notecard were just two words: Room 601.
Okay, Ned. Let’s get it done. I held my breath for a second and tried to calm my nerves.
I asked Jennifer where the Make-A-Wish dinner was being held, and she pointed toward the Circle Ballroom, down the ornate lobby corridor and to the left.
I tucked the wrapped package, “the Gaume,” under my arm and followed two couples in formal dress, who I was sure were headed to the ballroom.
Suddenly a voice scratched in my earpiece. Ficke, and he was pissed. “Goddammit, Kelly, what are you doing? You’re twenty minutes ahead of the plan.”
“Sorry, Ficke. Plan’s changed.”
Chapter 102
I PICKED UP MY PACE until I could see the Circle Ballroom up a set of stairs beyond the lobby bar.
There was a small crowd gathered at the door, people in tuxedos and evening gowns giving their names and presenting their invitations. Not exactly airline security. The kind of band music you swear you’ll never dance to was coming out of the ballroom. I just sort of melted in behind.
A white-haired woman looked at me as if I were SpongeBob SquarePants. The diamond pendants in her ears were about as large as Christmas ornaments. I squeezed past her, and then I was inside. “Sir!” I heard, but I ignored it.
You better make this work, Neddie.
The room was actually breathtaking, filled with fresh flowers, and this incredible chandelier hung from the coffered ceiling. The band was playing “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown,” done cha-cha style. Every woman I passed was dripping in diamonds—necklaces, rings, tiaras. The men wore crisply pressed tuxedos, with white kerchiefs folded perfectly. One man was in a kilt.
I star
ted looking feverishly for Stratton. I knew I looked about as out of place as a Maori tribesman at the queen’s tea party.
Suddenly someone lifted me by the arm from behind, edging me away from the crowd. “Deliveries are in the back, Mr. Kelly,” the person spat into my ear.
I spun around. It was Champ, grinning. “Had you going for a second, didn’t I, mate!”
He was dressed like the perfect waiter holding a silver tray of caviar blinis. Except for the orange hair, he fit right in.
“Where’s Stratton?” I asked him.
“In the rear—where else would the asshole be?” Champ nudged me. “He’s the one wearing the tux. . . . Relax, mate”—he put up his palm apologetically—“just trying to ease the mood.”
I caught a glimpse of Stratton through the crowd. Then I checked around for his goons.
“Ned,” Champ said, putting down his tray and squeezing my shoulder, “this is gonna work. Course, I say that before every jump and I’ve got a couple of permanently rearranged vertebrae that might tend to disagree.” He gave me a wink and knocked his fist against mine. “Anyway, no worries, mate. . . . Friends are in the house. I’ve got your rear.”
“Ned!” A voice crackled in my earpiece. Ellie. “Ned, what’re you doing? Please . . .”
“Sorry, Ellie,” I said, knowing she must be panicking now. “Just keep tuned in. Please. You’re gonna get your man.”
In the crowd, I spotted faces I recognized. Henry Kissinger. Sollie Roth, chatting with a couple of prominent business types. Lawson.
Then, I spotted Stratton in back. He was holding a champagne glass and chatting up some blonde in a low-cut gown. A few people around him were laughing. The joke was, Liz was barely in the ground and now he was the most celebrated bachelor in Palm Beach.
I sucked it up and started toward him.
As Stratton caught me approaching, his eyes grew wide. There was a sudden moment of surprise, then his composure returned, a nasty little smirk appearing on his face. Stratton’s friends looked at me as if I were delivering the mail.
“You’re a little early, Mr. Kelly. Weren’t we supposed to meet up in the room?”
“I’m right on time, Stratton. Plan’s changed. It occurred to me, why waste this wonderful event? I thought you and your friends might be interested to hear us conduct our business right here.”
Chapter 103
UPSTAIRS IN ONE of the hotel suites, Ellie was panicking. She kept shouting into the microphone, “Ned, what’re you doing?” but Ned wasn’t answering.
“Abort,” Ficke was saying. “We’re calling this fiasco off.”
“We can’t do that,” Ellie said. She pulled herself up from her listening post. “Ned’s in the ballroom. He’s meeting with Stratton. He’s going through with it, now.”
“If we go down there, Special Agent Shurtleff,” Ficke said, glaring at her, “you can be damn sure it’ll be to pick him up, not help him. Show’s over.” He ripped off his headset. “I’m not getting the Bureau dragged down over this cowboy.” He nodded to the ops man. “Cut it off.”
“No,” Ellie said, shaking her head. “Give me two guys. We can’t just walk away from him. We promised. He’ll still need backup. He’s going through with it. He’s meeting with Stratton.”
“Then by all means stay and listen, Special Agent Shurtleff,” the agent in charge said at the door. “Tape’s rolling.”
Ellie couldn’t believe it. He was just folding it all up. Ned was down there. With no backup.
“He said he was going to bring us Stratton, and he’s doing it,” Ellie said. “We promised. We can’t just walk away from him. We’re going to get him killed.”
“You can take Downing,” Ficke said. “ And pick up Finch in the lobby.” He looked at her sort of indifferently. “He’s your asset, Special Agent Shurtleff. He’s your problem.”
Chapter 104
“DO OUR BUSINESS HERE?” Stratton said with that smug, unflappable smile of his, even though I knew he must be wondering what the hell was going on.
I met his smile with one of my own. “You killed my brother, Stratton. You didn’t think I was going to let you off without a little pain?”
A few heads turned. Stratton glanced around, clearly off guard.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Kelly, but for a man who’s currently under arrest and facing federal charges, I don’t see how you’re in any position to be hurling accusations at me.”
“He killed Liz, too,” I said, loud enough so that anyone nearby turned to hear. “And covered it up in that ridiculous affair because she was about to turn him in. He stole his own art and resold it, then had those people killed in Lake Worth to make it seem like a theft gone bad. But he’s been searching for something. Something that wasn’t supposed to be taken. Right, Mr. Stratton?”
I held out the wrapped shipping box.
Stratton’s eyes widened. “Oh, Mr. Kelly, whatever in the world do you have there?”
I had him. I had him nailed. I could see that always-in-control veneer begin to crack and sweat form on his brow.
I spotted Lawson edging closer through the crowd. And worse, Stratton’s henchman, Ponytail.
“Too bad, then, that Moretti was killed by your own father,” Stratton said. “Why not tell everybody that? I think it’s you who’s doing the covering up. You’re the one out on bail. You don’t have the slightest proof.”
“The proof . . .” I looked at him and smiled. “The proof’s in the painting.” I held out the package. “The one you asked me to bring here tonight, Mr. Stratton. The Gaume.”
Stratton eyed the bundle, wetting his lips, a damp, nervous sheen bubbling up on his brow.
Hushed whispers trickled through the gathering crowd. People were crowding closer, trying to hear what was going on.
“This . . . this is absurd,” he started to stammer, searching for a friendly face. People were waiting for an answer. I was almost gleeful.
Then he turned back to me, but instead of unraveling, his face began to regain its accustomed control. “This pathetic act might actually work,” he said, his eyes lighting up, “if you actually had that painting in the box. Right, Mr. Kelly?”
The ballroom was suddenly silent. I felt as if every eye had turned to me. Stratton knew. He knew I didn’t have the goods. How?
“Go on, open it. Show the world your evidence. Somehow, I don’t think this is going to play very well when it comes to your sentencing.”
How did he know? In that instant I flashed through the possibilities. Ellie . . . no way! Lawson . . . he wasn’t in the loop. Stratton had another mole. He had someone else in the FBI.
“I warned you, Mr. Kelly, didn’t I,” Stratton said, smiling icily, “not to waste my time?”
Ponytail grabbed hold of my arm. I noticed Champ pushing through the crowd, wondering what he could do.
I glared back at Stratton. All I could do was spit out one helpless question: “How?”
“Because I told him, Ned,” said a voice in the crowd.
I recognized it instantly. And my heart began to sink. Everything I trusted, every certainty, fell away from me.
“Ned Kelly,” Stratton said, grinning. “I believe you know Sol Roth.”
Chapter 105
“SORRY, NEDDIE-BOY,” Sol said, and slowly stepped out of the crowd.
It was as if I had been slapped in the face. I know I turned white, stunned, taken totally by surprise. Sol was my secret weapon, my ace in the hole tonight.
All I could do was stare at the old man, dumbfounded, dazed—a massive weight crashing floor by floor through the planks of my heart. I’d seen my brother killed. My best friends brutally murdered. But until that moment I didn’t really know what I was fighting. The rich banding with the rich. It was a club. I was on the outside. I felt my eyes sting with tears.
“You were right,” Sol sighed guiltily, “I brokered a private sale between Dennis and a very patient Middle Eastern collector. He has the art
safely in a vault where it will sit quietly for twenty years. Quite lucrative, if I may say so myself. . . .”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Every word out of his mouth was like a lance jabbed deeper. I hope you appreciate it, Sol. And that you spend it well. That money bought the deaths of my brother and best friends.
Stratton nodded to Ponytail. I felt a blunt object jab me in the ribs. A gun.
“But what I never counted on, you greedy son of a bitch”—Sol’s tone suddenly changed and he turned toward Stratton—“was that all those people were going to die.”
Stratton blinked, the smirk on his lips gone.
“Or that you were capable of killing Liz, whose family I’ve known for forty years, you sick, conspiring fuck.”
Stratton’s jaw tightened, uncomprehending.
“We sat by while you sucked the life out of her, you monster. We watched you, so all of us bear some blame. If I’m ashamed of anything in this godforsaken mess, it’s that. Liz was a good woman.”
Sollie reached inside his jacket pocket. He came out holding a Baggie. In it there was some kind of key. A hotel key. The Brazilian Court. Just as we had planned. Tess’s key. He turned to Ponytail, who still had a gun stuck in my ribs. “You left this in your pocket, big fella. Next time, you oughta be more careful who goes through the wash.”
Stratton stared, mesmerized by the key, his face turning a shade of gray. Every person in the Circle Ballroom could see comprehension forming on his face.
Liz.
Liz had found Tess’s key. She had screwed him from the grave.
I don’t know which was better, watching Stratton start to come apart in front of his society friends or thinking how Dave and Mickey would have loved how we set him up. Sol shot me a wink, like, How’s that, Ned? But all I was thinking was Jesus, Dave, I hope you’re watching. I hope you’re eating this up.
Then Sollie turned around. Not to me, but to Lawson. “I think you have the evidence you need. . . .”
The detective stepped forward and took Stratton by the arm. No one in the room was more shocked than I was. Ellie and I were sure he was Stratton’s man.
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