Conner is considered a prime suspect in the murder of two of his staff—a strong-arm employee who went by the name of Mazzini, and a former production manager and private investigator, Beck Conner. Mazzini was murdered last night on Highway 97, minutes before he was to turn himself over to authorities into a Witness Protection Program. From within the U.S. Attorney’s office, it was noted that, while Mazzini’s death was unfortunate on numerous accounts, documents and voice recordings of Mazzini’s statements incriminating Jack Conner were obtained prior to his death.
Lishan looked up. “The U.S. Marshals Service is in the process of locating Conner in order to arrest him.”
“Are you in danger? If you need a place to stay…” Ebony turned to her friend.
Laura nodded, though visibly shaken by the prospect of being involved in a murder case. Then she smiled, as though clearing cobwebs. “Of course. How can we help?”
“Your offer is kind. I don’t think I’ll need to take you up on it, though. But, thank you.”
Ebony continued. “Better to repair the FDA than do away with it, don’t you think? Remember when Newt Gingrich attempted to dissolve the FDA, leaving safety up to the companies themselves? If that doesn’t give a clue as to what deep pockets will do.” Ebony handed a scrawled phone number to Lishan, “Just in case,” she said.
Lishan stood, leaning over to hug each of the women.
“Yes, greed. Again, thank you. Are you here often?”
“Most every day,” Laura said.
“Take care, you two.” Lishan headed toward her table, refreshing her coffee on the way.
Disappearing once again into the article, she didn’t want to miss a single nuance. It appeared to all be in order. Journalism, she thought. It can be the people’s voice if avarice and corruption don’t water it down. She decided to call Maya.
“No, I haven’t seen it yet. Can you read it to me?” Maya’s enthusiasm was palpable.
After the reading, Lishan couldn’t help but ask: “What do you think?”
“Excellent. Excellent! Now, you and your auntie just need to stay out of sight.”
“Do you need any assistance with the material for the hearing? Likely a fatuous question, but I don’t want to leave anything to chance.”
Maya gave it serious thought. She, too, knew that any oversight could be costly. “You know, I believe we’re in good shape. If anything comes to mind in the next forty-eight, you’ll be the first to know.”
55
Maya knew she’d find herself in the U.S. Attorney’s office before the shadows at her windows grew much shorter. Her prophecy—though it was more of a conviction—was realized in a matter of minutes.
“No, Nathaniel, we can’t just drop this. It would be unfair to the public. Conner is a crook. I’m, shall we say, dumbfounded that he’s gotten away with all he has.” Maya heard herself push the accusation. She tried to hide her concern.
Nathaniel didn’t miss it. “What are you insinuating?”
“Nothing.” She paused. “No, that’s not accurate. I just know he’s unscrupulous, and he’s slipped through our grasp too many times. Ultimately, that doesn’t look good for you, for the department, in the public eye. He is responsible for the deaths and illnesses of workers in his factory and others he tired of.”
“We don’t know that.”
“Yes, in fact we do. Look, I know he’s your friend...”
“You can dispense with that line of reasoning right now.”
“I would like to think you wouldn’t compromise your position, your values,” Maya lied. They both knew it.
“So bring me up to speed. What have you got on Conner?”
Maya knew this crossroads, the fulcrum’s placement, would come. Her concern, of course, was that Ferrali would sabotage any possible justice. That would leave Lishan and Niesha, and potentially herself, in a dire position.
She had made multiple copies of all the documents and recordings, going to the length of sending copies to two trusted friends and her safe deposit box.
As to Ferrali, she was prepared, but it still brought butterflies to her belly. Maya reached down to her briefcase. Pulling out the Conner folder, she spread it out on Ferrali’s desk. She hoped to accomplish the task of convincing him that this was a fait accompli, to get his buy-in that this was the correct thing to do—perhaps for him the only thing he could do to stay out of jail himself.
“Look at these documents, emails, and the transcripts of incriminating recordings. It’s just too much, Nathaniel. Conner is a danger to the public. If you read the health literature these days, there is so much evidence pointing to artificial sweeteners, modified fats, and chemicals as causes of diseases in this and the last century.”
“But that’s not enough to hang a guy like Conner.” Ferrali did his best to act angry, but he was beginning to doubt how long he could hold the charade.
“If he were simply a victim of greed without foreknowledge of his actions, then he would just get a slap on the wrist—which is essentially all he ever felt before. But his actions are premeditated. He has acted with the full knowledge that his new ‘fats’ were not passing the safety tests—that they were dangerous. And we can’t overlook his harassment of the people like Fatima Habiba or, most especially, the death of the P.I., and the murder of Mazzini last night.”
“We don’t know that he was responsible for their deaths. Those two lived dangerous lifestyles, with a myriad of dangerous types no doubt after their necks.”
Maya paused, looking straight into Nathaniel eyes. “Okay, let me convince you.” She played the recorded telephone conversations.
Fifteen minutes later saw Maya resting her case.
56
Nathaniel Ferrali was upset beyond his imagination. His second in command had a case that was well prepared and seemingly watertight. He found himself at one of the more significant forks in his life’s path. For too many years, he had been on the take by a couple of wealthy CEOs, the hundreds of thousands of dollars and free Caribbean trips just too much for his and his wife’s greedy egos to pass up.
His thoughts raced in dizzying circles. Now what? The evidence before him was clear. Damn Maya—and Conner, who went too far this time.
Maya was just too good. He should have hired that yuppie, that social climber who would have thought twice about bucking the boss. But not Maya. Her reputation and eminence were clearly not to be jettisoned just to placate a dishonest CEO and a crooked Justice Department official on the take. How foolish could he be? Why did he hire her? Then he remembered her roots, the power of that lobby.
He would have to come clean for this case. But Conner wouldn’t go down peacefully. Nathaniel knew his kind. The whole ship would sink if the captain gave up. He pulled out his cell phone.
“Nicole. We need to talk. Conner’s going down.” Nathaniel knew he couldn’t proceed without discussing this with his wife. They were both in this too deep. She was not legally in jeopardy, as he was, but she stood to lose her lifestyle. And he knew she wouldn’t stand for that.
“I’ll be in your office in fifteen minutes. It’s not bugged, is it?”
Fair question, Nathaniel thought. “No, it’s not. I had it checked three days ago.”
This gave him time to think, not that he hadn’t brooded over this countless times before. But the money—and his and Nicole’s love affair with it—always dictated their course.
He knew Conner had no scruples. In Conner’s mind, if he went down, everyone deserved to go down with him, by the mere fact that they had let him down, hadn’t protected him from this fate.
The door slammed—not its usual sound. He knew it was Nicole, and she was...perturbed.
“I saw that hussy Maya in the hall. She’s behind this, isn’t she? Isn’t she? If she weren’t here, you would just handle it like always, wouldn’t you?”
Nathaniel just looked up, then out the window.
“Look at me, you spineless…” She stopped. Her husband had just s
tood, hatred in his eyes.
It had been years since they’d enjoyed each another. The money was good. The affairs were entertaining. “Till death do us part”—a line they had both replayed in their minds, on more than one occasion—slid from his lips.
“What?” she demanded. She sat down, softening—conniving, more like it. “Can the files disappear? You’ve done it before.”
“Too many people have become involved…too quickly. No, they can’t just disappear.”
Nicole understood the gravity. She was no newcomer to deceit and its layers. She was good at it. She and Nathaniel had met when she was being prosecuted for embezzlement to the tune of $1.2 million. She knew she needed his backing if she were to escape a jail sentence. At 135 pounds, five foot eight, with implants, she kept herself defined in a seductive manner for just such an occasion. He succumbed, lied within his office, shredded documents, and Nicole went free. That was ten years ago.
“What is your plan? Or don’t you have one?”
Nathaniel looked up. Why have we stayed together these past years? Trophy wife, perhaps. And for her, he thought, it was the prestige of his position—the money, the kickbacks. All of it would disappear if this Conner case blew up.
“That’s why I called you. I knew you would have some devious approach to the situation. It’s your M.O., after all.”
Nicole bristled. While she knew he was right, having it spewed in her face was a bit much.
“As I thought. You have no clue. Maybe your president can send a Tweet with some advice for you.” A wry smile replaced the anger on her face. Nicole stood, paced the length of the office, and then returned to her seat. “You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”
“Me? Just me?” Nathaniel glared. “It’s just like you, isn’t it? I couldn’t have expected less. Just leave. You’re doing me no good whatsoever. In fact, quite the contrary.” Nathaniel walked briskly to the door. Opening it, he smiled. “Good day, Ms. Crinshaw.”
Nicole narrowed her eyes, stinging him as much as she hoped she could. Crinshaw, indeed. Her maiden name. The door slammed again, as much as the auto-closure unit would allow.
Nathaniel drew a breath. It was just him now, wasn’t it? Now he had to give his situation serious thought. If he took Conner’s side, it likely wouldn’t hold up against the evidence against Conner, and Nathaniel would look like he was bending the law. But if he came clean—told the truth—perhaps the public would find compassion, as they often did with a criminal or iniquitous public official who turned himself in. Yes, that would be his position. His life as U.S. Attorney would be over, but he had enough friends who owed him, several of whom would no doubt offer him a position as senior counsel within their Fortune 500 status. And he’d be rid of Ms. Crinshaw once and for all. Perhaps he could sue her, bring up her embezzlement case if the statutes hadn’t expired.
Nathaniel smiled. It wasn’t all bad.
57
Lishan knew she had to make a viable plan for her safety, and that of those close to her, over the days ahead. She had to buy sufficient time for the media to spread the story so the public was informed. Then it would be more difficult for Conner to take any criminal action, given the publicity. Lishan knew it wasn’t enough to stop a criminal like Conner, if he was bent on destroying everyone involved. But it was a start.
She pulled out her cell phone. It saddened her to think of the time that had passed with a fence between her and Erik. But she needed to consider his well-being, his safety.
With her phone held between her two hands, her thumbs were quick to send a text. It was time, she felt, to put the past in the past. “Erik, hi. Truce?”
Several long minutes passed before she heard the “Working Up a Black Sweat” message tone. One text message back: “I’m thinking.”
Lishan fingers were quick. “Wrong answer.” Lishan’s fury fueled her adrenals. She decided to cool down by spending the next hours looking through the bookstore. She realized it was an opportunity she didn’t often take advantage of, given the time constraints of work and the rest of her life. She’d forgotten how sweet it was to just linger in the aisles.
Hunger caught up with her. Seven o’clock. How did it get to be so late? Finding a table, she ordered a glass of 14 Hands cab and one of her favorite dinners—Tuscan Chicken Paillard. She loved the thin layers of chicken, pounded to perfection. She reread the article, contemplating how her memoir might read.
Her phone rang, an interruption that annoyed her but also frightened her. Auntie!
“Hi, Auntie. Have you seen the paper?”
“Yes. I’m sure you have. Where are you?”
“Kramerbooks. All of this danger has been suffocating me. I had to get out, be around people.”
“How do you feel about the article?”
“It’s good. The publisher, Elizabeth Walker, was personally involved. Do you think it’ll help, Auntie?”
“It’ll help the cause, but you’re not out of danger yet, not until every one of those crooks is locked up.”
“I know. Auntie, I’m just going to hang out here. The distraction is good for me. I’ll call you later, okay?”
They exchanged concerns before hanging up.
The band was setting up in the mezzanine in the bookstore/cafe. The lead singer, pushing his dreads out of his way, called down to Lishan, “Aren’t you on a major record label?”
Lishan looked up, smiled, and shook her head.
“Come up, so we can talk—if you like.”
Lishan paused, then decided why not. She bussed her dishes, then found the stairwell, enshrouded as they often were behind clutter in old buildings full of books.
“Lishan. Local reporter.” Lishan extended both hands, embracing the single hand proffered.
“Jimmy. Jimmy Lingo. Reporter, eh?” Jimmy hesitated. “Oh. I know who you are. Intrepid reporter. You’re the one who sticks her neck out, going after the big boys. We’ve never met, but I follow your articles whenever I feel like buying a mainstream paper. Glad to meet you.”
“As well.” Lishan smiled. “Jimmy Lingo and his Dreads Band? I’ve heard your work. I like it. Love it, in fact. You speak your mind. Too few of today’s musicians take on the issues like they did a few decades ago.” Lishan took a brief look around. “Will you be a regular here?”
Jimmy laughed. “No. Can’t be puttin’ down stakes for this cat. I like to keep on the move, spread the love.” He motioned toward a small, round table in the corner. “What brings you here, if I might ask? Good chance I’ll get the scoop that’ll be in the paper tomorrow, am I right?”
As they sat, Lishan looked around, giving Jimmy the impression—a correct one—that it was to be a private conversation. “Something like that.” What can I tell him? I don’t know this guy. If I trust my intuition, he’s okay. Lishan was feeling alone, the burden of the Conner story on the front page with no one to share it with. Why not? she thought.
“Actually, no, I’m not getting a scoop tonight. This is the scoop of my life, if I survive it.”
She showed him the paper’s front page, the Conner headline. He read down through the first two paragraphs, enough to give him the gist.
Jimmy moved in closer over the table. Probably in his late forties—difficult to tell sometimes with the Rastafarians, who kept themselves in good shape with healthy foods, dancing, singing, and loving ‘till all hours. There was wisdom and peacefulness in his manner. He wore a medallion with Jamaica inscribed in it.
He looked up at Lishan, taking in the seriousness in her face. He read the rest of the story, concerned.
When he looked up again, it was obvious he now understood the gravity of her situation.
“Someone needed to do this. You’re courageous, I’ll tell you that. Conner doesn’t usually let bad press about him get out, and this front-page headline’s going to cost him. He’s not going to like you mucking with his blueprints for entitlement.”
“He’s already made that clear. There have been threats on my
life—real threats. I probably shouldn’t be here, but I had to get out. Crowded as it is, I think I’m safe enough. I’m tired of thinking about it, though.”
Jimmy nodded, knowing to let her guide the conversation from there.
As the evening pushed on well toward midnight, their conversation during his breaks ran the spectrum from as light as David Sedaris humor to as dark as Russian literature. Lishan stayed through the sets, enjoying the music and the camaraderie. Before they parted for the night, a stroll along the nearby majestic homes allowed them to wind down.
“Where will you stay?” Jimmy wasn’t extending an invitation—simply concern. “With your auntie?”
“Yes, though in consideration of her safety, I may just find a room for as many days as need be.” She thought about trading phone numbers. Why not? she thought. “What’s your number?”
After trading texts, followed by a sincere hug and a kiss to the cheek, they went on their separate ways to wherever home was for the night.
58
At half past midnight, it was late to call her aunt. But Lishan knew Niesha would worry otherwise. She planned to walk a mile to a B&B Niesha had taken her to when Lishan was grieving the loss of her parents. Lishan wanted downtime—no talking, no explaining. But she was exhausted.
“Taxi, miss?”
The voice coming from the Diamond Cab that just pulled up coaxed her in. It was just too inviting. The call would wait until she arrived at her lodging.
“The Aaron Shipman House—bed and breakfast, Logan Circle.”
The driver nodded.
It was a short haul to Logan Circle—less than five minutes without traffic. After a couple of minutes, Lishan noticed that the driver had picked up speed and started heading in a slightly different direction.
Silence Her Page 29
