“I meet hundreds if not thousands of people. I’m a politician.”
“We back-tracked Junior and the man who hired him to a hotel in Hartford, and from there to two girls from Providence. Those girls have identified you, Mackay. They know who you are and will so testify.”
Mackay exposed them to his famous smile. “So, I played a game with a couple of harlots. I can give you a list half a mile long of those who have done the same.”
“Then the room clerk was killed.”
“This has nothing to do with me.”
“Yes, it does. There is no one in this state who stood to benefit more from the death of Llewyn and the attempted murder of Bea Wentworth. You had a motive, Mackay—the gubernatorial nomination.”
“This is nonsense.”
Rocco crossed the room to tower over the cringing state senator. “You knew about the room clerk and about Fizz Nichols trailing Rainbow. You’re one of the few people who did know, because Captain Murdock told you.”
“I was interested in the case.”
“I’ll bet you were. You’ve heard the name Rainbow before.”
“Yes.”
“You’re Rainbow.”
“No, you’ve got it all wrong.”
“It all points to you.”
“No, it’s wrong. I couldn’t be. I’m not. I can prove it. Rainbow is going to call me tomorrow.”
11
“Tell them about the pictures.” Wilma Mackay’s voice slurred as she held tightly to the doorjamb. “The ones with you and those two …”
“Don’t, Wilma.”
“I wasn’t supposed to see them, you know,” she said to no one in particular. “They just arrived in a plain brown envelope, like those things do. But that day curiosity got the better of me.”
“After half a fifth, no doubt,” Ted said harshly.
“I think you had better tell us exactly what’s been happening,” Lyon said.
“Do that, Ted. But I don’t think I want to hear it.” Wilma turned from the room and disappeared down the hall.
“I don’t have any choice, do I?”
“Not unless you’d rather we booked you,” Rocco replied.
Ted Mackay seemed to dissolve before them. The strong, photogenic features slackened, the jaw line relaxed, and his shoulders sagged as waves of inchoate anxiety and weakness surfaced to control him.
“I think I’d like a drink. You two?”
They shook their heads as Ted left the room and went down the hall.
Lyon’s gaze fixed on the empty doorway, and he spoke without turning to face Rocco. “I’d go after him if I were you. You’ll probably find him in the study down the hall.
Rocco hurried through the door. A short scuffle could be heard from the far reaches of the house. Rocco returned, pulling Mackay by the arm, and flung him across the room toward the couch.
The .25-caliber automatic dangled loosely from Rocco’s hand. He forced the slide back to eject the live round in the chamber, extracted the clip and put the weapon into his pocket. “He was in the study. The gun was in his hand.” He turned toward Mackay, who had slumped on the couch. “It’s not going to be that way, Senator. However, if you tell us all you know, we can help you.”
Mackay looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “She drinks too much; she never used to do that. Sometimes I hit her, and I never used to do that.”
“What happened after the pictures arrived?” Lyon asked softly.
“He called me two days later—that was the day of Llewyn’s murder. He said they’d taken care of Randy Llewyn for me. I told him he was crazy, and he laughed at me and told me I didn’t have any choice. It was done, and if I didn’t cooperate, the pictures would be sent to dozens of people around the state, and the tape recordings—he played part of one over the phone. They made me sick.”
“And you cooperated with him?”
“Yes, I had to; you see that, don’t you? He told me that the way would be open for me to get the nomination, that what I’d have to do for them would be minimal.”
“Them?”
“I don’t know. He acts like there’s a whole bunch of them. A whole band of fanatics.”
“Your contact was always with the same man?”
“Yes, by phone. I got the call at the law office. He wouldn’t identify himself to the receptionist, and at first I wasn’t going to talk, but in politics you never know, so I took the call. ‘This is Rainbow,’ was the first thing he said. That was my Army code name years ago. I didn’t know anyone even knew about it, but he seems to know everything there is to know about me. At first he didn’t ask for much—a little information here, a little there. Items I’d give out to almost anyone. Then he became insistent about information regarding the investigation of the Llewyn killing. For that, he sent me money—five thousand dollars. A token, he said, and there’d be more, he said.”
“The buy was complete.” Lyon recalled how in the recruitment of espionage agents the passing of money was considered a necessity to ensure the reliability of the recruited. Maybe only a few dollars for expenses, but money had to pass to ensure the compromised position of the man bought.
“And if you get the nomination and win the election, they’ll want other things from you,” Rocco said.
“Of course, but I had nowhere to turn. There’s no way out for me. They have me.”
“You must know who Rainbow is,” Lyon said.
“No. I don’t. I never saw him, only talked by phone.”
“He was able to take pictures and tape-record you and the two women. How could he have known that you were with them at that particular time?”
“I was set up. Like a drunken salesman from Albuquerque, I was had. An envelope marked personal and confidential arrived at the office; inside was a scrawled note that said a couple of friends of Heddy’s would be in town soon and would I be interested. It gave a time and place. There were pictures of the two girls dressed in those silly dresses and holding stuffed animals. There were also some pictures where they didn’t have on a stitch.”
“Who’s Heddy?”
“Sometimes when I go to New York on business I stop in to see Heddy. She lives on East Eighty-ninth Street.”
Rocco looked thoughtful. “And Heddy dresses up for games also?”
“Yes.”
“He must have followed you, found out Heddy’s brand of entertainment and decided to use the information. What about the postmark on the envelope, the note—where are they?”
“I destroyed them. I couldn’t leave pictures like that around. I have young women working at my office,” Ted said indignantly.
“When is he supposed to call you next?”
“Tomorrow, first thing in the morning.”
Lyon looked at Rocco, and the chief nodded. “I’ll stay with him, but I think we had better bring Pasquale into it.”
“Not Murdock.”
“You know it.”
At eight in the morning, Wilma Mackay’s hands shook as she served coffee to the men assembled in her living room. She had forgotten the cream, and Lyon noticed that when she returned from the kitchen her hands had steadied, and he suspected that another bottle of vodka had been opened.
Ted Mackay, his assurance dissipated, sat on the couch and looked at the living-room phone as if it were an obscene object. Pat Pasquale, earphones around his neck, sat before a recording device and phone amplifier. Rocco stirred his coffee incessantly.
“How long for a trace, Pasquale?” Rocco asked.
“Two minutes, if you can keep him on that long. I have the state police on standby. It’s a long shot, but you never can tell.”
“That allows for a lot of leaks,” Lyon said.
“I haven’t told the units the nature of the case. There’s no telling how deep infiltration goes.”
The phone rang at five past eight. Mackay looked bewildered.
“Pick it up, damn it,” Rocco said in a guttural whisper.
Mackay reached tentatively f
or the phone and gingerly lifted the receiver. The recording device and amplifier were switched on so that others in the room could hear the conversation.
“Hello,” Mackay said in a weak voice. “Is that you, Rainbow?”
“Who the hell do you think it is?”
Mackay looked at Lyon, and Lyon nodded. “I’ve got problems with Wentworth.”
“What about him?”
“He’s traced everything to me. The girls, the information leaks. He wants to make a deal, Rainbow.”
“What sort of deal?”
“He wants ten thousand dollars. He says if he gets the money today, he lays off and brings his wife around. I need her backing, Rainbow. I’ve got to have it or the convention goes into a deadlock.”
“Ten thousand is not impossible. Can we trust his deal?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it.”
There was a long pause on the phone. “All right, you and Wentworth be at Rambler’s restaurant at eight tonight.”
“I know the place.”
“You’ll get further instructions there. And remember, Mackay. I know you, you don’t know me. Any cops, any undercover men, and a long list of people get your pretty pictures.”
“I understand.”
At the sound of the dial tone, Pasquale was immediately connected to a phone company supervisor. He talked in a low voice for a moment and then hung up. “Sorry. There just wasn’t enough time.”
“It looks like Ted and I have an appointment at Rambler’s,” Lyon said.
They pulled Mackay’s Chrysler into the crowded parking lot and sat a moment before entering the restaurant. An odd place for the first contact, Lyon thought. Rambler’s was well known in the area as a Hartford political hangout. The state chairman, always one or two city council members, and a few members of the legislature would be crowded around the small bar or eating in the main dining room.
“You’ll be well known here,” Lyon said.
Mackay followed Lyon inside. They had taken all possible precautions. A signal device attached to the chassis of Mackay’s car would give out a constant tone that Rocco and Pat could follow. In addition, Lyon had a small transmitter in his jacket pocket.
Rocco and Pasquale would be out of sight nearby.
Inside the restaurant the decor was mostly in reds. Chandeliers sparkled and seemed to sway to the loud conversation coming from the bar.
“Good evening, Senator Mackay.” The maître d’ bowed and ushered them to a table. A waiter instantly appeared.
“The usual for me and sherry for Mr. Wentworth.”
“Why would he choose this place?” Lyon asked.
Mackay pointed to a phone jack on the floor. “He’s making it convenient for us.”
The drinks were served and they sat silently before them. The conversation of the other diners swirled around them. Several men came to the table to pass a word with Mackay, but he quickly excused himself with an “I’ll get back to you.”
It was half an hour before the phone was brought to the table. Mackay looked at the red instrument before him and picked up the receiver.
“Hello … yes … he’s here with me … no, no one else.” He listened intently for a moment, then fumbled in his breast pocket for pad and pencil. “Let me write it down,” he said as he scribbled notes. Then he hung up.
“Well?”
“He gave me instructions for the next call.”
Lyon slid behind the wheel as Mackay looked at the notes he had taken.
“Where now?” Lyon asked.
“Down Farmington Avenue and left on Haynes.”
“That’s one way. We’ll be going the wrong way.”
“He said to follow instructions exactly, that he’d be watching.”
Lyon threw the car into gear and they lurched forward. He felt his palms dampening and tried to drive carefully. Cars passed; traffic lights seemed to have malevolent eyes as they blinked red on their approach. He felt impatient, and sensed the dejection in the destroyed man sitting next to him.
Traffic lights eventually turned green, and they proceeded to Haynes Street, where they made the wrong-way turn and continued to the next thoroughfare.
“Next!” Lyon had to yell before Mackay responded.
“Go across the bridge and continue on the highway to Exit Ninety-seven. Make a left and drive into the supermarket parking lot. Drive at exactly forty miles an hour.”
Rainbow’s plan was simple and safe. Wrong ways and a slow rate of speed made the spot on any tails easy. Rocco and Pasquale would have to lag far behind and depend on the electronic device to give them a proper tangent. Lyon had the utmost confidence in the large and small police officers and knew they would be careful to avoid suspicion.
They turned off the highway and into the empty supermarket parking lot. The great expanse of asphalt was broken by an occasional street light, and long shadows crossed over the lot. Lyon slowed the car to a stop near the solitary phone booth at the end of the complex. He glanced around as they waited and knew why Rainbow had chosen the spot. On either side and to the rear of the shopping center were broad expanses of fallow Connecticut Valley tobacco fields. The desolate rows gave a field of vision on this clear night of hundreds of yards in either direction. If Rainbow was watching, any car near the one that Lyon and Ted occupied could be easily seen.
The phone rang.
Mackay sat unmoving as it rang again. Lyon reached across the car seat, opened the far door and shoved Mackay. He stumbled, grasped the edge of the car door, and staggered toward the phone booth.
He talked for a few moments before returning to the car. “Rainbow says we leave the car here. There’s another car parked in back of the buildings with the keys in it.”
It was a nondescript Chevy. The engine turned over on the first try and hummed in a low, even monotone.
“We’re to go back to town,” Mackay said. “Repeat the instructions he initially gave us exactly in reverse.”
“Where are we going?”
“The cathedral. He says he and his people are monitoring police and CB bands, so don’t try and get the word to anyone, or the whole deal is off.”
Lyon felt the light weight of the small transmitter in his jacket pocket. He calculated the odds and decided to follow Rainbow’s instructions.
The cathedral loomed stark and white against the clear night. It was a massive building constructed of hewn blocks of Vermont marble, with a steeple that cast a long shadow across the low steps leading to the interior.
As instructed, they parked the car in the rear lot against the building, hiding its shape in the shadows of the towering edifice.
“You go alone,” Mackay said huskily and slumped into his seat.
Lyon entered the building from an unlocked side door. The door opened directly into the nave near the altar. Candles burning before the side-altar railings, and low lights in the high ceiling, cast a dim illumination through the interior.
He stopped by a pillar at the edge of the long lines of pews and glanced down at Mackay’s note pad in his palm. “Fifteenth pew from the front, right-hand side. Folded newspaper with further instructions.”
He counted back and walked the line of pews past the folded kneeling rails. The newspaper was midway up the line. He sat down and pulled the paper toward him. The center fold opened, and a typewritten message slid to the polished seat.
THIRD CONFESSIONAL FROM THE FRONT DOOR.
The confessionals were on the far side of the church toward the main entrance. He entered the third one and sat on the hard bench.
“You wish absolution, my son?” The sonorous voice issued from the darkness behind the latticework.
“Rainbow?”
He was answered by a low laugh. “What’s the deal, Wentworth?”
“I lay off you and Mackay and bring my wife around.”
“For ten thousand dollars?”
“Exactly.”
There was a pause from behind the latticework, and Lyon shifted uncom
fortably. “Rainbow, you there?”
“Right here, Wentworth.”
He felt the barrel of a pistol pressed against the back of his neck. “I thought we had a deal?”
“We do.” A package wrapped in brown paper was thrust into Lyon’s lap. “It’s all there in fifties and hundreds; count it when you get home. Don’t move for ten minutes after I’ve gone,” the muffled voice said.
“I understand.” He pressed his elbow against the small radio in his side pocket. He couldn’t reach for it yet. Any move and he’d be killed.
“I want a public announcement of your wife’s switch in support by noon tomorrow. See that it hits the noon news. If I don’t hear it, those men guarding your wife will be no match for us. We’ll kill her, do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Remember, ten minutes. Don’t move. Les jeux sont fait.”
Lyon remained in the confessional without moving and thought he heard footsteps retreating rapidly across the church. He breathed deeply and let his hand slip into his pocket to extract the radio. He thumbed the transmission switch.
“Rocco. Rocco, can you hear me?”
He turned the set to receive and heard only static. The thick stone walls and the heavy steel girders crisscrossing the ceiling overhead were creating an impenetrable barrier for either transmission or reception on the small radio.
Lyon ran for the door.
They sat in the study at Nutmeg Hill and stared morosely at the money spread across the card table.
Bea shook her head. “And he got away.”
“It was a good attempt,” Rocco said.
“And Lyon could have been killed by that madman.”
“It was easier for him to buy me off.”
“Well, I’m not bought off,” Bea said. “I’M NOT BOUGHT OFF AT ALL. I’m announcing publicly tomorrow, all right. I’m announcing for Mattaloni, and you can do what in hell you want with that money.”
Lyon picked up a handful of bills from the stack on the table. “I’m going to do something with the money, and I’m going to do it first thing in the morning.”
The Wizard of Death Page 12
