“Security consultants? Harvey, do you…” I had to pull that turtleneck off. I couldn’t have it on for one more second. I whipped it over my head, leaving the T-shirt underneath. “Do you know what’s going on here? Angel is on the rampage. She’s making threats. She’s after Monica. She’s after me.”
He dismissed it all with a wave of his hand. “We can make it part of her reinstatement deal that she stays away from you.”
“You just told me you didn’t know anything about her reinstatement.” I sat back and stared at him. “Are you lying to me?”
“Ticket fraud, theft and pilferage, smuggling. You said you wanted to specialize in crimes against airlines. What better launch could you have? This is the best part. The fees are guaranteed, whether we work or not. It is a retainer.”
The more excited he got, the more crushed I felt. I wanted to stop this conversation before we got to the truly hurtful part, but I couldn’t. I was having lots of hurtful conversations. “How did you get this deal, Harvey? It wouldn’t be because the client has returned a criminal to its payroll and doesn’t want us to tell anyone, would it?”
“Of course not. Miss Velesco has made certain guarantees as part of her reinstatement agreement. Whatever she was before, she is a criminal no longer.”
“In other words, they asked her to stop being a criminal, and she agreed. Why didn’t we think of that?”
“Your sarcasm is not appreciated.”
“Here’s something I don’t appreciate.” It was my turn to twist around to face him. “You suddenly turning into a company toady because they dangled a few bucks under your nose.”
If I had pulled his chair out from under him and let him tumble to the ground, he wouldn’t have looked any more surprised. I didn’t care. If I’d had any propulsion left, I would have been up and moving around. But I didn’t, so all my angry energy came right out of my mouth.
He finally found his voice again. “I negotiated a good deal for us. Guaranteed income for the next two years, a check that arrives in the mail every month whether you work or not. Can you not call that success?”
“I call that a bribe.”
“Do you want to know what I call it?” He pulled the towel tighter around his shoulders. “Health benefits. A way to pay my medical bills and premiums without having to worry about the next job and where it is coming from. That is what I call it.”
“What did you promise them?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Did you sign a nondisclosure form? Did you promise not to go to the police or tell anyone anything about this case?”
He sat uncomfortably in his chair. He looked as if he wanted to stand up and walk around but had nothing to hold on to. “I did what was standard.”
“If that’s what you had to promise, there is no way I can take that deal.”
“Those women are back at work. That was the client’s choice, and nothing will change it. Taking or not taking the deal will not change it. So tell me, what do you accomplish by turning it down?”
“We’re not just talking about her job anymore. The stakes are higher now, and she’s the one who raised them.”
“What does that mean?”
“She made a video of my brother having sex with her. I can’t leave this alone, because she has the ability to ruin his life. I will do whatever it takes to get that video back. Do you understand?”
“No, I do not. Why did your brother have sex with her?”
“It’s a long story and not relevant right now.”
“But it is. He made a choice. If he is in trouble for the bad choices he made, then I am sorry. But I did not make this choice to be ill.”
“Don’t put this on me. Do not put this on me.”
“I am not—”
“Yes, you are. You said it yourself the other day. I am not the one who makes you sick. It is the disease that makes you sick, and it is not my responsibility to make you feel secure.”
“Please do not ruin this for me. Do not take my one last chance at security.”
A noise drifted over from across the pool. Not a groan so much as a cry of physical exertion. The woman in the bathing cap was struggling with her left side. She was working hard, the way Harvey probably did when he was doing his therapy. His burden was a heavy one. From watching him, I knew that MS was a cruel and capricious disease. It toyed with him, came and went at will, changed symptoms without warning, and doomed him to a continually diminishing quality of life and an early death. I felt for him. I really did.
“Harvey, your life sucks. You got a raw deal, and everything in me wants to help you and try to fix it for you and make it easier. I want to see things get better for you. But this woman is dangerous. She’s angry with me, she knows where my family lives, and I don’t believe the answer is to take the money and hope she goes away.”
“Because you do not need the money.”
“There is no amount of money that would make me trade my family’s future and my own peace of mind. But I understand if you need it. Take it without me.”
“Do you actually believe they would retain me while you are actively working at cross-purposes? That is your plan, is it not? To approach the authorities?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you think the authorities will be any more responsive?”
“If they’re not, I’m pretty sure I can find a newspaper that will listen. It’s a juicy story.”
“Then you are not above employing your own leverage.”
“That’s what it’s all about. If I learned anything from this case, that’s it.”
He stared at me for a long moment. Maybe we were both disappointed in each other. He finally flinched first, letting his gaze drop to the deck and the rust-colored, nonslip rubber tiles with the shamrock cutouts. His feet were crossed at the ankles in a bow-legged attitude that exposed the thick calluses on his heels.
“Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“I will inform the client.” He stood up, wrapped his towel close around his shoulders, and started to move off toward the entryway to a locker room.
“Harvey…” He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Harvey, I need to know. You won’t work against me, will you?”
Then he did turn on me, as quickly as his feeble state would allow, which wasn’t fast. In some ways, that made it even more devastating when he said it.
“Shame on you, Alex. Shame on you.”
Out on the curb, I sat in my parked car for a long time. More than once, someone pulled up next to me, hoping to grab the space when I pulled out. A vacant stare and an anemic shake of the head sent them off in a huff, but I wasn’t leaving until I had someplace to go. I was having a hard time catching up to what had just happened. But why should I be surprised? Harvey was motivated by a very real fear that he would run out of money and be too sick to earn any more. Carl Wolff had understood that and used it against him. Against me. Bastard.
I sat there a long time before my phone rang. I checked the spy window and answered. “Tristan?”
“I found Monica. You need to get back here, Alexandra.”
I felt for the keys and started the engine. “Is she with you? Will she talk?”
“Oh, she already is.”
“Anything good so far?”
“How about who killed Robin Sevitch?”
Chapter
40
IT WAS STRANGE TO SEEMONICA SITTING ONTristan’s couch, looking, if not scared, at least less self-possessed than the last two times I had seen her. The first time, she had been the one with the razor-blade smile swiping my date in Chicago. The last time, she had been the one with her clothes off and her sense of self-confidence firmly in place.
“Hello, Monica.”
“I’m only here because Tristan asked me. I trust him.”
Tristan stood behind the couch at her left shoulder. Over his left shoulder, resting on the mantel in the middle of his inter
national trinkets, was the deadliest trinket of all, his .44 Special. I hadn’t expected Tristan to be Monica’s private bodyguard, although, as I thought about it, there was no way he would bring her out of hiding unless he intended to protect her as best he could. I thought that would be pretty well.
I sat down next to Monica. She looked good for someone in hiding, better than I felt. Tristan had given me the story on Monica in our long, overnight chat. She was from Paterson, New Jersey, and had tried for a career as a singer and dancer on Broadway. She’d given up almost immediately, because she didn’t like that part about being poor. She’d bought some breast implants and shifted her act to prostitution, where every night she could be someone new. With her lively brown eyes, long legs, and thick, dark hair, it was not hard to see her as an entertainer.
At this point, I didn’t have the mental capacity to do much besides ask her to start talking and see if I could follow along.
“Tell me,” I said, “everything that is going on. Start with Robin Sevitch.”
“Angel killed Robin. Tristan, can I smoke in here?”
“No, dear.”
He said it calmly, which led me to believe he had heard this already. I hadn’t, and I was appropriately unsettled, despite Monica’s blunt nonchalance. “Are you saying Angel had her killed?”
“No. She did it herself.” Monica shook out her arm to loosen her bracelets, a whole wristful that jangled like a bag of coins. “She told Robin she wanted to meet her to negotiate, because, you know, Robin wasn’t too cool with Angel taking over her business. She flew out there. They went for a walk. She picked up a brick somewhere along the way and beat her head with it until she was dead.”
My lips kept sticking together. They were pasty because my mouth was dry. My mouth was dry because I kept picturing Robin’s savaged face and thinking about how much time I had spent alone with her murderer.
“Were you there? Did you see this happen?”
“No. She told me.”
She ran her fingers through her long hair and crossed her legs. She seemed calm on the outside, but I also sensed that she could really use a smoke. “Then how do you know it’s not just a story?”
“Because she has the brick. Angel brought it back with her.” She glanced from me to Tristan and back. “It has her blood on it. That’s what she said, anyway.”
I looked at her closely. Could this be her own bit of performance art? What would be her reasons to lie? “You’ve seen this brick?”
“She showed it to me. It was last year sometime, not long after she did it. It was sometime in the summer, because that’s when we had our thing.”
“You and Angel had a relationship?”
She nodded. “I was at her cabin one night. We were having a bottle of wine, or maybe a few. She pulled it out and showed it to me. She told me what it was. It kind of scared me. I didn’t go up there after that, not alone, anyway.”
“Did you see where she keeps it?”
“In a desk drawer.”
What she was saying was horrifying on so many levels. I had been alone in that cabin with Angel and her murder brick, which Monica talked about as if it were some kind of gruesome paperweight. My brother had also been alone with her. I wrapped both arms around myself and squeezed. “Why would she keep a murder weapon in her house?”
“That’s just Angel. It’s like a souvenir. Also, I don’t think she wanted to leave it in Omaha. She watchesCSI like everyone else.”
I looked at Tristan. “I need a drink,” was all he said, and headed for the kitchen.
“Angel was never mentioned in the Omaha investigation.”
“Of course not. She was covered.”
“Covered how?”
“She had a trick out there, someone to keep her name out of it. I don’t know who it was, but that’s why she picked Omaha to begin with.”
I thought about the senator. I thought about Jamie’s video. I thought about Monica’s blackmail scheme and some of the pieces started to float together. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning whoever it was, she had him in a dirty movie. All she had to do was send it to him along with a list of his private e-mail addresses, and he took care of it. That’s how she gets everything she wants. She uses her archive.”
I leaned forward on the couch, poised to absorb every word, but then Tristan came back with his serving tray of ice, glasses, and bottled sparkling water and stepped between us.
“Tristan, baby, do you have something stronger than fizzy water?”
“What would you like?”
“Do you have any beer?”
He disappeared again but came back quickly with an open longneck and handed it to his guest.
I took up my listening post again. “Monica, what is Angel’s archive?”
I had to wait as she took a long pull from the bottle and swallowed. “Her dirty movies.”
“Mov-ies,like more than one?”
“Like hundreds of them. She has a whole catalogue with an index to keep them straight. There are politicians and lawyers and cops and sports stars and entertainers and CEOs. She has something for everything she needs.”
I glanced again at Tristan. His eyes were wide. Each thing this woman said was more hair-raising than the last, although it would be hard to top the brick. “Where does she get these movies?”
“We make them for her. Everyone who goes to work for her gets a little digital camera and a laptop and a lesson on how to set up so you’re sure to get the trick’s face. If you screw it up, you just have to do it again, and you have to keep doing it until you get it right.”
“It’s all done in secret?”
“What do you think?”
“Do you record every date?”
“We record the first date with every trick.”
“What do you do with them?”
“Send them to Angel. That’s what the PCs are for.” And that was what the catalogue numbers were for in the lower right-hand corner of the video. I sat back to let it all settle in. It was Angel’s archive, not Monica’s, and it was a vast and powerful thing.
Tristan leaned over and dropped a few more cubes into his glass. “You were right about the senator,” he said.
“And so many others. It’s a blackmail factory. That’s her secret weapon. It’s not one guy; it’s all guys. Everyone in her archive is vulnerable to her. No wonder she’s so damn confident.” I looked at Monica. “But you were the one extorting Arthur Margolies, right?”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Trying to.”
“Who is he to you?”
“He’s one of my clients, a gambler in Chicago. I should have just asked him for the money. He would have given it to me.”
“Did you swap dates with me in Chicago because you knew he was after you?”
“No. I didn’t know about that. I knew your date. Curt the Chiropractor, we call him. He pays off like a slot machine. The more you beat him, the more he pays, and I really need money right now.”
“Why do you need money?”
“Are you a moron or what? She’s afraid of what I know, and she wants to kill me, and I’m trying to leave the country.”
“Why now?”
“Uh, because I don’t want to die?”
“You said it was last summer when she showed you the brick. Why is she suddenly concerned that you’ll talk now?”
She drank down the last of her beer and fixed me in a withering gaze. “Because you’ve been sniffing around Robin’s murder. She told me that you told her that I told you about Robin.”
Tristan laughed. “What did you just say?”
Monica was focused on me. “Did you tell her that I told you she killed Robin?”
I reached out to put my glass on the coffee table, almost missed, then set it there solidly. This was starting to make sense in a twisted, Angel sort of way.
“So, it’s true.” Monica crossed her arms to match her crossed legs. “You did tell her. I can’t believe it. I asked you point bl
ank on the phone, and you lied to me.”
“I did not lie to you. I had no idea what you were asking me. We’ve been looking into the Omaha murder because we knew Angel had a motive to kill Robin, and the investigation they did stinks. Now you’re telling me why. You’re saying someone in Omaha helped Angel stay out of it.”
“That’s true. Someone with a lot of juice.”
“Well, think about it. Whoever it was must have tipped her off about recent inquiries. I didn’t tell Angel anything about you. How could I? I didn’t know you knew all this.”
“Why have you been looking for me?”
“I wanted to find her Web guy, and I thought, since you were working with him on these blackmail schemes, you could lead me to him.”
“What schemes? Just the one with Arthur, and Sluggo and me, we weren’t exactly working together. Please…” She dismissed the idea as too distasteful to ponder.
“Then you do know Stewart Belkamp.”
“Sure. He came out to the cabin once. Thank God I didn’t have to fuck him. That’s the only good thing about this whole mess.”
“Why would you have to?”
“I needed a copy of my Artie video, and he didn’t want to give it to me. I had to promise him a freebie if it worked out and I got some money for it.”
Poor Stewart. He’d been left at the altar not once but twice. “I thought his identity was a big secret.”
“It is. I only knew because we had our thing. Angel let down her guard a little with me. I wish to hell she hadn’t. I am going to be so murdered.”
“Not if you go to the police.”
“Why would I do that? As long as she has her dirty movies, there’s no one who can touch her.”
I climbed off the couch to walk around. The couch had not made a good bed. It had been too soft to sleep on, and my back was sore. I ended up by the window. The sky was still overcast, looking a lot more like winter’s approach than it had the past few days. “Monica, what do these archives look like?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are they electronic files? Are they on tape? Are they CD-Roms?”
First Class Killing Page 28
