“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” He noticed that there were no rings on her left hand. “I’ve also read your columns on the election. Some of it was like reading a novel, the way things kept changing and how I felt about certain people. Who do you think will win the race, I mean for governor?”
Jenna didn’t want to say she hoped it was Singer. That would let him think there was a bias in her writing, and there was still one more column to turn out. “It’s so tight now, I think whoever gets the Herald ’s endorsement will be the favorite, despite what Fiore said in the debate last night. Did you watch it?”
“Yes, the whole thing. He came on real strong against your paper, but I had the feeling it was because he didn’t expect to be endorsed anyway. Otherwise, there was no sense in going out of his way to make an enemy. I think he’s a pretty slick character, too slick for me. I don’t want to see casino gambling become legal but I’ll vote for Singer and take my chances. Anyway, I’ll go put my name on the waiting list if you can have dinner with me tonight.”
Jenna could see that the restaurant was packed. Everyone was there to forget the week that just passed and to let their hair down. She knew from experience that they’d have to wait almost two hours before getting a table.
“Thanks, David, but I’ve got too much to do tonight and I’m following the candidates around tomorrow. That means early to rise.” She was about to tell him she’d take a rain check.
“Then let’s do it next week,” he said. “I’ll be in New York on Wednesday and Thursday, but my plane gets in at six Thursday night. How about meeting me here at seven?”
She already had plans to see Terry that night, but she liked this guy. “What do you do, by the way?” she asked.
“Computers,” he said. “My partner and I have a small company and we install software exclusively for Oracle. We program the software to do whatever Oracle’s customers want it to do.”
Jenna expected him to pull out a card and give it to her, but he didn’t. For some reason, that impressed her. It was as if he was willing to risk their friendship on her believing what he said.
“Okay, Thursday night at seven.” Jenna knew she wouldn’t kid Terry about the reason for breaking their date. She was sure he’d understand and even tell her he hoped it worked out well. “But if something comes up, call me at the Herald before six and let me know.” She wasn’t about to give him her card either. They shook hands and she left.
On the drive home she couldn’t help singing the words to “Someday my prince will come.” And she loved the fact that the stars had made it so obvious.
101
THE LAW OFFICES OF Barrows and LeBlanc were located in a four-story renovated building on the canal side of South Main, two short blocks away from the landmark golden dome of the Old Stone Bank. A furniture wholesaler, with a first-floor showroom and three floors of warehouse space was the sole occupant of the premises for more than two decades, but the skyrocketing cost of rentals in the rejuvenated area forced him to find a new location in a less developed section of the city. Barrows and LeBlanc was the largest of three law firms that moved in as soon as the restoration was completed.
At a few minutes after nine o’clock on Saturday morning, Carol Singer and Pat Hanley stepped off the elevator into the firm’s third floor reception area. Moments later, George Ryder was there to greet them. The two former partners hadn’t seen each other since Ryder’s last day at Walters, Cassidy & Breen in September. He kissed Carol on the cheek, shook hands with Hanley when they were introduced, and led them to a conference room overlooking the water and the Providence skyline.
“How’s Brad doing?” Ryder asked, as Hanley sat down.
Pat only knew what Doug Fiore told her about George Ryder: that this man was incapable of controlling her husband’s impassioned agenda during the negotiations with the Union. She came to the meeting with a lack of confidence in his abilities.
“Still struggling,” she answered.
“I’m glad they settled the last contract without a strike. Give him my regards.”
“I will.”
Ryder had a large white envelope with him. “I picked this up from my friend an hour ago,” he said, looking at Carol. “I haven’t opened it.”
She asked to see it and he pushed it across the table. On the front, in large lettering, was the name “Ellison Woodrow,” with the words “Private Investigator” below it. The flap of the envelope was taped down on both sides.
“There’s a letter opener in the drawer,” Ryder said, pointing toward the credenza at one end of the room, and he started to get up. But Carol had already inserted a fingernail under the tape in one corner and was slowly tearing it open. Before reaching inside, she slid the envelope a little to her left, where Hanley was sitting.
The pictures were excellent. In each one, Doug and Pat’s faces were unmistakable. Carol’s head, which she turned toward the window as soon as the light went on in the room, was seen either directly from in back or in just a partial profile. She couldn’t be recognized as the other woman in the bed.
In each of the four shots, Fiore had a bewildered look on his face, lying in bed, nude. Pat, on her knees and facing the camera, was showing the front of her body. It was clear that the other woman with them was also undressed, her breasts still partially visible from the side as she hid her face from the camera.
Carol and Pat smiled at each other after looking at the photographs.
“Shall I?” Carol asked, her eyes on Pat as she moved her head once in Ryder’s direction. Pat nodded affirmatively, and Carol passed the pictures back to him. He gazed down at each of them quickly, and then back at the two women.
“Your friend did a good job,” Carol said. “And he came exactly on time. I had my eye on those numbers on the clock every second.”
“What do you intend to do with these?” Ryder asked.
“If you’re still representing me, George, it’s what you’re doing with them.”
“I’ve only thought of this as a favor so far, but if there’s something more you have in mind, perhaps it would be better to establish a lawyer-client relationship just in case anyone wants to ask me any questions.”
“Let’s think of it as that kind of relationship from the time I called you on Thursday,” Carol told him. “You represent both Pat and me.”
“Fine. Okay, what’s next?”
“Here’s Fiore’s itinerary for today,” Carol replied, handing him a small memo-sized piece of paper that had the Biltmore’s name inscribed on it. “He’ll be back and forth between Cranston and Warwick. Cyril Berman is his campaign manager, and he’s always there with him. Find Berman and tell him you represent Pat. Show him the pictures and let him know where and when they were taken. When he asks you who the other woman is, don’t tell him it’s me. Just say that Fiore knows. Advise him that Pat is ready to make copies of these pictures available to the media unless Fiore withdraws from the race. Make sure Berman understands that Fiore had a plan with Pat to set Bruce up for the same kind of pictures, and that she’s ready to spill her guts to everyone about the whole thing.”
Carol turned partway toward Pat as she continued talking. She lowered her voice and spoke slowly. “One more thing, George. If Berman speaks to Fiore and then tells you that Doug says he never saw Pat before last night, tell him to let Fiore know that Pat has tapes of all the bedroom conversations they ever had in Room 606 at the Biltmore.”
“Bruce told you?” Ryder asked.
“Yes,” Carol said.
She could see the bewilderment in Pat’s eyes. She reached over and squeezed her hand, sending a message that there was no need for Pat to say anything. When she turned back to face Ryder, she caught the smile at the corner of his lips.
“Is there a deadline on this?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her reply was resolute. “I’ve been thinking about that. I want to give him enough time to establish a reason for getting out. It seems to me that about the only thi
ng he can come up with this late that people will believe is a medical explanation of some sort. He has to have the chance to see his doctor today and put it all in motion. Tell Berman there are two deadlines. There has to be an announcement by eight o’clock tonight that Fiore has called a press conference for Sunday. And they’ve got to meet with the media tomorrow morning, no later than eleven, for him to withdraw. If they’re late on either one, Pat goes public with the pictures. How does that sound?”
“Sounds great to me,” Ryder grinned. “Shall I tell Woodrow to have the copies ready or do you want to wait and see what happens?”
“Spend the money, George. We want to be ready to roll if Fiore thinks we’re bluffing.”
“Where can I reach you?” he asked.
“Room 606 at the Biltmore,” Carol replied. “And if either of us sounds a little sloshed when we answer the phone, it’s because we will be.”
102
BERMAN AND RYDER SAT together in the back seat of Lester Karp’s Lincoln. Karp and Russell Walsh were asked to make themselves scarce for a while. Fiore was inside The Gables, a restaurant in Warwick, getting ready to address that city’s Post 1813 of the Veterans of Foreign Wars. He would praise their bravery and tell them they hadn’t risked their lives on the battlefield for a Rhode Island that would take money from the poor in State-run casinos instead of biting the bullet and doing whatever had to be done to stimulate a real economic recovery. His elderly audience, welcoming the attention, would ignore the fact that he avoided the Vietnam War through a questionable deferment, and give him a strong ovation.
The pictures caused Berman to whistle through his teeth. He listened patiently to everything Ryder said, trying to think of a way out of the mess created by his client. Berman didn’t want to face the fact that his hundreds of hours of work could end with a whimper instead of a bang because of this ugly development. But his gut was roiling and told him that the ballgame could be over. He remembered with dismay that when the press forced Gary Hart to withdraw as a presidential candidate, all it had for leverage was a picture of Donna Rice sitting on his lap and a shaky allegation that he spent a night with her. Getting caught in bed with two women, for all the world to see, after plotting to entrap his opponent in a similar fashion, put Fiore in a much higher league of his own.
“Are we off the record, Mr. Ryder?” he asked.
“Certainly, if you want to be.”
“I had a feeling right from the beginning that there wasn’t a zipper strong enough to hold Fiore’s prick in his pants.”
Ryder smiled.
“But tell me the part about Hanley and Bruce Singer again.”
Ryder repeated the scheme Fiore worked out to get Singer caught in bed with Pat Hanley. He explained why she felt she had to go along with it. “All she knew was that at midnight she was supposed to open the doors separating the two rooms, go into the other room and get in bed with the man who was there. Fiore said it would be Singer.” Ryder’s version of the facts made no mention of Carol’s involvement.
“How did Fiore know that Singer planned to be staying at the Biltmore last night?”
Ryder downplayed the question. “My guess is that when he hatched the plan, he got Singer’s schedule from someone in the media.”
Berman turned to look out the window and tried to dissect everything Ryder told him. He felt that the story was still fuzzy around the edges. “So you’re saying that Singer cancelled out, Fiore found out about it somehow and told the Hanley woman he’d be staying there himself. She agreed to share his bed for the night and then arranged for a photographer to show up and take pictures. Is that it?”
“I guess that’s it.”
Berman rubbed his chin with his hand. “It’s hard to figure. She stood to gain nothing for herself or her husband by doing this. In fact, she had to know that Fiore would want revenge and do whatever it took to make sure her husband lost his job. That’s what I’m having trouble understanding.”
Ryder was ready to offer the answer. “You know that old expression, ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’ She told me she was so upset at the position Fiore put her in—actually blackmailing her and being willing to humiliate her for what he’d get out of it for himself—that she just wanted to strike back at him any way she could. When Singer couldn’t make it to Providence and Hanley knew she’d be alone with Fiore, she got the chance and moved on it. I guarantee you this lady’s not worried at all about what happens next.”
“Then why did she bring another woman into it with her?”
“Who said she brought the woman?”
“Didn’t she?”
“You can ask Fiore that question.”
“And who is she anyway?”
That was more than what Ryder could divulge. “I’d have to say it’s pretty inconsequential,” he replied.
Berman was through. “All right. I’ll speak to him as soon as the lunch is over. Can I keep these pictures?”
“No. You can show them to Fiore and then I’ve got to have them back. I’ll wait in the Ford wagon over there.”
* * *
Doug Fiore wasn’t sure what was happening. He arrived home from the Biltmore at seven o’clock that morning, showered, changed into a heavier suit and read part of the newspaper with his breakfast. Later on, before driving to the Airport Hilton where he arranged to meet Berman and the others, he called Scardino at home. Frankie’s wife said he wasn’t there, that he and several of the senior partners were spending the weekend in Boston on a retreat to discuss the firm’s operation. He asked for the name of the hotel where they were staying, but she had no idea what it was.
Fiore was certain that Scardino didn’t mention any Boston retreat to him, and doubted that Ed Jackson would initiate one without clearing it with him first. He went to a file in his study where he kept the names of everyone employed by Walters, Cassidy & Breen. He returned to the kitchen with Janice Rossman’s home telephone number and was dialing it when Grace came into the room. Doug hung up the receiver casually, remarking that he was unable to reach Berman all morning.
At the Hilton, Fiore told Walsh he wanted to use the men’s room before they got on the road. He called Rossman again and asked her where Frankie was.
“I don’t know, Mr. Fiore,” she said, sounding as innocent as she could. “He told me he was going to a meeting in Boston.”
“Listen to me carefully, Janice. If I find out you’re not telling me the truth, I’ll fire you on the spot.”
Rossman hesitated. “Can you hold on just a minute?”
“I’m holding. Go get him.”
Scardino came to the phone. “Sorry Doug. She was afraid to say I was here.”
“Did you call that goddam photographer?” he asked.
“It’s all taken care of. I left a message on his machine, switching it to tonight at the same time. Don’t worry, he’ll be there.”
Fiore bent down inside the phone booth and pulled the receiver to his ear. He had it as low as it would go, about six inches below the metal counter. “Well, if he’s coming tonight, why the fuck did he show up last night?” he shouted.
Scardino didn’t know what to say. “I can’t figure it, Doug. Let me find out and call you back.”
“I can’t wait here. I’ve got to get rolling with Berman. When you reach him, tell him to put the goddam negatives in an envelope and deliver them to you. I want them in my hands tonight. You can bring them to East Greenwich when I get home. Are you going to be at Rossman’s all day?”
“I planned on it.”
“What is that cunt trying to do, make partner?”
* * *
In the back of the Lincoln, outside The Gables, Berman handed the envelope to Fiore. “I’m afraid I’ve got to show you this.”
Fiore looked at the pictures. “Who brought these? Frankie Scardino?”
“No, a lawyer named George Ryder. He’s sitting in the Ford over there.” Berman pointed across the street. “He says he represents a woman na
med Pat Hanley, and that she’s ready to go public with these pictures right away unless you withdraw.” Berman recited all the details he was given almost an hour earlier.
Fiore’s head was spinning. He thought he was beginning to understand what happened. Ryder was obviously out for revenge ever since Doug forced his resignation from the firm. He probably became very friendly with Pat Hanley through Brad during the union negotiations, and somehow learned about Doug’s relationship with her. Then Pat blabbed to him about the Singer business at the Biltmore after Fiore told her the plan he had in mind. Now Ryder was capitalizing on it, and no doubt the bastard helped her set things up for pictures of them in bed together. He figured Ryder knew that Carol would be with them last night.
“Did he say anything about sending these to Grace?”
“No, he didn’t, but they probably figure she’ll find out like everyone else if you don’t play ball.”
“What do we do, Cyril?”
“I guess we go somewhere private and try to reach Sandy and his father. Ryder didn’t say who the other woman is in the picture. He was playing cat and mouse. Do you want to tell me?”
Fiore was certain that Berman would explode with anger if he knew it was Bruce Singer’s wife. It scared him to think of how Sandy and Sal Tarantino would react if they became aware of her identity. Doug couldn’t handle that right now. “No one you know,” he said, “just a friend of Hanley’s that happened to be around.”
Berman opened the door of the Lincoln and started across the street. Ryder got out of his car.
“He asked whether you sent these to his wife.”
“We haven’t yet and hope we don’t have to. If he gets out by the deadline, she’ll never know about them.”
“We’ve got to make a few phone calls. Where can I reach you if I have to?”
Ryder took one of his cards out of a billfold. “I’ll be at the office until four and I’ll be home after five.” He wrote his home number on the back of the card and gave it to Berman.
“If he pulls out, we get the negatives, right?”
My Honorable Brother Page 47
