“Maybe not, but I’d still like to know.”
“It’s not Tommy. That’s all I’m going to say.”
Mancini said nothing, so Barton continued.
“This whole thing started when two of Castello’s couriers began stealing from him, and this friend of mine thinks that someone with some kind of authority had to have coerced them to do it. Everyone who steals from Castello knows what’s going to happen to them if they get caught. My friend even thinks Ricky Spadaro is involved, passing along information—things only Miller and I could have told him—to Roffman. This all adds up, looks great on paper. But there’s one thing my friend doesn’t know.”
“And what’s that, Kay?”
“It is impossible for Ricky to be working with Roffman like this.”
“Nothing’s impossible.”
“No, this is. Ricky’s a Boy Scout, everyone knows that. Even if Roffman somehow threatened him, he wouldn’t go along with it, certainly not with something like this. He wouldn’t follow Roffman out on that bridge there and kill two men in cold blood.”
“People do surprising things sometimes, Kay. You should know that better than anyone.”
“You said it yourself, Detective. My affair with Roffman was only a matter of time, him being who he was and me being who I was back then.”
“Back then?”
Barton said nothing.
“You’re putting an awful lot of faith in Spadaro’s character, Kay. And Roffman’s, for that matter.”
“Even when push comes to shove, we can only ever do what we’re capable of doing, what we already have deep down inside us.”
“That’s what you think, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“So if Spadaro and Roffman aren’t capable of what your mysterious friend thinks they are, then who is?”
“When the shit hit the fan, when I broke it off with Roffman, he reacted the way a jilted man who was used to having the power would react. And Ricky, being a Boy Scout and my friend, reacted the only way he could. For better or for worse, they remained true to themselves. You, though, there was no . . . passion in the way you reacted. You went cold, detached yourself from the whole thing. You left me out there to dangle in the wind.”
“And you think that means something.”
“I think it means everything, yeah.”
“So because I didn’t come running to your rescue like Spadaro or turn against you like everyone else, I’m capable of cold-blooded murder. Because I let you, as you put it, dangle in the wind, I must have hanged two men last night.”
“Again, you said it yourself. Roffman loses his job, you become chief. Roffman gets killed—by Castello or anyone else, for that matter—and you become chief.”
“Maybe you aren’t as smart as I thought you were, Kay. You honestly expect me to just come out and tell you that you’re right, you got it all figured out. I’m supposed to be inspired by this wild theory of yours to confess to multiple murders.”
“I’m not looking for a confession, Detective. I want in.”
Mancini shook his head in disbelief. “Don’t embarrass yourself, Kay. You call me, tell me we have to meet, suggest that we meet here. You’re not wired, so maybe this place is. Or maybe your buddy Miller is somewhere outside with one of his gizmos, listening to everything you and I are saying, recording it for all posterity.”
“Why would I want to trap you, Detective? You’re my only way back to where I want to be. You get what you want, I get what I want. Enemy of my enemy.”
“You left Montauk, Kay, at, what, one? Which means you would have gotten back to Southampton by two. You didn’t call me till a half hour ago. Plenty of time in between two and six for you to make some plan with Miller or your mysterious friend. Hell, for that matter, you could have even called Roffman, made a deal with him.”
“Tommy’s on his couch, out cold, Detective. He was run off the road this morning, banged up his knee pretty bad. And as far as calling Roffman goes, I’d rather work at a liquor store for the rest of my life than go crawling to him.”
“You actually believe he took over the investigation because he’s determined to find out what’s going on. He didn’t know who to trust so he’s doing it all himself. That’s what you said in Montauk, right?”
“Yeah.”
“But you said Roffman had information only Spadaro knew, things Spadoro could have only learned from you and Miller.”
“I said that’s what my friend thought.”
“What information, exactly?”
“Someone knew Tommy was on his way to Noyac this morning. Someone who wanted him dead. The only person who could have figured out where Tommy was heading was Ricky. On his way back from Noyac someone ran Tommy off the road. I think that person would have killed him if I hadn’t shown up.”
“So let me guess. Spadaro hasn’t been tipping Roffman off, he’s been tipping me off.”
“He wouldn’t have to tip you off.”
“Why not?”
“Maybe you’ve been listening in on Ricky’s calls. If there’s a bug on his line, it should be easy enough to find, right?”
Mancini said nothing for a moment. Barton waited.
“Humoring you,” he said finally, “why exactly would I want Miller dead?”
“Because he found the surveillance camera and DVR at Abby’s apartment. If Miller was murdered, you, as head detective, would search his apartment and, lo and behold, there would be a DVR showing Roffman knocking on the door of one of the dead couriers’ girlfriends two nights before the murders. The fact that one of these girlfriends was murdered, too, only makes it worse for Roffman. You’d enter the DVR into evidence, like the good cop you are, and that’s it, your part would be done. Suddenly Roffman has a lot of explaining to do. Suddenly everything he’s been doing looks like he’s either covering up for Castello or trying very hard to frame him so he could slip out of Castello’s pocket. Whichever way it falls—whichever way Roffman falls—you win.”
Mancini nodded. “There’s a problem with your theory, Kay. I didn’t even know there was a camera till you told me this afternoon.”
“So you say. So you made a point of pretending. You were convincing, I’ll give you that. But if you were the one coercing the two couriers, you would have known where Abby lived. She was in hiding, but her boyfriend, Michaels, knew, so he could have told you or you could have followed him there one night. He could have been the one to tell you that she had installed a camera outside her door. After that all you needed to do was figure out a way to get Roffman to show up so the evidence you needed would just be waiting there to be found by you after Abby was killed. Of course, Roffman locked you out, and if he found the evidence, he would have been certain to lose it, so it was lucky that Tommy and I found it, that much of what you said this afternoon was true.”
“I think you should quit this right now, Kay.”
“And how easy would that have been, to get Roffman there? A phone call from her apartment, an East Hampton number on his caller ID that turns out to be listed under Tommy Miller’s name, that would have been bait he couldn’t ignore. ‘Come alone, there’s something here you need to see’ is all someone would have had to say, and that would have been something he couldn’t resist. Roffman’s a man with a guilty conscience, trust me, I know. Caution is his religion. Not all cautious men are guilty, but all guilty men are cautious. It would have been so easy for you to play upon that. If there had been a call from Abby’s apartment to Roffman’s home phone or cell phone, there’ll be a record of it.”
“And how exactly did I let myself in and make that call without being caught by that camera?”
“You didn’t have to. The DVR shows Michaels entering the apartment about an hour before Roffman showed up—leaving, in fact, right before Roffman got there. If you were controlling Michaels, coercing him, then it wouldn’t have been difficult to get him to do that. Again, if I’m right, the phone records will confirm this.”
�
�You’re way out of your league, Kay.”
“Only a few of us are as smart as we think we are.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Someone calling cab companies from inside the department and claiming to be Roffman could have just as easily been someone other than Roffman. Those calls were made early this morning. Maybe Roffman was in then, maybe he wasn’t. Again, it shouldn’t be too difficult to find out for sure.”
Mancini said nothing. Barton took a step toward him. “Look, I don’t care that two drug runners were killed,” she said. “I can even get to the point where I don’t care that some poor idiot was killed because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Shit happens, right? Roffman’s corrupt, Castello has a team of hired killers working for him, these are bad men, it’s war, I understand that, I understand that sometimes innocent people get hurt or killed. I understand, too, that there are millions at stake, and that . . . changes things somehow. Our own government allows innocents to die so their cronies can get rich. This is the world we live in, the way things are, so, really, right now I don’t care who killed whom or why. All I care about is the fact that Roffman ruined my life, took away everything I worked for, everything I was. I’d be more than happy to see him fall on his face, and I’d be more than happy to do something to help make that happen. But even more than all that, Detective, I’ll do what needs to be done to put a stop to any more attempts on Tommy’s life. You sent someone to Noyac to kill him so you could get your hands on that DVR. I’m here to tell you that if you want it that bad, you can have it.”
His face blank, Mancini said calmly, “We’re done here, Kay.”
She took another step toward him, a fast one, a desperate one. His calm demanded that she be otherwise.
“All right, then I got it all wrong,” she said, “you had nothing to do with any of this, it’s all Roffman and Ricky, it’s exactly how it looks on paper. I’m coming to you then because you’re the head detective and I have in my possession evidence I would like to turn in.”
“You’ll hand over the DVR, just like that?” Mancini said.
Barton nodded.
“You’d have to testify in court how you found it.”
“I don’t care. Like I said, whatever it takes to make Roffman fall on his face.”
“And this wild theory of yours, you’ll drop it?”
Again, she nodded.
Mancini watched her face for a moment, then gestured toward the door. “Let’s step outside.”
“What for?”
“Just do what I say, Kay.”
“Do we have a deal?”
Mancini said nothing, simply stood there and waited, watching her. A portrait of neutrality. Finally, Barton started toward the door, Mancini following her.
She stepped under the tape and stood at the foot of the stairs leading up to the parking lot. It was full night now, all hint of natural light gone. Mancini locked the door, then stepped under the tape and stood face-to-face with Barton. His overcoat was still open, his holstered gun, like before, clearly visible.
“Just one last thing I need you to do, Kay.”
“What?”
“Tell him to come out now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Whoever is out there listening in on us, I want you to tell him to come out and bring his equipment with him.”
“There’s no one out there, Detective. Really. I came alone.”
“I’m head detective, Barton, which means I’m smart and I’m experienced, I’m used to seeing through the bullshit people try shoveling at me. I’m also a card player. I put myself through college playing poker in Atlantic City, spent every weekend I could at the casinos. So even people who are very good at bluffing can’t really fool me. And you, my sweet, ain’t all that good at bluffing.”
Barton took in a breath and let it out. If she gave Mancini what he wanted, then that would be it, Miller would be, as far as Mancini was concerned, out of this, and there would be no need for anyone to come after him again. Miller and Mancini were, after all, men of neutrality, they had that in common, it might serve to allow Mancini to trust that Miller would not pursue him. With the knowledge that Abby was long gone, Miller would have no reason at all to remain involved, not to any degree, would simply slip back into his early retirement then, into the quiet life of landlord and friend. Mancini would have nothing—once he possessed the item he wanted and it had been entered into evidence—to fear from anyone.
Roffman would fall and Miller would be safe, Barton thought. These two things were what mattered to her. She wasn’t, after all, a cop anymore, Mancini had, in his way, seen to that. What did she need to care about justice, particularly when those still sworn to uphold it clearly didn’t? She wondered, though, if she could find what it took to live with knowing what her personal gain had cost so many others? Did she already have that in her somewhere?
For now, though, what choice did she have but to play the hand she’d been dealt?
Speaking to the noisy air, Barton said, “Come on out.” Her voice was only as a loud as it needed to be for her to be heard over the sound of the canal. There was no point in speaking in any way other than how she had been speaking to Mancini all this time. “It’s okay, come on out.”
She looked toward the border at the top of upper parking lot, past it to the line of scrub pines on the other side of the train tracks. Mancini followed her line of sight. After a moment a figure appeared, walking out of the darkness and into the influence of the canal lights, which fell just above where the upper lot connected with the lower lot. When the figure was close enough to be recognized, Mancini said to himself, “Spadaro. Of course.”
Dressed in dark street clothes and carrying the recording device Barton had used to eavesdrop on Miller and Bechet, Spadaro reached the top of the steps, stood there looking down at Mancini and Barton.
“Come on down,” Mancini said.
As he walked down the stairs, Spadaro looked at Barton. Neither of them said anything. When Spadaro reached the bottom step, he and Barton looked at Mancini.
It was then that they saw the handgun in the detective’s hand.
“What’s going on?” Barton said.
“Hand her the gizmo,” Mancini ordered. The gun was aimed at Spadaro. Despite the fact that everything had suddenly, obviously changed—the presence of the gun alone was enough to do that—Mancini remained cool.
“What are you doing?” Barton said.
Mancini ignored her, talked directly to Spadaro. Like she didn’t exist, suddenly. “Hand it over to her, Ricky.”
Spadaro looked at Mancini, then finally held out the listening device. Barton hesitated a moment before taking it.
“Is there a recording device attached?” Mancini asked.
Barton eventually checked, found the output jacks, but there was nothing connected to them.
Mancini smiled. “Where is it, Ricky?” Tell me, it’s all right, I can still be your friend.
Spadaro shrugged. There was, Barton thought, something punklike in his attitude now. “Where’s what?” he said defiantly. Like a kid, almost. Was Spadaro’s change in demeanor—boldly defiant—a reaction to the lack of change in Mancini’s?
“Hand it over, Ricky. Okay? Hand it over now and things don’t have to get ugly.”
Spadaro reached into the pocket of his black denim jacket, did so with a deliberate slowness, both cautious and contemptuous, then removed a small digital recording device, the RCA cables still attached to its input jacks.
“Let me have it,” Mancini said.
Spadaro tossed it to Mancini. When Mancini caught it, Barton noticed that the detective had his gloves on again.
Glancing at the device, switching it off, Mancini said to Barton, “Get his gun, please, Kay.”
She looked at Spadaro. His eyes were locked on Mancini. Barton had never seen her friend quite like this. It was more than a reaction to the gun aimed at him, much more than that.
So that was it, all this for nothing, she thought.
“I need you to take out your cell phone, Kay,” Mancini said.
“What for?”
“Just do it.”
Barton glanced at Spadaro again, saw the same defiance in the way he stood, in his eyes. Looking back at Mancini, she didn’t make a move for her jacket pocket.
“You’re going to call Miller,” Mancini said calmly. Again, he spoke to Barton but wasn’t looking at her, kept his eyes on Spadaro. “You’re going to tell him to bring the DVR here.”
“I told you, he’s out of commission.”
“Then let’s hope the sound of his phone ringing is enough to wake the little addict up.”
“I’ll get it,” Barton offered. “I’ll go get it, bring it back.”
“No.”
“Then send Ricky.”
“Just make the call, Kay,” Mancini said.
“I don’t understand,” Barton protested. “What good will that do you?”
“Just make the call,” Mancini repeated. No change in his tone.
“Don’t do it, Kay,” Spadaro said, warning in his voice.
Barton looked at him. He was shaking his head.
“Don’t call him, Kay. If you do, you and me and Tommy are as good as dead.”
Mancini aimed his gun at Spadaro’s face. “Stop talking, Ricky.”
“If Tommy brings it here,” Spadaro said, “all Mancini needs to do is kill all three of us and there it is, everything he wants just handed to him. The DVR is his and the three people who are on to him are shut up for good. Doesn’t get much neater than that.”
“But the DVR has to be entered into evidence independent of him,” Barton said. “Otherwise it’s no good to him.”
The Water's Edge Page 38
