by Jeff Abbott
‘Continuing to improve. Continuing to not cooperate. And Greg Buckman is dead.’
‘Really?’
‘You don’t know anything about that, do you, Whit?’ There was a coldness in her voice he’d never heard before.
‘No,’ he said, watching his mother. ‘I don’t.’
‘Come home, Whit.’
‘This is over now,’ he said. ‘I will. Claudia. Thank you.’
‘I’m going back to Port Leo today, Whit. Without Gooch. I can’t take off more time. Call me when you get home.’ And she hung up without a good-bye.
He thought of calling her back, but instead called Charlie Fulgham’s cell phone. ‘Are you back home?’
‘Yes. Should I not be?’
‘Your house is safe now. Are we all still your clients?’
‘Still got my three dollars in my pocket,’ Charlie said.
‘Buy some legal pads, Charlie. Fast.’
‘I don’t want to talk to the police, Whit,’ Eve said. It was Wednesday morning, and she was curled on the hotel bed. She’d taken another Vicodin but it hadn’t kicked in hard.
He sat down next to her, touched her shoulder. ‘Where would Frank run?’
‘Anywhere, if he’s got five million. I really don’t know.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Mom,’ he said. He touched her swollen jaw. ‘You and Frank strike me as people with contingency plans. Where is he?’
‘I told you, Whitman, I don’t know.’
‘He put you in mortal danger when he could have cleared your name in an instant. He ran when it was time to save you,’ Whit said. ‘He doesn’t really love you.’
‘He loved me,’ she said. ‘Just not enough. Like how I loved you when you were little. Just not enough.’
‘There is no parallel,’ he said. ‘Please.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were a judge?’ she said, surprising him.
He kissed the top of her head. ‘I didn’t want to scare you off.’
She managed a smile. ‘I’m proud of you. Really proud of you, honey.’
He felt a little kindle of pride that died instantly. ‘Sure. You should be. I killed a man. Let a criminal walk free. Lied to one of my best friends, lied to the police. I’m a real pride and joy, Mom.’
‘But you saved your mother,’ she said. ‘You saved me.’
‘We’re going back to Houston tomorrow.’
‘Okay,’ she said, suddenly surrendering. ‘I’m ready.’ She closed her eyes, sleepy again. ‘I’m actually very clean, you know.’
‘Charlie’s going to represent us. If needed.’
‘That should be good for laughs,’ she said and she went back to sleep.
The manifesto from Public Service appeared in six newspapers nationwide Thursday morning, including the Houston Chronicle. They claimed responsibility for the deaths of five drug lords, including Paul Bellini and Kiko Grace, and three others in Los Angeles, Philadelphia, and New York in the past month. Two of the dead had been found with rolled-up money in their mouths, a signature of the group. The manifesto was both a scathing indictment of the government’s war on drugs, for not being tough enough, and against the drug trade, for its relentless waste of human lives, police efforts, and money.
The statement held a chilling promise: ‘We target the casual buyer, for you are the cash cow of the drug trade. If we see you buying drugs, even simply a joint to share with a friend, we will shoot you.’ And ending it with ‘ “God defend the right!” – William Shakespeare.’
Whit wondered where Tasha was, if she had written the letter. Or if Jose had before he died. The TV pundits had a field day on this twisting new front on the drug war.
When Whit met Charlie at his house, Charlie hugged Eve, shook Whit’s hand, and pointed to the letter in the paper. This, sweeties,’ Charlie said, ‘is called manna from heaven.’
Two hours later they sat in Gooch’s private hospital room, an artful arrangement by Charlie. Whit and Eve sat next to Gooch’s bed; Arturo Gomez, two of his detectives, and Vernetta Westbrook on the other side of the bed.
‘My clients will cooperate fully,’ Charlie Fulgham said. The party-loud shirt from his stand-up routine was gone, replaced by a gray Armani suit, fitted to the millimeter.
The police officers all looked at Charlie like they knew him. And didn’t like what they saw.
Gomez started. ‘All right, Mr Mosley-’
‘Actually, you should refer to him as Your Honor,’ Charlie said. ‘Judge Mosley is a highly respected magistrate.’
Gomez surrendered on the point. ‘Can you fill in the gaps for us, Judge Mosley?’
‘It’s really simple,’ Whit said. And he told them: he had hired Harry Chyme to find his mother. Harry told them that she was in Houston, he believed, living under the name Eve Michaels, and he and Gooch came to Houston to find her. They never heard again from Harry, but after making inquiries at a club Harry said her boyfriend managed, found Eve.
‘She agreed to meet us at Pie Shack,’ Whit said, and this was the risky part. Gooch could go to jail for this when he had saved their lives, saved the life of the young hostage the gunman had taken.
‘But Ms Michaels was followed there,’ Charlie said, stepping smoothly in. ‘By gunmen possibly related to this Public Service group. Vigilantes mistakenly seeking to harm Ms Michaels due to her connection – via Frank Polo – to Tommy Bellini’s businesses. We certainly know that Public Service had declared war on the Bellini family, right or wrong.’
Gomez grilled all three of them, but they stuck to their story with relentless precision: they ran, like everyone else, and in fact went into hiding because Eve was afraid the Bellinis or these gunmen were after her.
‘If the Bellinis did illegal activities,’ Eve said, ‘I didn’t know about it. I was the accountant for five of Tommy Bellini’s companies, and they are all perfectly legit. If his son started dabbling in the drug trade or screwing around with his father’s companies, it has nothing to do with me.’
‘What’s the relationship of the Alvarez insurance firm to the Bellinis?’
Here Eve threw them a bone to chew. ‘I know Tommy loaned money to the Alvarez family when their company was in bad shape, about to close. He was a silent partner. They sold a lot of life insurance. But they did their own accounting; I had nothing to do with them as a business.’ She paused. They always seemed like a nice family.’
‘But you lived in a house owned by the Bellini family.’ This from Vernetta.
‘That was provided to Frank Polo. He was an old family friend. So was I. That’s not illegal.’
Whit’s throat thickened as Vernetta said, ‘Mr Guchinski’s van was found at the Paul Bellini murder site.’
‘The Bellinis grabbed me when I stopped by Eve’s house to pick up her things,’ Gooch said. ‘She didn’t want to go back there, she thought Frank Polo would force her to stay. Paul and his guys beat me up, detained me.’
‘Paul Bellini wanted Mom to trade for Gooch. They knew about the shooting, they were afraid Gooch and I were involved with Public Service,’ Whit said.
‘They tried to get me to give them details on Public Service, but I didn’t know jack. They pumped me full of drugs, thinking if I were looped I’d talk,’ Gooch said.
Whit said: ‘Paul told me we could meet. We did. He had Gooch in the trunk of his car. He thought I was bringing my mother to him, but of course, I wasn’t. I drove Gooch’s van. Paul and I were talking and he was shot. He was clearly dead. I ran and took his car, because the shooter fired at me, twice, and I couldn’t abandon Gooch. We took off.’
‘And didn’t call the police,’ Vernetta said.
‘I asked Whit not to,’ Eve said, ‘because I was afraid, and because he’s a judge and I didn’t want him to lose his job.’
‘I take full responsibility for that decision,’ Whit said. They asked more detailed questions about Paul’s shooting, and Whit answered truthfully.
‘Of course, you could charge Judge Mosle
y with fleeing a scene of a crime,’ Charlie said. ‘Of course, in doing so, he saved his own life and that of Mr Guchinski.’
‘He didn’t report the crime,’ Gomez said.
‘At his mother’s request. They’d already been traumatized by one shooting, Detective. And Paul Bellini and his thugs were already beyond help. Charge them if you like, but then my clients will stop talking.’
Gomez made a noise in his throat.
‘The death at the Greystoke,’ Vernetta said. ‘Detective Tarrant here is in charge of that investigation.’
Tarrant was a thin woman, hair pulled back in a modest ponytail. ‘A man matching Judge Mosley’s description retrieved a van from the parking valets. Two rooms were abandoned there, belonging to an Emily Smith.’
‘We were at the Greystoke,’ Eve said. ‘But I don’t know any Emily Smith. I was going to meet Frank there; I wanted a public place because I was afraid of him. But we didn’t stay. Whit left because he wanted to see a friend of his, a police officer from his hometown. To explain to her what we’d been through. After Whit left, I thought I saw one of the gunmen from the diner, a man in dreadlocks. I left the hotel and called Whit on his cell phone. Whit rushed back and picked me up. I decided then to leave town. He took me home. Frank was there. I thought it best that Whit leave us to talk, and at my request, he did. Frank was calm as we talked, but he drank a bunch of wine and became violent. He beat me, knocked my teeth out. He drank more, passed out, and I went to San Antonio.’
‘Where’d you stay?’ Gomez asked.
‘In my car. After a couple of days I called Whit. He came and got me.’ Her Mercedes was back in its garage at the house, where it had been since Gooch was caught, and they had dumped Bucks’ Jag a mile from the burnt-out warehouse late last night.
‘After my mother left town,’ Whit said, ‘the Bellinis left us alone intentionally or were occupied with attacks on them by Public Service. We didn’t know what was happening.’
The detectives watched them in silence. Whit thought he saw a tug of resignation in Vernetta Westbrook’s eyes.
‘Your Honor,’ she said, ‘you told Claudia Salazar you thought Greg Buckman killed Harry Chyme and Richard Doyle. You never explained why.’
‘Frank Polo suggested it to me, I’m sure now in an effort to put attention off of him. This isn’t complicated.’
‘My clients were innocents caught up in the crossfire between the Bellinis and Public Service,’ Charlie said. ‘Ms Michaels has offered her full cooperation with the fraud examiners in the DA’s office, if they want her help in identifying possible points where illegal Bellini funds became legitimate revenue.’
‘But I get immunity, and so do Whit and Gooch,’ Eve said. ‘I can help you sift through every Bellini financial record if you want to go after them. Otherwise, you’re on your own and you’ll find it, I suspect, very difficult to make a case against Tommy and Mary Pat Bellini that gets you their assets.’
Gomez and Vernetta exchanged a glance.
Charlie said, ‘You can try and make a case against my clients, on rather circumstantial evidence, or you can get unparalleled access to the Bellini finances. And also build a case against Public Service, who are nothing more than self-proclaimed domestic terrorists. Choose your headlines, ladies and gentlemen.’
‘I wish you’d stuck to the stage, Charlie,’ Vernetta said.
48
‘Daddy? Did you hear what I said?’ Whit said. ‘I found Mom.’
Whit broke the news as gently as possible to Babe, sitting at their breakfast table. Irina stared at him as though he’d announced he had cancer himself.
‘What?’
‘I found her over a week ago. That’s why I’ve been in Houston. We came back this morning.’
Babe blinked, took a deep, fortifying breath. ‘Ellen?’
‘She wants to see you,’ Whit said. ‘Would you like to see her?’
‘Whit,’ Irina interrupted. She moved from her chair, a sickly smile of shock on her face, to stand behind Babe, put her hand on his shoulders. ‘Your father, this is too much for him.’
‘I’m okay.’ Babe patted her hand. ‘It’s okay.’ He closed his eyes, passed a hand over his face. ‘Do I want to see her?’ But not asking the question of anyone but himself.
‘When I asked, you said yes. You said you wanted to ask her why she did what she did,’ Whit said.
‘How the hell did you find her?’ Babe said.
‘Long, long story. For later, Daddy.’
Babe’s lip trembled. He put his hands over his face.
‘This was a bad idea,’ Whit said. ‘But if you wanted to make peace with her before…’
The hands came down. ‘Peace. Yes,’ Babe said with sudden, hard resolve. ‘I would like to see her. Bring her in.’ He gave a jagged little laugh. ‘Why not? Life’s too short.’
Whit went out to the car where Eve sat. She followed him into the house, touching the side of the door, glancing around as if cataloging every change the house had weathered in her absence. She walked into the kitchen behind Whit.
‘Hello, Babe,’ Eve said.
Babe stared at her for several long moments. ‘What’s with your hair?’ he finally said.
‘I went red,’ she said.
‘It don’t suit you,’ Babe said. He ran fingertips over his chemo-bald head. ‘But then I got a new look, too.’
‘Dad, maybe Mom would like a cup of coffee. Would that be okay?’ Whit said. ‘Can you be trusted around hot beverages?’ Trying to deflate the tension.
‘I’m not fixing breakfast for this woman,’ Irina, usually the voice of calm reason, announced. ‘Whit, your papa doesn’t need this upset, for God’s sakes…’ Then a torrent of Russian.
Babe whispered, in the babyish Russian he knew. Kissed Irina’s cheek. ‘We moved the coffeemaker while you’ve been gone, Ellie. It’s on the other counter. Help yourself.’
Eve didn’t move. ‘I won’t stay. I’m sorry I left you, Babe. I want you and the boys to know that it had nothing to do with you. It was me. The situation… was such I thought it best I not come home. So I chose not to. I’m sorry for the pain I caused you. The boys.’ She stopped, ran a finger along her lip. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. Two words don’t sound adequate. I know.’
Silence. Babe cleared his throat. ‘You know, they didn’t stop crying for a real long time. Wondering why their mama would leave them. Do you have any idea what you tell small kids why they matter, why they’re still worthwhile human beings, why they’re still lovable when their own mother can’t be bothered to love them? I took them to Disneyland six months after you left. For two weeks. I thought it would help. Me herding all six of them, trying to pretend rides and candy and Mickey Mouse could make up for you gone. Jesus, we go, they don’t see anything but moms with their kids. I was cruel trying to help them.’ Now his voice trembled. ‘I don’t hate you for ripping my heart out. But what you did to my boys.’ His voice broke. ‘Treating my sons as disposable is unforgivable.’
‘I’ll ask for their forgiveness,’ Eve said. ‘Yours is a separate issue.’
‘You don’t want my forgiveness,’ Babe said. ‘You show your sorry face in time to stand over my grave and decide you want to play mom thirty years too late.’ He shook his head at Whit. ‘Whit, you lose one, you go find the other?’
‘I’m not trying to replace you, Dad, for God’s sakes.’ Whit took a calming breath. ‘I’m trying to help you both. You’re my parents. Make your peace. Please.’
‘Whit,’ Eve said. ‘Your father is your parent. He’s the one who took care of you.’ She stood. ‘You raised a very fine son, Babe.’
‘Who gives a rat’s ass what you think?’ Babe said.
‘Screaming was not the point of you and Mom talking,’ Whit said.
‘Sure was for me. I said what I wanted.’ Babe got up from his chair. ‘She’s dead to me.’
‘She is back in our lives,’ Whit said. ‘She is not dead.’
<
br /> ‘If yelling makes you happy, Babe,’ Eve said, ‘yell away. I deserve it.’ She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve.
‘And I thought the chemo made me puke,’ Babe said.
‘Tell me, sweetie,’ Eve said to Irina. ‘Now that he’s retired, what does he talk about? Because I never heard a single word other than oil business, golf, oil, golf, and oh yes, oil with a hint of golf. It was enough to drive you nuts. Did you know he wouldn’t change a diaper? Six kids and he wouldn’t change a single diaper.’
Irina said, very quietly, ‘I don’t know you, Ellen, and I don’t want to.’
‘We’re staying in the guest house,’ Whit said, his chest full and hot. He had never seen the look now on his father’s face, dead love resurrected into absolute, unforgiving hate. ‘Just for tonight.’
‘No,’ Babe said.
‘Yes,’ Whit said. ‘I pay rent. You don’t have to see her if you don’t want.’
‘I won’t stay here if it’s going to upset him,’ Eve said. ‘You know, I did want to apologize. I don’t care if you believe me.’
‘Since when do you care about occupying the high ground?’ Babe said. ‘Tell me, Whit, did she hug you the moment she saw you?’ He gave a jagged laugh. ‘Does she think she’s still in the will?’
‘Dad, she came. That’s all that matters.’
‘Yeah, right. You’re not gonna drive a wedge between me and my sons, Ellie,’ Babe said. ‘Especially in the last five minutes of my life. You hurt my boys again, I’ll kill you.’
‘I owe Whit my life. Hurting him is the last thing I would ever do.’ She turned for the door, waited for Whit. ‘I won’t bother you again, Babe.’
‘Give him time,’ Whit said.
‘Yeah, he’s got time to spare,’ Eve said. The day had bloomed into bright sunshine and they sat on a deck at the Water’s End, an old bar on the beach. The other patrons were tourists and winter Texans, a quiet group.
Eve didn’t sip her beer. ‘Put me in a trailer; I’ll tell everyone I’m from Michigan. I’ll fit right in for the next month or so.’
‘There’s a plan.’
‘This secret between us,’ Eve said. ‘It’s a nasty thing, isn’t it? Living with what you know and you don’t tell?’
