Lucy frowned. “It’s my life, Mom.”
“Oh? Actually, it isn’t. It’s my life. When you have a daughter, then it’ll be your life. Meanwhile, you’ll fill the emptiness caused by me trampling on your spirit by an orgy of neurotic consumption, thus spinning the wheels of capitalism ever faster. It’s the American way, kid. Better get used to it.”
When Karp came in a few minutes later, they were still at the table, still laughing and poking one another and cracking jokes. Karp thought, this makes a nice change.
“Did he spill his guts, Daddy? Did you hit him with a phone book, please please?”
“Ooh, I knew I forgot the phone book. That’s probably why he stood on his constitutional right to remain silent and requested an attorney. Not that it’ll do him any good, the evil little bas-bad person.” Karp poured himself a glass of milk, sat, and took a cookie.
“He didn’t happen to mention Bernie Kusher, did he?” asked Marlene.
“Bernie Kusher?”
“Yeah, Fein’s and Panofsky’s old law partner.”
“Excuse me, but why. .?”
“Later,” said Marlene.
And later, in the bedroom, Karp under covers, Marlene placed the Sony machine on his lap and said, “I swiped your Sony. You should listen to this tape. It’s Vivian Fein Bollano.”
Karp pushed the play-back button and listened in silence.
“Oy vey,” he said when it was done.
“Yes. Infamia. Big-time. That’s why the don didn’t want me talking to Vivian, and why Little Sal practically committed murder to get the woman back into his hands. They didn’t much care about the Fein murder, but this”-she tapped the Sony-“this is the end for them.”
“What are you going to do with it?” Karp asked.
“I’m not sure. Any chance of nailing the Bollanos in court?”
“I doubt it,” said Karp after a moment’s thought. “It’s supposition and stories. Nobile provided a key. So what? Jake might know something, but I doubt he’d say anything in court and we got no way to make him. Bernie’s dead, having first manipulated and unleashed Leung. Of course, as you say, Bernie always was something of a joker. Panofsky? Lots of luck! I agree with you that if it went down the way we think, only the Bollanos and Charlie Tuna know the whole story, and I doubt that they’re going to come forward out of remorse. Also, we still got no idea why they killed him.”
“They wanted the girl,” said Marlene without hesitation.
“You think?”
“Yeah. As long as he was alive, neither of them was going to get close to the princess. And there could have been something else. Maybe Fein found out that Panofsky framed him, found out about Panofsky running bribes for the Mob. Maybe it pushed Jerry over a line he didn’t want to cross. There was that missing ledger she talked about. .”
“Which it was we’ll never know,” said Karp. “I’d like to nail the bastards, but absent a confession. .” He made a helpless gesture.
Marlene picked up the little tape recorder and bounced it in her hand. She looked at Karp and down at the machine and back at Karp.
“No,” he said in a voice that allowed no argument.
“He’d confess to JFK and Hoffa both to-”
“No. We don’t blackmail people into signing confessions, Marlene.”
“No, we don’t. Or you don’t.” She pulled the microcassette out of the machine and slipped it into her night table drawer. Then she got under the covers and placed her head on his shoulder. “And you have thereby proved once again that you are a finer, better person than I am.”
“Marlene, if I even suspect that you are using that tape in violation of the laws of New York state, I will throw your ass in jail.”
“What, this ass?” she said, wriggling same against his groin.
“Yes, this round, solid, warm, perfectly proportioned, juicy. .”
“Then you better enjoy it while you got it, buster,” she said.
In the morning, slipping into his tropical-weight suit jacket, Karp reflected that he would not be getting any more suits at cost from Chinese tailors, and then rejected the thought as unworthy. His daughter had lost far more from the Chen disaster. On the other hand, she seemed to be getting along with Marlene again. Clearly another chapter in the ever fascinating childhood of Lucy Karp was about to open. He could hardly wait.
Marlene was still in bed, groggy and warm. He bent over and mushed his face into her neck.
“No, no, not again,” she murmured.
“I’m going.”
“Like the man from Kent, for a change. Mm, you look spiffy. Big day, huh?”
“Fairly. Have you got any plans?”
“I don’t know. I thought I’d run up to Brearley and apply for a job teaching French.”
“Sounds good. You could coach the pistol team, too.”
She made a face and a nauseated sound. He said, “Let’s have lunch today.”
“What, you and me? In a restaurant?”
“Unless you prefer the cancer wagon.”
“No, but this better not be you want a divorce.”
“Nope, but it is a surprise. Meet you out front at twelve.”
Hot day, the air like taffy, white sky, New York at the start of July: not a day for a vigorous walk if you wanted to preserve any crispness. Karp hopped a cab downtown and offered the turbaned driver an absurdly large tip to make up for the mingey fare. At his desk, he called and briefed Roland Hrcany on the Leung affair, called the ADAs in charge of the cases against Little Sal Bollano, Brenda Nero, and Reginald P. Burford, and informed them that the never sleeping eye was upon them and would be upon them until these particular defendants were prosecuted to the full extent of the law, and forget any hint of a plea bargain. He called Ray Guma at home and told him that the fix was in, that he should stop worrying and return to work whenever he felt like it. He made two calls to Washington, D.C., one to the office of the U.S. attorney for the Southern District of New York and one to a private home in East Hampton, Long Island. Then he engaged himself in routine until nine-thirty, when he had an hour reserved with the district attorney.
The D.A. heard the story of Mr. Leung and the Asia Mall murders and the Catalano murder told in the disciplined, precise, logical way that it would be presented to a jury, which is how he liked to hear about a case, which is how he himself had taught Karp to do it fifteen years before. He asked no questions until Karp had finished.
“So all you have on the Catalano is this dying declaration?”
“Thus far. Of course, now that we’re looking in the right place, we should find forensic evidence linking Leung and the Vo brothers to the crime scene.”
“Will the Vo boys roll on each other?”
“I think so. We have the two of them on the kidnap charge, so they’re not going anywhere. The dead one, Kenny, was the brains of the outfit. I don’t think either of them is going to want to do the full jolt for the kidnap and get deported back to sunny Vietnam afterward. They’ll go for it.”
“Good. The homicide double, you got the dying declaration and the two girls. What about the third one, the Chen girl? She going to be a defense witness?”
“Well, I don’t think there’s any question that they’d perjure her if they thought it would do any good. But it won’t. The Chens will do what Mr. Yee tells them to do, and Mr. Yee is not in good shape right now. Detective Wu is singing his head off about Mr. Yee’s various dealings in Chinatown. So I think after I’ve got Mr. Yee to understand the position, he’ll do the right thing.”
“I presume there’s no need to bring in the Kusher angle, the Macao connection, into the Leung prosecution.”
“No, that’s a bit rich for a New York jury, and we don’t need it. We’ll establish a basis for the Chinatown murders, because juries like motives. Triad rivalries-end of story. The witnesses and the kid’s declaration are enough to sink him.”