“I wonder who he’s talking to,” Audrey mused, her eyes fixed on a small bag of corn chips with a suspiciously fluorescent glow to them.
Fifteen minutes later, we trooped back into Giordi’s office, summoned by a disembodied voice over the building’s P.A. system. As we crossed the threshold, I just barely heard Audrey groan and knew right then we were in for some negotiating.
The man sitting opposite the chief of detectives wasn’t happy. He didn’t get up as we entered, didn’t offer to shake hands, and generally regarded us as if we’d just doubled his mortgage payments.
Giordi nodded in his direction as soon as we’d settled down. “This is Duncan Fasca, Lenny Markham’s contact inside the department. Given the sensitive relationship between a contact and his CI, Duncan had a few questions about your interest in Lenny.”
I glanced from Fasca to Tim and back again, picking up on Giordi’s almost stilted manner. Not only had the conversation obviously not gone well between them, but they clearly didn’t like one another in the first place. I gave Fasca an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry we stepped right into the middle of things. We had no idea Lenny had ties to the PD. We heard about him through visits he used to make to a Lawrence, Mass, guy named Norm Bouch-he’s actually the one we’re after. At first, we just wanted to find out what Lenny could tell us about Bouch, but I got to admit, it’s starting to look like he and Lenny are working together. You hear about the homicide in Brattleboro-the blood in the abandoned motel and no body?”
Fasca spoke for the first time. “What of it?”
“We’re pretty sure the dead man worked for Bouch, too-was Lenny’s Brattleboro counterpart. We think Bouch runs a juvenile drug ring using regional lieutenants.”
Fasca looked at me incredulously. “Markham’s running a dope ring? Here in town? What kind of evidence do you have?”
“Witnesses to conversations between Bouch and him,” I said vaguely. “But that’s why we want to talk to him. To nail a few things down.”
“A fishing expedition,” Fasca said. He looked at his boss. “I expose Lenny to other cops, he’ll stop working for me. Just ’cause his name came up in a conversation.”
“When you set up Lenny as a CI, you knew he was no choirboy,” Giordi answered stiffly. “Isn’t it possible he could be doing this without your knowledge?”
That put Duncan in a corner. If he said no and we proved him wrong, he’d look like an idiot. If he said yes, then all room for objection evaporated. My mention of Jasper’s homicide hadn’t been anecdotal. I’d brought it up to show that Lenny could be tied to a capital case-and that Duncan Fasca should tread carefully.
He steered for middle ground. “Maybe.”
I saw the hint of a smile appear on Jonathon’s face, which made me careful not to gloat. “Duncan, look. I know what a pain in the ass this is. But by your own admission, Lenny could be dirty, which means his time may be up anyhow. Why don’t you come on board with us and show these guys the price of playing both ends against the middle? We could go after him ourselves, but it would be a lot easier with your help.”
Fasca shook his head, his face an angry scowl. “That’s easy for you. If it turns out to be a wild-goose chase, you haven’t lost a thing. I end up with a snitch who never talks to me again. This guy’s good. He’s been real useful to me. You know that, Chief. I don’t want to be run over by a bunch of hotshots from out of town who could give a shit what they leave behind.”
“I don’t think that’s the case here,” Giordi said, his voice carrying a veiled warning.
Reluctantly, Fasca had all but conceded. “Yeah, well, like I said, easy to say.”
“You join us, you can find out for yourself,” I suggested. “If you’re interested, I’d like you in on the initial meet. You can steer the conversation yourself. That way, if we all agree we’re barking up the wrong tree, maybe you won’t lose him.”
Fasca didn’t answer immediately, but by now his resistance was purely for show. “He might not play if he knows I’m bringing someone.”
The answer to that was too obvious to mention. The room remained silent a few moments longer, until Fasca finally threw in the glove. “All right, I’m screwed either way, so I might as well go along.”
He suddenly leaned forward and stared at Tim Giordi. “But I want it known I’m doing it under protest, okay?”
Tim kept a straight face. “You got it, Duncan. Why don’t you pull what you’ve got on Lenny?” He jerked a thumb at Jonathon and me. “They’ll be wanting a full profile on him prior to any meeting. I’ll send them your way as soon as I’m through.”
Fasca heaved himself out of his chair and nodded sharply in our direction. He left without saying a word. The mood in the air instantly lightened. Jonathon raised his eyebrows at me. “You sure giving him that much clout was a good idea?”
Giordi answered for me. “He’s not much on manners, but Duncan’s a hard worker. You point him in the right direction, and he’ll chew through walls. He just has to feel he’s got some element of control. I appreciate what you did, Joe, and I think you’ll be happy with the results.”
Duncan Fasca was as good as Tim Giordi’s word. He took Jonathon, Audrey, and me to a small conference room and briefed us for over an hour on everything he knew of Lenny Markham, which, as it turned out, left ample room for Lenny to be functioning as we suspected he was. To my eyes, he was a classic hustler, working every angle, faithful to no one. Reviewing Fasca’s limited perspective on him, I thought back to the context in which we’d first heard Lenny’s name. Molly Bremmer had described him not as Norm’s trainee but more as a colleague. Given the insight I had now, I wondered if Norm had recruited Lenny, or if Lenny had smelled an opportunity. If the latter were true, then the relationship between the two of them became more complex-and possibly more dangerous.
The briefing was valuable for another reason. It allowed us to see Duncan in his element, showing off his work, sharing his insights. I could see Jonathon Michael getting used to the man and growing to accept him. He was as Giordi had described him-tenacious, persistent, and not very appealing-but he was also insightful in his way, and certainly knowledgeable about his beat. What he told us of Lenny was at least as useful for what it revealed about Burlington, which unfortunately for me resulted in a slight dampening of my admiration for the town. As eclectic and appealing as it remained, the Queen City’s tattered petticoats were now exposed, and I found them depressingly familiar.
Nevertheless, by the time Duncan Fasca finally reached for the phone and called Lenny Markham for a meeting-“one on one”-I felt I knew enough about our target to be comfortable talking with him.
The phone call didn’t last long. Both speakers were used to the routine. Duncan hung up after a couple of minutes and announced, “Flynn Theatre, tomorrow morning, ten o’clock, on the grid. He’s got a job there.”
Jon looked at him quizzically.
“The grid,” Audrey explained, surprising us all, “is like a huge metal catwalk, ’bout forty feet over the stage. It’s a good way to get around, and to see without being seen, but it’s not a place for people who don’t like heights.”
In the silence that greeted her explanation, she added, “I had a summer job at the Flynn once. It’s a beautiful old place-lots of nooks and crannies.”
“Which is probably why he chose it,” Jonathon said unhappily. “Is it safe?”
Duncan waved his concern away. “The Vermont Symphony Orchestra’ll be practicing at the same time, for Christ’s sake. It’s not like it’s the North End at midnight. He chose it ’cause he’s there anyway, and none of his cronies would be caught dead in a real theater, that’s all. He doesn’t want to blow his cover.”