With great care, so as not to destroy any latent prints, Tully and Koznicki studied the sheets of paper. Clearly, the whole constituted a position statement, an overture toward peace on the part of the Tony Wayne faction.
Whoever had ripped the papers from Freddy’s hands must have glanced through them and, finding nothing of consequence, discarded them. That was a mistake. And if the killer’s prints could be found, it would be a mistake compounded.
Koznicki gingerly handed the papers to one of the police technicians who had just arrived. To aid the techs in a projected search for identities, Tully enumerated at least fifteen of the Kingfish’s top hoods. Both Tully and Koznicki simply assumed that these killers belonged to the Kingfish gang.
For Koznicki and Tully, it was respect at first sight.
Tully wanted to follow this investigation through, and he was invited in by Koznicki.
It proved to be one of those cases when everything worked in favor of the good guys. On the sheets of paper that had been cast aside, three sets of prints were found: those of Fred Wayne, his secretary, and Juahn Carter, the Kingfish’s right-hand man.
Carter was easily located and picked up. No credible way could he explain away those prints.
Sergeant Koznicki, with Alonzo Tully sitting in, explained with seeming concern Carter’s options. He could remain silent and take the fall. In which case he would most certainly be convicted and sentenced to life in prison with no possibility of parole. In which case, additionally, Mad Anthony most assuredly would put out a contract for his son’s killer. The life sentence would thus be considerably abbreviated-by execution.
Or he could cooperate with the police and implicate everyone who had participated in this massacre, including the one who masterminded it-the Kingfish. No deal without the Kingfish.
At that point, Koznicki left the room so that Tully, with the same degree of consideration that Koznicki had shown, could explain, in as many ways as possible, these options, over and over again.
It required many and assorted explanations to get through to Carter the value of fingering the Kingfish. Carter was only too aware of the Kingfish’s talent for torture before execution. In comparison, prison seemed a downright pleasant choice. Tully reminded Carter that Mad Anthony’s men would be waiting in Jackson-and there was little the authorities could do about that.
On the other hand, for his cooperation with the police and the prosecuting attorney’s office, a deal might be worked out whereby Carter could vanish from the scene and surface elsewhere to live to a ripe old age in peace and freedom.
Understandably, Carter’s confidence in the law’s ability to protect him needed much reinforcement. The very name of the Kingfish was enough to send shudders up and down Carter’s spine.
Finally, with the encouragement of a near-exhausted Patrolman Tully, Carter saw the wisdom of the police offer. Carter sang beautifully, giving the prosecutor’s office seven convictions of first degree murder. The Kingfish himself was the eighth.
The conclusion to this affair:
Malcolm Ali, a.k.a. the Kingfish, was sentenced to life without parole. He lived in relative peace in Jackson Prison for almost a year. That lull led the authorities to believe that the Kingfish might live many more years in captivity. As a result, they relaxed their guard … and the Kingfish was found eviscerated with a homemade knife.
In much the same way, nine years prior, that Walt Koznicki had been inducted into the elite Homicide Division, Koznicki now became rabbi for Alonzo Tully, who promptly became “Zoo” to his fellow detectives.
Tony Wayne exacted revenge for his son’s murder. And, gathering power steadily, Mad Anthony waited for what he foresaw as the Taming of the Mafia. Eventually he became Numero Uno of metropolitan Detroit’s crime arena.
Finally, although Tony Wayne well knew who had murdered his son, he was appreciative to the young officer who had pursued the investigation so professionally instead of writing it off, thankful that the gangs were wiping each other out.
In effect, Tully had inadvertently set up the Kingfish by getting him convicted. In any event, Wayne would have gotten the Kingfish; it was just made easier when the law put him in a cage. Two reasons for feeling obligated to Alonzo Tully.
So, after Kingfish’s trial and conviction but well before his execution, Mad Anthony arranged a clandestine meeting with Tully. In an emotionless tone, Wayne thanked Tully. Wayne laconically declared himself in debt to Tully. Mad Anthony owed Zoo Tully one-one very big favor.
Wisely, Tully had not cashed in his premium, then or thereafter.
But now Tully was walking the streets of Detroit, intent on finding out if the debt was still on the counter and collectible.
CHAPTER TWENTY — ONE
The office-and-business directory listed Metro Development on the second floor.
The title did nothing to explain what sort of business Metro Development was. It wasn’t supposed to; Metro Development did whatever Mad Anthony Wayne wanted it to do. And the business it did change, sometimes by the hour.
The attractive receptionist smiled when Lieutenant Tully asked to see Mr. Wayne. The smile said, Thank you for dropping by but you’ve got a snowball’s chance in hell of seeing Tony Wayne.
Tully returned the smile and showed the receptionist his badge. That helped. Tully gave his name, rank, and position in the Homicide Division. That helped more. Still, no entree, merely a phone check with someone with more clout. Tully was invited, sweetly, to take a seat and someone would be here shortly.
Ten minutes later, a man who did not fit the adverb “shortly” appeared. He was one of the largest men Tully had ever seen.
“Come this way, please.”
It can speak-and politely-Tully noted.
Even though he was quite good at this sort of thing, Tully would have had trouble retracing their route. As near as he could make out, the journey through the Millender Center, from office to residential suite, was a series of going down to go up and vice versa.
Finally, they were in the luxury suite of Tony Wayne. Due mostly to the back-lighting from the windows, Tully did not immediately recognize the figure behind the king-size desk-until the figure stood and stepped forward.
In the past twenty-five years, Tully had seen Wayne’s photo likeness in newspapers, magazines, and on television with irregular frequency. He had seen the mobster fleetingly in person a few times. But this was the first time in all these years that Tully had the opportunity to study the man.
Mad Anthony seemed shorter than Tully had remembered him. Wayne stood about five-feet-seven or — eight. His salt-and-pepper hair was wavy and tight to his scalp. He was trim and moved smoothly. His complexion, just as Tully remembered it, was swarthy. Whether that was its natural shade or the result of overexposure to the sun, Tully could not say.
Most interesting was Wayne’s expression. It was totally ambiguous. Was Wayne happy to receive his visitor, or was he about to explode with mad fury?
The gigantic guard stood just inside the door, almost leaning against it in an at-ease stance.
Wayne stopped several feet short of Tully. “It’s Lieutenant Tully now, isn’t it?”
“The department would be embarrassed if I was still a patrolman.”
There was that enigmatic look again. Did Wayne see the humor in Tully’s statement?
“Come, sit down.” Wayne gestured toward a padded straight-back chair in front of the desk. Tully seated himself, and Wayne returned to his high-back chair. “It’s been a long while.…” Wayne paused. “Twenty-five years.”
Tully nodded. “Twenty-five years. You remember?”
“Like it was yesterday. Even now there’s an emptiness in my heart. Freddie was a good boy.” Wayne pinched the bridge of his nose. To forestall a tear?
Yes, a good boy, thought Tully. If his son had lived, Mad Anthony probably would be considering retirement so that Freddie could take over “the business.”
“I remember too,” Wayne said, “you performed a service for me then.”
“It wasn’t that much,” Tully stated in all honesty. “I did my job.”
“True. But we didn’t expect it. Hell, we thought the cops’d be glad to get rid of us.” Was there a hint of emotion on his face? “You almost make a guy respect the law.” He gazed at Tully thoughtfully. “Anyway, you treated Freddie with dignity … like a person who’d been wronged. I don’t forget that.”
“That’s why I’ve come.”
“I thought as much.”
Tully shifted in his chair and inched forward. “Twenty-five years ago you offered me a favor.”
Wayne waved his hand. “It’s been an uncashed check all these years. Is this the time?”
“You know of the murder of the Mexican bishop?”
“He was a fool.”
“A fool?”
“All that money … there for the taking.”
“You knew?”
“Hell, everyone knew. It was just a matter of time.”
“The street’s hard to read. Something seems to be going on, but we can’t break the silence.”
Was that amusement ever so briefly on Wayne’s face? “What do you think?”
“My best guess would be … it’s not a heavyweight. That wasn’t enough bread for anybody to risk his reputation and a lucky collar. It just wasn’t enough.
“On the other hand, it wasn’t a drifter or a street punk. A guy like that would get coughed up. We’ve got some pretty reliable snitches, but they’re not talking. They’d give the guy to us if he meant nothing to anybody.”
“So …”
“So I figure somebody important is protecting the guy.”
Wayne leaned forward. “You have an excellent suspect under arrest.”
“The priest? Maybe. But I’ve got a feeling.”
“And you want the guy from the street.”
Tully nodded.
“This will clear the table for us,”
Again Tully nodded.
“You’re sure you want to spend your marker on this?” It was obvious he thought that Tully was wasting a valuable coupon.
“Yes,” Tully said firmly.
Wayne nodded curtly. “By tomorrow morning.”
“You’ll contact me?”
“Yes.” Wayne stood. Tully, taking the cue, also stood.
“Albert will show you out.”
Tully followed the giant out the door. There was no conversation. There was no intimation of any conversation.
Had he been asked, Tully would have guessed the bodyguard’s name to be Tiny. But … Albert? Not even Big Al?
The journey back to the outside world was as confusing as the trek in. However Wayne had managed it, it was a damned clever maze.
As he left the Millender, Tully glanced at the directory. Whatever business Metro Development was in, Tully knew of one product. It would be whoever the street delivered to the police tomorrow through the good offices of Metro Development.
Tully felt satisfied with his transaction. But deep down he wondered if he might have squandered a most valuable marker, as Wayne had implied.
Whatever. The die was cast. More than likely he would soon slap cuffs on the killer of Bishop Diego.