I nod. “Dominic, I just want you to confirm what I believe. We both know there’s nothing I can do about it legally, so I give you my word it won’t leave this room. I just have to know for sure.”
He sits down at his desk. “I’m listening.”
I lay it out for him. “You came to believe that Daniel had Linda Padilla killed, and maybe he did . . . I don’t think so, but I don’t know for sure. You wanted him dead, but you had promised me your help if I kept your name out of the trial. When I did so, you sent me Eddie as a witness, but that blew up in my face. To make good on your promise, you made sure I won my case by having another murder committed.”
“Andy . . . ,” he says, but I’m almost finished, so I continue.
“Once I had my victory, you got your revenge on Daniel for Linda Padilla’s death.”
He shakes his head in apparent sadness and looks at Driver, who mimics the shake. “Andy, you believe I would have an innocent woman murdered for no other reason than to let you win your case?”
I nod. “I do.”
“You are entirely wrong. About everything. I would not and did not have that woman murdered, I doubt very much that your client had anything to do with Linda’s death, and I did not have him killed. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . .”
“I don’t believe you,” I say, and immediately regret it.
“You flatter yourself,” he says. “You are not important enough to lie to.”
“Then tell me the truth. All of it. Please.”
He considers this for a few moments, then, “I’ll tell you what I know and what I believe. And if any of it is spoken outside this room, you will long for a death as quick and painless as your client’s.”
There isn’t much to say to that, so I just wait.
“Tommy Lassiter killed Linda and the other women. I believe he was out for revenge against your client, which is why he framed him. I also believe he shot and killed him.”
“So Linda Padilla was randomly picked like the others? She was in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
He shakes his head. “No, she was killed because Lassiter knew how much I valued her friendship. He killed her to hurt me . . . to show he could.”
I understand this completely; he also shot me with the paint ball on the street simply to show he could. But there is much I don’t understand. “Why would Lassiter commit that other murder, the one that got Daniel set free?”
Dominic shrugs. “I have no idea. He’s not the most stable of men.”
“And why would he want revenge against Daniel?”
“Daniel,” he says, pronouncing the name with distaste, “hired Lassiter to kill his wife and make it appear as if someone else committed the murder. The man Lassiter framed turned out to have an alibi that Lassiter failed to anticipate, and the case fell apart. Daniel was dissatisfied and withheld some of the payment.” He shakes his head. “Not a smart thing to do.”
My mind is spinning, a fairly common occurrence these days. I believe Dominic; he would have no reason to lie to me. He is saying that my client, Daniel, was a murderer all along, though he was not guilty of the crime for which he was on trial. He arranged for the murder of his wife in a business transaction and then was stupid enough to renege when it came time to pay up.
The more I think about it, the more incredulous I get. “Lassiter killed five women, strangled them and cut off their hands, to get revenge against someone who didn’t pay him enough money? That’s what this was all about? Money?”
Dominic smiles a slight smile. “That’s all it’s ever about.”
• • • • •
LOGIC TAKES A BUM RAP. It is the way I live my life. I probably ask myself the question “Is it logical?” more often than I ask, “Is it right?” Because logic is almost always right, and as far as I’m concerned, it should be the primary basis for human behavior.
Yet I am often told that I am “too logical” by people who don’t understand that there is no such thing. Those people worship emotion and passion, and that’s fine. Their mistake is in thinking that such feelings are inconsistent with logic, when in fact they should be using logic to drive that fire within them. If you’re desperately, passionately in love with a woman, you don’t win her over by picking your nose. It wouldn’t be logical.
I guess that’s one of the reasons I’m so disconcerted by what I’ve been through these past few months. I’ve been trying to apply logic in order to figure it out, when all along it’s been a madman calling the shots. People have been literally dying all around me while I have been figuratively hunched over my desk, trying to apply logical theorems to the work of a vicious psycho.
Lassiter was angry because Daniel reneged on a deal, and he wanted revenge. So far it makes sense. But then he went out and killed five women and got Daniel on and off a legal hook, before killing Daniel himself. Why go to all that trouble? Why not just go out and kill Daniel in the first place? There is just no logical answer.
It’s been three days since my conversation with Dominic Petrone. I’ve shared what he said with Laurie, and while she couldn’t provide any real insight as to Lassiter’s behavior, she was less surprised by it. I suppose that comes from her years on the police force, during which she dealt with an unending list of villainous screwballs.
I also told Pete Stanton about the Petrone conversation. I value his advice, and I can trust him to keep it to himself. He was so interested to hear what I had to say that he didn’t make me take him to an expensive restaurant to say it.
I call Vince every day, but he’s still pretty much in a fog. He’s not ready to go back to the newspaper and says he doubts whether he ever will. I know it’s going to take him time to bounce back, and I’m frustrated that I’m powerless to speed up the process.
I’ve decided against sharing Petrone’s revelations with Vince. I know he has a right to know, but right now I just can’t see myself telling him that his son murdered his daughter-in-law. Maybe I’m looking for an excuse, but I know he wouldn’t believe it anyway; he would assume that Petrone had some reason to lie. Since he knows Petrone, he also might confront him about it, thus demonstrating that I revealed what Petrone told me, despite his warning not to. It could result in my untimely and very painful death, which would complicate matters greatly.
I haven’t been in the office since Daniel’s death; what little productive time I’ve spent has been at the foundation. There’s something comforting about taking care of those dogs. They absolutely need me to provide food and shelter and comfort and life, and I know exactly how to provide them. It’s all very logical.
I’ve also gotten to spend a lot more time with Tara, which is always good. We go on extended walks in the park, just like the one we’re on now. Tara seems to appreciate the world more than I do; each bend in the path provides new sights and especially smells that captivate her. I both admire and envy this.
We are passing the Little League fields, a place that holds countless pleasant memories for me, when my cell phone rings. It is an unwelcome intrusion, and I’m sorry I brought it with me. I see on the caller ID display that it is Vince calling.
His voice is crisper, more alert, and his message is to the point. “They found Tommy Lassiter.”
I’m very pleased to hear this, but my primary reaction is surprise. I had become convinced that Lassiter would never get caught, and I also assumed he was long out of this area.
“Where was he?” I ask.
“In a motel on Route 4.”
“Is he talking?”
“I doubt it,” Vince says. “He’s been dead for three days. Shot in the head. The maid saw the Do Not Disturb sign on the door, but the place started to stink, so she decided to disturb.”