“What a place for a mad sniper!” Tranquillini exclaimed. He raised an imaginary rifle to squeeze off a series of imaginary rounds at the zipping autos.
“The world lost a great mass murderer when you passed the bar,” said Giselle.
“Gimme time, sister,” he said breathily in his best Al Capone manner. “I might make it yet.”
“Only with your bills for service,” said Kearny. He turned to Ballard. “So Donna Payne wasn’t working that Friday afternoon?”
“Not after five o’clock. Simson might have been, but—”
“How can she pin it down so exactly?”
“She and Simson split late Fridays by the month. But Kathy didn’t always keep the collector on duty after five-thirty.”
“Giselle told me no state investigators had been around to the Oakland office asking questions, but I want you to get hold of Payne again and ask her if the State Licensing Bureau has—”
“It hasn’t.”
“You asked?” Kearny was surprised.
“It bothered me that they had talked with the wrong Jeffrey L. Simson out there at the motel in San Bruno.”
“You think she’s straight?” asked Tranquillini.
“Sure. She’s shacking up with a bartender out of Reno who’s working down here now. They’re going back to Nevada next month.”
Kearny said, “Bart?”
Heslip told them about his talk with Verna’s brother Sammy.
“You gave a fourteen-year-old kid cigarettes? And drank wine with him?” demanded Giselle, a bit outraged.
“His mammy lost him long ago,” said Heslip indifferently, “she just doesn’t know it yet. Big sis showed him the way last November when she quit DKA. A pimp calling himself Johnny Mack Brown turned her out just three days later. A week after she left DKA she was hustling commuters out of a MacArthur Boulevard motel called the Bide-A-Wee. But sometime in December something happened and she dropped out of sight. Sammy didn’t know what, but—”
“You got all this from the kid?”
“Him, and from the manager of the Bide-A-Wee. The pimp disappeared around then too.”
“How’d you get the manager to open up?” asked Tranquillini.
“You don’t want to know.” Heslip turned to Kearny. “You want me to keep after her, or...”
Kearny looked at Tranquillini. “Hec?”
“Couldn’t hurt. We need an eyewitness, bad.”
“Okay,” said Kearny. “Stay with it. Larry, Simson is starting to look damn important. And we want to hear Rose Kelly’s version of things too.”
Nine
When Heslip and Ballard had departed, Kearny said, “I had a session with Wayne Hawkley this morning.”
Tranquillini made a disapproving face. “That’s one very slippery dude, Dan.”
“I wanted to see whether he was behind the State’s move.”
“Is he?”
“He says not.”
Kearny related his conversation with Hawkley, omitting all reference to blowing the whistle on Flip Fazzino to the attorney — and thus to the organized-crime people for whom he fronted. He did tell of the letter Hawkley had mentioned. This bothered Tranquillini.
“If the state produces that letter at the hearing on Monday, with Kathy’s signature on it, and the letter states that she took the money on trust rather than as payment, we’re in big trouble,” said the attorney. “Their position then will be that Pivarski gave Kathy a copy of the letter, and she destroyed it. Or you did.” He slammed a fisted hand against the open palm of his other hand. “Dammit, we need whoever else was in the office that day.” He fixed snapping black eyes on Kearny. “You’re sure Hawkley doesn’t plan to be there Monday? Or Franks or Pivarski?”
“That’s what the man says.”
Tranquillini, scowling, started to pace the porch as if it were his office, his head lowered and thrust slightly forward, his hands clasped behind his back. Like Napoleon on St. Helena, thought Giselle. She wondered if it was a pose common to short men.
Tranquillini stopped abruptly. “It’s damn risky, but I want you to call Johnny Delaney and ask him what Greenly said up at the Licensing Bureau about DKA paying off Pivarski and Franks, his attorney.”
“Dangerous?” asked Giselle.
“Delaney tried to feed me a ration of crap about it being a routine disciplinary procedure, but he’s the best trial lawyer the state attorney general’s office has. What we have going for us is that Johnny is pretty straight, and he knows I can get damn mean.” He was stating a fact, not boasting. “If they’ve got that letter with Kathy’s signature on it, they’re going to crucify us at the hearing. If Delaney says go, pay Pivarski off before they get us in front of that referee on Monday.”
“That sounds like the solution to everything!” Giselle exclaimed.
“Then why ain’t I laughing?” Tranquillini demanded morosely.
“Delaney,” said the big Irishman into the phone.
“How’s tricks, Johnny?”
“Hey, Dan!” Sunshine was in Delaney’s voice. “I’m glad you called.” He shook three Turns onto his blotter from his desk-drawer bottle. He and his wife had eaten Italian the night before — that was it, of course. “I had a chat with Tom Greenly.”
“And?” Kearny’s voice was tense.
Delaney crunched Turns silently between his teeth. “He says off the record that restitution before the hearing would make a material difference in the State’s pursuit of the revocation action.”
“Hey, that sounds great! Many thanks, Johnny.”
“Part of the job.” Delaney smothered a belch.
“How’s the boy’s Kawasaki running?”
“Like a dream.” He turned his head from the phone toward the empty doorway of his office and said, in a half-irritated voice, “What is it? I told you I didn’t want...” He let it trail off, then after a moment he said, “Oh,” and turned back to the phone. “Dan, I’ve got a call from Sacramento on the other line.”
“Sure, Johnny. And thanks again. See you Monday.” Kearny chuckled. “In court.”
Delaney hung up and gave a tremendous racking belch. He popped three more Turns, checked his watch and got his coat to head for Rocca’s for one quick one even though it was only 11:38 A.M.
Dan Kearny stabbed the off button of his phone recorder after hearing the conversation through for the third time. He frowned and chewed his lower lip. No. No slightest sound of the secretary’s voice in the background announcing Delaney’s Sacramento call. No sound of the door opening or closing.
So Delaney had been faking the other call. Whenever anyone started faking things, especially an attorney, watch out. But Hec felt that letter with Kathy’s signature, unless they could suggest it was not genuine through the testimony of whoever else had been in the office that day, put them in an untenable position. They had to go with the hope that Delaney was dealing in good faith. He punched Giselle’s extension on the phone — until a few days ago, Kathy Onoda’s extension. Hell, don’t let’s start that again, he thought.
To Giselle he said, “Draw a check for Pivarski on the DKA general account — not the trust account — in the sum of...”
Meanwhile, Heslip and Ballard had just returned with a couple of soggy footlongs from the Doggy Diner up on Van Ness. There was a call waiting for Heslip from DKA’s police informant who had been checking out the lead furnished by the wrong Jeffrey L. Simson: the right Jeffrey L. Simon had picked up so many parking violations that a warrant was out for him.