"First of all, Lenny didn't make the merger happen and neither did this Big Pete asshole. I made that deal happen. Second"-he was making one last check in the mirror, straightening his tie, smoothing his hair- "I hate to tell you this, but none of this is news."
"It's not?"
"That business about the contract has been rumored for years. And I can tell you exactly how Lenny would have been involved."
"You can?"
"He's the one who was supposed to have made the payoffs, and the reason is, when Nor'easter sold, he cashed in all his stock options. Don't ask me how he got them, but he had a pile of them with really low strike prices."
"He did?"
"The guy made a fortune."
"So Lenny is part of this after all."
"I didn't say that. I said it's been rumored. No one has ever proved anything."
"The proof is in the package," I said, connecting the dots.
"What package?"
"Do you know who Dickie Flynn was?"
"The drunk who used to run your station."
"He died last year, but before he did, he sent Ellen a packet of material that he'd hidden in the ceiling of the men's locker room at the airport. I think it was a surveillance tape from the ramp, but whatever it was, I'm beginning to think she was killed for it."
"Why didn't the police find any of this?"
"No one in this Boston operation ever has or ever will talk to the police. But I've got a source, a guy I've been talking to down on the ramp."
"How do you know he's not twisting you around for fun?"
"He's not. I know he's not. He's the one who went and got the package for Ellen."
"Does he have it?"
"Nobody has it. We think Ellen may have stashed it-"
"Who's 'we'?"
"Dan and I, Dan Fallacaro. We haven't been able to find it yet. One thing I know is, we're not the only ones looking. Someone ransacked my hotel room, and it's pretty clear they were looking for Dickie's package."
"What?"
"That was the night I called and left you the message. I think it was Little Pete."
"You're just telling me about this? Did you tell Corporate Security? I can call Ted Gutekunst right now-"
"I told them, I told the police, I changed hotels, and I've calmed down a lot."
He walked over to the bed, hands in his pockets, looking as if he was ready to handle the situation right then and there. "I'm not sure you should be calm about this."
"I think I can find the package," I said, "this surveillance video. It would help you get rid of Lenny, wouldn't it?"
"Maybe, but-"
"Even if Lenny had nothing to do with any of this, he was guilty of not backing Ellen up. This is a hard job, and when she needed help he wasn't there. I suspect he may have even been working against her, which I can't understand because they were sleeping together. Maybe they had some kind of a falling-out."
"How did you know they were sleeping together?"
I looked at him. "How did you?"
"I asked Lenny."
"And he confirmed it?"
"He denied it, which is all I needed to hear. He has a reputation for that sort of thing."
"Then I'll ask you again, why is he still here?"
"Look," he said, "I'm beginning to think we put Ellen in a job she couldn't handle to begin with, and that Lenny put too much pressure on her and made a tough situation worse by getting personally involved with her. He created an environment where she couldn't succeed. He's going to answer for it, don't worry. But in the end when she couldn't handle it, she made the final choice, not Lenny. And if she was involved with him, she made that choice, too. If I tried to police all the affairs in this company, illicit and otherwise, I'd never get anything else done."
"That's a cop-out, Bill."
"Did you know Ellen Shepard?"
"No, but-"
"I did. She was on my merger task force, and I can tell you this-she was more fragile than people think. And high-strung."
"That doesn't mean-"
"I knew her, Alex. And I know you. You can't save Ellen Shepard. It's too late. Don't let this thing be more about you than it is about her. You do that sometimes and you know it. I have whole squads of people who are trained for work like this. There's no reason for you to be involved. I don't want you to be. It's not good for you and it worries me." His attention wandered to the clock on the nightstand. "Alex, I have to get ready for this call. I'm sorry. We can talk more later. We should talk more about this." He disappeared into the next room.
I found one of the hotel's thick white robes hanging on the back of the bathroom door. It wrapped around me one and a half times, but it did what I needed. He was out in the sitting area sorting through his briefcase.
"I need just a couple more minutes," I pleaded. "I promise."
He checked his watch again. "Well, they won't start without me, that's for sure. It might even be a good negotiating strategy to be a little late. Go ahead."
"I need your help on one thing, Bill." I told him the tale of Little Pete and Terry McTavish.
"You say you have a source?" he asked.
"It's the same one I told you about before. He's a ramper and he's as close to Terry as you can get. He's not intimidated by the powers that be in the union. He's a good man. I trust him."
"What about this Little Pete person? What are we doing about him?"
"I heard on my way out tonight that Lenny's already brought him back to work."
He didn't say it, but Lenny was in for a bad day. "Can you nail him again?"
"We plan to make it a priority. Guys like him always give you another chance."
"So you want this McTavish kid to have his Job back?"
"He doesn't deserve to be fired."
"Done."
"Thank you," I said, "and I'm not finished talking to you about Ellen."
"You can talk all you want," he said, picking up the phone. "Just don't do anything that might get you hurt. Please."
After a night at the Four Seasons, my own hotel seemed alarmingly inadequate when I went back to change. As I passed the front desk, I picked up my messages. The first one said, "Where are you?" Dan had wanted to know at eight-thirty and again at nine-fifteen last night. But the message from Molly was the one that made me sorry to be running so late. "Re: Crescent Security," it said, "You're not going to believe this."
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Dan savored the last of his fried potato skins. Stuffed to overflowing with sour cream and bacon, the skins made up one-third of the deceptively named Fisherman's Platter. The other two-thirds were fried onions and nachos. The cholesterol extravaganza was his typical order at The Lobster Pot, a cheesy, overpriced airport restaurant and our usual luncheon venue at the Majestic terminal.
He noticed me staring. "What?"
"Does the word angioplasty mean anything to you?"
"Don't start with me, Shanahan." He licked the sour cream off his finger. "This is one of the few pleasures I have left in my life."
The waitress slapped the check on our table while she was yelling something to the bartender. They knew us at The Lobster Pot, knew they didn't have to waste any service on a captive audience.
"What did you want to talk about, boss?"
I looked again around the restaurant, checking the bar and all the corners. "You haven't seen Lenny, have you?"
"Lenny wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this. Besides, I think Scanlon has him running around on something. He hasn't been here much."
I gave silent thanks to Bill. I hadn't even thought to ask him for a Lenny distraction. I scooted my chair around until I was right next to Dan. "Crescent Security," I said, "I know what it is."
"And you waited all the way through lunch to tell me?"
"I waited until Victor and his cronies left. They were sitting two tables over."