“Oh, I’m sorry, Comrade Prosecutor. I thought this was America.”
“Do you hear that, Carl?” said McDeiss.
“What?”
“The ice beneath your feet starting to crack.”
“Do you know an attorney named John Sebastian,” said Slocum.
“The lead singer for the Lovin’ Spoonful?”
“The John Sebastian who is representing Derek Manley in a collection case in which you are representing a creditor named Jacopo Financing.”
“Oh, that John Sebastian,” I said, not liking the tack the conversation had suddenly taken.
“He filed a complaint against you with the Bar Association.”
“He’s a little oversensitive,” I said.
“Claimed you asked a series of improper questions for an improper motive. He included as an exhibit the deposition you took of his client. It made for some quite interesting reading, especially the part at the end about the night twenty years ago on the waterfront. Mr. Sebastian didn’t know where that information came from, but then again he wasn’t privy to your conversation with Detective McDeiss at the scene of Joseph Parma’s death. You know, Carl, don’t you, that it is improper to use privileged information from one client for the benefit of another client.”
“I can defend my conduct.”
“It looks like you may just get that chance,” said Slocum.
“Crack crack,” said McDeiss.
“In addition to your violation of the precepts of the Bar Association, it appears you have been interfering with a homicide investigation. Obstruction of justice is a felony. It is hard to practice law from a jail cell.”
“Oh please. What grounds are you inventing for that?”
“First, you’re holding back,” said McDeiss, “which pisses me off. Next, Derek Manley has disappeared. Since your improper deposition, he has vanished. Vamoosed. We have received phone logs from Parma’s apartment which bring Manley into play. We wanted to ask him some questions, but you, apparently, scared him off.”
“That’s not obstruction of justice.”
“It feels like an obstruction to me.”
“Are you talking about your investigation or your bowel. Look, I’m representing Joey Parma’s mother in a wrongful death case. As part of that representation, I am trying to find out who killed her son and it looks like you boys need all the help you can get. It’s more than two weeks after the murder and what do you have? I’ll tell you. Bupkes. You know what bupkes is?”
“Isn’t that the cake with cinnamon and raisins?” said Slocum.
“That’s bobka,” said McDeiss. “Very tasty.”
“Bupkes is goat shit,” I said.
“You guys eat that too?” said Slocum.
“We’re making progress,” said McDeiss. “We would be making more progress without your interference.”
“My interference gave you the name Tommy Greeley. My interference gave you Teddy Big Tits.”
“He admits he was owed,” said McDeiss, “but he denies killing Joey.”
“Well, that is a surprise. He denied a murder. You press him hard on that? And what about Bradley Babbage?”
McDeiss looked at Slocum, Slocum looked at McDeiss. “Who is Bradley Babbage?” said McDeiss.
“Babbage was the informant who finally took down Tommy Greeley’s drug ring. Babbage was the guy who got away with no jail time and a bundle of money. And Babbage was the guy who died of mysterious causes in his swimming pool out in Gladwyne a week or so before Joey Parma had his throat sliced. Are we seeing a pattern here, gentlemen?”
Slocum looked again at McDeiss, McDeiss shrugged. It was nice to put them back on their heels for a moment, but it didn’t last.
“You talk to Dante yet?” said Slocum
“What?”
“Manley, in the deposition, mentioned Earl Dante,” said Slocum. “I was just wondering if he got in touch with you yet.”
“Dante?”
“He will. It is why Manley mentioned Dante in the deposition, to let you know he was being protected. You ignored his gentle warning. Dante now has to let you know that he knows you ignored it. Guys like Dante, they don’t like to be ignored. It makes them look weak. He’ll get in touch and we might be able to help you when he does.”
“Thanks, but I can take care of myself.”
“We are this close to taking Dante to a grand jury. This close. And he knows it. Things are starting to get dangerous. Dante is going to make everybody pick sides. You’re either with him or with us. Being with us means you tell us when he gets in touch and anything he says to you. Anything, you understand? Being with us also means you do us small favors when we ask. Like agreeing to keep the hell away from Justice Straczynski and his wife from here on in.”
“And if I don’t?”
Slocum’s voice had been soft and controlled, but now it stretched and filled with exasperation until it rose to shake the office.
“Oh just please shut up,” he shouted. “Just shut the hell up.”
He took off his glasses, began again rubbing his eyes, the muscles in his jaw throbbed. There was a long silence and then his voice, when it came, was as slow and soft as before.
“You cannot go tromping off and badgering a Supreme Court justice. You just can’t, do you understand? He has more muscle than you can imagine. He’ll squash you like the bug you’re pretending to be. I’m trying to help you here, as a friend, and you’re acting like a damn lawyer. Just promise me you’ll stay away from him. Just promise me. Please.”
“Okay.”
Slocum took his hand from his eyes, stared at me without his glasses, his bare eyes seeming small and beady when not behind his thick lenses. “Is that all it took, just for me to yell?”
“Or maybe it was the ‘please,’ ” I said.
“So you’ll keep away from him, really?”
“Yes, really.”
“And his wife.”
“Yes, yes, yes, I’ll stay away from him and his wife.”
“I’ll tell the DA. She’ll be pleased.”
“I’m so glad. Are we through? I have dinner plans.”
“With that girl Swanson you been eating with lately?” said Slocum. “Or is tonight’s date with Stouffer’s.”
“Tonight I’m guest of honor at a Banquet.”
“Ah, the single life,” said Slocum. “I remember it well.” He put his glasses back on, leaned back in his chair, gave a nod to McDeiss.
“So, you looking for a date these days, Carl?” said McDeiss. “You in the market?”
“No.”
“Searching for someone to share those long walks in the rain.”
“Really, no.”
“Because I know a someone who’s available.”
“I’m sure your wife’s friends are very nice, Detective, but trust me when I say that I am not interested.”
“Oh I think you will be, Carl. Listen close. Seven ninety-nine Wolf Street. Apartment Three B. The name is Beverly Rodgers. Got that? Just your type, a real piece of work.”
“I’m a little busy.”
“Oh, not too busy for Bev, I’ll bet. Not for Bev. Everyone calls her Bev. And she’s a honey, yes she is. You’re lucky though to catch her now, see, because she’s back on the market. It turns out her last boyfriend had his throat slashed down on the riverfront. Funny how that is. And she’s not saying anything to the police, nothing, for some reason. But you ask me, Carl, odds are she knows something about it.”
Chapter 27
I WAS THINKING it through, what Slocum and McDeiss had just given to me, the lead I had been looking for, the name and address of Joey’s girlfriend, when I reached Spruce Street and turned toward my building. Spruce is pretty and tree-lined, a street of quaint old town houses either refurbished spectacularly for the urban rich or chopped up into apartments for the urban not-so-rich. I was very much a not-so.
In the vestibule of my building, I leaned forward, opened the lock on my mailbox, reached in for its delightful little surprises, the magazines, the catalogs, the bills, the notices of unpaid invoices, the bills. As I grabbed the bundle and pulled it from the box, something heavy landed with a thud on my shoulder, blossoming into a flower of pain and driving me to my knees.