Mark looked without touching it. “No. Who is it?”
“It’s Barry Muldanno.”
“That’s not the man who grabbed me. I guess he’s got a lot of friends.”
She placed the copy in the stack on the coffee table, and patted him on the leg.
“What’re you gonna do?” he asked.
“Make a few calls. I’ll talk to the administrator of the hospital and arrange security around Ricky’s room.”
“You can’t tell him about this guy, Reggie. They’ll kill us. We can’t tell anybody.”
“I won’t. I’ll explain to the hospital that there have been some threats. It’s routine in criminal cases. They’ll place a few guards on the ninth floor around the room.”
“I don’t want to tell Mom either. She’s stressed out with Ricky, and she’s taking pills to sleep and pills to do this and that, and I just don’t think she can handle this right now.”
“You’re right.” He was a tough little kid, raised on the streets and wise beyond his years. She admired his courage.
“Do you think Mom and Ricky are safe?”
“Of course. These men are professionals, Mark. They won’t do anything stupid. They’ll lay low and listen. They may be bluffing.” She did not sound sincere.
“No, they’re not bluffing. I saw the knife, Reggie. They’re here in Memphis for one reason, and that’s to scare the hell out of me. And it’s working. I ain’t talking.”
15
Foltrigg yelled only once, then stormed from the office making threats and slamming the door. McThune and Trumann were frustrated, but also embarrassed at his antics. As they left, McThune rolled his eyes at Clint as if he wanted to apologize for this pompous loudmouth. Clint relished the moment, and when the dust settled he walked to Reggie’s office.
Mark had pulled a chair to the window, and sat watching it rain on the street and sidewalk below. Reggie was on the phone with the hospital administrator discussing security on the ninth floor. She covered the phone, and Clint whispered that they were gone. He left to get more cocoa for Mark, who never moved.
Within minutes, Clint took a call from George Ord, and he buzzed Reggie on the intercom. She’d never met the U.S. attorney from Memphis, but was not surprised that he was now on the phone. She allowed him to hold for one full minute, then picked up the phone. “Hello.”
“Ms. Love, this is—”
“It’s Reggie, okay. Just Reggie. And you’re George, right?” She called everyone by their first name, even stuffy judges in their proper little courtrooms.
“Right, Reggie. This is George Ord. Roy Foltrigg is in my office, and—”
“What a coincidence. He just left mine.”
“Yeah, and that’s why I’m calling. He didn’t get a chance to talk to you and your client.”
“Give him my apologies. My client has nothing to say to him.” She was talking and looking at the back of Mark’s head. If he were listening, she couldn’t tell. He was frozen in the chair at the window.
“Reggie, I think it would be wise if you at least meet with Mr. Foltrigg again.”
“I have no desire to meet with Roy, nor does my client.” She could picture Ord speaking gravely into the phone with Foltrigg pacing around the office waving his arms.
“Well, this will not be the end of it, you know?”
“Is that a threat, George?”
“It’s more of a promise.”
“Fine. You tell Roy and his boys that if anyone attempts to contact my client or his family I’ll have their asses. Okay, George?”
“I’ll relay the message.”
It was really sort of funny — it was not, after all, his case — but Ord could not laugh. He returned the receiver to its place, smiled to himself, and said, “She says she ain’t talking, the kid ain’t talking, and if you or anyone else contacts the kid or his family she’ll, uh, have your asses, as she put it.”
Foltrigg bit his lip and nodded at every word as if this were fine because he could play hardball with the best of them. He had regained his composure and was already implementing Plan B. He paced around the office as if in deep thought. McThune and Trumann stood by the door like sentries. Bored sentries.
“I want the kid followed, okay?” Foltrigg finally snapped at McThune. “We’re leaving for New Orleans, and I want you guys to tail him twenty-four hours a day. I want to know what he does, and, more importantly, he needs to be protected from Muldanno and his henchmen.”
McThune did not take orders from any U.S. attorney, and at this moment he was sick of Roy Foltrigg. And the idea of using three or four overworked agents to follow an eleven-year-old kid was quite stupid. But, it was not worth the fight. Foltrigg had a hot line to Director Voyles in Washington, and Director Voyles wanted the body and he wanted a conviction almost as bad as Foltrigg did.
“Okay,” he said. “We’ll get it done.”
“Paul Gronke’s already here somewhere,” Foltrigg said as though he’d just heard fresh gossip. They knew the flight number and his time of arrival eleven hours ago. They had, however, managed to lose his trail once he left the Memphis airport. They had discussed it with Ord and Foltrigg and a dozen other FBI agents for two hours this morning. At this very moment, no less than eight agents were trying to find Gronke in Memphis.
“We’ll find him,” McThune said. “And we’ll watch the kid. Why don’t you get your ass back to New Orleans.”
“I’ll get the van ready,” Trumann said officially as if the van were in fact Air Force One.
Foltrigg stopped pacing in front of Ord’s desk. “We’re leaving, George. Sorry for the intrusion. I’ll probably be back in a couple of days.”
What wonderful news, Ord thought. He stood, and they shook hands. “Anytime,” he said. “If we can help, just call.”
“I’ll meet with Judge Lamond first thing in the morning. I’ll let you know.”
Ord offered his hand again for one final shake. Foltrigg took it and headed for the door. “Watch out for these thugs,” he advised McThune. “I don’t think he’s dumb enough to touch the kid, but who knows.” McThune opened the door and waved him through. Ord followed.
“Muldanno’s heard something,” Foltrigg continued, “and they’re just snooping around here.” He was in the outer office where Wally Boxx and Thomas Fink waited. “But keep an eye on them, okay, George? These guys are really dangerous. And follow the kid, too, and watch his lawyer. And thanks a million. I’ll call you tomorrow. Where’s the van, Wally?”
After an hour of watching the sidewalks, sipping hot cocoa, and listening to his lawyer practice law, Mark was ready for a move. Reggie had called Dianne and explained that Mark was in her office killing time and helping with the paperwork. Ricky was much better, sleeping again. He’d consumed half a gallon of ice cream while Greenway asked him a hundred questions.
At eleven, Mark parked himself at Clint’s desk and inspected the dictating equipment. Reggie had a client, a woman who desperately wanted a divorce, and they needed to plot strategy for an hour. Clint typed away on long paper and grabbed the phone every five minutes.
“How’d you become a secretary?” Mark asked, very bored with this candid view of the practice of law.
Clint turned and smiled at him. “It was an accident.”
“Did you want to be a secretary when you were a kid?”
“No. I wanted to build swimming pools.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. I got messed up on drugs, almost flunked out of high school, then went to college, then went to law school.”