The Gods of Guilt (Mickey Haller 5) (18 page)

“Your son was supposed to get back to me. How are things up there, Sly?”

“Not too bad. I’m out of here in another eleven months.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t. I was checking on Trina.”

I didn’t believe that for a moment. It sounded like he had specifically asked Trina about me before she passed the phone over. I decided not to push it—yet.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Haller?”

“Well . . . I’m sitting here talking to Trina and I’m wondering what I’m going to be doing for you. I got the subpoena and I’m just beginning to put together the angle you’re playing for Moya. And I gotta tell you, I have a problem being made to look like a fool—especially in open court.”

“That is understandable. But sometimes when one has indeed played the fool, it is difficult to skirt the issue. You have to be prepared for the truth to come out. A man’s freedom is at stake.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

I disconnected and handed the phone back across the table to Trina.

“What did he say?” she asked.

“Nothing much at all. How much have they promised you?”

“What?”

“Come on, Trina. You’re a businesswoman. You charged me just to answer a few questions here. You must be charging something to tell that story in a depo for a judge. How much? Did they already take your statement?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t been paid anything.”

“What about this place? They get you this to keep you close?”

“No! This is my place and I want you to leave. Both of you, get out. Now!”

I glanced at Cisco. I could push it, but it was pretty clear that my eight hundred bucks were spent and she was finished talking. Whatever Fulgoni had said before the phone was handed to me had frozen her. It was time to go.

I stood up and nodded Cisco toward the door.

“Thanks for your time,” I said to Trina. “I’m sure we’ll be talking again.”

“Don’t count on it.”

We left the apartment and had to wait for the elevator. I stepped back to Trina’s door and bent forward to listen. I thought she’d make a call to someone, maybe Sly Jr. But I heard nothing.

The elevator came and we rode down. Cisco was quiet.

“What’s up, Big Man?” I asked.

“Nothing, just thinking. How did he know to call her then?”

I nodded. It was a good question. I hadn’t thought it through yet.

We left the building and walked out onto Spring Street, which was deserted except for a couple of empty patrol cars parked along the side of the PAB. It was after two a.m. and there was no sign of another human being anywhere.

“You think I was followed?” I asked.

Cisco thought about it for a moment before nodding.

“Somehow he knew we’d found her. That we were with her.”

“That’s not good.”

“I’ll get your car checked tomorrow and then put a couple Indians on you. If you have a physical tail we’ll know it soon enough.”

The associates Cisco used in countersurveillance were so adept at disappearing into the crevices that he called them Indians after the old westerns in which the Indians used to trail the wagon trains without the white settlers even knowing they were there.

“That will be good,” I said. “Thanks.”

“Where’d you park?” Cisco asked.

“Up in front of the PAB. Figured it was safe. You?”

“I’m around back here. You okay or you want an escort?”

“I’m good. See you at the staff meeting.”

“I’ll be there.”

We headed off in different directions. I looked over my shoulder three times before I made it to my car, parked in the safest spot in downtown. From there I kept an eye on the rearview mirror all the way home.

I
was the last to arrive at the loft for the staff meeting. And I was dragging. I’d hit the private stash of Patrón Silver when I’d finally gotten home just a few hours before. Between the alcohol consumption, the trip downtown to interview Trina Rafferty, and the disquiet that comes with the knowledge that you are probably being watched, I’d gotten only a couple hours of restless sleep before the alarm sounded.

I grunted a hello to the assemblage in the boardroom and went immediately to the coffee set up on the side counter. I poured half a cup, shot two Advils into my mouth, and took the scalding hot liquid down in one gulp. I then refilled and this time added milk and sugar to make it a little more palatable. That first blast had burned my throat but it helped me find my voice.

“How’s everybody today? Better than me, I hope.”

Everyone chimed in positively. I turned to find a seat and immediately noticed that Earl was at the table. For a moment I forgot why and then remembered that I had indeed invited him to join the inner circle the day before.

“Oh, everybody, I invited Earl to join us. He’s going to take a more active role in some of the work, from the standpoint of investigations and interviews. He’ll still be driving the Lincoln, but he’s got other skills and I intend to exploit them to the benefit of our clients.”

I nodded to Earl and as I did so realized I had not mentioned his elevation to Cisco. Still, Cisco showed no surprise, and I realized I had obviously been helped out there by Lorna, who had kept her husband informed, where I had failed.

I pulled out a chair at the end of the table and sat down, noticing the small black electronic device with three green blinking lights at the center of the table.

“Mickey, you don’t want a doughnut?” Lorna asked. “It looks like you should put something in your stomach.”

“No, not right now,” I said. “What is that?”

I pointed at the device. It was a rectangular black box about the size of an iPhone, only an inch thick. And it had three separate stub antennas sticking out of one end.

Cisco answered.

“I was just telling everyone, that’s a Paquin seven thousand blocker. Stops all transmissions by Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, and radio wave. No one will hear what we say in this room outside of these walls.”

“Did you find a bug?”

“With one of these things you don’t even have to look. That’s the beauty of it.”

“What about the Lincoln?”

“I have some guys looking at it out back right now. They were waiting for you to arrive. I’ll let you know as soon as I know.”

I reached into my pocket for the keys.

“They don’t need your keys,” Cisco said.

Of course not, I realized. They’re pros. I took the keys out anyway, put them on the table and slid them down to Earl. He’d be driving the rest of the day.

“Okay, well, let’s get started. I’m sorry I’m late. Long night. I know that’s not an excuse but . . .”

I braced myself with another slug of coffee and this time it went down easier and I began to feel it take hold of my bloodstream. I looked at the faces around the table and got down to it.

Pointing to the Paquin 7000, I said, “Sorry for all the secret-agent stuff but I think precautions are necessary. We had some significant developments yesterday and last night and I wanted everybody to be here and to be made aware of what’s happening.”

As if to underline the seriousness of my opening statement, a power chord from an electric guitar echoed through the ceiling and stopped me cold. All of us looked up at the ceiling. It had sounded like the opening chord tab of
A Hard Day’s Night
—the coincidence was not lost on me.

“I thought the Beatles were broken up,” I said.

“They are,” Lorna said. “And we were promised no band practice in the mornings.”

Another chord was strummed and then followed by some improvisational noodling. Somebody pumped a hi-hat on a drum kit and the clash of cymbals almost loosened my fillings.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “Shouldn’t those guys be hungover or asleep? I know I wish I was still in bed.”

“I’ll go up,” Lorna said. “This makes me really angry.”

“No. Cisco, you go up. You already know the update. I want Lorna to hear it and you might get better results up there.”

“On it.”

Cisco left the room and headed upstairs. It was one of the few times I was pleased that he had worn a T-shirt to work, exposing his impressive biceps and intimidating tattoos. The T-shirt celebrated the one hundred tenth anniversary of Harley-Davidson motorcycles. I thought that might help get the message across as well.

To the rhythm of a bass drum from above, I began updating the others, starting with the subpoena Valenzuela laid on me the morning before and then moving through the happenings of the rest of the day. About halfway through, a terrific crash was heard from above as Cisco put an end to band practice. I finished my story by recounting the late-night meeting with Trina Trixxx and the conclusion prompted by Fulgoni’s call from prison that I was under surveillance.

Nobody asked any questions along the way, though Jennifer took some notes. I didn’t know if the silence was a testament to the early hour, the implied threat that surveillance meant to all of us, or my fully engaging skill as a storyteller. There was also the possibility that I had simply lost everyone on one of the turns of the convoluted tale I was spinning.

Cisco reentered the room, looking none the worse for wear. He took his seat and nodded to me. Problem solved.

I looked at the others.

“Questions?”

Jennifer raised her pen as though she were still in school.

“I actually have a few,” she said. “First of all, you said that Sylvester Fulgoni Sr. called you from the prison in Victorville at two in the morning. How is that possible? I don’t think they give inmates access to—”

“They don’t,” I said. “The number was blocked but I’m sure it was a cell phone. Smuggled in to him or given to him by a guard.”

“Couldn’t that be traced?”

“Not really. Not if it was a burner.”

“A burner?”

“A throwaway phone—bought with no names attached. Look, we’re getting off the subject here. Suffice it to say it was Fulgoni and he called me from prison, where someone had obviously reached out to him to inform him that I was speaking at that moment to his star witness Trina Trixxx. That’s the salient point. Not that Sly Fulgoni has a phone up there, but that he knows the moves we’re making. What’s your next question?”

She checked her notes before asking it.

“Well, before yesterday we had two separate things going. We had the La Cosse case and then we had this other thing with Moya that we thought was separate but might be useful to bring in as part of a possible straw man defense for La Cosse. But now, if I’m following you correctly, we’re talking about these two things being one case.”

I nodded.

“Yes, that’s what I’m saying. This is all one case now. What links it for us is obviously Gloria Dayton. But the key thing here is Lankford. He was following Gloria the night of the murder.”

“So La Cosse, he was set up all along,” Earl said.

I nodded again.

“Right.”

“And this isn’t just an angle we’re playing or a strategy,” Jennifer said. “We’re saying this is now our case.”

“Right again.”

I looked around. Three walls of the boardroom were glass. But there was one wall of old Chicago brick.

“Lorna, we need a whiteboard for that wall. I wish we could diagram this. It would make it easier.”

“I’ll get one,” Lorna said.

“And get the locks changed on this place. Also I want two cameras. One on the door, one on this room. When we go to trial, this is going to be ground zero, and I want it safe and secure.”

“I can put a guy on the place—twenty-four-seven,” Cisco said. “Might be worth it.”

“And what money do we use to pay for all of this?” Lorna asked.

“Hold off on the guy, Cisco,” I said. “Maybe when we get to trial. For now we’ll go with just locks and cameras.”

I then leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“It’s all one case now,” I said again. “And so we need to take it apart and look at all of the pieces. Eight years ago I was manipulated. I handled a case and made moves I believed were of my own design. But they weren’t, and I’m not going to let that happen again here.”

I sat back and waited for comment but I got only silent stares. I saw Cisco look over my shoulder and through the glass door behind me. He started to get up. I turned around. Across the loft there was a man standing by the front door. He was actually bigger than Cisco.

“One of my guys,” Cisco said as he left the boardroom.

I turned and looked back at the others.

“If this was a movie, that guy’s name would be Tiny.”

The others laughed. I got up to refill my coffee and by the time I returned, Cisco was coming back to the boardroom. I stayed standing and awaited the verdict. Cisco poked his head through the door but didn’t come in.

“The Lincoln’s been jacked,” he said. “Do you want them to take it out? We could find a place for it. Maybe a FedEx truck would be good—keep them running around.”

By “jacked” he meant LoJacked, a reference to an anti-theft tracking system. But in this case he was telling me somebody had crawled underneath my car and attached a GPS tracker.

“What does that mean?” Aronson asked.

While Cisco explained what I already knew, I thought about the question of whether to remove the device or leave it in place and possibly find a way of making it work to my advantage against whoever was monitoring my movements. A FedEx truck would keep them running in circles but it would also tip our hand and let them know we were onto them.

“Leave it in place,” I said when Cisco finished his explanation to the others. “For now, at least. It might come in handy.”

“Keep in mind it could be just a backup,” Cisco cautioned. “You still could have a live tail. I’ll keep the Indians up on the cliffs a couple days, just to see.”

“Sounds good.”

He turned in the doorway and signaled to his man with a flat hand, as if running it along the surface of a table. Status quo, leave the tracker in place. The man pointed at Cisco—message understood—and walked through the door. Cisco returned to the table, pointing to the Paquin 7000 as he went.

“Sorry. He couldn’t get a call in to me because of the blocker.”