a corrupt man-to death, but for a crime I did not know for certain, and definitely could not prove, he committed.
“Christ, you’re no better than them,” Meany said.
It was an overstatement, but it was not an inaccurate one.
After a long and awkward moment, Phyllis glanced at Jack MacGruder. She said, “Well?”
MacGruder said, “He deserves to live with his decision.”
She said, less certainly, “Do you think so?”
He replied, “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. We don’t owe him anything.”
“It will cause no harm, Jack. Morris Networks is an artifact of history at this point.”
I had no idea what she was talking about, but clearly MacGruder was your typical CIA type, secrets to the grave, tight lips save ships, and all that shit. He did not like her decision and somewhat spitefully confided, “We were tracing Morris. Phone taps, e-mail taps, you name it.” He paused, and then said, “He knew.”
“He knew?” I asked.
Phyllis said, “I’m afraid we had to fib to you and Miss Morrow the other day.” Her spindly fingers toyed with a lovely spider brooch on her collar for a moment, then she added, “In an e-mail about a month ago, Morris was informed by his contact in Grand Vistas of a serious leak that had to be plugged. That was the precise phrase, incidentally.” She then observed, “Don’t you find it peculiar the way all these criminals use plumber’s language that way?”
MacGruder said, “It was too generic to know what it meant. Only after the second death-”
And Phyllis interrupted to say, “I mentioned before that the syndicate is very sophisticated, and cautious about its communications. It would be fair to presume that the matter was discussed in more detail with Morris. Later, of course. And probably at his home in Florida.”
MacGruder explained that comment, saying, “Our FBI friends occasionally see men passing in and out who are part of the syndicate.” Another moment passed, then MacGruder said, “Really, Morris had gotten himself into a tricky pickle.”
I assumed he was referring to the baseball predicament of being trapped between the bases, rather than the ex-cucumber. I said, “You mean, it was him or the women?”
“Indeed. The syndicate could not allow him to survive if this thing became exposed. There would be an explosion of publicity, a trial, and Lord knows what Morris would have confessed.”
I wouldn’t say I breathed a sigh of relief. In fact, I had suspected as much. However, with that confirmed, I could continue walking through life with a halo. Right. I said to Phyllis, very sincerely,
“Thank you.”
She replied, “Think nothing of it.”
So I thought nothing of it, and said to her, “I owe you one, and here it is. I’ll bet you’re also wondering why Sally Westin didn’t figure out it was Merriweather.”
Okay, yes, I was showing off. But sometimes it’s a good idea to let the other side know you’re still ahead of them in the game, and this was one of those times. Also, I had one more point I needed to get on the scoreboard.
Phyllis shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who’s Sally Westin?” But I guess she realized from my expression that it wasn’t selling. Plus, I had piqued her curiosity, so she cleared her throat, then asked, “All right. How do you know about Sally?”
“One, she’s a lousy lawyer. A for effort, F for effect, right? Two, Sally arrived at the firm about three years ago, about when your investigation started, right? And if you’re wondering why Sally wasn’t able to pinpoint Merriweather, go back to point one.” I let them ponder that, and then asked, “Who is she?”
Phyllis nodded at Jack, who then said, “Not Sally Westin, if you’re wondering. The real Sally Westin became a nun and lives in a convent north of Denver. Go figure, right. The woman you know as Sally is a Bureau special agent, and that’s all you need to know.”
Jack studied the carpet a moment, then commented, “Jesus, I thought she had a foolproof cover. We invested a lot of time studying that firm. That whole thing with the Westin family, when we discovered that, I mean, how often does a legend like that land in your lap? We even had her graduate from Duke, because the firm has no Duke grads.”
“It’s a great cover,” I told him. “She’s got them completely fooled.” Then I let the shoe drop. “But for that one little slip, the girl’s a real pro.”
Phyllis’s lower lip twitched. “Little slip?”
“Her affair with Cy Berger. But you already know about that, right? I mean, surely an agent of her caliber would’ve informed you that she was sleeping with a possible suspect.”
Phyllis’s left eyebrow shot up at that one. She said, “You’re sure about this?”
“Ask her.”
“Oh, we will. Most definitely, we will.”
Lisa was surely smiling down on me for that one.
The way I figured it, Sally’s bulletproof legend had one flaw: She was drastically out of her legal league in a top firm. But if she slept with Cy then all her problems were solved. In return for all the free poon he could stomach, he’d slide her past her annual reviews, and she wouldn’t have to return to the FBI with her tail tucked between her legs. Or maybe Cy was just irresistible to the ladies. How would I know? I appear to have a few problems in that department.
Anyway, Phyllis then said, “Do you have anything else to add?”
“No. I’ve told you everything.”
She searched Jack’s face and asked, “Well?”
He rubbed his jaw a moment, then suggested, “My guess would be the syndicate realized the Grand Vistas- Morris Networks connection was getting out of hand, its people were exposed, and decided to terminate them. By tomorrow, they’ll have cashed out their stock in Morris Networks, Grand Vistas will be history, and they’ll move on to the next thing.”
“I agree with that assessment, Jack.” She then asked, “Any further damage we should be concerned with?”
He shook his head. “Not unless we treat Morris’s and Merriweather’s deaths like murders. But if we handle them like unrelated events, exactly as they were orchestrated to appear-a suicide and a diving accident-the syndicate will have no reason to think they’ve been further compromised.”
Phyllis also seemed to agree with that assessment. She looked back at me and said, “You had already thought that through, hadn’t you?”
“Maybe.”
Meany said to me, “Jesus, you are one cold-blooded bastard.”
“Maybe I am, George. But Morris and Merriweather made their own choice. Make a deal with the devil, and you’re on his time.”
They all thought about that a moment.
But Phyllis had started playing with that spider brooch again, and she said, “But there’s one problem left, isn’t there?”
“You mean me.”
“Yes… you.”
Jack pointed out, “The syndicate should not be concerned with him. As far as they know, he’s unaware of their existence, or their connection to Grand Vistas. If they collapse that connection today or tomorrow, Drummond should be free and clear.”
Phyllis nodded. She asked me, “Is that your assessment?”
“Jack’s right. The syndicate won’t worry about me. I’m no threat to them.”
She said, “Then why that anxious look on your face, young man?”
“The killer, is he syndicate, or a local hire?”
Jack replied, “We assume he’s a local. For obvious reasons, it’s their habit to employ locals when it’s called for. They did a thing like this in Pakistan a year ago; all local hires.”
But again Phyllis showed her intelligence. She said to me, “But it’s gotten personal between you two, hasn’t it?”
