I said, 'He's right. Charlie's already pissed, and we shouldn't make it worse. Pike and I will be there, and we won't let him hurt you.'
She pulled herself erect and stepped away from the hearth and gave me the sort of eyes she must've given herself ten years ago when she'd decided to change her life. Hard, focused, don't-get-in-my-way eyes. 'No. It's not about being scared. It's about not wanting it in my life anymore. I've got Peter coming back. I've got you in my home. I'm not going to pick up his money. I'm not going to take any more deposits from Harry. I've made up my mind. Do you understand?'
I said, 'Yes, ma'am.'
Pike nodded once, and his mouth twitched.
Karen Lloyd said, 'Will you need me for anything else tonight?'
'Nope,' I said. 'I think that about covers it.'
She went to the front door and opened it. The cat slipped out and was gone. She said, 'I appreciate what you've done, and I don't mean to be abrupt, but it's late and I'm tired. If you need to speak with me tomorrow, you can call me at the bank.'
'Sure.'
'Good night.'
She closed the door before we were off the porch.
Pike said, 'Tough lady.'
'Uh-huh.'
'Maybe too tough. Like she's got something to prove.'
I nodded.
Outside, the night air was crisp and chill and sparkling in its clarity, smelling strongly of oak and elm. Orion hung sideways in the southern sky, and a three-quarter moon hung in the east. We walked out onto the lawn and stood by the Taurus and watched Karen Lloyd's house. One by one, the lights went out and the house grew dark. With every light that died, the night grew closer.
I said, 'A long time ago, she made the choice to be the way she is. She earned the job and the house and the position within the community. She rose above the bad thing in her life and has tried to get it out of her life and is trying again. I think she made gutsy choices. Be a shame if she had to regret them.'
Pike moved in the dark, and the orange and white cat came from beneath the car and rubbed against him. Pike bent and picked up the cat and held him close. 'You're right when you say that Charlie's already pissed. She doesn't show when he expects her, he might drive around to find out why. He might try to make sure it doesn't happen again.'
'Think you could stay close to her, keep him from doing that?'
Pike's mouth twitched in the moonlight. 'Uh-huh.'
I nodded, and Pike put down Karen Lloyd's cat and we got into the Taurus. The final light went out in Karen Lloyd's house, and all was darkness.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Roland George called at 7:32 the next morning and said, 'NYPD owns a guy named Walter Lee Balcom. Busted him seven weeks ago on two counts of murder and one count kidnapping and about two dozen ancillary counts. Most of them smut and sex crimes.'
'Do the DeLucas run porno?'
'No. That's the DeTillio family. But Waiter's not mob. He's just been around for a long time and knows people who know people who know people. He's been singing up a storm to try to cut a deal, and Charlie DeLuca's name has come up a few times.'
'Can I talk with him?'
'Ten o'clock at the Hall of Justice, downstairs, room B28. I'll meet you there.'
'Right.'
Rollie hung up.
At a quarter before ten I pulled into the parking garage next door to the Criminal Courts Building on Centre, just north of Foley Square in Chinatown, then walked across and down to subbasement B. A fat cop sitting behind a narrow table asked my business. I told him I was looking for Roland George in room B28. The fat cop looked through a little box, took out a pass with my name on it, and jerked a thumb to the right. 'That way.'
Subbasement B of the Criminal Courts Building looked like a breeding ground for cops with green cement walls and tile floors that were maybe a thousand years old and the faraway smells of disinfectant and urine. Cops of both sexes moved through the halls, uncomfortable in spotless, starched uniforms, called in by prosecutors to rehearse before appearing in court. Defense attorneys on their way into or out of interview rooms glared at the cops with angry eyes that were looking to cut a deal for clients everyone knew were guilty. The lawyers looked like chronic gamblers. The cops looked like drunks.
When I got to B28, Rollie George and a fireplug-shaped guy with a blond crew cut were standing outside the door. Rollie said, 'Elvis, this is Sid Volpe. Sid's with the Justice Department, and he's the guy who's letting us see Balcom.'
We shook. Volpe's hand was dry and hard. He said, 'I got you sandwiched in between the IRS and the feds. You can have him for twenty minutes starting now, so let's not waste time.'
We went in.
Walter Lee Balcom was a pale man in his late forties with fine, straw-colored hair that was thinning on top. He was sitting at a narrow wooden table, chain-smoking Lark cigarettes and wearing gray prison fatigues. A boxy Nagra reel-to-reel tape recorder sat to his side on the table, along with a couple of gray legal pads. There were four metal chairs scattered around the table, but there weren't any pencils or pens or other sharp things.
Walter Lee Balcom gave me a nice smile as we walked in. 'Hello, Mr. Volpe, hello, Mr. George, is this the gentleman you told me about?' His voice was soft and papery.
Volpe said, 'This is him, Walter.' Volpe sat in one of the chairs and turned on the Nagra. 'Don't let Walter's manner fool you, Cole. Walter recruited a sixteen-year-old male prostitute named Juan Roca to help him kidnap a nineteen-year-old nurse's aide named Shirley Goldstein. They took her over to a tank farm outside Newark where Roca raped her and tortured her to death with a butane torch while Walter here got it all on videotape. Then Walter walks out in front of the camera in a Groucho Marx nose and shoots Roca four times in the chest and back with a.45 automatic butt-packed with hollow points.'
Walter Lee Balcom sat impassively while Volpe said it, using the stub of one Lark to light another. The air smelled of pipe tobacco from the Larks.
Volpe said, 'There's no business like show business, right, Walter?'
Walter said, 'That wasn't me in the videotape, Mr. Volpe. That was someone made up to look like me.' A voice like whispers.
Volpe said, 'Shit,' then grinned at Rollie. This asshole is so fucking perverted even the goddamned DeTillio family wouldn't touch half the smut he handled.'
Walter shrugged, as if this were all part of a meaningless conversation he was having with strangers at a bus stop.
I said, 'Do you know many organized-crime figures, Walter?'
Another shrug. A deep puff. 'A few. I've been in the industry for quite a long while. It has always been profitable.'
'Do you know Charlie DeLuca?'
'Not personally. I know who he is, of course.'
Rollie said, 'We're told that DeLuca's name has come up a few times in the songs you been singing.'
Shrug. A whisper. 'You hear things.'
Rollie crossed his arms and sat back in the chair. 'Your kind of business, they've got to be dirty things.'
Walter made the nice smile again. 'One man's garbage, Roland.'
Sid Volpe leaned across the table and hit Walter Lee Balcom in the face with the back of his left hand. Walter
