The Hidden Man

passing of a minute or hour. Sammy’s trial was only two weeks away, and I had many things to do. I had to disclose to the prosecution the additional evidence about Archie Novotny-the photocopies of the checks he wrote to Music Emporium. I had to disclose Kenny Sanders and Tommy Butcher’s positive identification of Sanders. I still had to reach the prosecution’s eyewitnesses-Griffin Perlini’s neighbor and the elderly couple on the street who ID’d Sammy as the killer.

I had to find Smith and the people he represented, because they would probably try to kill Pete and me once Sammy’s case was over.

Two days from now-Tuesday-I would appear in court to argue for the expedited DNA testing of the girls found behind that school, or otherwise a delay in the trial. Smith hadn’t been shy about voicing his objection, and I was still hoping he might back down on Pete-call off his witnesses and let Pete off the hook in exchange for my dropping that motion. Or maybe Smith would make a wrong move and somehow expose himself. It wasn’t much more than a long shot, but it was all I had.

Other than Denny DePrizio, that is. Another long shot.

Question marks. I had plenty of them. And I was running out of time.

43

SMITH FINGERED A BREADSTICK, considering it but unable to bring himself to eat. The private room in Locallo’s was dark but warm, a comfortable setting, and the rigatoni was the best he’d ever had in the city, but his appetite eluded him this evening. He replayed the entire course of events leading up to today, wondering if he could identify a particular misstep on his part. The only misstep, he decided, was in underestimating Jason Kolarich.

“The fuckin’ guy knows how to play poker,” he said. “That motion he filed for the DNA testing and to delay the trial. He knows he’s hit a nerve. He’s trying to force our hand.”

“He’s desperate.”

“Yeah, but so the fuck are we,” Smith said. He drained his Scotch and felt worse for doing so. “The question is, does he know why we’re desperate?”

“No.”

“You don’t know that. You hope that.” Smith looked squarely at Detective Denny DePrizio.

“I’m telling you,” said DePrizio. “He doesn’t know which way is up. He’s desperate, but he doesn’t have a clue. He basically told me he was waving the white flag. He said you had him boxed in. He said he had no way of finding you, unless you accidentally left your fingerprints on that briefcase or the cash inside.”

Smith didn’t know his adversary sufficiently. That had been his problem all along. Jason Kolarich hadn’t been his choice; he was Sammy Cutler’s pick. And Kolarich was proving to be more difficult to manipulate than he’d thought.

“That guy’s a stubborn prick.” Smith looked at DePrizio. “I don’t think we have a choice now. Do we? I think he’s going forward with that motion in court. The judge is going to move the trial date and let him do DNA testing. With all the publicity after those bodies were found? Of course she will. We don’t have a choice.”

“He’s bluffing,” DePrizio said. “He’s taking a free shot at getting you to let his brother off the hook. He won’t go through with it.” DePrizio scooped up a healthy fork full of linguine and shoved it into his mouth.

Smith pushed away the plate of rigatoni, which now revolted him. “Goddammit. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. All that asshole had to do was follow instructions and we’d be fine. Now look at us. Look what we’re thinking about doing here. This was never supposed to happen.” He looked over at DePrizio, who was dishing more food into his mouth. “Denny, I’m real glad this isn’t spoiling your appetite.”

DePrizio shrugged. “Hey, nobody asked me if this was a good idea.” He swallowed and wiped his mouth. “This whole thing, from day one, was pretty much a clusterfuck, right?”

That didn’t make Smith feel any better. He reached for another stomach pill and washed it down with water. “What other choice did we have? You tell me, Denny. What the hell else were we supposed to do? This is the only thing we could do.”

“Okay, it was the only thing you could do.” DePrizio poured himself some more wine. “I mean, I get you. You want to control the outcome of this trial and keep the spotlight off Carlo. So you do what we do, right? You throw some money at him. Only that didn’t work, he still does whatever he wants. So then you apply pressure. That’s how it works. Only you got this lawyer who isn’t being real compliant.” He took a healthy drink of the Merlot, a nice bottle from 1994. “So yeah, I think you’re right, you don’t have much of a choice now. You gotta up the pressure. You gotta move on that brother of his.”

Smith had always regarded DePrizio as something of a lightweight-a valuable asset, given his position, but not the brightest bulb. Still, Smith wanted some validation for his idea. He needed to hear that someone agreed with him.

Because Smith, himself, was out on a limb. This was a very quiet operation. Carlo turned to Smith not only because of their long-standing relationship, but because he wasn’t telling Smith anything he didn’t already know. They’d borrowed a handful of guys to do the heavy lifting, but those guys didn’t know shit. No, in the end, it was Smith and Carlo, and Carlo, with his sick granddaughter and his daughter in pieces over it, was in no position to decide on details.

This was all on Smith, and it wasn’t going so well.

“Look at it this way,” DePrizio added, helping himself to Smith’s rigatoni. “When this trial was over, you were gonna do it, anyway, right? You were gonna move on the lawyer and his brother. Am I wrong?”

Smith looked away. He hadn’t shared those kinds of details with the detective. DePrizio served a limited role here. Still, Denny was right. After Sammy Cutler’s trial, it was inevitable that Carlo would want the garbage collected. Jason and Pete Kolarich could not remain as threats.

Smith found himself warming to the decision. DePrizio had said it correctly. They’d have to come for Pete Kolarich sooner or later-sooner, in all likelihood, once Cutler’s trial was over. They wouldn’t be doing anything they hadn’t already planned on doing. They’d just be moving up the timetable.

Smith watched DePrizio devour the remainder of his rigatoni. “Jesus, Denny. It’s like you don’t have a care in the world here.”

“I don’t.” The detective sat back and patted his stomach. “Because I did my part. What can blow back on me? Anyone says I pinched that kid on a bogus charge, I say prove it. I say I caught him in the act. Who’s gonna say I didn’t? Now you, my friend, that’s another story.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

DePrizio poised the glass of wine at his mouth. “Not for nothin’, but maybe you should start thinking about what happens if this doesn’t turn out so well. You think Carlo’s gonna remember how good a friend you’ve been?”

Smith made a face. “You’re out of line, Denny. You’re drunk.” But the thought, of course, had been on Smith’s mind. And things were about to escalate. It was one thing to set up the idiot brother on a drug and guns charge. All that took was DePrizio and some money thrown at Pete’s drug supplier, who wouldn’t be able to identify Smith because he’d never laid eyes on him. So far, Smith had remained invisible. Insulated. He wouldn’t be meeting with Kolarich face-to-face any longer, and he was calling him from an untraceable phone. He was clean. So far.

But now, the men he had borrowed would be doing more than scaring Pete Kolarich in an alley outside a bar or surveilling Jason Kolarich around town. Now, if Smith went through with it, they were talking about major felonies. It would be messy. And there would be no turning back.

“Keep an eye on Jason Kolarich,” Smith told DePrizio. “Use all that charm of yours to keep him close to you. Where’s that briefcase with the money?”

“In the trunk of my car.”

“In the trunk of your car. Well, obviously, the briefcase comes back without any traceable prints. But offer to