what I’d hoped for on my first day back in the New York office. How had so much gone wrong so quickly? It was almost as hard to swallow as “the official response of the bureau” that Agent Henning had just announced to me.
“What do you mean you can’t protect me?” I said.
She was standing before me, no time to brush the snow from the bench and take a seat. It was just the two of us. Connie had tired of waiting and insisted that she needed to return the van, presumably before her boss called upon Curious George and the zoo police to retrieve it.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but my hands are tied.”
Andie had a copy of the Parks police report with her, and I’d added the details about my visit to the emergency room. The FBI’s quick rebuff on protection wasn’t what I had expected.
“So, that’s it? Too bad, so sad, you’re on your own, Mr. Lloyd?”
She glanced away, then back. “Can we walk? I’m freezing.”
“Part of the problem is my supervisor,” she said. “He thinks you haven’t been all that forthcoming.”
“The information I agreed to pass along was very limited. Essentially, I promised to tell you if Lilly confessed to money laundering.”
“The deal was broader than that. You agreed to tell us if Lilly made
“If that’s the FBI’s view, then you should have told me more about your theory.”
“We told you what you needed to know. I would have liked to tell you more, but like I said-”
“Your hands are tied, I know. That can be a highly convenient predicament.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Maybe it is,” I said. “But if you want the truth
We stopped walking, and our eyes locked. A moment of sunlight broke through the clouds, forcing Andie to squint, which made her expression even harsher.
“Is that some kind of threat?” she said. “
I was thinking of Manu Robledo. “I may have a name for you. I don’t have anything in writing, but it may well turn out that he’s the holder of a certain numbered account at BOS/Singapore.”
“Who?”
“I’m not prepared to share.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“We’re playing by my rules now. My six months in Singapore were payment enough for what you did for my father. Going forward, anything you get from me is strictly on a quid pro quo basis.”
The sun disappeared, but Andie’s eyes continued to narrow as she studied me. Finally, she said, “We’re still helping your father.”
I was already of the firm belief that Dad was alive, but it was hard not to react to official confirmation. I struggled to play it cool. “I knew he was alive,” I said.
“I gave you more than that,” she said. “I told you we’re still providing specialized medical treatment for him. Don’t ask me where or under what name. I can’t tell you.”
“If your supervisor thinks I haven’t kept up my end of the deal, why are you continuing to provide treatment to him?”
She blinked. It was Andie’s first flinch in the eight months I’d known her, and it was as if she had looked me in the eye and said,
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” she said.
“Nice try.” I said. “Quid pro quo. I’ll give you the name of the numbered account holder when you tell me the following: What is my Dad’s new name? Where did you send him? And why is the FBI still helping him even though your supervisor thinks I’ve been holding out?”
“I can’t do that.”
“Make it happen,” I said.
She paused, but I didn’t get the impression that the answers to my questions were on the tip of her tongue. In fact-and this was just more of my gut-I wondered how much she personally knew about Dad’s situation.
“I’ll work on it,” she said.
“Work fast.”
She didn’t answer, but the silence confirmed that the conversation was finished. For now. Our footprints in the snow showed us the way back toward the bench.
20
I t was more wind than snow that forced Lilly indoors for cover. She found a deli down the street from the church, but a nervous stomach made eating impossible. She ordered a camomile tea to calm herself down.
“Anything else?” asked the cashier.
“Just the tea, thanks,” she said.
Lilly broke one of her last remaining fifties. She’d fled Singapore with $9,990 in cash, just below the currency reporting requirement. Burning through money was easy in Manhattan. Her wallet was getting thin, but she didn’t dare use a credit card. Cash wouldn’t leave a trail.
The only open seat was near the entrance at the storefront counter. She claimed a stool and gazed out the plate glass window, watching a sidewalk construction crew stand around and do nothing. An hour of snow flurries was enough to block out the company name on the truck. Lilly wondered if it was one of the Santucci firms. Construction was a staple of the family’s many mob-run businesses-at least that was what her source had told her.
A construction worker noticed her and winked. Definitely not one of those ripped and gorgeous hotties on
Steam rose from her cup. A quick sip scalded the roof of her mouth. It was a little thing that, cumulatively, was a big thing. She almost started to cry. Lucky for Gerry Collins that he was already dead. If he weren’t, she would probably have killed him.
Again, her mind replayed that three-year-old phone message he’d left on her voice mail just before his death: “It’s blown up. I’ll call you when I can. Talk to no one until I reach you.”
Was it possible that Collins had thought she was aware of the scam? The arrangement had certainly been sweet. She’d essentially done nothing, and BOS had still given her revenue credit for over $2 billion in private banking activity. Perhaps Gerry had simply assumed that she was smart enough to recognize a deal that was too good to be legit. Since his death, the Treasury Department had certainly operated under that assumption, had even put it in an internal memo.
Her cell rang. She didn’t recognize the incoming number, but she knew it was him-her source. He’d promised to follow up after her meeting with Robledo at the church. “Promised” was probably the wrong word. Everything he said sounded more like a threat. She was tired of getting hit from every direction-from him, Robledo, BOS, Treasury.
