alcoholism or gambling or infidelity. Whatever the shadow that might haunt them, they are still effectively leading a double life.’
‘But you killed people. You went out with the intention to murder and you did so. I think that is very different from having a drink problem.’
Perez shrugged. ‘Depends on your personal philosophy… whether you consider that events conspire to make you who you are, or if you are someone who believes that Man possesses the ability to determine events by his own power of mind.’
‘We are getting off the subject,’ Hartmann said, at once intrigued and very uncomfortable.
‘Indeed we are,’ Perez said, ‘though I must admit that I believe family to be as important a subject of discussion as you do.’
‘Okay then,’ Hartmann said. ‘What about the girl?’
Perez looked up. ‘What
‘She is part of someone’s family. She has a mother and a father.’
‘And a cat and a dog. And she can play the piano, and she likes talking to her girlfriends about boys and clothes and cosmetics.’
‘Right… what about her? What about
‘What about them?’
‘You profess to believe in the necessity and importance of family. Have you considered how they must feel?’
Perez smiled once more and leaned forward. He rested his hands on the table and steepled his fingers together. ‘Mr Hartmann, I have considered everything.’
‘So?’
Perez raised his eyebrows.
‘So is how they feel important?’
‘Of vital importance, yes,’ Perez replied.
‘So is what you are doing perhaps not the most disturbing and upsetting thing that you could do?’
Perez laughed, but there was seemingly nothing malicious in his tone. ‘That, Mr Hartmann, is precisely the point of the exercise.’
‘To upset Charles Ducane and his ex-wife as much as possible?’
Perez waved his hand. ‘The wife, Eve I believe her name is, how she feels is of no significance to me. But Charles Ducane… he is a different story altogether.’
‘How so?’
‘Because he is as guilty as I, and yet here he is, governor of Louisiana, sitting up there in his mansion with the world protecting him, and I am here, ensconced within a small fortress, protected from the world by the might of the FBI, and having to justify my existence to you, an alcoholic paralegal who is ashamed of the fact that he was born in New Orleans.’
Hartmann reached for another cigarette. He believed he needed to change the pitch of the discussion before Perez became angry. ‘I find it remarkable that you were responsible for the death of Jimmy Hoffa.’
Perez nodded. ‘He died, someone had to have killed him. Why not me?’
‘Did you shoot Kennedy as well?’
‘Which one?’
Hartmann smiled. ‘You did them both?’
‘Neither, though I believe that I would have gotten away with it, unlike Oswald and Sirhan Sirhan, neither of whom were ultimately responsible whatever J. Edgar Hoover and the Warren Commission might have reported. The assassination of John Kennedy, the resultant mystery that has surrounded his death for the last forty years, has to be the most spectacular and successful example of government disinformation propaganda that has ever been achieved. Adolf Hitler would have been proud of what your government has accomplished with that. Wasn’t it he who said that the greater the lie the more easily it will be believed?’
‘It’s your government too,’ Hartmann said.
‘I am selective… it is the lesser of two evils. The United States or Fidel Castro. I am still trying to make a decision as to which one I would prefer to be allied to.’
Hartmann was quiet for a moment. He smoked his cigarette.
Perez broke the silence between them. ‘So you did not come here to visit or to have supper, or to smoke my cigarettes, Mr Hartmann. I believe you came here with a proposal.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘It is about time for the attorney general to play his best hand, and like I said before, you do not live the life I have lived and survive by being stupid. So out with it. What is it they are prepared to offer me?’
‘Clemency,’ Hartmann said, believing that the entire conversation had been predicted and determined by Perez from the off. This was not the way Hartmann had wanted to handle it, but it had become something out of his control. He had believed his cards were hidden, but he had sat down at the table unaware that his cards had been chosen for him by his opponent.
‘Clemency?’ Perez asked. ‘Mercy? You think this is what I came here to ask for?’
Hartmann shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t.’
‘I came here of my own volition. I handed myself in to you people with no resistance. I could have continued to live my life, could have done nothing. Had I not called the FBI, had I not spoken with these people, had I not asked for you to come here, then we would not be having this conversation. I could have taken the girl, I could have killed her, and no-one would ever have been any the wiser.’
‘They would have found you,’ Hartmann interjected.
Perez started laughing. ‘You think so, Mr Hartmann? You really think they would have found me? I am nearly seventy years old. I have been doing this for the better part of five and a half decades. I was the man who killed your Jimmy Hoffa. I put a piano wire around his neck and pulled so hard I could feel where the wire stopped against the vertebrae of his neck. I did these things, and I did them all over this country, and these people didn’t even know my name.’
Hartmann knew Perez was right. He had not lived this life and survived by being stupid. If he had wanted to kill Catherine Ducane he would have done, and Hartmann imagined the murder would have gone unsolved.
‘Okay,’ Hartmann said. ‘So this is the deal… you give us the girl, you are extradited to Cuba, and the United States Federal Government will not further any information about your past to the Cuban Justice Department. That’s the deal, take it or leave it.’
Perez leaned back in his chair. He looked pensive for some time, said nothing, and when he turned his eyes towards Hartmann there was something cold and aloof in them that Hartmann had not seen before. ‘You will come back tomorrow night,’ he said. ‘We will meet in the morning as planned. I will tell you some more things of myself and my life, and when we are done we will return here for dinner, you and I, and I will give you my answer.’
Hartmann nodded. ‘Can you tell us one thing?’
Perez raised his eyebrows.
‘The girl. Can you assure us she is still alive?’
Perez shook his head. ‘No, I cannot.’
‘She is dead?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You are saying nothing?’
‘That is right, I am saying nothing.’
‘If she is dead it makes this whole thing rather pointless,’ Hartmann said.
‘It is only pointless to those who do not yet understand the point,’ Perez replied. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I am tired. I would like to rest. I have an appointment in the morning, and if I am tired I do not concentrate well.’
Hartmann nodded and started to rise from his chair.
‘It has been a pleasure, Mr Hartmann,’ Perez said. ‘And I trust that things work out for yourself and your family.’
‘Thank you, Mr Perez, though I do not necessarily feel I can reciprocate the sentiment.’
Perez waved Hartmann’s comment aside. ‘It is of no matter to me what you think, Mr Hartmann. Some of us are more than capable of making our own decisions and allowing life to intervene as little as possible.’
