Lucas Collier, and insurance fraud for killing Rexroth’s horses, he heeded the advice of his attorney and agreed to testify against Mortvedt. Repke was promised, in the most general and potentially deniable terms, a fine, a suspended sentence, and lengthy probation in case he didn’t come through.
“I always hated killing those horses,” Jud said. He added, “Afraid as I am of Ronnie, there ain’t no way I’m going back inside if I can help it.”
Mortvedt was another story. He refused to answer any questions and, as a result, was bound over for trial in federal court. He was represented by a Louisville lawyer named Ed Boniface. At the urging of the government attorneys, Mortvedt-considered not only a threat to society, but a prime prospect for fleeing the country-was denied bail, despite Boniface’s stentorian objections.
Doyle was far from heartened by these developments. As he complained to Damon and Karen over lunch one afternoon, “Repke did plenty of this dirty work, and he gets away with a slap on the wrist. What if his testimony doesn’t convict Mortvedt? Then what have we got?
“I’ll tell you what we’ve got-nothing. They both could walk, even though they probably attacked Aldous. And without Mortvedt linked to him, how are we going to nail Rexroth for having his horses killed?”
Damon said, “Jack, be realistic. We’ve got no way of tying Mortvedt and Repke to Bolger’s beating, no matter how much we suspect them. Repke denies being there that night, Mortvedt won’t even answer questions about it. We’ve got no physical evidence whatsoever.
“But with Repke going against him on the other matters, we’ve got a good case against Mortvedt. They were both apprehended at Willowdale, with their horse killing tools. And Repke admits to why they were there, and what they had done there on previous visits. I think a jury will believe him and put Mortvedt away.”
“Yeah,” said Doyle, “but not for what he
Karen shifted her glass of iced tea on the place mat, then began drumming her fingers on the table. They were in the only deli Doyle had located in Lexington, a place called Mama Goldberg’s, and it was a far cry from Shapiro’s in Indianapolis, or any of several Chicago delis he frequented. “The pastrami here tastes like it was made from a recipe left by Daniel Boone’s mother. Stay off it,” Doyle had warned the agents, adding: “The turkey sandwich won’t kill you. The chicken soup might.”
Karen said, “Let’s not give up on Mortvedt yet.”
Damon gave her a puzzled look. “What do you see that I don’t?”
“I’ve got a feeling he’ll deal,” Karen answered. “He’s been inside seven years of his life already. He’s a very independent individual, a guy who has always gone his own way. And I know how ruthless he is. But I think, just like with his buddy Repke, a long stretch inside is something he desperately wants to avoid. I’ve seen hard cases like him cave in before.
“And there’s something else,” Karen said. “Mortvedt’s got a real hatred of rich people. And Rexroth certainly qualifies on that point. I’m telling you, Jack, Mortvedt’ll turn. When we get across to him that he’s going down, that Repke’s testimony will put him away for twenty years, he’s going to change his mind. You watch. You’ll see.”
“In our dreams,” said Doyle, sliding the luncheon check toward Damon.
But Doyle, as he happily admitted a week later, was “dead wrong on this one.” Karen’s prediction proved to be on the money. Following Karen’s third interview session with him, and under continued pressure from prosecutors, Ronald Mortvedt joined the succession of toppling tenpins just as Karen predicted he would. Faced with a long string of successive sentences for insurance fraud, Mortvedt finally agreed to testify against Rexroth. His confession was detailed and decisive, citing dates he’d met with the publisher, and how his payoffs had been wired to his account in a New Orleans bank.
Mortvedt signed his confession on Saturday, October third, or two weeks prior to the running of the Heartland Derby. Under the terms of his agreement with government prosecutors, Mortvedt was to be given a five-year sentence in return for his testimony against Rexroth. While the prosecutors were eager to file charges against Rexroth as soon as possible, Karen and Damon prevailed upon them to hold off until after the upcoming race.
“Rexroth has begun this huge publicity campaign about how he’s going to win that Derby,” Damon told the Justice Department lawyers. “Jack Doyle insists Rexroth’s got something kinky going with this, too. I think Doyle is right when he says we should wait and see how this plays out. We may be able to nail Rexroth even a little higher up on the wall.”
“Rexroth isn’t going anywhere, anyway,” Karen added. “We’ve still got Mortvedt in custody. There’s no reason we can’t delay bringing in Rexroth for a few days.”
The following evening Doyle got a phone call from Damon, who had returned to Chicago with Karen. “We need you up here early tomorrow morning,” Damon said. “There’s someone I want you to meet, someone who wants to meet you. Someone who can answer some of your questions about Rexroth’s importance.
“Don’t drive,” Damon instructed. “Take the first flight out. Come to our office on the tenth floor of the Dirksen Building.”
Jack grimaced. “What am I going to tell Rexroth?”
“Think of something, Jack,” Damon said. The line went dead.
A few minutes later, Doyle called Stoner. “Byron, I have to go up to Chicago first thing in the morning,” he said. “Personal business. I’ll be back late tomorrow afternoon.”
Stoner said, “What kind of personal business?”
“There’s a reason it’s called personal,” Jack replied, slamming down the receiver.
***
It was an extraordinarily warm Indian summer morning in Chicago’s Loop, the street musicians already sweating, pretzel sellers looking as limp as their product. Inside the Dirksen Federal Building, Jack stood gratefully in the slow-moving metal detector line, enjoying the air-conditioning.
When he was ushered into a tenth-floor office, Karen and Damon were already there. So was a stocky, middle-aged woman wearing a dark blue pants suit over a glistening white blouse, who was talking on the phone in a decisive tone. She had close-cropped white hair, a ruddy complexion, and a look of intense concentration as she conversed.
Jack sat down between the agents in one of the three chairs lined up before the woman’s desk. The nameplate on her desk read
Then the woman put the phone down. “Good morning, Mr. Doyle,” she said. Under her unflinching gaze, Jack felt as if he’d been Twilight Zoned into another appearance before his grade school principal back at St. Mary’s Parochial. “Good morning,” he replied.
“I am an assistant United States Attorney, criminal division, based here in Chicago,” Farley said. “I’ve been monitoring the progress of this case from the start. I will be the attorney seeking federal grand jury indictments. You have provided valuable service to your government, Mr. Doyle. Voluntarily or not,” she added. Farley stood and reached across the desk with her right hand extended. Doyle got to his feet. She had a grip like a steelworker.
“I understand you have some misgiving about the case,” Farley said when they were both seated again.
Jack shifted in his chair. “Not the nature of the case,” he said. “But the way it’s being handled now that we’re close to closing the cage on these vermin.
“Look,” he continued, “I’m not complaining about the work I’ve been asked-make that forced-to do for you people. I committed a crime in stiffing that horse, though you couldn’t prove it, and you all know that. But in helping you nail Rexroth and Mortvedt, well, I feel like I’m making up for what I did with City Sarah. Maybe even doing some good for a change.
“But let me be clear about this, Ms. Farley. As I’ve told my Feeb pals here, it makes my blood boil that Mortvedt is getting to plead down. How does this guy deserve a break? Why are you letting him do it? He’s a horse killer, and he would have been a murderer if Aldous Bolger had died. And you people have made a deal with this piece of crap? I don’t get it.”
Farley leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled under her square chin, eyes measuring Doyle.
“Harvey Rexroth,” she said, “is a dangerous and evil man. He has committed crimes you have no knowledge of, but because of his cleverness and the acuity of his expensive attorneys, he’s gone unscathed for years.
“The crimes he’s committed with these horses is a form of fraud that is very, very difficult to prove. There are
