Corrupted (30 page)

“Great, do it.”

Thomas pulled the cab into the spot.

“Thanks. Leave the meter running, and we'll just sit awhile.”

Lou wiped off his hands on a napkin. “I knew I shoulda got coffee.”

Bennie looked over. “Lou, it's a stakeout, not a restaurant.”

Lou chuckled. “It's the same thing. I always gained weight on stakeout detail. It's the one thing they get right in cop movies.”

Bennie returned her attention to the house. “They have to come out sooner or later, don't they?”

“Usually, later,” Lou answered, setting the cake aside to get out of his coat, and Bennie did the same. Thomas listened to the radio, while Bennie and Lou kept checking the house, in between checking their emails. Only a few cars came down the street, which was one-way going north to south, but none of them stopped at Richie's. Half an hour turned into an hour, but the cab stayed warm because of the sun, which was bright enough to give Bennie a headache or maybe it was the tension, she didn't know which.

Suddenly, a black Chevy pickup turned onto the street, and she did a double take. The truck was covered with so much whitish salt that it had to have come from outside the city, and just one glimpse at the driver's seat told her it was Declan. “That's him!” Bennie folded over completely, hiding her face from view.

“
Him?
Whoa.” Lou shifted up in the seat.

“Who?” Thomas asked, from the front. “The bad guy?”

“No,” Bennie answered.

“Yes,” Lou answered, at the exact same time.

Thomas chuckled. “You folks better get your story straight.”

“There's no story,” Bennie said, folded over.

“That's her old boyfriend,” Lou added.

“Lou! Really?”

Lou waved her off. “Thomas can be trusted, not like the blabbermouths at the office.”

Bennie stayed down. “What's Declan doing, Lou?”

“Parking. That's a big-ass truck he's driving. Compensate much?”

Thomas laughed. “Good one, Lou. City's no place to have a truck that big.”

“He doesn't live in the city,” Bennie said, then wondered why she was even bothering. “What's he doing now?”

“Walking to the house. He's carrying an Acme bag. Musta gone food shopping.”

“Is he alone?”

“Yes. He's not bad-looking, for a jerk.”

“He's not a jerk.” Bennie's heart pounded at the thought that Declan was so close. She wanted to see him again, but then again she didn't.

Thomas clucked. “He's got nice shoes, you gotta give him that.
Very
nice shoes. That man knows how to
dress
.”

“Bennie, you can sit up now.” Lou touched her arm, and she popped up.

“That was close.”

“Your face is flushed.” Lou's gaze shifted sly to her.

“The blood rushed to my head because I was bent over.”

“I'm sure that's it.” Lou burst into laughter.

Thomas checked the rearview, his eyes narrowing. “That's love, Lou. She's got the look of love.”

“That's enough, gentlemen.” Bennie looked away, as the front door of the house opened, and three women came out, talking in a group.

“Look, we have activity.” Lou shifted up in the seat, raising his phone.

Bennie did the same, zooming in closer and taking pictures. She could see that there was a redhead with two brunettes, though she couldn't make out their facial features from this distance. They dabbed at their faces with white Kleenex.

“Bennie, I wonder if the redhead's the one you told me about, the one that Jason saw with Richie at the bar.”

“You have a good memory, Lou.”

“Smarter than I look.”

Bennie kept taking pictures, just in case. The women hugged each other, then separated, walking in three different directions. “You getting this, Lou? They must've driven separately.”

“Yes, I'm on it. I switched to video to make it easier.”

“I like the redhead,” Thomas said, from the front seat. “I like her boots. I like when women wear those boots.”

Bennie kept an eye on the redhead as she crossed the street to a white SUV, wrapping a black leather jacket around her, which she had on with black tights and black suede boots, the sexiest mourning outfit ever.

Thomas clucked again. “I like when people take personal pride in their appearance. Nobody does anymore, always runnin' around in those Uggs. My wife asked for 'em for Christmas, so I got 'em. They weren't cheap. Now she never takes 'em off. Every time she wears 'em, I say, ‘Ugh.' She doesn't think it's funny.”

Bennie watched through the camera phone as the redhead started the engine and after a moment, pulled out of the spot. She took a picture of the license plate. “I got the redhead,” she said.

“I got the two others.” Lou pointed, from behind his phone. “Check it. When it rains, it pours.”

“What?” Bennie looked up to see two men leaving the house, one short and older, with gray hair, but the younger one was tall and thin, with floppy brown hair parted down the middle. Bennie raised her camera, in excitement. “I think that's our tall guy. That's Richie's friend.”

“On it.” Lou nodded, filming.

Bennie watched the two men get into a small brown VW, pull out of the space, and drive down the street. “I'm so tempted to follow them.”

“No, I'll get the information we need.”

“Good.” Bennie felt jazzed. “Now we have one more stop. Thomas?”

Thomas started the ignition. “I hope you folks never leave.”

 

CHAPTER FORTY

Bennie and Lou approached the prison by yet another cab, after grabbing a pizza at Tacconelli's to kill time until the authorities had transferred Jason to the Philadelphia Industrial Correctional Center, or PICC. PICC was located just north of Port Richmond, so it didn't make sense to go back to the office, and Lou was happy to eat again while Bennie returned phone calls and answered email.

“I'm so full.” Lou groaned, rubbing his tummy. “I can't believe I ate the whole thing. Just like that commercial, remember?”

“No. You always ask me if I remember that commercial, and I tell you no.”

“You remember.”

“No I don't.” Bennie chuckled, though it faded as they traveled farther up State Road, a four-lane boulevard that ran roughly parallel to I-95, leading to a massive concrete complex containing four prisons: PICC, Curran-Fromhold Correctional Facility, Riverside Correctional Facility, and the oldest, the House of Correction.

“I'm looking forward to meeting Jason.”

“He's a good guy, underneath the tough exterior.”

“Not to mention the loaded gun and the explosive temper.” Lou looked over slyly as the cab traveled north, and they both caught sight of PICC, a modern, maximum-security prison that sprawled over several city blocks.

“Here we are.” Bennie eyed the prison through the window, and the cab switched lanes, then slowed to a stop in front of the entrance.

“I got the fare.” Lou reached for his wallet.

“Thanks.” Bennie got out of the cab and faced PICC, its solid red brick façade unbroken except for three rows of narrow windows, set lengthwise; it was the standard design for prison windows, but it always reminded Bennie of razor cuts in a row. High cyclone fencing surrounded its perimeter, concertina wire topped its flat roof, and spiky steel towers stabbed the sky. They walked to the main door, of heavy gray metal, and entered a waiting area, half-full of inmates' families in the plastic bucket seats. A few toddlers made their way between the chairs, and one little girl patted the glass front of the vending machine, leaving smudgy fingerprints. The walls were off-white, the tile floor was grayish, and the overheated air smelled dusty.

“Can I help you?” asked the female guard from behind the front counter. She had on a black uniform with a badge and an electroplated lapel pin, and she stood in front of a vast panel of smoked glass that held one of the prison's satellite security centers. Silhouettes of uniformed guards moved back and forth behind the smoked glass, passing in front of a massive bank of monitor screens.

“I'm a lawyer, and this is my associate.” Bennie pulled her bar card from her wallet and handed it over, and Lou did the same with his driver's license.

“Thank you, fill out the request slip, and sign the OV book.” The guard noted their IDs, returned them, and pushed two yellow clip IDs across the counter, and as Bennie and Lou signed the OV book, for official visitor, filled out a request slip to summon Jason.

“Thanks.” Bennie pushed the forms back and clipped the yellow badge to their clothes.

“You're welcome. What's in the briefcase?”

“Legal papers.” Bennie used the generic term for anything that lawyers carried, which was the only material not considered contraband.

“Put your purse in the locker, over there.” The guard gestured left, to a U-shaped area of lockers beside the door. “No cell phones, cameras, recording devices. It won't be long for them to bring him down.”

“Thanks.” Bennie and Lou went to the locker area, stowed their coats, her purse, and his phone inside, then lingered by the security counter. She found her attention drawn to the children in the waiting room, flashing on her reflection in Richie's blood in the alley, then on what Lou had said.

Don't you want kids? You're too young to close up shop.

“You're up, Ms. Rosato and Mr. Jacobs,” called the guard.

They walked to the metal detector, and went through, with Bennie putting her messenger bag on the conveyor belt. The female guard gestured them forward, and Bennie retrieved her bag as a second guard unlocked another gray metal security door that admitted them to the prison proper. Bennie and Lou passed through the door, which locked behind them with a stereotypical
ca-thunk
that echoed off the harsh tile surfaces. They walked down the corridor, where they hit the battered elevator button and when the cab came, they rode it to the third floor. They stepped off, facing a smoked glass window, and on the other side sat a guard.

“Here for Jason Lefkavick.” Bennie passed her request slip under the window and it was taken by a large hand.

“Room 32,” said the guard's muffled voice, and the door to her left opened with another loud
ca-thunk
.

They walked through it to a corridor with a set of doors, each leading to a numbered cubicle. Inmates entered the cubicles from doors off a secured hallway on the other side, and all the doors locked when they closed. Each cubicle was about four-by-six and contained bucket seats facing each other, and a Formica counter separated inmate from lawyer. On the wall was a tan phone that summoned the guard in case of trouble.

Bennie reached the second door and opened it, going inside with Lou. “Hi,” she said to Jason, who was sitting slumped on the other side of the counter, in a baggy orange jumpsuit. She flashed on seeing him so many years ago, when she was trying to get him out of River Street. He was a hurt little boy then, but he was an angry man now. He seemed edgier, in a more hostile mood from last night, his thin lips flat and his mouth tense.

“Hey.” Jason extended a hand over the counter, but he averted his eyes.

“This is Lou Jacobs. He works at our firm as an investigator. He was with the Philly police for many years.”

“Hi, Jason,” Lou said, with a warm smile. “It's nice to meet you.”

“So, Jason, how are you doing?” Bennie asked, but she knew the answer.

“Terrible.” Jason shook his head. “You have to get me out of here. Can't I get bail? Can't we appeal?”

“No, there's no appeal right. I'm sorry, but you're here until trial.”

“How long's that gonna be?”

“Six months, and I won't give them any extensions. I'll hold their feet to the fire.”

“Shit!” Jason looked away, sucking in his cheeks.

“I know, and I'm sorry.” Bennie wanted to get to the point. “Jason, about what happened last night. We've done some investigating, into the alley and the bar, and I talked to your roommate.”

“You talked to Gail? Why did you do that?” Jason's lips parted in surprise.

“I told you I was going to. I need to learn as much as possible about the facts, so I'm not blindsided at trial.”

“I could've told you anything.”

“It wouldn't be the same.” Bennie could see he was testy, so she chose her words carefully. “I want you to know you can tell me the truth about anything. I'm your lawyer, and everything you say is privileged. That's true of Lou as well.”

“Okay, so? It sounds like you want to ask me something.”

“I'd like to understand how Richie got killed.”

“I told you that already.” Jason frowned.

“I'm having a hard time imagining another person coming into that alley and framing you—”

“Well, they did, that's all I can tell you.” Jason threw up his hands. “Like I said, I was unconscious, I was knocked out. When I woke up, Richie was dead.”

“There's something I want you to understand. Self-defense is also a defense to murder.”

“I know that!” Jason slammed the table with his fist, and Bennie didn't like his display of temper.

“Relax. What I'm trying to say is that if you went into the alley to confront Richie, and he pulled a knife on you and you had to protect yourself, you wouldn't be—”

“That isn't the way it happened. I told you the way it happened.”

“Jason, I need you to tell me the truth.”

“I didn't tell you the truth? I am telling you the truth!”

Lou rose slightly. “There's no call for that, son.”

“I'm not your
son
!”

“Jason, please. We're both here trying to help you.” Bennie noticed the guard look over, so she let it go for now. “I need to ask you about something else. I talked to Emily, the waitress at Eddie's. I'm thinking that you go in there because Richie goes there—”