Final Judgment (26 page)

Kelly Holt appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. “Let’s get going.”

Fish left him as Mason lingered for a moment, glancing at the mantle above the fireplace where he saw Fish’s
tallit
and
tefillin
. The
tallit
was a prayer shawl worn by Jews during religious services. The
tefillin
were two small black boxes with black straps attached to them. Some Jews wore them while reciting morning prayers, one box strapped on their head, the other strapped to one arm.

“Don’t worry,” Fish said, looking back at him. “I prayed for both of us this morning.”

“Did God laugh when you mentioned our names?”

“No. He said quit complaining.”

Mason followed Fish into the kitchen. Kelly handed out copies of a photograph of Sylvia McBride taken as she got out of her car in a parking lot, an office building behind her. The picture was stamped with the date it had been taken a month earlier. The sky in the background was cloudy, the pavement asphalt, her car black. Dressed in gray, she was late fifties, early sixties; slender, almost shapeless; her indistinct brown hair cut short. Though the picture had been taken from a distance, the zoom lens had captured her plain face, free of expression, her flat countenance giving nothing away. Only her eyes showed any life, though her gaze was guarded. She was practically invisible.

Mason slipped headphones over his ears, the soft pads muting Samuelson’s last-minute instructions to Fish, who listened patiently, patting Samuelson on the shoulder as if to say,
Relax, sonny, and watch me work
. Fish was wearing a green warm-up suit that made him look like an overripe bell pepper, but his face was calm, his eyes sharp.

Sylvia answered on the third ring, saying hello in a voice that had the husky resonance of cigarettes and booze. If she wasn’t five years older than Mason had guessed from her picture, her life expectancy was at least that much shorter.

“It’s Avery Fish. How are you, Sylvia?”

She missed a beat in her reply, the hesitation enough to make Samuelson break a sweat. “After all these years. I thought I recognized your number on my caller ID. I’m fine, Avery. My God, it’s been what? Ten years?”

“Give or take, but what’s a decade between old friends? Right?”

“Nothing at all. It’s good to hear your voice. It’s been too long.”

“I should’ve stayed in touch more. I still miss Wayne. It’s been a long time.”

“Me too,” she sighed.

“You remember how he used to imitate my voice, call you up and pretend to be me?”

“It made me so mad,” she said with a laugh. “The two of you were always playing jokes on me.”

“What have you been doing?”

“After Wayne died, I moved up here to be with my sister because she had cancer. I was her only family except for a son and a stepson. Neither one of them had time for their mother. After I buried her, I thought, ‘Well, Sylvia, this is God’s way of telling you to start over.’ So I did. I went to work nine to five. Took some getting used to, but I did it.”

“I don’t blame you a bit. I should have started over too.”

“I saw you on television. I’m sorry for all your troubles.”

“Yeah. I made CNN. How about that?”

“I saw it. You could lose a little weight, Avery. It’s not good for you being so heavy.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got no appetite these days.”

“Keep fighting.”

“I have to. I’m innocent, Sylvia. I had a few unhappy customers like any businessman, and the government is making a federal case out of it.”

“CNN said they found a body in the trunk of your car.”

“Bad luck. His and mine. I had nothing to do with that.”

“I believe you, Avery. You wouldn’t hurt a flea. I hope it all works out for you. It was nice to hear from you, but I’m going to be late for work.”

“Sylvia, give me another minute,” Fish said, adding a touch of desperation. “I need a favor and I don’t have anyone else to ask.”

“I work at a call center now,” she said, her voice stiffening. “Eight hours a day of customer service. It’s very boring, but no one comes to me for favors. I told you, Avery. I started over.”

“The government has frozen all my bank accounts, but I’ve got a lot of cash they don’t know about. It’s for my grandkids. It’s too much to leave in a suitcase under my bed. I need to move it, clean it, until this is over.”

“I can’t help you. I wouldn’t know how and I don’t want any trouble.”

“Don’t worry. My phone isn’t tapped. I’ve got a guy who checks it every day. No one is listening.”

“I’m listening. And, I’m not interested.”

“Sylvia, you remember the money I gave you when Wayne died? It was my cut from the last deal we did.”

“I remember. Wayne didn’t leave me much. I’m grateful for what you did, Avery. But that doesn’t mean I owe you.”

“I don’t mean it that way. You’re right. You don’t owe me a thing. But I’ve got more than twenty times that to move. I’ll give you a cut and you can buy your own call center.”

Mason listened as Sylvia hacked—clearing the phlegm from her throat, making way for the bait and hook Fish had tossed her.

“Even if I wanted to, I wouldn’t know how to do it. Wayne always took care of the money.”

“Then bury it in your backyard and dig it up when I’m dead. Just promise me you’ll get it to my grandkids. You can take whatever you think is fair for your trouble, but I’ve got to move the money in the next couple of days. I’ve got a hundred grand hidden at home. The rest is in a safety deposit box under a phony name. The feds have me under twenty-four-hour surveillance. I can’t go near the money. You and Wayne are the only ones I could ever trust with something like this, and he’s dead. Will you at least think about it?” His question hung unanswered. “Sylvia? Are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“Well?”

“I’ve got some sick days saved up. I’ll think about it,” she said and hung up.

FIFTY-THREE

“Where’s the money?” Fish asked.

Kelly lifted an aluminum briefcase onto the kitchen counter, snapped open the locks, and raised the lid, revealing neatly wrapped bundles of hundred-dollar bills packed tightly together like tiles. Fish elbowed Samuelson out of the way to get a closer look.

“Old money?”

“Heavily circulated, nonsequential serial numbers,” Kelly said.

“You can trace that?”

“Completely. Don’t get too ambitious. You’ve got enough problems as it is.”

Fish laughed. “You don’t have to worry about me, Miss Holt. You’ve already put me out of business. It’s my former partner who’s got ambitions.”

“You think Sylvia will call back?” Samuelson asked.

“She’ll call, and when she does, you better have the rest of the money,” Fish answered.

“Hold on,” Samuelson said. “It was hard enough to get the hundred thousand. You don’t really think we’re going to come up with another million and stick it in a safety deposit box for you to play with?”

“Actually, that would be another one million sixty-seven thousand. I told you that nobody believes exact numbers. And that’s what you’ll do if you want this to work. What’s the combination?” Fish asked, snapping the briefcase closed and thumbing the numbers on the lock.

“You aren’t serious?” Kelly said.

“I have too much respect for money to joke about it. I told Sylvia that I had the hundred at home. How’s it going to look if she shows up here and I don’t have it?”

“You think she’d do that?” Samuelson asked.

Fish rolled his eyes at Mason and let out an exasperated sigh. “Amateurs,” he muttered. “What do you think she’s going to do? Ask me to mail it to her?”

“There’s no way we’re leaving this money here with you,” Kelly said.

“Out of the question,” Samuelson added.

Fish picked up the phone and began dialing. Sylvia’s number flashed across the laptop screen. Samuelson snatched the phone from his hand, ending the call before Sylvia could answer.

“What in the hell are you doing?” Kelly demanded.

“I’m calling Sylvia to tell her I threw the money out with the trash and she can forget I ever called her.”

“You do that and our deal is off!” Samuelson said. “You’ll die in prison.”

“Fine,” Fish said, his hands clasped beneath his belly. “So I’ll die in prison. You think this house isn’t a prison? No wife, no kids, no grandkids. At least in prison I’ll have someone to talk to. Now get out of my house!”

Samuelson looked at Mason, pleading. “Talk to your client.”

Mason shook his head. “You put him up to this. If he can’t deliver the money to her, the deal blows up. There’s no way for him to know if Sylvia is going to call back, show up, or send someone in her place. You can park someone here to babysit him and the money but that could complicate things if someone knocks at the door.”

“What are we supposed to do?” Kelly asked. “Trust him? He’s a crook!”

“Then get a receipt for the money or pick someone else,” Mason said.

Kelly motioned Samuelson into the living room while the technician gathered his equipment. Fish poured himself a cup of coffee and read the paper. Mason stared out the kitchen window, trading glances with a blue jay bobbing on a sapling’s narrow branch.

“Okay,” Samuelson said when they came back five minutes later. “We’re going to install surveillance cameras and microphones throughout the house. That money walks out of here, we’re going to know about it.”

“Isn’t it supposed to walk out of here?” Mason asked.

“Well, yeah,” Samuelson managed. “But not without us knowing it.”

Fish waved a hand at Samuelson. “First I’m a snitch and now I’m a movie star. I don’t want anybody seeing me naked.”

“We can’t make any room in the house off-limits,” Kelly said. “I’m sorry.”

“Tell you what,” Mason said. “Keep a camera on the briefcase at all times. That’s all you need to worry about. The man is entitled to some privacy.”

Kelly looked at Samuelson, nodding. “Okay. We’ll wire the house today,” Samuelson said.

“Good. Now give me the combination,” Fish said. Samuelson scratched the numbers on a piece of paper, handing it to Fish, who glanced at them and handed the paper back. “This is just seed money. Sylvia and Wayne won’t take my word about the rest of the money. They’ll want to see all of it before they take any chances.”

“How are you going to pull that off?” Samuelson asked. “You already told her you can’t go near the money.”

“I can’t, but he can,” Fish said, pointing to Mason. “I’m going to give him my power of attorney and the key to my safety deposit box.”

Three copper canisters labeled
Flour
,
Sugar
, and
Salt
sat on the kitchen counter against the wall. Fish opened one that said
Flour
, reached in, and pulled out a plastic bag caked in white powder. He unsealed the bag and removed a key, handing it to Mason.

“It’s for box number 4722 at the U.S. Bank branch at Fifty-first and Main. I’ve had it for years. It’s under the name of Myron Wenneck.”

“I can’t believe we didn’t find that key when we searched your house,” Kelly said. “Or that the police didn’t find it when they did their search.”

“Who’s going to look in the flour?” Fish asked. “You’re policemen, not cooks.”

“You’ve got a safety deposit box under a false name?” Samuelson asked. “That’s against federal bank regulations.”

Fish gave him a sheepish grin. “What are you going to do? Arrest me again? I can’t open a new box. They’ll see the signature card when Lou takes them into the vault to show them the money. If the box doesn’t have a history, we don’t have a story.”

“I don’t want you involved,” Kelly told Mason. “I’ll get an agent about your age and build. Sylvia won’t know the difference.”

“I’ve been on TV as much as Avery has. She’ll know it isn’t me before my double gives her one of my business cards. I’ve got to do it or it falls apart.”

“There has to be another way,” Kelly said, looking hard at Mason. “You’ll end up a witness in the case against Al Webb or Wayne McBride—whichever name we charge him under. Once you’re on the stand, who knows where the questions will go.”

Kelly’s comment and the piercing look she gave him were packed with warning, as if she somehow knew which questions he didn’t want to answer. He glanced at Fish, who was dissecting Kelly’s words and the mask she was wearing. Fish turned to him with narrowed eyes and a thin-lipped smile that said,
Watch your step, boytchik
.

Mason nodded. “I’ve got an alternative. My legal assistant, Mickey Shanahan, just got back in town. Fish can vouch for him and he can go to the bank.”

“Swell, but what about the money?” Samuelson asked again. “My boss is going to think I’m out of my mind.”

“You’re the government,” Fish said. “Print the money.”

Mason looked at his watch. He was supposed to be at Vince Bongiovanni’s office to swap information about Ed Fiori and Charles Rockley.

“I’ve got to get going. Let me know when you hear from Sylvia.”

FIFTY-FOUR

Kelly said, “I’ll walk out with you.”

The sky was half clouds, half sun; the air held a tentative chill, ready to give way if the sun won the battle with the clouds or hold on if the contest went the other way. The breeze started and stopped as if it couldn’t make up its mind either.

They stood on the front porch. Kelly stuffed her hands under her arms to keep them warm.

“I think your client may have gotten the wrong idea.”

“Which wrong idea? The one about the government helping him out of a jam?”

Kelly smiled. “Not that one. I think he’s trying to figure out a way to steal our money.”

Mason spun toward her. “Between the federal and state charges, the man could spend the rest of his life in prison. Despite what he says, he’s got an ex-wife, kids, and grandkids he wants to reconnect with when this is all over. Besides, he’s not that stupid. You’re going to have cameras and microphones everywhere except up his ass, plus you’ll probably evict the neighbors across the street so you can spy on him in person.”

“We don’t evict them. We rent from them. And, it’s not about being stupid. It’s about habits—bad ones. People don’t change. He’s a con man. We just waved a boatload of money under his nose. He wasn’t kidding when he said he has too much respect for money to joke about it. Only it isn’t just respect, it’s greed and the charge he gets out of running a con. He can’t help himself. Plus, he wants to get even with his ex-partner.”