Hounded (7 page)

I call Lieutenant Phillips and ask where I can find Haller, and he asks, “Why would you want to find Tommy Haller?”

“So I can talk to him.”

“Who might your next of kin be?”

That doesn’t sound particularly encouraging, but I persist and he tells me the address of the place where Haller is known to work out of, sort of his headquarters. It’s on Bergen Street in Paterson, an area that is not for the faint of heart. Which is a problem, because my heart is considerably fainter than most.

Bergen Street runs up to and dead-ends at the Passaic River. It’s an area that used to flood frequently, as a good rain would make the river overflow. They finally did something to mitigate that, so the people who live and work there did not need access to canoes on a regular basis.

Because it’s a dead end, the only way out is to reverse the way in. When I’m in situations that involve any kind of physical danger, I have a tendency to focus on the “how to get out” part. This address is not a great setup for that, especially since Haller’s location is at the very end of the street, right on the river.

I drive, with Laurie in the passenger seat and Marcus in the back. As we get close, I appear to be the only one of us who is nervous, though Laurie seems to be on alert. I look back at Marcus, and he is either meditating, or asleep.

We arrive at Haller’s at ten o’clock in the morning. Marcus tells me to park halfway down the block, at least a hundred yards from Haller’s place. I have no idea why, and I don’t ask. In situations like this, Marcus’s decisions are not to be questioned. At least not by me.

I tell myself that this is no big deal. Even though Haller has a reason to hate Pete, he’s still something of a long shot to be involved in the current case, and that actually lessens the danger here. We’ll ask a couple of questions, he’ll deny them, and we’ll leave. No harm, no foul.

There are three steps leading up to Haller’s door, in what was probably once a two-family house. A very large individual sits on the top of the steps, back against the wall, just to the side of the door. He watches us as we walk up the street, probably wondering if we are coming all the way to him. I imagine very few uninvited people do that.

When we reach him, it’s clear that he is even larger up close than he seemed at a distance. He’s borderline enormous; I actually think he could swallow me without chewing more than once or twice.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares, so I feel obligated to break the ice. “We’re here to see Tommy Haller.”

“That right?” he asks.

“That’s exactly right,” I confirm.

“What for?”

I clearly have no interest in telling him why we’re here, so I say, “We’re from Publishers Clearing House. He’s won a substantial prize.”

“Get lost, assholes.”

I don’t take kindly to anyone calling Laurie an asshole, but basically that is what he has done. Either Marcus or I is going to defend her honor, and I figure I’ll let Marcus take first crack at it.

Marcus doesn’t seem to have taken offense, but nor does he seem intimidated. He motions for us to follow him, and he starts walking up the steps. The Enormous One at first seems surprised, but then starts to rise to intercept Marcus.

What happens next is a blur, so fast and so barely perceptible that if I didn’t see the result, I would question whether it happened at all. Marcus makes a quick movement; it seems like he flicks out his elbow. From my vantage point, I don’t see it hit anything, but I hear a crunching noise.

Enormous no longer is getting up, in fact he sits back down in the same position he was in before, back against the wall. The only difference is that he is no longer conscious, which is fine with me. He’s actually more fun to be with this way.

There are two windows in the front of the building, and they are shaded so that one cannot look in from the outside. But there is the chance that someone inside has seen what transpired, and Marcus seems to take that into consideration. Rather than knock on the door, he puts his ear to it, listening.

I don’t hear anything, because my heart is pounding so loudly that it’s hard to hear over it. Marcus seems to hear something, though, because he hesitates, as if trying to figure out his next step.

As steps go, it turns out to be a beauty.

Marcus kicks forward and up, and it’s amazing to watch. His foot hits the door so high, it’s actually over his head, yet he doesn’t seem to launch himself in the air to do so, and he maintains perfect balance coming down. The Rockettes have never kicked that high, and I hate to use this word describing Marcus, but they’ve also never looked so graceful.

It is as if the door explodes, crashing forward, leaving an empty space where there once was a door. We move forward, following Marcus, as he steps on the fallen door into the room.

As I also step on the door, it seems unsteady, and I realize with some horror that there is a person under it. I know that because I can see a foot sticking out, and a voice obviously attached to that foot is screaming in pain.

Marcus steps on an area that sounds like where the voice might be coming from, and the voice stops. It is only then that I actually look into the room, and it is nothing like what I expected. It’s modern, with chrome office furniture, and artwork on the walls. It all seems so out of place that I feel like we stepped into a different dimension by accident.

Tommy Haller is sitting at a desk; I recognize him from photos. If he’s upset by what he’s witnessed, he’s not showing it. “You Marcus Clark?” he asks.

I assume he isn’t talking to Laurie or me, but Marcus doesn’t seem interested in answering, so I fill the breach. “In the flesh,” I say. “He’s a personal friend of mine; we’re very close.”

Haller doesn’t look at me; he can’t seem to take his eyes off Marcus. “I heard of you,” he says. Then, maybe thinking we hadn’t understood, or were questioning the veracity of his statement, he repeats, “Yeah, I’ve heard of you.”

“Great,” I say. “That makes us all feel closer. Let’s talk about Pete Stanton.”

Haller continues to ignore me, reminding me in the moment of every girl I went to high school with. He stares at Marcus, while slowly reaching into a drawer and taking something out. It’s a gun, which would not have been my first choice of things to come out of that drawer. For example, I would have preferred M&M’S.

He points the gun at Marcus, who does not seem to consider this a negative development, or a positive one. “You know what this is?” he asks Marcus.

Suddenly there is a loud firecracker sound, and the gun goes flying out of Haller’s hand and onto the floor. He looks as stunned as I am, which is way up on any stun-o-meter that might be measuring the event. We both look to the other side of the room, where Laurie is holding her own gun, and pointing it at Haller.

There’s no other conclusion to be reached other than she literally shot the gun out of Haller’s hand, a feat the Lone Ranger would be proud of.

“The next one goes in your head, asshole,” she says. Laurie, if I haven’t mentioned this before, is not to be confused with a delicate flower.

At that moment, Enormous staggers into the room, having somewhat recovered from whatever Marcus did to him. He looks groggy, and when Laurie says, “Sit down,” he sees the gun and eagerly heads to the nearest chair.

“You just made a big mistake,” Haller says to Laurie. The net effect of that statement is that Marcus seems to edge slightly toward Haller, the first movement of any kind since we settled in. He isn’t crazy about anyone threatening Laurie, and Haller is smart enough to pick up on it.

“Okay,” Haller says, raising his palms in a gesture of surrender. “What do you want?”

I jump in again. “As I mentioned, we want to talk about Pete Stanton.”

“That piece of shit ain’t getting out of jail alive. I got people in there.”

“Is that why you set him up for the Diaz hit?” I use words like “hit” to demonstrate my street cred; I am as cool as they come.

“What the hell you talking about?”

“Why did you hit Diaz?”

“Who is … is that the guy Stanton iced?”

I didn’t come here for a confession, or for Haller to unburden his soul to us. I am here looking for a reaction, so that I can judge whether it is real or not.

This is real.

It’s clear that Tommy Haller had nothing whatsoever to do with killing Danny Diaz, or setting Pete up to take the fall for it.

But at least we had a fun morning.

Edna is helping Ricky with his homework when we get home.

That is unusual in itself, since it’s almost July, and school doesn’t start until September.

The mystery is cleared up when Edna speaks. “What’s a four-letter word for ‘king of the jungle’?”

“What are the letters?” Ricky asks.

She points. “See this? The first letter is an ‘l.’”

Ricky thinks for a moment, then brightens. “Lion!”

Edna looks up at us and says, “The kid is good.” Tara and Sebastian, who are lying on a blanket together munching on chewies, don’t seem terribly impressed.

Edna turns back to Ricky and says, “Now we need a three-letter word for insect, starting with a ‘b.’” Before he can answer, she looks up at me and says, “Oh, Richard Wallace called; he said it’s important.”

Laurie starts to praise Ricky for his crossword puzzling prowess, while I head to the phone to call Wallace. I usually have instincts regarding when I’m about to hear good or bad news. Unfortunately, those instincts are only correct on the bad side; good news never seems to arrive when anticipated.

This time alarm bells are going off in my head; prosecutors don’t call during the pretrial phase to share happy defense news. The only question, as I dial the phone, is how bad this is going to be.

Wallace gets on the phone immediately and gets right down to business, another bad sign. Within moments, the signs are no longer important; the ominous words take over.

“There is a new development, Andy. I wanted to tell you myself before it hits the media.”

“What is it?”

“We executed the search warrant on Pete’s house. The officers found heroin—street value over a hundred grand.”

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. “That’s insane, Richard.”

He doesn’t seem inclined to take my word for it. “It’s real, Andy.”

“I would be involved with drugs before Pete would,” I say, and I mean it. Pete is about the most antidrug person I know. In fact, I once did him a favor and defended his brother on a drug charge. I got him off on a technicality, but the scare got him to turn his life around. I saw firsthand Pete’s attitude about the subject; his using or dealing heroin is not within the realm of possible reality.

“I’m sorry, Andy, but it gets worse. Diaz had informed on Pete that he was dealing. So it goes directly to motive. It’s all in the discovery.”

“I haven’t seen that yet.”

“I know,” he says. “It’s on the way to you. Because it involved an informant, I had to navigate some police politics before I could share it. But it’s there.”

“It’s bullshit, Richard. This whole thing is bullshit. I don’t know how the drugs got there, but they’re not Pete’s. And they’re not evidence of murder. If there were drugs in that house, they were planted there by someone other than Pete.”

“One way or another, they’re getting in, Andy.”

I know he’s right. The judge might not consider the discovery of the drugs admissible, but that won’t deter Richard. He’ll just add a charge of drug possession, and then the jury will hear all about it.

I’m not going to get anywhere talking to Richard. Not only wouldn’t any arguments I make be productive, but if I want to make them effective, it’s best I not preview them to the opposition.

I get off the phone and signal for Laurie to come into the kitchen, out of earshot of Ricky. I relate to her exactly what Richard said to me. She is stunned, but in typical Laurie fashion, does not waste time saying so. Her focus is on how we can counter this.

“This changes things, Andy. We’ve been thinking too small.”

“I know. It’s well-financed to the point that they’re willing to throw away a hundred grand worth of heroin to help build their case.”

“And they’re smart; this has been planned and executed remarkably well. This is not a Tommy Haller–type operation; this is out of Tommy Haller’s league.”

“And Diaz was in on it,” I say.

“How can you be sure?”

“Diaz informed on Pete for drug dealing, and then drugs were found in Pete’s apartment. The two have to be connected. Either Diaz was part of the frame on his own, or he had no choice.”

Laurie nods. “And what he didn’t realize was that his own murder was going to be the clincher against Pete.”

“I guess it’s time to hear what Pete thinks.”

“Where is he?”

I look at my cell phone to see what time it is. I used to wear a watch, but I’m a techie now. “Guards should be bringing him home right about now.”

“He’s going to be upset.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Maybe you should tell him.”

She smiles. “You can handle it.”

I head over to Pete’s house, which is about a ten-minute drive from mine. It’s a trip I am sure I’ll be making quite a few times, and it certainly beats driving to the jail.

Pete is already home, and I find him sitting at the kitchen table with a uniformed officer, who I don’t recognize. Pete introduces him as Kevin Bogart, and Bogart gives me a smile and a big handshake.

“Kevin’s going to be doing the eight-to-five shift,” Pete says.

Kevin smiles again and says, “Easy duty.”

“Where are you going to be stationed?” I ask.

“Right outside the front door,” he says.

“Would you mind going there now? I need to talk to my client.”

“Sure,” Kevin says. “No problem.” He is one agreeable guy.

Once he leaves, Pete asks, “What’s up?”

“They searched this house yesterday.”

He frowns. “I know. I’ll be straightening everything up for two days.”

“You notice anything missing?”

“Like what?”

“Well, they walked out of here with about a hundred grand worth of heroin.”

“That better be a joke,” he says.