JL04 - Mortal Sin (39 page)
Gina Florio lowered the sunglasses and looked at me with those dark blue eyes rimmed in black. “I waited for you to call me, Jake. I waited a week and then another week. And then I thought about it, and I knew you wouldn’t. Whenever I’m available, you never call.”
I didn’t say a word.
Charlie Riggs cleared his throat. “I think I’ll go clean some fish.”
“We don’t have any fish,” I responded, as he walked away.
“Then I’ll go to the market and get some,” he called back.
“Anyway,” Gina said, “I didn’t hear from you, so I made other arrangements, but I wanted to see you before I left town.”
That caught me by surprise. “I figured you’d be tied up with the lawyers for a while,” I said. “The estate must be complicated.”
Her smile was rueful. “Not really. When you have ten million in assets and twenty million in debts, it’s really quite simple.”
“I don’t get it. I thought Nicky was loaded.”
“Nicky was leveraged like you wouldn’t believe. Everything he had, the bingo hall, the raw land, the apartment projects, even our house, was tied up as collateral for his loans. He’d lost a bundle in commercial real estate. Empty shopping centers were a huge cash drain, and he’d signed personally on every loan. The gambling and the oil were supposed to turn it around.”
“There must have been life insurance.”
“Pledged to the banks to secure the lines of credit. So were the cars, the boat, even my jewelry. Hey, I’m back where I started, Jake, except I’m older and wiser.”
“I’m sorry. Not about Nicky. Hut I was hoping you’d be okay.”
“I am okay. A girl uses her wits, or whatever her assets may be.”
A charter fishing boat chugged under the bridge, three sunburned tourists saluting us with beer cans.
“So what now?” I asked.
“A long trip and short memories. I want to forget all about Nicky and his big plans.”
The fishing boat picked up speed. For some reason, I wanted to be on it, headed for open seas.
“It’ll take a while,” I said.
She nodded. “You know what’s funny? Nicky’s plans would have worked. If it hadn’t been for you, and of course, if Tupton hadn’t…”
“Hadn’t what?”
She shrugged. “Hadn’t died.”
“C’mon, Gina. I’ve known all along. Nicky killed him. You don’t have to cover up for him anymore. Tupton found something in the den about the oil. Geologists’ reports, maybe. I hen he must have realized he was being bearded about the casino and the museum. Nicky wanted his blanket support, and if he got it, he would sneak the resolution through the Water Management Board that would let him drill for oil. Once Tupton learned the truth, Nicky couldn’t let him live.”
She was silent, and we both watched an osprey dive-bombing the water.
“You’re half right,” she said, which I figured was my usual batting average. “Tupton did find out about the oil, but there was something else, too.”
“What?”
“It had to do with me.”
“You? You killed Tupton?”
“No! Jake, I always told you the truth about Tupton. It was an accident. I just left something out.”
“What?”
“Carlos de La Torre.”
“What about him?”
“He was at the party. I’d been drinking a little too much, and Nicky was hobnobbing with all the politicos, and I was bored with the whole scene. Well, there’s Carlos, oozing that Latin charm and flirting with me like he always did. First thing you know, he and I are in the guest bathroom downstairs. I thought I’d locked the door, but who barges in…”
“Peter Tupton.”
“Right, three sheets to the wind and fading fast. He takes one look at us, goes, ‘Naughty, naughty.’ He says something about Nicky Florio screwing the Everglades and the sugar king screwing Nicky’s wife. And he’s laughing, a drunk’s laugh. Maybe he wouldn’t have said anything, but maybe he would have blurted everything out, thinking he was being hilarious, or maybe getting even with Nicky. Anyway, we couldn’t risk it. Carlos zipped up, gives that big smile of his, and starts treating Tupton like a long-lost friend. ‘Let’s show Senor Tupton around.’ So we do. We pick up two bottles of champagne and give him a tour of the house. He’s weaving and staggering, but flattered by all the attention.
Finally, in one of the guest bedrooms, he just lies down and passes out.”
“Then what? What did you and Carlos do?”
“We needed time to think, so we went back to the kitchen to talk. We figured when he woke up, maybe he wouldn’t remember what he saw. Maybe he’d think it was a dream. I don’t know. We were buying time. We just hoped for the best.”
“So how did he get into the wine cellar?”
“It was late. All the guests had left. I’d looked in the guest bedroom, but Tupton wasn’t there. I figured he’d gotten up and simply left. The caterers had cleaned up. I was downstairs and I hear this shout. Nicky found Tupton on the floor in the guest bathroom. He’d crawled in there, gotten sick, and curled up on the tile. Nicky’s cussing up a storm about the fucking bird-watcher, just look at him now. Nicky said, ‘Let’s sober him up,’ so he grabbed him by the wrists and slung him over his shoulder like a fireman.”
“And took him down to the wine cellar.”
“Right, but Nicky never thought Tupton would die. Just the opposite. He thought the cold would wake him up. It was an accident. Then Nicky figured you’d handle the trial for us, and in six months nobody would even remember Tupton’s name.” She sighed. “But things never work out the way you plan.”
Just then, the limo reappeared on the bridge, this time pointed north. Its horn honked twice.
“Gotta go,” Gina said. “Carlos is waiting.”
“Here? He’s in the car?”
“It’s his, silly. And so am I. You haven’t even congratulated me.” She waved her left hand in front of my face.
“I’m surprised you can lift your arm,” I said, examining a diamond that Liz Taylor would dismiss as too ostentatious.
“We’re getting married in Mexico. Then a three-month honeymoon cruise around the world. Carlos says that when we get back, he’d like to hire you as a lawyer.”
“Work for the sugar king? Forget it.”
“C’mon, Jake. Your suspension will be over, and you’ll need new clients.”
“You don’t have to do this for me,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”
“It was Carlos’s idea, Jake. He was impressed with you at the Water Board hearing. So when I mentioned how you and I are old friends and how nice it would be if…”
The limo honked at us again. Gina slipped her sunglasses back on, gave me a peck on the cheek, and turned toward the metal stairs.
“So long, Jake. Maybe I’ll see you later, and maybe I won’t.”
“Oh, you will,” I said. “You surely will.”
The author of 14 novels, Paul Levine won the John D. MacDonald fiction award and was nominated for the Edgar, Macavity, International Thriller, and James Thurber prizes. A former trial lawyer, he also wrote more than 20 episodes of the CBS military drama “JAG” and co-created the Supreme Court drama “First Monday” starring James Garner and Joe Mantegna. The critically acclaimed international bestseller “To Speak for the Dead” was his first novel. He is also the author of the “Solomon vs. Lord” series and the thriller “Illegal.” His next novel, “Lassiter,” will be published in hardcover—and as an e-book—by Bantam in Fall 2011. Visit Paul Levine on the Web at
http://www.paul-levine.com
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Copyright © 1994 Paul J. Levine
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Nittany Valley Productions, Inc.
Edition: December 2010