No Show of Remorse (25 page)

“If I'm pretty close to right so far,” I cut in, “don't say anything.”

No one said anything.

“Maybe Lonnie's looking to rise in the world, so he's cutting his … his business associates … out of the deal,” I said. “Anyway, the cops know he's gonna be at his place by himself, which is what's gonna make it so easy. They arrive and get their money, and then one of them puts a bullet in Lonnie's brain. But surprise! Someone else
is
there. Fay Rita, Lonnie's lady friend. Who knows why? Anyway, she's hiding and watching. She's a psychopath herself, and she's got an automatic and when Lonnie takes the bullet she's too slow to stop it, but she starts shooting everyone in sight. Eventually the cops take her down, but by the time it's over three out of the four cops are shot too. The fourth one, Richard Kilgallon, calls for help and when help arrives he's wandering around on the sidewalk out front—like in a daze, or in shock. He talks about Lonnie and his girl friend, and some other man with a gun, too. A man no one's ever able to identify.”

Suzanne was crying softly now.

“I'll stop there,” I said. I hadn't mentioned Marlon Shades at all. “Your turn.”

Jimmy nodded, and took a deep breath. “That night, all I knew was—”

“Wait,” Suzanne said. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He reached his hand out toward her. “I … I
need
to.”

She took his hand. “I know,” she said. “I know you do.” She brushed her lips across the tips of his fingers and then let go of his hand.

CHAPTER

39

“A
LL RIGHT
,” Jimmy said. “Okay.” He paused, then pushed on. “I don't know to this day—at least I don't know for
sure
—what my brother and Richard Kilgallon, my brother's partner, planned. I mean, about killing anyone. All I knew was that the two of them had got their hands on a trunkload of cocaine and that some guy named Lonnie Bright—I'd never even heard of Lonnie before—was gonna buy it. I hadn't been assigned to narcotics very long, but I … I'd been pretty sure for a while what Sal was into. That night he was gonna bring me in for the first time.” He shook his head. “When I think back on it now, it's even hard for
me
to understand.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, at the time I knew it was wrong. I mean I was a cop, a sworn police officer. But somehow, back then, its being wrong didn't matter much. Other guys were doing it. Not everyone, you know, but … Plus, you get to thinking, hey, the drugs are there anyway. Everywhere; an endless supply, so … Well, the excuses don't look so good now. But all I knew about was the sale.”

“You're sure of that?” I asked, mainly to make him say it again, to watch him.

“I didn't know about any plan to kill anyone. I really didn't. I was to stay downstairs with Marlon Shades and— Oh, what you said was right, about Lonnie doing this deal on his own. Sal told me that. He was surprised Lonnie's nephew, Marlon, was there.” Jimmy stopped, looked at me. “You didn't mention Marlon, but you know he was there, right? He must have told you that.”

I just shrugged.

“Right,” Jimmy said. “You're not saying. Anyway, we met Lonnie and Marlon in the alley. Nobody knew that Lonnie had his girlfriend and another guy hiding upstairs. Anyway, Lonnie checked out the coke in the trunk of Sal's squad. When he was satisfied, he said the money was upstairs, and Sal and Richie went with him to get it. Art Frankel—he was my partner—was out front with our car. Sal told me to stay down there in the alley and help Marlon unload the cocaine out of the squad car and into Lonnie Bright's car.”

“How much?”

“Pounds? Kilos? I don't know. Maybe twenty-five, thirty kilos. It was packed in little clear plastic bags, and then put in some plastic shopping bags. I thought it was strange when Sal pulled me to the side and told me to help Marlon with the loading and then bring him upstairs in a hurry. I said to forget Marlon and once it's unloaded I'd just bring the car around front and we'll all get outta there. But Sal said we didn't want Marlon running off with any of the stuff. He told me, ‘You get that skinny little nigger's ass up—'” Jimmy stopped and stared down at the unopened Pepsi can cradled in his hands. “I'm sorry, God help me, but that's what he said.”

“Take a deep breath,” Suzanne said. “Take your time.”

“Right. So, like I said,” he went on, “it seemed strange because if we had the money, who cared what Marlon did? But I said sure. The thing is, though, I didn't help Marlon at all. I figured that was scut work, beneath me.” He shook his head, remembering. “That made Marlon mad and he took just two bags at a time, and he moved pretty slow. Sal should've backed his squad up to Lonnie's car, trunk-to-trunk. But he didn't, and Marlon had to haul them around and—”

“Wait,” I said. “Was there plenty of light?”

“Hardly any at all. The only lights were from the trunk lights of the two cars. The alley lights were out. The first floor was vacant. Anyway, Marlon just had two more bags to go, when all the sudden there was a shot upstairs. Then right away more shots. I left Marlon there and ran up the stairs. But by the time I got up to the second floor it was real quiet again. The back door to the apartment was open and I stood there a few seconds, with my gun in my hand, wondering what to do. Then I thought I heard someone moving inside. It was dark in there and I figured someone might be waiting for me. So I ran back downstairs and … and there was more shooting upstairs. And then it stopped again.”

“Where was Marlon?” I asked.

“Marlon was gone. Both trunks—Lonnie's car and the squad—were still open. I was scared. I couldn't think straight. I was afraid to call in because I didn't know what happened. Plus, you know, we'd be caught with the coke. I looked in the squad and the two bags were still there. I ran to Lonnie's trunk and all those bags were still there, too. And then I heard someone behind me, back by the back stairs of the building, and I realized someone must have come down from upstairs. I remember I still had my weapon in my hand, and I'm pretty sure I raised it up and started to turn.” His voice was shaking.

“Relax,” I said. “Take your time.”

“Right. Okay. So I was turning around from Lonnie's trunk and I saw someone on the steps, but just like a glimpse. Everything happened so fast and … and I was shot right then, sort of in the side of the back, but I don't remember hearing any shot, or feeling any real pain. I just remember … it's hard to describe. Like something hit me hard and I was scared. Somehow I knew I was shot and I thought I was gonna die, and I was scared to die. I stood there, and I lost control, you know? My bladder. And then I started falling. I think I fell half into the trunk.” He stopped and breathed deeply. “And that's it. That's all I really remember until later, in the hospital, when I woke up.”

“Nothing else?” I pressed him, but he shook his head. “When you were able to be interviewed you told the detectives that your brother and Kilgallon ran up the front way after Lonnie, because they'd spotted him with a gun. You said Frankel stayed out in front and you drove Sal's car around to cover the back of the building. You heard some shooting and you started up, but someone was running down in the darkness and knocked you back down the stairs, and then followed you down and shot you. And that's all you remembered.”

“Yes,” he said. “That's what I told them. That's after I read what the others said. I had to keep the drug deal out of it. I lied.”

“If you were over by Lonnie's car when you were shot, why did you say—”

“Because where they said they found me was by the bottom of the steps. That was only a few feet from the car, anyway.”

“But actually you were looking in Lonnie's trunk. When you turned, did you see the person coming down the steps?”

“Not really. I heard him and I started to turn and I just saw a vague figure, almost like a shadow. And he shot me. It all happened at once.”

“And you fell and you don't remember
any
thing after that?”

“Well, I mean, I
sort
of remember feeling and hearing little bits of things. Being lifted or dragged, then later being picked up and put on a stretcher. Sirens, voices. I'd be aware maybe for a few seconds, and then out again. I think I remember the ambulance bouncing. But I'm sure they put me under on the way to the hospital.”

“I was there when he woke up,” Suzanne said, “after surgery. He didn't really wake up even then. He recognized me, said my name, but he doesn't remember that, either. Then there was more surgery. And it just went on and on.”

“Did you talk to either Kilgallon or Frankel before you gave your statement to the detectives?”

“No, I didn't. I had a lawyer. Someone sent him. His advice was not to talk to them, just read their statements. He said he assumed my statement would be consistent with theirs. I was depressed and angry and afraid. I said what I said, and it wasn't true.”

“When did you finally talk to either Kilgallon or Frankel?”

“Never,” he said. “That is, I never talked to either of them again about that night, or what happened. Neither one ever came to see me in the hospital, or at home. I saw them on a couple of public occasions, but we didn't really talk. We never have.”

“Not even recently?” I couldn't believe there'd been no communication.

“No, but I know what you're getting at.” He paused. “The lawyer came to see me, about a month ago. The same lawyer I had after the shooting. I didn't call him this time, either; he just came. He wanted to discuss any letter I might send to the disciplinary commission about you, or any testimony I might give. I told him I wasn't sending any letter, and I wasn't going to testify. He said they might subpoena me and I told him that if somehow I was forced to testify, I … I'd just tell the truth. He got the point.”

“Did he suggest that you lie?

“No. He just left.”

“What happened to the money?”

“I don't know. The guy who shot me must have taken it. And the cocaine, too, I guess. I figured he moved me away from the trunk to get at it and—”

“The doctors,” Suzanne said, “they thought the bullet was lodged near the spinal cord and then shifted later. They said if Jimmy'd been immobilized before … if he'd been moved properly, maybe he wouldn't…” She was crying.

“We don't know that, honey,” he said.

“How much did you get when the whole deal was over?”

“What?” He looked as though he didn't understand the question.

“Well, you got some of it. What was your share? How dumb do you think I am?”

“Look here, you—” He stopped, shook his head. “Nothing. Not dime one. I never—”

“Okay, I believe you.” And I did. “But that night, you never actually saw any money?”

“No, but Lonnie Bright said he had it, and I'm sure he did. I mean, I didn't know him, but Sal sure believed him. And the man would have had to be crazy not to have the money. He—”

“Wait,” Suzanne put in. “I really never thought of it, but maybe that's why he had his girlfriend up there, and that other guy. Maybe he wasn't meaning to buy at all. Maybe it was a trap to—”

“No,” Jimmy said, and made me more certain than ever that he was telling me the truth. “He'd have known better, Suzanne,” he explained. “He had two cops up there with him, me in the alley, and Art Frankel on the street out front. With our radios. No way he'd think he could ambush four cops.”

“Right,” I said. “And if he managed to pull it off, how would he explain what happened? It'd be hard to get rid of four dead bodies and two squad cars.” I shook my head. “Uh-uh, he had the money. How much was it supposed to be?”

“Five hundred thousand dollars. And I think that was cheap for the amount of coke that was there.”

“Jesus!” I said. “So there was half a million in cash upstairs, and at least that much in coke downstairs, and some lucky person got away with it all.”

“No, not lucky,” Jimmy said. “That was Satan's money, the wages of sin. It cost my brother his life, and me my legs.”

“Who was it?” I said. “Emerson? Thackeray? Somebody back then. He said that's the trouble with money. It usually costs way too much.”

CHAPTER

40

A
T TEN-FIFTEEN
C
ASEY AND
I carried Jimmy up the outside steps from the basement. I went back inside and upstairs, while Casey went with Suzanne and Jimmy out to the van. They were both exhausted—and it wasn't just physical. Besides, I had another appointment to keep.

I watched from a front window of the rectory as Casey swiveled Jimmy's wheelchair this way and that on the front sidewalk and pointed in various directions, before wheeling him onto the van's lift platform. Finally, Suzanne got Jimmy into the van and they drove off.

“What was all that turning and gesturing about?” I asked, when Casey was back inside.

“I was showing him the church, and the school buildings, and the old convent. Whatever might be useful for his youth program. That was for my sake, y'know? In case anyone ever asks what he was doing here, God forbid. I don't think he was paying attention, though.”

“No,” I said, “probably not.”

We went to the kitchen for coffee and I used the phone there to call Maura Flanagan. Again I got her answering machine. That seemed odd, since she'd wanted to see me that night, and I hung up without saying anything.

I called my own number, but there was only one message, the one from Flanagan that I'd already heard. I listened again. She sounded awfully worried.