A Mighty Fortress (48 page)

I looked at the witness stand, where a week earlier I’d been sitting when the news of Scalzo’s death hit me like an Evander Holyfield uppercut. I still felt the rush of wind when Mitchell, C-Rod, and Shields had entered the courtroom that day and announced that Scalzo had met his demise. Then I found myself thinking about random variables, and wondering what other surprises might lie ahead today.
 

I surveyed the courtroom again for familiar faces. Pilka and Jace were a few rows ahead of me. Jace hadn’t noticed me yet. McSwain and Roy Dyer and his crew were on the opposite side, undoubtedly there to answer any questions the judge had about the settlement, and to avoid having to call a jury in a little while.

Then there was a loud knock on the door before the bench. The door swung open, and the bailiff yelled, “All rise!”

I’d told Angie to cough loudly anytime she recognized someone who’d entered the courtroom. Notwithstanding the pieces I’d put together the night before, I still had enough doubt that I knew anyone in the courtroom could be a suspect. As he entered the courtroom I realized that also included Judge Sanders. After all, he’d seemed to want to keep the case on the fast track for trial, and he fit the general bland description of Angie’s VIP clients. I watched her closely and could tell she was doing the same thing to the judge. Then she glanced at me, saw what I was looking for, and gave me a slight shake of the head.

The judge settled into the bench with a tired sigh. “Well, I see we have a full docket today, so let’s get started with any uncontested matters.”

Dyer and Pilka’s new attorney, Wilkes Donahue, quickly stood. Dyer took the lead, saying, “Your honor, we’ve reached a settlement and wanted to let you know we won’t be going to trial today.”

I couldn’t tell if Judge Sanders wanted to smile or shake his head. He waved for the bailiff to give him the copy of whatever the attorneys had filed. Once he had it in hand, the judge started reading. A moment later he set the papers down and sighed deeply. “Has anyone heard from Mr. Wilcox?”

The attorneys looked at each other and shook their heads in unison, a collective no. “I’ve taken over for Mr. Wilcox,” Donahue said.
 

Just then, the double doors slammed open, and C-Rod led the charge, followed by Shields. I leaned forward, looking for Mitchell to round out the rear, but the door swung closed behind Shields.

Then it reopened, and Mitchell wasn’t far behind.

The judge looked up and stared incredulously at the men storming his courtroom. “Detectives, you’re late.”

C-Rod first approached the bench, apologizing for interrupting. Shields and Mitchell followed in his wake. I was so enamored by their appearance that I’d neglected to check on Angie. When I did, I realized she was nodding, looking straight down. Then she started coughing and glancing at me to make sure I’d heard.

Even though I had no idea who’d caught her attention, I looked her in the eyes and nodded. I saw more than recognition in her eyes. There was fear, too. She was trying to mouth something, but I couldn’t make out what it was.

The judge finished talking to the detectives and Mitchell in private. They both turned and started surveying the courtroom. C-Rod found me first. As soon as he did, he started walking, passing the counsel’s table. He walked down my aisle, and stopped at my row. “You know the drill, Porter,” he said. A bailiff had followed him for backup.

I was just glad C-Rod had approached me and not Angie. Seeing no reason to make a scene here, I stood. As I did, I noticed that Shields was still standing close to the counsel’s table, seemingly surveying the courtroom, as though looking for someone else. I knew just who he was looking for.

Just then, Angie stood, walked past Shields, and raced out of the courtroom. C-Rod didn’t seem to notice her departure, but Shields did. He zipped by C-Rod, and disappeared into the hallway a second later.

I’d also lost track of Mitchell, but when I saw him huddled with the other lawyers talking to Judge Sanders, I began to confirm a lot of the suspicions I’d put in place the night before.

“You heard me, Porter!” C-Rod nearly shouted.

I stood, and realized that every eye in the courtroom was on me. I politely moved past the lawyers that rounded out my row. I stepped into the aisle, and C-Rod pointed the way to the door. I left the courtroom without a word. Once I was in the hallway, I looked in every direction for any sign of Angie or Shields. They seemed long gone.

I hoped that was a good sign.

I turned and started to ask C-Rod what the hell was going on, but before I could speak, he had my face planted against the brick wall. “Milo Porter,” he said, “you’re under arrest.”

I sighed. “What the hell for?”

He turned me around, as though he wanted to see my reaction to his answer. His eyes seemed to glow as he said: “You’re under arrest for the murder of Giuseppe Calcavecchia.”

I mumbled something about random variables, and relaxed my shoulder blades to let C-Rod do what he needed to do.

After C-Rod read me my rights, I decided to take him up on the one about remaining silent, at least until I got my thoughts straightened out. Everything had seemed to be going according to plan until C-Rod mentioned the bit about my being under arrest for the murder of Giuseppe Calcavecchia. As C-Rod and I took the elevator down to the courthouse lobby, I wondered what kind of trouble Giuseppe had gotten himself into, and why his death was being pegged on me. Of course, in this case the possibilities were endless.

I wasn’t ready to show my hand to C-Rod just yet, and I didn’t expect him to show his until I was. I needed a few more minutes to think, actually, and it looked like I’d get just that. The bailiff helped C-Rod lead me through the courthouse lobby, where the sight of me in cuffs was turning a lot of heads. The line outside the courthouse had dissipated, but not so much the humidity. The bailiff continued following us until we’d reached C-Rod’s car parked in the government lot a block north. A street preacher on Twiggs was calling for repentance through a tinny bullhorn. His eyes seemed to lock on mine as C-Rod led me to the waiting car.

C-Rod opened the rear passenger door and gave me a light shove into the backseat, pushing my head down as cops always do when loading up a handcuffed suspect. As I was getting comfy, a pair of waving arms across the street caught my attention. They didn’t belong to the street preacher—they belonged to the Honorable Francis Pinkerton, who was panting as he did his best to get my attention. 

“What the hell does
he
want?” C-Rod muttered as he pulled a U-turn back toward Twiggs.
 

Good question
, I thought. I could think of only two developments that would have the judge this excited: either Audrey had returned along with everything she’d taken from him, or he’d found something notable on the DVD footage I’d left with him that morning. Albeit for selfish reasons, I sure knew which one I hoped it was. “Maybe he wants to make a donation to Mitchell’s campaign,” I said. “I bet you could help him out with that, eh, C-Rod?”

We both stared at the judge as we passed him on the side of the street. “Looks like he’s saying your name,” C-Rod added.

Strangely enough, it sure as hell did. As far as I could tell, the judge was standing on the street corner, repeating my name: “Porter. Milo Porter.” Then, for some reason he started pointing across the street, but I couldn’t tell at what. All I could tell was that he seemed to be repeating my name.

C-Rod grunted as he came to a red light. I could tell he was trying to make up his mind about which way he’d turn, which meant he wasn’t ready to take me to the station quite yet. That could be a good sign or a bad one. Then he eyed me in the rearview and said, “You’re not talking yourself out of this one, Porter.”

“You know, she recognized you back there, C-Rod. And Shields knows everything, too. She’s probably with him right now. Sorry, C-Rod, but the game’s up.”

He grunted again and kept his eyes pointed at the rearview. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Porter. All I know is, you’re going down. We have video footage showing you leaving the Embassy Suites last night about ten minutes after one of Art Scalzo’s henchmen was thrown off the roof. And good luck claiming self-defense now, after running the way you did.”

“Right. And back there you said I was under arrest for the murder of Giuseppe Calcavecchia. What’s he got to do with the goon who was thrown off the roof last night?”

“So you’re saying you threw someone
else
off the roof?”

I shook my head. “I’m not admitting anything. I’m just saying I know this Giuseppe guy, and I know of the guy who met his demise last night at that hotel. They’re not the same guy.”

“Like hell they’re not,” he said. “And I should know, Porter. Remember, I warned you about him the other day at the funeral?”

“The guy you warned me about was tall and lanky. We saw him scoping out the funeral.”

C-Rod’s shit-eating grin widened. “The only lanky person I saw scoping out the funeral was you.”

I didn’t know if C-Rod was screwing with me, or if I was losing my mind. “I’m telling you, C-Rod. The guy at the hotel’s name was Tony Abner, and Shields knows all about him. Shields knows everything. Including the fact that I’ve seen you snooping around all week without your partner.”

C-Rod had no doubt reached a new level of frustration, as he threw his hands in the air. “Hey, I told you, Porter, I’ve been tailing Giuseppe Calcavecchia since he got in town! Now he’s dead.”

There was really no point in continuing this conversation with C-Rod, except that I wanted to know why he kept insisting that the guy I threw off the roof was Giuseppe Calcavecchia. I hadn’t seen or heard from Gus since I’d left him with Kiki’s and Jimmy’s bodies in the Everglades. Now C-Rod had arrested me for his murder, and that called for an explanation. “This is all I’m going to say, C-Rod. I know Giuseppe Calcavecchia. He’s been in my house threatening me a few times, and I saw him as recently as Saturday night. He looks nothing like the goon who tried to kill us last night at the hotel.”

C-Rod shook his head at me in the mirror. “You did hear the part about your right to remain silent, didn’t you?”

“I got nothing to hide, C-Rod. The truth will come out.”

I apparently had his attention, as he pulled over and parked in a No Parking space on Florida Avenue. Cops have all the best perks. “Really?” he said, then challenged: “Why don’t you describe what he looked like, then?”

I told him what I could. “Giuseppe has at least half a foot on the guy I saw last night. And he had a lot more hair. White hair. They looked nothing alike. Plus, like I said, he was the guy we saw staking out Scalzo’s funeral. The tall guy a few hundred feet away from the funeral party.”

C-Rod grinned at that. “Good try, Porter. Giuseppe was standing two feet away from Art Scalzo the entire funeral. I saw him with my own eyes. Same way I saw his dead body last night. Look for yourself.” He picked up a manila folder off the front seat and threw it my way.

I opened it—not as easy as you’d think in handcuffs—and read. Sure enough, the first page had a mugshot of the goon who’d showed up last night saying his name was Tony Abner. And once I saw the scar traversing the left side of his face, there was no question about it: he was the same goon standing closest to Art Scalzo at the funeral the week before, just as I’d finally recognized him the night before. And, it seemed, his name really
was
Giuseppe Calcavecchia. That could explain why his resolve to kill me seemed to deepen last night when I told him I was working with Giuseppe.

“What’s the matter, Porter? Out of excuses?”

Truth be told, I was out of explanations. If the guy I threw over the roof was Giuseppe Calcavecchia, then who the hell was the white-haired guayabara-wearing gangster who’d been paying me visits all week? I tried recalling everything we’d said during our first meeting. Hadn’t he told me his name was Giuseppe? Or had he said something else and I insisted on calling him Giuseppe? He’d said he worked for the family; I was certain of that. Could he work for another crime family involved in this mess?

“So, Porter, what you got to say for yourself?” C-Rod said with a newfound cockiness.

“All right, C-Rod. So you’ve got some leverage on me now that you think you can pin this on me. It’s too late. We got too much on you.”

He turned around and looked me straight in the eyes. “You’re not scaring me. You have nothing on me, because I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“So where’s Mitchell?” I asked.

He winced. “How the hell should I know?”

“So what do you get if he’s elected? Lead investigator with his office? You guys are probably ready to make a killing in this corrupt city.”

“Keep talking, Porter. You’re digging your own grave.”

“Oh, is that a threat?”

“Porter, I suggest you shut your mouth.”

“Even Shields confirmed last night that his name was Tony Abner. He didn’t say anything about Giuseppe Calcavecchia.”

C-Rod’s eyes narrowed. “What’d you say?”

“You heard me. I met with Shields last night. He called it in and confirmed my story about this Abner guy.”

That gave C-Rod a lot to think about. Too much to think about. I didn’t like the looks of what he was thinking, either. Still, something about it shone a light in a few corners of the maze that I’d missed. “You’ve been working without Shields a lot, haven’t you, C-Rod?”

C-Rod stared blankly—not at me, just into the distance. It was as if I’d just told him something about Shields that had confirmed a lot for him, a painful affirmation of something he’d been hoping wasn’t true. It was then that I realized C-Rod hadn’t been working behind Shields’s back all week; he’d been investigating his own partner. The same partner who’d played me the night before. “Shit, C-Rod. I made a mistake.”

“You’re damn right you did, Porter. And the game’s up.”

Then I remembered Angie.
Angie
. I lost my breath again. Before I knew it, I felt like the car was closing in on me. “Can you crack the window back here?”