Authors: William Bernhardt
“And so the student went to his master, the tiny creature cupped between his palms, and he said, ‘Master, I hold a small bird. Is the bird alive or dead?’
“And the master looked directly into his student’s eyes and said, ‘My son, the bird is in your hands.’ ”
Travis made eye contact with each of the jurors. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Alberto Moroconi is in your hands.”
He held their gaze for an extended moment, then returned to counsel table.
After Judge Hagedorn dismissed the jury, Travis left Moroconi with a bailiff and strolled to the back of the courtroom. Cavanaugh was waiting for him.
“Now that the trial’s over, am I permitted to smooch with opposing counsel?”
“I think that’s in the Rules of Professional Conduct somewhere.”
His lips met hers for a long, sweet moment. “How did I do?” he asked.
“Great, as always. You won the case.”
“Don’t jinx it. Let’s wait until the jury returns before we declare a winner.”
“Unnecessary. I know how it will come out. We had a flimsy case and you tore it apart. Moroconi may be vile, but he didn’t commit this crime.”
Travis nodded. “What has your boss decided to do about Dan?”
“The grand jury handed down the indictments this afternoon. Sixteen counts. Against him and Kramer and Mario.”
Even now, weeks after Travis confronted Dan, he still couldn’t shake his lingering sorrow. The man he had known so long and so well, the man he considered his mentor and hero, had met a pitiful end. “Should come as quite a blow to him.”
“Well, he’s had several severe blows lately. Including one involving red paint.”
“I heard it took him a week to get it all off.”
“You heard right. I can’t believe he passed out when you fired that multistrike gun.”
“Well, he was already quivering in his shoes, and the gun packs a pretty good punch at close range. Who’s handling Dan’s case?”
“I don’t know. Not me. They’re planning to use me as their star witness.”
“What about me? I’m available.”
“They’re not ruling you out. But you’ve gotten a ton of bad press lately, and even if it’s all retracted, they’re afraid you’ll be a suspect witness. Plus, your close relationship with Dan, and the money you’ve accepted from him over the years, would just give opposing counsel grist for cross-examination. If they can make it stick without you, they will.”
Travis felt a hand slap down on his shoulder. The blow sent a spike of pain through his patched rib. Even now, it provided a powerful reminder of all he had been through.
It was Curran. He looked very different in his seersucker suit and tie. No infrared goggles. No Puukko knife strapped to his chest. “You actually went through with it, Byrne. I can’t believe it.”
“I had no choice.”
“After all I did for you. You actually got Moroconi off the hook.”
“There’s no proof he committed this crime, Curran. I thought you hired a PI to track down the men who really attacked your sister.”
“I did. But that’s no reason to let this scumbag off the hook.”
“Hey, I resent that.” Moroconi was standing behind him, grinning from ear to ear. “I was innocent.”
They both ignored him. “I was appointed to represent him,” Travis explained, “and I had a moral obligation to do so to the best of my ability.”
“Lawyer talk. Fancy words to hide behind.”
“Well …” Over his shoulder, Travis saw Special Agent Henderson entering the courtroom. Brad Blaisdell, the U.S. Attorney, was standing beside him. They were having an animated conversation.
“Congratulations, Travis,” Henderson said. “Brad tells me it looks like an acquittal will be forthcoming.”
“That’s right,” Moroconi said. “So call off your FBI goons. I’m free to go.”
“Well, not exactly. Brad?”
Blaisdell slapped a piece of paper into Moroconi’s hands. “Mr. Moroconi, you’re under arrest.”
“Arrest?
Again
? For what?”
“First degree murder. Frank Howard. The guard you killed during your escape.”
“There were no witnesses. That was self-defense!”
Blaisdell ignored him. “Plus the hit-and-run murder of one Eugene Hardcastle during your spree through the West End. Plus the attempted murder of Jack Gable.”
“Says who?” He glared at Travis. “You’re my attorney. You can’t testify against me!”
“He’s not going to testify against you,” Blaisdell said. He pointed his finger at Cavanaugh. “She is.”
Cavanaugh smiled pleasantly. “Told you that you shouldn’t have hurt Jack.”
“But—but—” Moroconi sputtered. “What about at the West End? She wasn’t even fuckin’
there
!”
“We’re going to get Kramer to testify against you there. We’ve offered to reduce his sentence if he talks. Say, from roughly twenty thousand years to only ten thousand years. I think he’ll go for it. He doesn’t seem to care for you much. And by the way, the second guard, the one who survived, will testify about your jailbreak. Sergeants.”
Two uniformed officers grabbed Moroconi by both arms. “Byrne, you son of a bitch! You’re my mouthpiece! Do something!”
Travis shook his head. “Sorry, Al. I only signed on for one case. My duties are officially terminated. Have a good day.”
The sergeants dragged Moroconi out of the courtroom, kicking and screaming the whole way.
Travis looked pointedly at Curran. “Good enough?”
Curran slowly nodded his head. “Good enough.”
Travis turned his attention to Blaisdell. “I understand you and your staff are going to be busy.”
“True. We’re putting together airtight cases against Holyfield and Kramer and Catuara. Even if we don’t get the death penalty, we’ll get life against Kramer. He’ll die in prison. Parole boards never let anyone connected with the mob out.”
“And what about the rest of the mob? The ones you don’t have behind bars?”
Henderson and Blaisdell exchanged a concerned look. “That presents a problem,” Henderson said. “Apparently as soon as you left his place, Mario contacted some of his mob buddies in Chicago. Some of the other Elcon officers have disappeared; we don’t know what they’re planning. We hope to track them down someday, but …”
“What he’s trying to say,” Blaisdell explained, “is that we have to assume the mob will attempt to exact some kind of retribution. That’s the way the Outfit works. Since Cavanaugh is going to testify against two of their own, and her testimony is likely to blow apart this whole Elcon operation …”
“She’s going to be a top-drawer mob target,” Travis said, completing his sentence. He pondered for a moment. “Is Mario still in the grand-jury room?”
Blaisdell nodded. “He should be with his attorney waiting to be taken back into custody.”
“Can I see him?”
“Why on earth would—”
“Can I see him?”
Blaisdell glanced at Cavanaugh, then shrugged. “Be my guest.”
Travis crossed the hall and walked downstairs to the grand-jury room. After brief conversations with the federal marshal on guard and Mario’s attorney, he entered the small witness waiting room.
Mario Catuara was obviously surprised to see him. “Byrne? What the hell are you doing here?”
Travis stood in front of Mario. Although a chair was available, he didn’t sit. “I have a question for you, and I want it answered. Understand?”
Mario had lost weight since Travis had seen him last. Ironically, instead of making him look healthier, it made him seem tired, spent. “Suit yourself.”
“Am I a marked man?”
Mario pursed his lips but did not answer.
“Answer me, Mario. And no bullshit.”
Mario licked his lips, then slowly began to speak. “After Moroconi tried to kill me, I panicked. I called my … business associates in Chicago. I told them everything. The general consensus was that you knew too much about us.”
“And Cavanaugh?”
Mario nodded grimly.
“Call them off, Mario.”
He spread his arms helplessly. “Once the wheels are set in motion …”
“You owe me, Mario. I saved your worthless life. More than once.”
“Still, I—”
“I thought your organization prided itself on honor. I thought you paid your debts.”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“And if you don’t, I’m going public with my account of how you acted like a sniveling coward and revealed mob secrets to Moroconi. You violated the
Omerta,
Mario. The blood oath of secrecy. And I understand the penalty for that is somewhat severe.”
Mario sighed. “Even if I did everything I possibly could, it would be months before … before it would be wise for you to appear in public.”
“That’s fine. Just take care of it.”
“And you’ll keep your story to yourself?”
“I will.”
Mario bowed his head slightly. “You have my word.”
Travis returned to the courtroom upstairs. Cavanaugh, Blaisdell, and Henderson were still talking. “Have you worked out a deal for Cavanaugh yet?”
“I’m prepared to offer her full-scale, round-the-clock protection until the trials are completed,” Henderson said. “And afterward I’ll take her into the Witness Relocation Program. This is a totally revamped program. Heightened security. Bureau 99 has an entirely new staff. Janicek and his clique have been expunged. And,” he added significantly, “we’re going to burn all the lists.”
Travis glanced at Cavanaugh. She must have seen this coming; she remained calm. “For how long?”
“As long as necessary. It’s just a precautionary measure. After this all blows over, if we determine that there’s no continuing danger, she can come out of hiding. If she wants. Think of it as an extended vacation.”
Travis nodded. She would be safe until Mario got his dogs back in the kennel. But …
Cavanaugh seemed to be reading Travis’s mind. “Can I bring my friend Travis undercover with me?”
“Is he going to testify?” Henderson asked.
“Not if we can avoid it,” Blaisdell replied.
Cavanaugh stepped forward and took Henderson’s hand. “Please,” she said quietly.
“Well,” Henderson said, clearing his throat, “FBI policy wouldn’t permit you to bring a
friend.
But you could certainly bring your husband. …”
T
RAVIS ARRANGED THE FIREWOOD,
the leaves, and the scrap paper in a proper campfire formation, then waited patiently. The instant Cavanaugh turned her back, he whipped out a lighter and started the fire.
Cheating? True. But despite being a Boy Scout for five years, he had never managed to get the hang of that rubbing-two-sticks-together routine. Working with a flint was even more difficult. It had been such a pleasant, peaceful four days out at Robbers’ Cave; he didn’t want to spoil it with petty aggravations.
“Hey, you got the fire started,” Cavanaugh said. She sat down and snuggled next to him. “Congratulations.”
“It was nothing.” At least he couldn’t be called a liar.
She grinned. “You’re my hero.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s easy, Cav—” He closed his eyes. “I mean, Daisy.”
“Takes some getting used to, doesn’t it? Harvey,” she added.
“Yeah. But I’ll get it down.”
“No rush. We have lots of time.” She put her arms around him.
“I feel great. My blood pressure and ulcer are under control, and I’ve dropped ten pounds. Despite your cooking.” He smiled. “You miss your job?”
“Nah. You?”
“Not much. Miss your friends?”
She hugged him tightly. “Not when I’m with you.”
He returned her embrace. “Ditto.”
“Is Mary Jo still fishing?” she asked.
“I certainly hope so. This fire is ready to cook, and I for one am tired of canned beans.” He pulled Cavanaugh to her feet. “Let’s check on her.”
They walked hand in hand to the bank of the lake, only a few hundred feet from their campsite. Staci was standing near the edge, bracing herself against a tree. Both hands were clenched tightly to her fishing pole.
“Look!” Travis said. “I think she’s actually caught something this time!”
“Of course I’ve caught something!” Staci shouted. “He’s a gigantic rainbow trout—the biggest I’ve ever seen. I’ve been trying to reel him in for ten minutes.”
Travis ran up behind her. “You should have called for help.”
“I’ve
been
yelling for help, but you two were probably too busy making moony eyes at each other to notice.”
“Is that so?” Travis waved his hands dramatically over the edge of the bank. “Now watch this. I’m going to make the fish jump into my lap.”
“
No more magic tricks
!” Cavanaugh and Staci shouted in unison.
Cowed, Travis braced himself behind Staci and grabbed the fishing pole. Cavanaugh stood behind him, reaching under his arms to add her support. As the sun dipped below the horizon, they were all pulling together, laughing and shouting, a newborn family frolicking under assumed names.
O
NCE AGAIN, I WANT
to thank those who have made me seem much more knowledgeable than I really am: Trey Matheny, for his extensive telecommunications background and the first-person tour of WilTel switching facilities; Arlene Joplin, for everything you ever wanted to know about federal criminal law but felt stupid asking; Dave Johnson, for his insights on police procedure and the criminal community; Gail Benedict, for whipping my manuscripts into shape and putting up with endless confusing revisions; F.W. “Steve” Stephenson, for his unwavering support; and my wife, Kirsten, for virtually everything else.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.