Extreme Denial (29 page)

Esperanza nodded.

“Why?”

“You haven’t been with him since this time yesterday. The way he handles himself in a crisis, it’s obvious he’s a professional, and I don’t mean at selling real estate.”

“We’ll see.” Miller returned his attention to Decker. “What do you know about Brian McKittrick?”

“He’s the most fucked-up operative I ever worked with.” Miller stepped closer.

“Wouldn’t obey orders,” Decker said. “Thought his team members were scheming against him. Took serious action without permission. Exceeded his authority at every opportunity. The assignment I shared with him ended as a disaster because of him. Numerous casualties. It was almost an international incident.”

Miller studied him, as if debating how candid he wanted to be. At last, exhaling, he sat wearily in the chair opposite Decker. “It’s not giving anything important away if I admit I’ve heard rumors about McKittrick. Nothing to do with the CIA. I didn’t know anything about that. His behavior as a marshal—that’s what I heard rumors about. He’s a hot dog. Thinks he knows better than his superiors. Doesn’t obey the chain of command. Violates procedure. I never understood how he got into the Marshals Service.”

“I can make a good guess,” Decker said. “The Agency must have given him first-rate recommendations when they let him go. In exchange for his not embarrassing them by revealing details about the disaster he was involved in.”

“But if McKittrick caused the disaster, he would have been harming himself if he talked about it.”

“Not if he convinced himself he wasn’t to blame,” Decker said. “McKittrick has a reality problem. When he does something wrong, he manages to delude himself that it’s always someone else’s fault.”

Esperanza leaned forward. “You sound especially bitter about that.”

“
I
was the one he blamed. I resigned from government work because of him—and now the son of a bitch is back in my life.”

“By coincidence.”

“No. I can’t believe it’s a coincidence that Beth just happened to buy the house next to mine. Not if McKittrick was in charge of her protection. The only way the scenario makes sense is if McKittrick kept tabs on me after I quit the Agency. He knew I was in Santa Fe. He had a witness to relocate. He did a little more investigating and found out the house next to mine was for sale. Perfect. Why not put Beth next to me? She’d have a next-door neighbor as extra protection, an unwitting bodyguard.”

Miller thought about it. “The tactic might have been cynical, but it does make sense.”

“Cynical doesn’t begin to describe it. I was
used”
Decker said. “And if I’m not mistaken,
Beth
was used. I think McKittrick went over to the other side.”

“
What?
”

Decker vividly remembered his telephone conversation with McKittrick. “I think McKittrick told the mob how to find her, provided they killed me in the bargain. I think he blames me for the CIA’s decision to kick him out. I think he’s a sick bastard who planned to ruin my life from the moment he was assigned to help turn Diana Scolari into Beth Dwyer.”

5

The small living room became silent.

“That’s a serious accusation.” Miller bit his lower lip. “Can you
prove
any of this?”

“No.” Decker didn’t dare tell him about what had happened in the van.

“How did you find out that Beth Dwyer’s real name is Diana Scolari?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

Decker didn’t respond.

“Listen very carefully.” Miller stood. “You are in possession of information indicating there was a serious breach of security in the protection of an important government witness. I am ordering you to tell me how you came by this information.”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

Miller glared. “I’ll teach you about liberty.” He picked up the telephone. “You’ll be giving up your liberty for quite a while until you tell me what I want to know.”

“No. You’re making a mistake,” Decker said.

Miller glared harder. “
I’m
not the one who’s making a mistake.”

“Put down the phone. Please. All that matters is saving Beth’s life.”

Miller swung toward Esperanza. “Do you hear this bullshit?”

“Yes. For the past twenty-four hours, he’s been playing mind games with me,” Esperanza said. “What worries me is, he’s beginning to make sense. Beth Dwyer’s safety
is
the priority. If Decker cut corners to get his information, I’m prepared to deal with that later, provided it doesn’t compromise me.”

“Plausible deniability,” Decker said.

“What?”

“That’s what we used to call it in the Agency.”

“How about calling it accessory to a felony?” Miller asked.

“Tell me what Beth Dwyer was going to testify about.”

Miller wasn’t prepared for the abrupt change of topic.

“Did she really shoot her husband in the head and get away with two million dollars of mob money?” Decker asked.

Miller gestured fiercely. “Where the hell did you learn this stuff?”

But Decker ignored the outburst. He was too busy recalling something the gunman had said on the telephone—”Damn it, Nick’s going to be furious.”

“A man called Nick is involved,” Decker said. “Do you know who that is? What’s his last name?”

Miller blinked in astonishment. “It’s worse than I thought. There’ll have to be a complete review of witness relocation security procedures.”

“Beth’s in danger,” Decker said with force. “If we share what we know, we might be able to save her life.”

“Diana Scolari.”

“I don’t know anything about Diana Scolari. The woman I care about is Beth Dwyer.
Tell me about her
.”

Miller stared toward the darkness beyond his window. He stared at his hands. He stared at Decker. “Diana Scolari is the wife—or used to be the wife until someone shot the son of a bitch in the head—of Joey Scolari, the chief enforcer for the Giordano family in New York City. We estimate that Joey was responsible for at least forty mob executions during his eight-year tenure. He was a very busy man. But he didn’t complain. The money was excellent, and just as important, he loved his work.”

Decker listened, distressed.

“Three years ago, Joey met the woman you know as Beth Dwyer. Her unmarried name was Diana Berlanti, and she was working as an activity director on a cruise ship in the Caribbean, where Joey had decided to put himself on display to give himself an alibi while one of his lieutenants eliminated a problem back in New York. Diana attracted his attention. Understand, he was a good-looking guy, stylish dresser, knew what to say to women. They normally fell all over him, so it wasn’t any surprise that Diana didn’t tell him to get lost when he started making advances. One thing led to another. They were married three months later. The courtship was convenient for him. He arranged it so they kept going back to the Caribbean. It gave him a chance to have a natural-seeming reason to visit certain islands that have banks with numbered accounts and no objection to laundering money. Same with the honeymoon.”

Decker felt sick.

“It’s important to emphasize that, according to Diana, she had no idea of Joey’s real occupation. She claims he told her he was in the restaurant business—which is true enough; Joey did own several restaurants as part of the same money-laundering scheme. Anyhow, time passed, and, no surprise, Joey’s attention span was limited—he started to get tired of her. For a while, they lived in his penthouse in the city, but when he needed the place for his extracurricular activities, he put Diana in a big house with walls around it across the river in one of those mob bedroom communities in New Jersey. Plenty of guards. To keep her safe, he claimed. Actually, they were to keep her from going back to the penthouse and catching him with his girlfriends. But an equally important reason for the guards was to make sure she didn’t get any ideas about moving out after the numerous times he beat her up.”

Decker’s temples throbbed.

“And I mean he beat her up
a lot
,” Miller said. “Because Diana had started asking questions not only about his fidelity but also about his business. You know how intelligent she is. It didn’t take her long to realize what Joey really did, what kind of monster he was. So now she had a big problem. If she tried to leave—and there wasn’t much hope of success with so many guards—she was certain he’d kill her. If she stayed and he suspected she was noticing too much, he’d also kill her. Her temporary solution was to pretend to lose interest in his women and his business, to pretend to be compliant. She spent her days doing what under other circumstances would have given her a great deal of pleasure—painting. Joey got a kick out of that, found it amusing. Sometimes, after he beat her up, he would build a big fire in the den and force her to watch him bum her favorite paintings.”

“Jesus,” Decker said. “Why did the bastard marry her?”

“Obviously for the pleasure of possessing someone he could hurt. As I said, Joey was a monster. Until nine months ago, in January, when someone solved her problem by blowing Joey’s brains out. Or maybe
she
did it. There are two conflicting stories. Diana claims she was outside in the back of the estate, painting a winter scene, when she heard a shot in the house. Cautious, not knowing what to expect, she took her time going inside. Her assumption was that whatever had happened, Joey and the guards would take care of it. Her first surprise was to find the guards gone. Her second surprise was to find Joey dead in his study, his brains across his desk, his safe open. That safe normally held a considerable amount of cash, she knew. She’d seen bags of it delivered from time to time. She’d caught a glimpse of Joey putting it away. She’d overheard references to amounts. Her best guess was that two million dollars was missing. The implications of that didn’t strike her at the time. All she cared about was taking the opportunity to escape. She didn’t even bother to pack, just threw on an overcoat, grabbed Joey’s keys, and drove away.”

“To the Justice Department,” Decker said.

“What other direction did she have? She knew the mob would be looking for her after she disappeared. But she figured their motive would be to keep her from talking. She didn’t realize until later that Joey’s godfather blamed her for the death, that the mob figured
she
killed Joey and took the money. It was a matter of family pride now.
Blood
pride. Revenge.” Decker nodded. “So the Justice Department spent months debriefing her, relocated her with a new identity in Santa Fe, and finally summoned her back to New York to testify.”

“Under protection.”

“You mean
McKittrick’s
protection.”

“Unfortunately.”

“What a goddamn mess,” Esperanza said.

“You still haven’t told me who Nick is,” Decker said. “Nick Giordano, the head of the family, Joey’s godfather. Joey’s birth father was Nick’s best friend. When Joey’s parents were killed in a mob attempt to kill Nick, Nick raised Joey as his own. That’s what I meant about blood pride. To Nick, it’s a matter of personal honor—family in the strictest sense— to find and punish her. Now it’s
your
turn,” Miller said. “How is what I just told you going to help save Diana Scolari’s life?”

Decker didn’t speak for a moment. “It looks like I have only one choice.”

“What are you talking about?
What
choice?”

“I’m suddenly very tired. I’m going home.”

“How the hell is
that
going to help your girlfriend?”

“I’ll phone you when I wake up. Maybe you’ll have more information by then.” Decker turned toward Esperanza. “I’ll drop you off.”

6

“Don’t bother taking me home,” Esperanza said as Decker put the Cherokee into gear and sped from Miller’s house.

“Then where do you want me to take you?” Decker veered around a shadowy corner.

“Just figure I’m along for the ride.”

“What do you think that will accomplish?”

“Maybe I’ll keep you out of trouble,” Esperanza said. “Where are your friends?”

“Friends?” The thought of Hal and Ben made Decker’s mouth taste of ashes.

“You sound as if you don’t really have many.”

“I have a lot of acquaintances.”

“I was referring to the two men who showed up at your house this afternoon.”

“I know who you’re referring to. They left town.” The taste of ashes was matched by an aching sensation—in his chest and at his eyes.

“So soon?” Esperanza asked. “After they went to all the trouble to get here so quickly?”

“My former employer decided what was happening here had nothing to do with business.” The murky streets were almost deserted. Headlights blazing, Decker pressed his foot on the accelerator.

“Do you think it’s a good idea exceeding the speed limit with a police officer in the car?”

“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather exceed it with. If a cruiser stops us, show your badge—explain we’re on the way to an emergency.”

“I lied to you,” Esperanza said. “I did have the state police and the Albuquerque PD looking for you.”

Decker felt a cold spot on his spine.

“I gave them the license number and the description of the Taurus your friends were driving. The car was found near a crime scene on Chama Street in Albuquerque around eleven o’clock tonight. The neighbors complained about what they thought were gunshots and explosions. Turned out the neighbors were right. A man whose ID referred to him as Ben Eiseley was found shot to death on the kitchen floor of the house the neighbors complained about. We have no idea where Hal is.”

For an instant, Decker could no longer repress his grief. The memory of the shocked expression on Ben’s face as the bullet struck him, blood spewing from his head, seized Decker. Suddenly it was as if he had never come to Santa Fe, as if he had never tried to distance himself from his former life. He thought about how Hal had been shot in the chest and yet had still managed the strength to kick the man who had shot him. This wasn’t their fight! Decker thought. I should have insisted they back off. But I asked for their help. They died because of me. It’s my fault!