Ricochet (41 page)

Duncan tensed. “Savich?”

“Savich. He had taken my impressionable brother under his wing. He caught on fast and showed an aptitude for the trade. Savich paid him well. Well enough for him to buy a house, the one where we… where we met that night.”

“Do they know that house exists? Savich? Your husband?”

“I don’t know. I don’t believe so.”

He doubted it, too. Had Napoli known where she was that night, he wouldn’t have had to ambush her in her car. He had tracked her only as far as her automobile. “Your brother was convicted of dealing,” he said, prompting her again.

“Well, not exactly. That was the charge, but the case never went to trial. Savich advised him to plead guilty at his arraignment. His court-appointed lawyer disagreed, but Savich held sway. He said if my brother showed remorse, he would get a light sentence and possibly even probation without incarceration. So he pleaded guilty.”

“And?”

She took a deep breath. “And he got sentenced to fifteen years at Jackson.”

“Shit.” The state prison in Jackson was a maximum security prison and housed death row. Only the most hardened criminals were sent there. “His priors must have been—”

“This was his first felony, Duncan.”

“Then why such a stiff sentence?”

She looked at him levelly. “Because occasionally one of Savich’s dealers has to be sacrificed. Otherwise, Judge Cato Laird’s leniency would arouse suspicion.”

“Cato Laird’s leniency?” Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, are you saying—”

“Savich and Cato are partners. They’ve been working together for years.”

It hit him like a thunderbolt. “Laird goes light on Savich’s mules.”

“And gets well paid for it.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“Savich has dozens of dealers. They can’t escape arrest one hundred percent of the time. So when one of them gets arrested and winds up in Cato’s court, he usually finagles a way to have the charges dropped. Or he favors the defense attorney during the trial. If he can’t maneuver an acquittal, he gives the dealer a light sentence, sometimes probation. Soon, the dealer is back on the streets, making Savich money. Savich pays off Cato, and considers it a cost of doing business. Everybody’s happy.”

“Son of a
bitch
,” he repeated, loud enough to draw frowns from two older ladies walking their dogs along the pier. “It’s been there right in front of us all this time and we missed it!”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself or the narcotics officers,” Elise said. “There’s never any direct contact between them. Cato never mentions Savich. Never. He did to me only once, and that was when he explained to me your outburst over Savich’s mistrial.”

“Which makes a hell of a lot of sense now. They were going through the motions, knowing the goddamn outcome the whole time.”

“Probably,” she agreed. “Make no mistake, it’s a very slick operation. No one would suspect the setup because Cato is smart enough to sacrifice a scapegoat now and then.”

“Like your half brother.”

“Who realized he’d been sacrificed and decided to expose their game. But before he could, he was killed. It was only his second day in prison. He died in the shower—”

“With a bar of soap stuck in his throat. Your half brother was Chet Rollins.”

She looked at him with surprise. “You knew him?”

“Oh yeah,” he said tightly. “I never met him, but I know who he was.”

“We had different fathers, different last names,” she explained. “But in every other regard, he was my brother. Savich and Cato killed him.”

Quietly he said, “And yet you’re friends with Savich and you’re married to Cato.”

“Not because I want to be!” she exclaimed. “They don’t know of my connection to Chet.”

He searched her eyes, her expression, but could find no deceit there. “Okay. Tell me the rest of it.”

She took a moment to collect her thoughts. “Before being whisked off to prison, Chet wrote a letter and gave it to his attorney to mail to our mother.”

“Your mother? Not you?”

“That was for my protection. He knew I would be the one who actually read the letter. But if anyone came looking to see whom he had contacted, they would find a terminally ill old woman who posed no threat.”

“It was a tell-all letter.”

“Yes. He explained how Cato and Savich were in cahoots and how they had set him up, and others before him. He asked for my help to expose them, but stressed absolute secrecy. He had talked to some people, hinted—”

“What people?”

“The Savannah PD narcotics officers who’d busted him. But he hadn’t struck his deal yet. He hadn’t been guaranteed any protection. He was scared because he knew of others who had tried to turn snitch and died for it.”

“How well I know.”

Pensively she stared at a sailboat as it glided past. “I was ready to drop everything and rush to Chet’s rescue, talk to the police myself. But before I could even leave for Jackson, Mom was notified of his death. She was practically comatose by then. I doubt she ever understood that he was gone.

“Chet was buried without ceremony by the state. I hated that, but I knew that if I made myself known and claimed his body, I’d have no chance to avenge his murder. And I was determined to get vengeance on the two men who were responsible.”

“Why didn’t you take Chet’s letter to the state attorney, the FBI, the officers he’d initially talked to?”

“They hadn’t responded immediately. Obviously they were mistrustful of a con who’d pleaded guilty, then after being sentenced claimed that he’d been set up. Would a letter to his sister have been believed? Would
you
have believed it?

“And who was I to trust? Cato and Savich were miles from the prison shower room that day. They had facilitators within the system, but I didn’t know who they were. If I raised a hue and cry but failed to bring them to justice, how long do you think I would have lived?”

He knew she was right on all points and told her so.

When she turned her head toward him he saw tears in her eyes. “Not that I was afraid of dying. I just didn’t want to die
then
. Chet had loved me and had depended on me to look after him from the day he was born. I swore that if it was the last thing I did, I would make Cato and Savich account for his death.”

She brushed the tears from her eyes, then shielded them by raising her hand against the sun. “It’s getting hot.”

“You need some different clothes.” He stood up and extended his hand down to help her up. “Let’s go shopping.”

He knew if he drove around awhile, he would find a Wal-Mart sooner or later. He drove slowly through the shaded, picturesque streets of Beaufort, in no particular hurry.

“This is a lovely town,” she said. “They make a lot of movies here.” She expanded on that for five minutes, practically without taking a breath.

When she finally wound down, Duncan said, “You’re pretty smart on the topic. How’d you learn all that stuff?”

She blushed at the compliment, but shrugged off her encyclopedic knowledge. “Movie trivia.”

She returned to her story by telling him about her mother’s death. “Her mind actually gave out before her body did. Anyway, as soon as I had settled all that, I quit my job, vacated my apartment, and moved to Savannah.

“I felt I would have a better chance of breaking into Savich’s underworld than I would into Cato’s social circle. Chet had mentioned in his letter that Savich hung out at a club called the White Tie and Tails. I got a job there.”

Duncan had the air conditioner on, but she lowered the passenger window and let the warm wind blow on her face. “I never danced onstage. I didn’t do lap dances. I never left with a customer. I served drinks. That’s all.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“But you wondered. Everyone does.” After a reflective pause, she said, “Some of the clientele, you’d be surprised, were very nice. Sweet. Almost… I don’t know, embarrassed or apologetic. Of course others were loud and drunken, obnoxious and vulgar. I hated them. But I stayed on and eventually came to Savich’s attention.” She looked across at Duncan. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”

“He liked you for your mind?” he said sarcastically.

She laughed softly. “Actually, yes. The club operates almost entirely on a cash basis. The manager was pocketing several hundred dollars a night, and it went unnoticed. I gave him the choice of turning the bookkeeping over to me, or my exposing his embezzlement to Savich, who’s a silent partner. The club manager was stupid, but smart enough to know that he wouldn’t live long if Savich learned of his stealing. The first option had much more appeal. So he went to Savich with a request for an assistant and told him I seemed to have a head for money management. Once in the position, I devised ways to cut expenses and increase profits.”

Duncan stopped for a traffic light and noticed her staring wistfully at a group of children on a playground. She waited until the light changed before continuing. “Eventually I earned Savich’s respect and trust. As much as Savich trusts anyone. I certainly didn’t trust him, and I despised him for what he’d done to Chet. I could barely stand to be near him, but at least he doesn’t disguise himself. With Savich you know what you’re getting.

“By contrast, Cato sits in that courtroom every day and judges other people. He wears the robe. He bangs the gavel. He looks stern, and wise, and righteous, an advocate for the laws of the land, the commandments of God. His hypocrisy is sickening. To me, he’s by far the guiltier of the two.”

Duncan had found the Wal-Mart and had pulled into a parking space, but neither of them made a move to leave the car.

“Getting Savich will be easy for you now,” she said.

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“But this time you have an eyewitness,” she argued. “I saw him commit cold-blooded murder.”

“Napoli,” he said. “Tell me again what happened on the bridge.”

“I forgot where we left off.”

“Pick up where you managed to get Napoli’s pistol away from him.”

“I yanked it out of his hand and threw it over the wall into the river.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I was just wondering…”

“What?”

“Why you didn’t just shoot him with it?”

S
HE TOOK OFFENSE, HER EYES TURNING BRIGHT WITH ANGER.
“I shot Trotter because he gave me no choice. He fired first. But I had Napoli’s pistol. Do you think I would shoot an unarmed man? Even now, you believe me capable of that?”

He looked away from her. “Back to the bridge, you took off running.”

“Answer my question, Duncan.”

He responded just as testily. “I’ll answer your question when I have answers to all of mine.”

She stared at him for a long moment, but finally tamped down her anger and continued. “I ran for my life. Even wearing only one shoe, I managed to outrun him. When I glanced over my shoulder, he turned around and was running back toward the car. I suppose he gave up trying to catch me on foot and planned to chase me in the car. Just then I became aware of an approaching vehicle.”

“From which direction?”

“From town. I was running in the opposite direction, toward Huchinson Island. I thought, thank God, help has arrived. I was about to turn back and flag down the driver. But when the car pulled even with mine, it screeched to a halt and Savich got out. I was stunned. He was the last person I expected to see there. I ducked into the shadow of the tower.”

“Why? You and Savich are friends. Okay, acquaintances,” he corrected when he saw she was about to object. “Why didn’t you shout his name, run toward him with arms waving?”

She thought about it, then answered slowly, “I don’t know. The… the purpose with which he was walking toward Napoli. His expression. His being there in the first place. I knew it couldn’t be happenstance.”

“How long did it take you to reason through all this?”

“Seconds. But I didn’t reason it out. Instinct kept me from revealing myself.”

He thought about that, then said, “Okay. He didn’t see you?”

“No. I’m certain of that or I
would
be in the morgue. He stepped over the wall dividing the lanes and walked over to my car, where Napoli was sitting half in, half out the driver’s seat. They exchanged a few words.”

“What few words?”

“I couldn’t hear what they said. But I heard the gunshot. Savich stood there looking at Napoli, I suppose to make certain that he was dead or soon would be. Then he leaned into the car.

“That’s when I moved. I climbed down the ladder there beside the tower and crouched down on that thing underneath the bridge.”

“Weren’t you afraid? I’ve been on that ladder. It’s scary as hell.”

“I didn’t stop to think about it. I was more afraid of Savich.”

“Okay, so you’re hiding under the bridge.”

“Less than a minute after the gunshot, he closed the car door. Seconds later I heard another car door close. His. I thought I heard him drive away, but my heart was pounding so loud in my ears I wasn’t sure.

“But I couldn’t stay there forever, so I took a chance and climbed back up. There was no sign of Savich or his car. I ran to my car, looked in at Napoli, and knew he was dead. I didn’t stop to think twice. I didn’t even think to retrieve my purse. I ran.” She stopped, took a breath, and looked at him. “You know the rest.”

“How long did all this take?”

She frowned thoughtfully. “Hard to say. It seemed to take forever, an eternity, but I suppose it was only a few minutes, maybe three or four, from the time Napoli forced me out of the car until I ran off the bridge.”

“And there were no other vehicles on the bridge?”

She shook her head.

“Why didn’t you call the police?”

“We’ve been over that, Duncan. I had no proof. You hadn’t believed anything else I’d told you.”

“Then why did you come to me last night?”

“I hoped that you would be so glad to see me alive…” She let that thought trail off, then said, “But you didn’t believe me last night, either. Not until you saw another woman’s body that Cato claimed as mine.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He sat for a moment, thinking.