‘Governor Candaret… Jaa…Darrell Ayliss. Larry Durrant’s attorney. Earlier today, I received a full confession from Leonard Truelle, Larry Durrant’s psychiatrist of twelve years ago, that he falsely conditioned Durrant in regard to the murder of Jessica Roche. All of this a conspiracy led by Mr Roche with a certain Nelson Malley doing his bidding — who in fact was probably the real murderer. And now a tape which categorically supports this, which I think you’d want to hear…’ Jac played almost a full minute of the tape over the phone before bringing the receiver back to his ear. ‘I’ve got the entire tape right here, Governor, but I think that’s probably enough there to have given you the flavour.’
‘I don’t know, Mr Ayliss.’ Candaret sighed, Roche’s call still fresh in his mind. White House drifting out of reach. ‘You call me now at the eleventh hour with a completely fresh account of the murder, supported by some tape from years ago played to me over the phone. It’s not exactly conclusive.’
‘The tape I’ve got here,’ Jac’s voice strained, breath staccato with exasperation, ‘goes on for almost an hour — Truelle giving every possible detail of Jessica Roche’s murder for Durrant to repeat at his next session. You can’t get more conclusive than that.’
‘I hear what you’re saying, Mr Ayliss. But the problem I have with that is one of — ’
‘Governor Candaret,’ Jac cut in, exhaling tiredly. ‘I don’t have the time now to fool around. And more to the point, nor does Larry Durrant.’ Jac’s patience was gone. Long gone from hit men, almost being drowned twice, police hunting him like a rabbit on a false murder rap. ‘If you don’t phone Libreville prison right away and stop Larry Durrant’s execution — then when I get back to New Orleans, I’m going to make sure to get on every TV and radio show I can and play this tape. And when I do, I’m going to make it clear, crystal clear, that I played this same tape to you now in front of two good witnesses — ’ Jac nodded at his end, smiling tightly towards Carmita and Calbrey — ‘and you still let Durrant’s execution go ahead.’
Candaret’s sigh was heavier this time, almost a groan. It looked like the White House was sliding out of reach now either way, but it would do so a lot quicker dragged through the media over Durrant than by Roche meddling in the background. He clarified a few details about the set-up between Roche, Truelle and Malley, then asked: ‘And tell me, Mr Ayliss — did Mr Roche know earlier today that something on this front might be happening?’
‘Yes, he did. In fact, he sent Malley to try to kill Truelle before he could talk.’
‘I see.’ Now Candaret understood that earlier call from Roche. There were a few things he hated, and being manipulated was one of them. He was a politician; that was his job.
‘As… as soon as I get off the phone now,’ Jac said, ‘I’ve got to call the NOPD to pick up Roche. Not only for this now, with Durrant and the attempt on Truelle, but two other murders that I know of.’
‘That’s okay, Mr Ayliss.’ His sigh now calmer, more satisfied. ‘That’s actually a call I’d like to have the pleasure of making myself. After I’ve called Warden Haveling to stop Larry Durrant’s execution.’
Bye-bye waited until he’d reached Cienfuegos before he made the call.
‘It’s all done.’
‘Clean? No hitches?’
‘Some small last-minute complications, but I got aroun’ them. Nobody saw me.’
‘That’s good to hear. See you soon. Give my regards to Fidel.’
Small complications? One thing you learned working for Malastra over the years: play everything down so as not to raise the old lizard’s blood pressure too high. As soon as he’d phoned Malastra from New Orleans airport to tell him that Nel-M was booked on a flight to Nassau, everything had been a mad rush: a suitcase dropped off for him complete with clothes, passport and a plastic Glock 17 that would pass undetected through airport X-rays. Then he’d had to call again from Nassau airport.
‘He’s heading on to Cuba.’
‘I told you. I told you.’ Malastra convinced that Nel-M somehow knew that they were on to him and was fleeing. ‘Keep with him. Finish it.’
There’d been a brief opportunity when Nel-M had been sitting in his car looking on at the villa with the white Corvette — but then somebody came out of a house two up from where Bye-bye was parked to put out the garbage, and, the moment gone, he decided to wait until it was dark. Not long to go, nobody would see him then.
But as soon as it got dark, Nel-M was on the move. Bye-bye followed and watched the tableau of figures on the promontory, hoping to get Nel-M as he came back his way. But when Nel-M tumbled over the edge with the other man, Bye-bye ran in. The third man was on the ground, looked like he’d blacked out or was already dead from his two shots. Bye-bye hoped for a minute that Nel-M might have got mangled on rocks or had drowned, save him the trouble; but looking down at them, he saw that Nel-M seemed to be on top of the other man, pushing him deeper under. He squeezed off two quick shots and ran back to his car.
In his office, Carmen Malastra smiled ruefully as he started deleting the whole sorry saga from his computer, the last to go the cam photos of Gerry Strelloff handing the envelopes to Raoul Ferrer.
They thought they’d worked it all out so welclass="underline" Jouliern skimming off the tables, handing the money to Strelloff, then Strelloff handing to Ferrer. The rule was only casino employees checked; but even if there had been a spot check of Ferrer one night, he was a street loan-shark, he’d be expected to be carrying a lot of cash.
But Malastra didn’t believe in coincidences, and that’s where they’d slipped up, made their big mistake: the hit on Ferrer, with Nel-M even having the bare-faced cheek to call and apologize with some feeble excuse about Ferrer ripping-off Roche, and a sweetener pay-off to boot. That’s Malastra thrown off the scent, Nel-M no doubt thought. Then Gerry Strelloff killed as well — too much of a coincidence — with someone else in the frame so that it didn’t link back directly to Nel-M.
From that moment Malastra was on to it, and as he looked back through the video-cam footage of the casino floor and saw the envelopes being passed between Strelloff and Ferrer, he knew. He knew without any remaining shadow of doubt: Nel-M had been in on it with Jouliern from the start — he should have guessed earlier that it was a bit rich for Jouliern’s blood to plan on his own — and Nel-M’s part of it had been to get rid of the couriers in the middle so that there was no possible trace back.
But in the end, that’s exactly what had alerted him: they’d tried to be too thorough, too clever. Divine justice, Malastra thought as he made the last delete key-tap.
When Alaysha had seen George Jouliern’s name on the back of the envelope that the messenger held out, her heart leapt into her throat. A note from the grave: ‘They know. They know it all. And they’re coming to get you.’ Or maybe the messenger would now hand her a second note from Malastra: ‘We found this letter addressed to you from George Jouliern. Just go quietly with the messenger, no fuss, into the car parked outside.’
But the messenger simply smiled as he took her signature for George Jouliern’s letter, and walked away.
Her hands still trembled faintly now as she read the letter again. How many read-throughs for it to finally sink home that it was all over? She was safe.
If you’re reading this, then it means I’m no longer around and Malastra has probably put together the pieces of our little scam
But with you trying to save your mother, out of all of us you were probably the only one to have noble, unselfish reasons for doing what you did, and that touched me. I knew too that you were only roped into all of this by Gerry. All in all, I thought it would be unfair if Malastra’s hammer came down on you as well. So I took the precaution of erasing all the video-cam shots where you’re passed the envelopes. Hopefully I’ve been successful in burying everything. Good luck with your mom.