‘Answer the question, Linus.’
He flinched at my tone, his eyes hardening for a moment. Then he smiled a smile that amounted to no more than a twitch of his upper lip. ‘Do you think weasels are happy bein’ weasels?’ he asked.
‘You talking about the little animals?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I figure they probably have a hard time imagining alternatives.’
‘Good point, but that’s not true for human weasels. Take Tony Szarek, for example. Now there’s a guy, a weasel to his bones, who should’ve never come on the job. All he ever thought about was how to get over. Me, I’d rather cut my balls off than be a weasel, but Tony..’ Potter shook his head, apparently in admiration. ‘But you were right about Tony. He was a happy man.’
FORTY-ONE
What struck me, as Potter rambled on, was that responsibility for the taking of a human life was again being assigned to somebody who would never answer for the deed. The widow had blamed her husband’s murder on the missing Dante Russo, who was probably dead. Now Clarence Spott’s murder was being blamed on a man who was indisputably dead. Still, some elements of Potter’s self-serving tale rang true.
According to Potter, Szarek had stolen David Lodge’s Fluugmann blackjack months before using it on Clarence Spott. He’d done this because he was a thief in his heart, a facet of his personality so well known that he was the only partner at Greenpoint Carton not allowed to sign checks.
‘An asshole like that, you figure he deserves what he gets,’ Potter explained, ‘but the Broom, well, he was always lucky. Ya see, Dante made sure that Tony and Davy lawyered up right away, the idea being to use the extra time to get their stories together. Only problem: Davy Lodge, he didn’t have a story. He didn’t remember a fucking thing. Now Dante Russo, he was a born schemer, like Tony was a born thief. When he heard about Davy’s blackout, he knew just what to do.’
‘Frame David Lodge?’
‘As Dante said at the time, “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.”’
‘What about Ted Savio?’
Potter showed surprise for the first time. ‘Savio helped out when Clarence Spott was killed and Dante’s been feeding him PBA business ever since. If there was something else goin’ on, I never heard about it.’
If Potter’s explanation of the events fit all the known facts, Szarek’s motive remained obscure, even after all these years. Initially, the Broom told Russo that he’d been physically attacked by Spott and he was only defending himself. But after the autopsy proved that Spott was struck from behind, Szarek changed his story. The way he then told it, Spott had attacked him psychologically by suggesting a physical relationship between Szarek’s daughter and the family dog. Though Szarek had neither daughter, nor dog, he’d felt obliged to avenge this deadly insult. As would any other red-blooded cop.
A third version emerged several years later when Szarek admitted (over drinks, naturally) that he was so drunk at the time, the murder of Clarence Spott might have amounted to nothing more than a passing whim.
Potter rose at that point, to re-fill his mug. This time he didn’t empty it in one gulp. He set it on the table and wrapped his fingers around the glass. ‘Is that the works?’ he asked. ‘You finished tellin’ me how bad I fucked up?’
‘Well, there’s the one item that’ll eventually seal your fate. I’m saving that for last. But let me ask you this. Do you have an alibi for the time of David Lodge’s murder? How about for the days leading up to DuWayne Spott’s overdose in that hell-hole of a tenement? How about for last Saturday evening when my partner was attacked? You got an alibi for last Saturday?’
Potter laughed. ‘You forgot Dante. I need an alibi for him, too.’
‘Does that mean he’s no longer among us?’
Again, Potter laughed. ‘I think I’ll wait for the punch line,’ he said.
I finished my drink, looked over at the bar, finally set my glass on the table. The last thing I needed was more booze.
‘You hooked up to the Internet, Linus?’ I asked.
‘Gimme a fuckin’ break.’
‘Hey, don’t take that attitude. You can find out all kinds of interesting things on the web. For instance, I once stumbled across a CIA interrogation manual posted on this obscure bulletin board. Call it idle curiosity, but I printed the manual out and read it in one night. Interrogation has always been my strong point.’
‘Mine, too. Only I got a suspicion we employ different methods.’
‘That I wouldn’t doubt. Anyway, the manual was pretty much a rehash of techniques you can read about in any textbook. But this one thing did catch my attention. The manual warned Agency de-briefers of a problem I’d never encountered. Terrorists and spies, it seems, are likely to have prepared fall-back stories to offer their interrogators if the pressure becomes intolerable. You understand, these fall-back stories are very elaborate and completely fabricated.’
‘You talkin’ about Ellen Lodge?’
‘From the beginning, I thought I could break her.’
‘And you couldn’t?’
‘Nope, Ellen had her fall-back story down pat: Dante Russo, Dante Russo, Dante Russo. She was so well prepared, I couldn’t reach her. But I remembered this CIA manual as the interrogation went along, and that’s how come I realized there was no way Ellen could’ve dreamed up this story on her own. It was too intricate, too complete. Somebody familiar with interrogation techniques had to provide the details and drill her until the words came automatically; somebody bold enough to insert himself into an investigation; a vain, narcissistic freak named Linus Potter.’
Potter wagged a finger in my direction. ‘You could go too far, Harry.’
As that was my aim, I ignored the remark. ‘You and Ellen Lodge, you wouldn’t be an item, would you?’
At that, Adele snorted, a contemptuous honk that Potter ignored, though his eyes shifted as he considered the question. I knew there had to be a connection between them, and that the grand jury would eventually uncover that connection. Potter apparently knew it as well.
‘Don’t talk dirty about Ellen,’ he cautioned. ‘She’s my cousin and we grew up in the same house. It was me who introduced her and Davy.’
‘Well, I got some hot news for you, Linus. Your family ties are not gonna cut it.’ I shook my head as I repeated the message I’d sent to Ellen Lodge. ‘Conspiracy to commit murder carries a penalty of life without parole. Eventually, Ellen’s gonna turn.’
But my news wasn’t news at all. Linus had been all over this ground. ‘She will,’ he admitted without hesitation. ‘Unless…’
‘Unless some co-conspirator, in a moment of panic, decides to kill her? Me, I don’t want that to happen.’
‘So, you’re here to protect Ellen? That’s what you want me to believe?’
‘I got a better question, Linus. Do you think freaks are happy bein’ freaks? I’m asking you this because you’re a freak, so you should know the answer. And I’m not talking about your body. I’m talking about inside your head, where you live. You’re so afraid someone’s gonna see what’s in there, you sit with your back to the room. But I’m lookin’ directly at you now, so I can see the misshapen little freak hiding behind your eyes. He’s a baby, that freak, an infant. Greed is what he knows, greed and envy, a kid who wants the tit every minute of every day. Are you gonna let the freak run the show, Linus? Are you gonna let the freak put you in a cell for the rest of your life? Are you that fucking stupid?’
Potter’s eyes were shifting now, avoiding the unexpected onslaught. That I would challenge him this way in a public place had caught him by surprise.
‘Christ, Harry, you’re hell on wheels,’ he finally muttered. ‘Hell on wheels.’ His eyes went flat as he completed the statement and I became unable to read anything in them.
‘Tell me about Paco Luna,’ I asked.
‘The goose that laid the golden eggs.’