“You and I both know who Ernesto Ramirez is,” I said. “The guy who knew the real reason behind Bert Wozniak’s murder? The guy who knew about you and Delroy Bailey? About Starlight Catering? I mean, really, Hector, you think I didn’t know all of that? Did you hire good lawyers to defend you or shitty ones?”
Hector was speechless. I’d unloaded a lot there. I was acting as if it was something I’d known all along, as opposed to just putting it all together in the last twenty-four hours. That suited my purposes.
My heart was pounding but my hands were steady. “You felt bad about what happened,” I said. “That weekend, when I was supposed to take Talia and Emily to her mother’s? I mean, that’s why you offered to give me some legal work through the state afterward, right? That was you trying to make it up to me. Trying to ease your guilt.”
Hector winced. His eyes dropped. He ran his fingers over his coffee cup.
“For what’s it worth,” I said, “I don’t blame you. You couldn’t have known I’d be waiting for Ernesto to call.” I was mustering all of my will to control myself and think of the bigger picture. It was not an easy task. Breathe in, breathe out.
Hector’s chin rose up. He looked over my shoulder, scratched his cheek, cleared his throat. Delay tactics, all of them. Nervous responses. He nodded to the waiter, who refilled Hector’s coffee. “The timing wasn’t ideal,” he said, after the waiter departed. “But I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t thinking about your personal schedule, Jason. You may remember that I was on trial for my life? Remember that part? And here you are, running this one-man crusade to find this guy and get him to talk. I was days away from the trial ending and you were about to open a very messy can of worms.”
My eyes rose to his. He was having trouble keeping eye contact. This wasn’t something he enjoyed recalling. I wasn’t having a load of fun, myself.
“So, yeah, I’m sorry-okay?” That, alone, was a lot for a guy like Hector to say, and he seemed almost annoyed at the same time he was repentant. “Yeah, of course, I wish the timing-I wish it had been different with your wife and all. But I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t have that guy Ramirez out there flapping his mouth. He was a threat, and I did what I had to do. I didn’t have a choice.”
There it was, the rationalization that helped Hector sleep at night: I didn’t give him a choice. Ernesto Ramirez was my fault, not his. Therefore, Hector’s subsequent reaction-having Ernesto killed-wasn’t his fault, either. And the fact that it coincided with my waiting for Ernesto in my office instead of driving my family downstate? Well, even I would concede, I couldn’t put that on him. I’d finally turned that page last night, and I wasn’t going to flip back to an earlier part of that story.
Still, Hector felt bad enough about how things shook out to follow up with me and try to give me something, the only thing a guy like him could give me-a perk from his government position. Ironic, wasn’t it? Had Hector not invited me to lunch and discussed the idea of getting some fat-cat contract with the governor’s office, I would never have made my way into the Procurement and Construction Board or the governor’s inner circle. The one thing that Hector did that was born of some goodwill was the thing that ultimately would result in his downfall.
And the one time he actually said something heartfelt would be the final nail in his coffin. Hector Almundo had just admitted on tape to the murder of Ernesto Ramirez.
One admission down, one to go.
87
My hands weren’t so steady anymore. I was thinking about my family, about Essie Ramirez and her two kids. I was thinking about the F-Bird in my suit pocket, which now contained Hector’s confession to Ernesto’s murder. It was like a loaded gun. But I had to stay focused. I couldn’t screw this up now. I still needed Greg Connolly. And this was my last chance.
“My point isn’t to make you feel bad about what happened,” I said. “My point is that you were reckless. We could have neutralized Ernesto Ramirez some other way, if you’d told me. For Christ’s sake, you didn’t have to have him killed.”
Hector grimaced with that final word. He didn’t like hearing it aloud.
“Spoken,” he said, “like someone who wasn’t staring at twenty years in prison.”
“I know, Hector, but look what that got you. You cover up Adalbert Wozniak by killing Ernesto Ramirez. Then you have to cover up Ernesto Ramirez by killing Greg Connolly. Maybe you’re okay on Wozniak now, since you were acquitted-but that still leaves two murders. And one of those two was one of the governor’s best friends and top aides.”
Hector was back to his standby denial mode. He drew his shoulders in.
“The last I checked,” said Hector, his voice calm and even, “Greg Connolly’s death was being chalked up as a mugging on Seagram Hill.”
That was an answer that my federal friends would have described as slippery.
“Yeah, but tomorrow’s another day,” I said. “You thought you got away with Ernesto Ramirez, too, right? And then suddenly, Greg Connolly’s talking to the feds and you have exposure. Now you think you’re okay on Greg Connolly but who knows who else might turn on you? I mean, who else knows about that?”
Hector worked his jaw, his eyes narrowed in thought.
I said, “Joey Espinoza knows. Maybe not about Greg. But he knows about the contract you got for Delroy, right? And the real reason Wozniak died? I’m sure he’d know about that. And he knows about your relationship with Delroy, too. I mean, that’s why his wife is on Charlie’s payroll.”
Hector’s expression went flat. “Joey knows how to use leverage.”
“Right. You give his wife a cozy job while he’s in prison and he’ll forget to mention a couple of things to the feds. He’ll give Christopher Moody information about the Columbus Street Cannibals, because they’re already hot on that trail, but he dummies up about Adalbert Wozniak. And Delroy Bailey. He buys his wife some financial security while he goes to the slammer.”
Hector raised his eyebrows without enthusiasm. I’d hit the nail on the head.
“But back to my question,” I said. “Who else knows about Greg? Who do we have to be worried about?”
Hector, at this point, was beaten down. “I would have thought it was just me and our mutual friend,” he said. “But apparently that mutual friend told you.”
Actually, no, our mutual friend Charlie hadn’t told me about Hector’s participation in that night of fun and torture. If he had, this whole thing would have been over a long time ago. Still, Hector had given me an opening and I was going to use it.
I made a face. “Yeah, Charlie told me after your goons went medieval on me in some abandoned warehouse. I think I was owed some explanation after-”
“That was Charlie’s idea.” Hector pointed a finger at me. “Not mine. He was the one who wasn’t sure he could trust you.”
I leveled a stare on him.
“That’s not the way Charlie tells it,” I said, an extrapolation on my part, but I wasn’t concerned with follow-up conversations with Charlie Cimino at this stage. “Charlie said he didn’t want to do that to me. It was your idea.”
“Fuck that. Fuck Charlie.” Hector became aware of his surroundings and leaned forward, talking softly like I was, but blurting out the words through a snarl. “That asshole panicked. As soon as we figured out about Greg, he starts thinking about you. He wanted to get rid of you that night. Did you know that? I fucking kept you alive that night.”
He punctuated that final point with his index finger drilled into the table. This was precisely what I expected; Hector would want to change the subject to taking credit for something again, to get me back in his corner. I thought it was bullshit, what he was saying. From my vantage point, Charlie hadn’t been in charge in that room; he hadn’t been the one running those goons who worked me over. Charlie was trying to protect me in that room. Maybe I was wrong about that. I’d probably never know.