“Elvis Cole for Mr. Maldenado. I have a ten o’clock.”
“Yes, sir. They’re expecting you.”
She immediately led me around her desk and into Maldenado’s office. She didn’t bother to knock or even announce me. She opened the door, let me walk in, then closed the door behind me.
Before entering politics, Henry Maldenado had sold used cars and trucks, and had been good at it. His office was large and well appointed, and reflected his love of cars with models of classic Chevrolets. Maldenado was a short, balding man in his fifties who looked younger than he was, wearing jeans, a short-sleeved shirt open at the neck, and cowboy boots. A bank president’s desk sat at the far end of the room, bracketed by a glass wall overlooking the street and a couch. He came around his desk, offering his hand and a charming, natural smile. A second man sat on the couch.
“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Cole. If I haven’t expressed this before, I want to personally thank you for the help you’ve given to Frank in the past. He is one of my closest, dearest friends.”
“I’m sure. Thanks for making the time, Councilman.”
The other man was nothing like Maldenado. He was thin, with a sagging face and steel-colored hair. His sport coat and slacks fit like secondhand clothes draped on a rack. I made him for his late sixties, but he could have been older. He did not stand and made no move to greet me.
Maldenado waved at him as he showed me to a chair facing the desk.
“This is another close friend, my advisor, Felix Dowling. Felix has been working the back rooms of this city longer than either of us cares to admit, isn’t that right, Felix?”
Maldenado laughed, but all Felix managed was a polite nod.
Maldenado hitched his pants and hooked his butt on the front of his desk, one foot on the floor, the other dangling in front of me.
“So, Abbot tells me you have some concerns about my friends at Leverage. They’re a fine firm. Been in business for many years. Just a fine group of people.”
“That’s good to hear. I’m hoping you can answer a few questions about them.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, I don’t know much about those folks, but Felix here, well, Felix knows just about everything about everyone in this town, so that’s why he’s here. He knows where the bodies are buried, I’ll tell you that.”
Maldenado laughed again, but Felix still didn’t join him.
Felix said, “Why don’t you freshen your coffee, Henry?”
Maldenado glanced at his cup and appeared surprised at how empty it was.
“You know, I’ll do that. I’ll be right back, but you boys don’t wait for me.”
Maldenado closed the door on the way out. I glanced at Dowling, and Dowling seemed to be sizing me up. The office felt different with Maldenado gone, as if it suddenly belonged to Dowling and maybe always had. I let him look.
He said, “So. You’re the boy got the sonofabitch who killed Frank’s daughter.”
“My partner and I. I wasn’t alone.”
“She was a sweet kid. I met her a couple times.”
I nodded.
We looked at each other some more.
He said, “Okay. What’s up?”
“I believe Leverage Associates might be acting to suppress or subvert a murder investigation. Would they do that?”
He shrugged with no more reaction than had I asked if they validate.
“Would they? In my experience, people will do damn near anything. If you’re asking whether they’ve done that kind of thing in the past, my answer would be no. I’ve never heard them to be associated with anything that extreme. They’ve had clients get into trouble, sure, but never like that.”
He stopped, waiting for the next question.
“Are you familiar with their client list?”
“Sure. They have five or six on the council, couple of commissioners, on up the line. Right now, I’d call it fourteen clients holding office and another thirty or so contenders.”
“Could you get information about those individuals if I wanted it?”
“Yes. You want their entire list?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Done. What else?”
The door suddenly opened. Maldenado took half a step in and froze in the opening. Dowling and I glanced at him, but he backed out of the room, closing the door.
Dowling said, “Forget him. What else?”
“Do you know the name Debra Repko?”
“No.”
“She worked at Leverage as a first-year associate. That’s a training position where-”
“I know what it is.”
“She worked with several clients while she was there. Maybe a lot of them. Could you get their names?”
“That one I can’t promise you. I can get some names, no doubt, but I’ll have to see. Was she screwing somebody?”
“She was murdered almost two months ago. When her case was being investigated, Leverage didn’t want their client list made public or the clients questioned. They had a deputy chief named Marx crowd out the detectives.”
Dowling seemed interested for the first time.
“Thomas Marx?”
“You know him?”
“Never met, but he wants into politics. A lot of these guys do. He’s had a few conversations.”
“It’s beyond the conversation stage. He’s signed up at Leverage.”
Dowling seemed surprised.
“Marx is with Leverage?”
“They think they can position him for a shot at the council.”
Dowling stared with the same surprised expression, then suddenly barked a single sharp laugh.
“Of course. Wilts is with Leverage.”
Casey Stokes had mentioned that Wilts thought Marx had what it took to get elected. I thought Dowling was saying the same, so I nodded along.
“That’s right. Someone told me Wilts was a big supporter.”
Dowling made the bark again.
“Bet your ass he is. Marx was Wilts’s fixer. How do you think Marx got to the top of the glass house?”
The glass house was Parker Center.
“Marx took care of Wilts for years, and Wilts took care of Marx. Guess he still is. Wilts must have brought him in.”
Wilts had been at Marx’s press conference, but I had seen Wilts at dozens of press conferences over the years and thought nothing of it. I had not known their relationship was deeper, or longer, and now a nervous tension grew in my belly. Debra Repko’s final event was a dinner for Nobel Wilts.
“What kind of trouble did Wilts need fixed?”
“Those days, Wilts was a notorious drunk. I’m talking blackouts. He was always getting pulled over or crashing his car. Couple of times he got out of hand with a broad. Whatever. He’d call Marx, and Marx would make it go away. That’s what fixers do.”
“And Wilts returned the favors?”
“Leverage wouldn’t be interested in a stiff like Marx unless he was holding an ace. I’m guessing Wilts brought Marx in as his successor. The old man must be thinking about calling it quits.”
“As simple as that? Wilts tells Leverage Marx is his boy and Leverage takes him aboard?”
“Well, Leverage isn’t doing it because they like his smile. This stuff costs money.”
“So who’s paying the tab? Wilts?”
Dowling made a flicking move with his hand.
“Nah, he probably pressed one of his backers into footing the bill. They make the investment now, they get the favors later. Politics is like Oz, only you never see the magician behind the curtain.”
“Can we find out?”
He thought about it a moment, then checked his watch.
“I’ll have to get back to you. Anything else? Henry has a full day.”
I thought about what he had told me and all that went with it. Marx was no longer just a cop shading an investigation for publicity; now he was a cop who covered up crimes. I wondered how many crimes he had covered, and if Wilts was his only angel.
“One more thing, Mr. Dowling. How far back do Marx and Wilts go?”
“Gotta be fifteen or twenty years. Fifteen, for sure. I can tell you exactly how they got together. I heard it from someone who was there. You do what I do, you hear things, you learn from what you hear.”