“Stop protecting your father, Ryan. It’s time to start worrying about your own neck.”
Ryan wanted to deny it, but the more the silence lingered, the more he realized: Norm was right. He answered in a calm, much quieter tone. “What’s done is done, I guess. The good news is, I’ve at least confirmed that Kozelka is the source of the funds.”
“And the really bad news,” said Norm, “is that you still have no idea what your dad used to blackmail Kozelka. Yet you marched right into his building and left him with the distinct impression that the Duffy family is still blackmailing him.”
“No way. I made it very clear that I wasn’t after money.”
“Blackmail doesn’t have to involve money. In a general sense, any time you use threats to cause someone to act against their own free will, it’s a form of extortion.”
“I didn’t threaten him.”
“It was a veiled threat, Ryan. In essence, you told him to come up with the information you want by Monday at ten A.M., or you give Kozelka’s name to the FBI.”
“That’s extortion?”
“Legally, it’s a gray area. But if I were Kozelka, I’d take it that way.”
“What should we do?”
“Wait. And brace ourselves. We’re about to find out how Kozelka takes to threats.”
Joseph Kozelka sat behind his desk, still fuming. The entire exchange in the conference room had been caught on camera, broadcast on closed circuit to the television monitor in his office. To say Dr. Duffy had angered him would be a gross understatement. Kozelka, however, wasn’t the type to rant and rave. He stewed. Never alone. Always in the presence of those he held responsible. It was a power tactic that left subordinates melting with apprehension.
This afternoon, Nathan Rusch was one of those subordinates. He sat nervously on the couch, awaiting his boss’s reaction.
Job security was a rare luxury at K &G, especially for someone like Rusch, whose job was totally result-oriented. Rusch wasn’t part of K &G’s regular corporate security. He was a special security operations consultant, a term that covered just about anything. If Kozelka needed protection on a trip to a Third World country, Rusch could assemble a team that rivaled the Secret Service. If a disgruntled former employee threatened to expose K &G trade secrets, Rusch was faster, cheaper and far more effective than any team of rabid lawyers. And if Kozelka was faced with blackmail, Rusch would tell him when to pay — and when to fight back.
Kozelka spoke in a controlled but biting tone. “How could she be so stupid as to leave a glass with her fingerprints behind in the bar?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“You’re the one who hired her.”
“It was on the quick. She came highly recommended.”
“I don’t see why you used her in the first place. You should have just snatched Duffy’s bag yourself.”
“We were hoping for more than just the bag. She’s a very talented woman. We thought he’d be tempted. Maybe go back to her room, where she could get him talking. It didn’t work out that way. Duffy didn’t take the bait.”
“Whatever. What’s the worst-case scenario?”
Rusch hated to deliver bad news, but he was always honest with Kozelka. “Duffy gives the glass to the FBI at their meeting on Monday morning. The FBI gets a match on the prints and apprehends her. After that, it’s in her hands.”
“What do you mean, her hands?”
“She either tells the FBI nothing. Or she talks.”
“What can she tell them?” He raised an eyebrow, threatening. “You didn’t tell her anything. Did you?”
He gulped. “She couldn’t operate totally in the dark. I told her a few things.”
Kozelka leaned back in his chair. He didn’t scream; it wasn’t his style. But this time he was stewing so hard his eyes were bulging. “What did you tell her?”
“Just the essentials. Like I said, we were hoping Duffy would pick her up in the bar, have a few drinks, get to talking. We had to give her some idea of what to pry out of him.”
“Have you been in contact with her since Panama?”
“Yeah. I used her on surveillance here in Denver. For obvious reasons, I preferred to involve as few players as possible in this operation. Since she was already in the loop, I figured I’d use her again. She is good. Or so I’m told.”
“Does she know too much? Is she dangerous?”
“I wouldn’t go overboard with worry. This should take the FBI nowhere. All the glass proves is that she had a drink with Ryan Duffy in the bar. That’s it.”
Kozelka folded his hands atop the desk. “Unless she panics. Unless there’s a warrant out for her arrest on six other unrelated scams we don’t know about. Unless the FBI offers to wipe her slate clean if she’ll tell them who hired her and what’s going on in this case.”
“That’s possible. But it’s premature.”
“I have just one thing to say to you, Rusch.” He leaned forward, staring him in the eye. “Don’t let it happen.”
46
The courthouse on Saturday was like church on Monday. Row after row of empty seats. Utter quiet in the halls. Lights and air conditioning were on in limited areas only. It had a way of making the proceedings seem both more and less important. It brought everyone in on their day off, but it was the last place anyone wanted to be.
With the exception of Phil Jackson. He seemed energized, if not happy.
Ryan tried not to look his way. He sat quietly beside his lawyer at the old mahogany table farthest from the jury box. Liz sat at the other table next to Jackson. While waiting for the judge, Ryan had glanced her way several times. He couldn’t help it. She had yet to make eye contact.
“All rise,” said the bailiff.
Judge Novak entered from a side door and stepped up to the bench. Norm had said he was old, but he looked even older than Ryan had expected. Huge age spots dotted his balding crown, like the markings on a globe. Hearing aids protruded from both ears. As he passed, Ryan noticed that he’d forgotten to zip up the back of his robe. Ryan looked away. It was hard to take a judge seriously knowing that his bony butt was clad in plaid Bermuda shorts. So much for the judicial mystique.
“Good morning,” said the judge. “We’re here on the petitioner’s emergency motion for a temporary restraining order. As I’m sure the lawyers have explained to their clients, there is no jury in this proceeding. I am the trier of both law and fact. A word of caution to the lawyers. Spare me the usual histrionics you might use in a jury case. I’m eighty-one years old. I’ve seen it all.
“Mr. Jackson, please call your first witness.”
Jackson rose slowly, as if a little stiff in the joints. His face was slightly puffy. Other than the bandage over his eye, however, he showed few outward signs of the beating. Only on close examination was the faint purple discoloration on his cheekbone evident. It was hidden beneath the makeup. How vain did a guy have to be to wear makeup to an empty courthouse on a Saturday morning?
“Your Honor, our first witness is the petitioner, Elizabeth Duffy.”
Ryan did a double take. No wonder she hadn’t looked at him.
The judge scooted forward in his chair. “Another word of caution,” he said in a lecturing tone. “You may call your client to the stand, Mr. Jackson. But bear in mind that I have allocated only forty-five minutes for this hearing. I don’t intend to sit here and listen to everything that was wrong with the Duffys’ marriage. That is for another day. Keep the testimony limited to the issue in this hearing — that is, was Dr. Duffy involved in the attack on the petitioner’s lawyer, and should a restraining order be imposed against Dr. Duffy to prevent any further attacks.”
“Your Honor, I have one limited area of testimony I would like to cover with Mrs. Duffy. I promise it will take only a minute.”
“Proceed.”
Ryan watched carefully as Liz took the oath. She was dressed sharply in a Chanel suit. Either she’d sold her car or somebody had been fronting her some wardrobe money. She seemed nervous as she slid into the witness box. She still wouldn’t look at him.