“That’s not possible. The only way this makes sense is if he didn’t commit the rape.”
“You wish.”
“It’s mere logic. Ever since I learned about the rape conviction, I’ve asked myself: How does a man rape a woman and then turn into a blackmailer? Could the rapist extort the victim? No way. Unless the rape never happened — and the alleged rapist could prove the victim had made it all up. Your mother’s letter proves exactly that.”
“The only thing this whole visit proves is that I should have listened to Marilyn Gaslow. You Duffys are despicable people, and I need to stay as far away from you as possible.” She grabbed the photocopy from his hand. “And I’m not going to let you use this to prove your phony point.”
“Amy, wait!” He ran after her as she hurried toward the door, grabbing at the letter in her hand and ripping it in half. She screamed and swung at him. He stopped in his tracks. She looked him straight in the eye, her fist clenching pepper spray for self-defense.
Each watched the other, waiting for the next move. Neither one flinched. For an instant, they seemed taken with the irony. It was their parents, after all, who had predestined their meeting, watching from another world as the children moved from subtle flirtation at the Green Parrot to outright confrontation in Ryan’s office.
Amy said, “Stay away from me. I don’t want your money. And I don’t need your lies.” She turned and quickly let herself out.
He felt the urge to follow but didn’t. He’d taken his best shot. He should have known there would be no persuading her. At least he had a handwriting sample — half of Debby Parkens’s letter to her daughter. It was surely enough to allow one of Norm’s experts to verify she’d also written the letter to his father.
He laid his torn copy on the table and flattened the creases so that it would run through the fax machine. He scribbled a short message on a cover sheet, punched Norm’s number, and fed the documents into the slot.
Second thoughts gripped him as the machine slowly swallowed the letter. It wasn’t as if the handwriting analysis would be dispositive. Experts could only render opinions. Neither experts nor Amy could confirm for a fact that Frank Duffy had been falsely accused of rape. Only one person alive could do that. Her name was Marilyn Gaslow. The next chairwoman of the Board of Governors of the Federal Reserve.
The fax machine beeped, signaling the transmission was completed. Ryan stared at the documents, chilled by his own sudden resolve.
He picked up the phone and dialed once again.
53
Ryan stopped for breakfast on the way home. After the blow-up with Amy, he wasn’t ready to deal with his mother. He pulled into C.J.’s Diner, a converted gas station that had become a popular spot for the most unhealthy Sunday breakfast around. The buttermilk biscuits alone were enough to make anyone forget there was more grease in this establishment now than when they were doing lube jobs. As usual, the line for a table stretched out the front door. Ryan was about to check on availability at the counter when his pager went off. He checked the number. It was Norm.
Ryan had to think for a second to remember where on the learning curve he had left his lawyer. Apart from this morning’s fax, they had talked by telephone last night, just after the discovery of the letter. That letter was the first time either of them had heard that the alleged rape victim was Marilyn Gaslow. Like the rest of the country, they had heard her name on television in connection with her recent appointment. Their interest, however, lay in a part of her life that wasn’t in the news. At least not yet.
Ryan went to a pay phone outside the restaurant and eagerly dialed the number.
“Did you get my fax this morning?” asked Ryan.
“Yeah. I’ll give some thought to a handwriting expert. But that’s not why I’m calling.”
“You find something on Gaslow already?”
“Plenty. First, the small stuff. Marilyn Gaslow is exactly your dad’s same age, lived near Boulder when he did. She went to Fairview High School, which was the other one in the area. It’s still conceivable they would have known each other, or at least met.”
“Which means she also could have known Kozelka.”
“That’s an understatement. Here’s the biggie: They were married.”
“What?”
“Joseph Kozelka is Marilyn Gaslow’s ex-husband.”
“How long were they married?”
“Long time. Tied the knot just two years out of high school. Lasted twenty-two years. Been divorced almost twenty.”
Ryan nearly burst through the phone. “This is it!”
“This is what?”
“The connection I’ve been waiting for. Marilyn Gaslow accuses my dad of rape. She marries a rich guy. Turns out the accusations are false. He has to pay. It means my dad is innocent!” He could have hugged his friend. “He’s innocent.”
Norm was silent. Ryan asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I just think the celebration is premature.”
“Norm, don’t deprive me of this.”
“Do you want my honest opinion or don’t you?”
“Yes. But all along, you’ve never wanted to even entertain the possibility that my dad was innocent.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is true. What are you — jealous that maybe now I’ll keep the money?”
“Ryan, I’m your friend.”
“Some friend. You of all people should know that innocent people do get convicted.”
“Not very often.”
“It’s possible.”
“In some cases, yes.”
“What the hell do you have against my father?”
“For God’s sake, Ryan! If your old man was innocent, don’t you think he would have looked you straight in the eye and told you?”
Norm’s voice slashed with a cutting edge, as if he were grabbing his friend and shaking him by the lapels. It was a heated moment that left them both cold.
“I’m sorry, Ryan.”
The phone was shaking in his hand. “No, you’re right. We need to think this through. There must be something we’re overlooking.”
“Well, we need to think fast. Agent Forsyth called me at home this morning. Now more than ever, the FBI wants our meeting to go forward tomorrow.”
“Let’s put that off. Just tell them I need a few days to bury my brother-in-law.”
“Any more stalling and Forsyth implied the U.S. attorney would initiate a forfeiture proceeding against the Panamanian account. That’s an added three-million-dollar headache we don’t need right now.”
“Who do they think I am, Al Capone?”
“No. But they don’t see you as the typical grieving family member, either. The FBI doesn’t normally get involved in murder cases. But when a witness is murdered and an attorney is beat up in a pattern of criminal activity that may include extortion and money laundering, that can add up to a federal racketeering charge.”
“Wait a minute. You mean they’ve already linked me to Brent’s murder?”
“You’re probably the number one suspect, Ryan. And that’s just based on what happened in court yesterday. They don’t even have the gun yet.”
“Great. Kozelka is going to give them the damn gun if we go forward with tomorrow’s meeting with the FBI.”
“Kind of a catch-twenty-two, I know. But there’s one sure way to beat it.”
“What?”
“Just tell the FBI you’re being framed.”
“I can’t. It’s like my mom said. If I tell them I’m being framed, I have to tell them why I’m being framed — which means telling them all about the rape and the extortion. And you know what, Norm? You may have your doubts about my father, and those doubts may be reasonable. But if that letter from Debby Parkens is true and my dad didn’t commit the rape, then he did deserve the money. That money was his justice. Turning it over to the FBI and telling them it’s extortion isn’t just stupid. It’s a betrayal.”
“I can see how you feel that way. But there comes a point where it may be too late to claim you were framed.”
“I haven’t even been formally accused yet, Norm.”