“Hello,” he heard Javier say into the telephone, and Theo wondered if the caller on the other end of the line was who he hoped it was, or who he feared it was.
Fifty-eight
The big question was what to do about Miguel Rios.
Jack hadn’t been bluffing entirely in that final exchange in his office, when he’d warned Tatum that Sally’s ex-husband would be the first to know about Tatum’s apparent “two-way split” with a partner who was likely as dangerous as he was mysterious. Implicit in the threat, however, was the assumption that Jack would first have to come around to the view that breaching the attorney-client privilege was the ethical and proper thing to do. That, of course, was a huge assumption. The issue wasn’t whether his client (or former client, it didn’t make any difference) had killed in the past. Jack could never reveal that information, not even if he had a sworn confession, not without being disbarred. The question was whether Tatum was going to kill again in the future. Unless Theo hit a home run in his meeting with Javier, Jack wasn’t anywhere near close enough to establishing that his client was about to commit another murder and that the life of an innocent person was in imminent danger. Certainly he didn’t have the level of proof required for a criminal defense lawyer to take the extraordinary step of betraying his own client’s confidences.
Still, morality played a role here. He at least wanted to meet with Miguel, if for no other reason than to make sure that one of Sally’s few remaining heirs had a healthy appreciation of just how much danger he was in.
“You think I’m not shittin’ bricks already?” said Miguel.
Jack was seated on the edge of the couch, watching Miguel pace across the rug. Miguel hadn’t been able to sit down since inviting Jack into his living room. He spoke fast and with an edge to his voice, and Jack could understand the nervousness.
“I guess it doesn’t take a genius to know what’s going on,” said Jack.
“Well, what is your client doing?”
Jack wasn’t sure what to say. There wasn’t much he could say, but he did his best. “I no longer represent Tatum.”
“Why not?”
“That’s all I can tell you.”
Miguel finally stopped pacing. He looked Jack in the eye, seeming to sense that Jack was trying to convey more. And Jack was indeed sending a message. It was like at trial, when a criminal defense lawyer knew that his client was committing perjury. Some lawyers believed that the only ethical response of the lawyer was to stand aside and let the client tell his own story, no involvement by the lawyer. No lawyer could stand up and say, “My client is lying,” but the moment he clammed up and did nothing to elicit any further testimony from his own client, anyone who knew the rules knew exactly what was going on.
Miguel was a cop, and Jack hoped he was savvy enough to pick up the similar drift he was casting across his living room.
“Are you saying…”
“I told you, that’s all I can say.”
Miguel lowered himself against the arm of the couch, then bounced back up and started pacing again. “This is just great. First Rudsky. Then Meadows. Then Colletti. That leaves me in the running with Tatum Knight, who scared me from the first time I saw him. And this Alan Sirap, which is apparently an alias for Sally’s stalker. And need I remind you that I still think Sally’s stalker is the man who killed our daughter?”
“You seem to have a pretty firm grasp of the picture.”
“Better than you think. Have a listen to this.”
He walked across the room to his stereo on the wall unit, then pulled a cassette tape from its plastic case. “I gave this to the police this morning. It’s a recording of a message I received on my answering machine.”
“This morning?”
“Yeah. It came around eight-thirty-eight thirty-two A.M. according to my machine.”
Jack didn’t say anything, but he made a mental note that Tatum had been in the car with Theo en route to his office at that time. He wondered where Javier had been.
Miguel kept talking as he adjusted the controls on the tape recorder. “I was in the shower when the call came, so the machine picked up. Scared the crap out of me when I listened to it. Called the cops right away. That’s why I took the day off. Detective Larsen wants me home to take the call in case he calls again.”
“Was the voice at all familiar?”
“Nah. It’s disguised. Here, have a listen.” He pushed the Play button, then stepped back from the stereo. The speakers hissed with silence, followed by a crackle or two, and then Miguel’s voice on tape.
“Hi, this is Miguel. Leave a message at the tone.”
There was a beep, then nothing. Jack glanced at Miguel, who seemed to signal with his eyes that it was coming. It took several moments, then finally the silence was broken.
“You’re next, Miguel. But you knew that, right?”
It chilled Jack to hear it, and he could only imagine how it had made Miguel feel. That Jack had heard the voice before made it all the more scary. It was the same mechanical, hollow-sounding voice from his own phone call, the lunatic on the line who’d told him that
“Everyone must die.” But there was one big difference. He sounded much more agitated in Miguel’s message.
“Don’t even think about dropping out of the game, asshole. It won’t help. Didn’t help Mason Rudsky, did it? It’s like I told Swyteck-every last one of you will die. And you know why? Because that’s what Sally wanted. She didn’t have the guts to say it, much less do it. But I know what she really wanted. She wanted to punish you. And now it’s up to me to give you bastards the punishment you deserve. Chew on that, Mikey. The surviving heir gets forty-six million dollars. Too fucking bad there won’t be any. None. No survivors.”
The speakers hissed again, marking the end of the recording. Miguel switched off the cassette player. He seemed to be waiting for Jack to say something, but it hardly seemed necessary. It was just as Jack had suspected. The killer saw himself as Sally’s protector and avenger. Money was not his motivation. He wanted justice for Sally, the sick kind of justice that was born only of a sick kind of love. The message was perfectly clear.
Sally’s stalker was back-with a vengeance.
Fifty-nine
Txheo was able to overhear enough of the bodyguard’s telephone conversation in the kitchen to know that it wasn’t Tatum on the line. It was Kelsey, exactly according to plan.
It wasn’t part of Jack’s overall strategy, however. This was something Theo had cooked up for Kelsey’s benefit on the way over to the Biscayne Guns amp; Ammo Shop. If there was one thing Theo hated more than anything, it was a thug who threatened children. Theo promised Kelsey that, with her help, he’d tried to find out if the bodyguard was the bastard who’d stuck the gun in her face and threatened her son. All she had to do was to call Javier while Theo was over there visiting and tell him she’s been thinking about him ever since they met that night at Club Vertigo. She’d have to tie him up for a good ten or fifteen minutes, lay it on pretty thick-how she thought it was really sweet and respectful the way he was trying not to look at her mouth throughout their conversation because of his addiction to porn, how it’s really tough to find a guy that thoughtful in Miami, especially one who’s even cuter than the Rock.
“You really think so?” Javier said into the phone with a boyish grin.
Theo had to get out of the room, not simply to keep himself from laughing out loud, but because it was part of the plan. He tapped Javier on the shoulder and said, “Bathroom?”
Javier just waved, as if afraid that even a curt “Thatta-way” might break his rapport with Kelsey.
Theo started down the hall, confident that Kelsey could keep this loser tied up forever in the futile hope of voice sex.
Theo walked right past the bathroom and into lover boy’s bedroom. Kelsey had promised to beep him on his vibrating pager before she hung up with the bodyguard, which would give Theo time to get back to the kitchen before Javier could catch him snooping.