“We got a problem, brother. I’m telling it to you straight: Lilly knows. Based on what we talked about on the phone this morning, I’d say she knows the whole story.”
“I don’t understand how she could.”
Connie reached over and put her arm around my shoulder. “I hate to bust your chops, dipshit, but who the heck is this woman?”
I shook my head slowly, focused on nothing in particular in the falling snow. All was a blur.
“Apparently, I have no clue.”
18
L illy entered the church at eleven twenty A.M. The entrance on john street was unlocked, as promised. She was a few minutes early for her meeting with manu robledo.
The heavy oak door closed behind her, and it took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. The old church had a dusty odor, but there were more obvious signs of disuse. All religious artifacts had been removed, and a few indirect spotlights that had once displayed them were the nave’s only illumination. Brass chandeliers hung from the cathedral-style ceiling, spiderwebs clinging to the unlit bulbs. Lilly walked tentatively down the center aisle, the click of her heels echoing on the old stone floor. She took a seat in the third pew on the left, just as Robledo had instructed her to do. A deep breath, followed by another, did nothing to calm her nerves.
Getting his name had been like hitting the jackpot. She had risked everything for it. Just one little peek behind the veil of bank secrecy, she’d thought, would reveal the client Gerry Collins had brought to BOS/Singapore. She could match a name to a numbered account. She would know the source-or at least a crucial link in a hidden chain-of funds she had routed to Abe Cushman’s Ponzi scheme. She would know who had threatened to kill her if she didn’t give it all back. A simple plan, but one that had failed. The bank had fired her before she could get the name Manu Robledo.
A visit from a stranger had been the answer to her prayers.
She started to say another one-she was in church, after all-but her mind was restless. It was cold within these old stone walls, and she started to shiver, not just from the cold, but with a fear that chilled her. It was partly her fear of Robledo. Mostly, it was fear of the stranger who had found her alone in Patrick’s apartment. An all-consuming fear that kept her looking over her shoulder. A fear that she’d relived in her mind over and over. A fear that gripped her again in the darkness of the old church, taking her back to the knock on Patrick’s door that had changed everything.
“W ho is it?” asked Lilly.
“Flower delivery.”
The chain and deadbolt were secure. Lilly peered through the peephole. The man in the hallway was holding a bouquet of red roses.
“Just a minute,” she said.
Flowers. With all that had happened, she, of course, had to consider the possibility that it was a ruse-a clever way for someone to gain access to the apartment.
“Who are they for?” she asked.
“Lilly Scanlon.”
Hmmm. No one knew she was in the apartment except Patrick. It would have been sweet of Patrick to send flowers to make up for running off after last night’s reunion. But a girl who was under threat of death unless she coughed up two billion dollars could never be too careful.
“I’m leaving the chain on the door. Hand the flowers to me through the opening.”
“They’ll get crushed.”
“Then hand me one rose at a time.”
She turned the deadbolt, opened the door, and let it catch on the short length of chain. He handed her the first long-stemmed rose, then another. She had the fifth in hand when he grabbed her wrist and pressed a blade to her veins.
“Scream and you’ll bleed out in two minutes,” he said.
Lilly gasped and swallowed her scream. “What do you want?” she asked, her voice quaking.
“Just listen to me,” he said in a rushed, husky voice. “I know why you got fired. I know why you ran from Singapore. I know why your boyfriend was attacked. I know all those things.”
Lilly closed her eyes, then opened them, but she couldn’t stop the trembling.
The man continued. “There’s only one way for you to get out of this alive, Lilly. But you have to follow my instructions to the letter. If you don’t, they’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
She didn’t. Not in the least. This was all too crazy. “What are you telling me to do?”
“Trust me.”
She could barely form a response. “Trust you?”
“Yes. Here’s my first show of trust: go to the Church of Peace and Prosperity International on John Street. Ask for Manu Robledo. Tell him you know who opened BOS numbered account 507.625 RR. Tell him you know it was him.”
It was almost too much to remember, not because of the quantity, but because of how important it was-if it was true.
“Tell him he’ll get his money,” the man said, “but tell him you’re in control.”
“I can’t-”
“Tell him ,” he said, squeezing her wrist so tightly that Lilly had to bite her lip to stop the pain. “You must do exactly as I say.”
“Okay,” she said. “I will.”
“Good. And tell him you got his name from Patrick.”
“No!”
“Do it!” he said, stern but not quite shouting.
“Please, keep Patrick out of this.”
“His name isn’t even Patrick. It’s Peter Mandretti.”
“What?”
“His father testified against the Santucci family, which means that your boyfriend has much bigger problems than Manu Robledo. The mob is breathing down his neck. Don’t make his problems yours, Lilly. I’m here to help you.”
“I don’t want you to help-”
His grip was like a vise around her wrist, and this time the pain dropped her to her knees.
“Okay, okay,” she said, “whatever you say.”
He loosened his grasp, but not completely. “It’s possible you’re being watched. We have to make sure no one follows you. Don’t leave this building through the main entrance. Use the fire escape.”
Again she blinked, barely comprehending. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
He gave her wrist a final squeeze. Not a threatening one. It was as if he were trying to reassure her. “Trust me, Lilly. You deserve to live.”
He released her. She pulled her hand inside, closed the door, and instinctively withdrew to the center of the apartment. Her emotions rushed forward, a combination of fear over what had happened and relief that he hadn’t slashed her wrist. Fighting off tears, she went to the peephole. He was gone. She collected herself, trying to decide what to do. There seemed to be no right answer.
She went to the computer and found directions to the church.
“D on’t turn around.”
Robledo’s voice ripped her from the past. He was seated in the pew behind her, and she was having trouble following his command.
“Eyes forward!” he said.
She obeyed, but it wasn’t easy. It was the same voice she’d heard on the phone when Patrick was threatened in Times Square. The same voice that had threatened her in Singapore when she saw the Treasury memo. The same voice she’d heard day after day when receiving transfer orders for numbered account 507.625 RR at BOS. She wanted so badly to put a face with it.
“How did you find my name?” he asked.
“None of your business.”
She felt a cold, round point of pressure at the base of her skull. “How about now?” he asked, nudging her with the pistol. “Still none of my business?”
Lilly tried to keep her voice from shaking. “It doesn’t matter how I found out.”
The old church was silent, save for the unmistakable sound of a pistol cocking.
“It matters to me,” Robledo said.