“In that case let’s not keep him waiting.” She led him through the parlor and knocked on the door of the office. When she heard Frank’s voice she opened it and stepped back and Gillespie went past her into the office.
Ezio and Frank were at the table leaning over a litter of blueprints. Gillespie stopped two paces inside the room. “That idea paid off.”
Over the back of Gillespie’s shoulder she watched Frank’s face. One eyebrow went up inquisitively. Ezio glanced at her disapprovingly but she stayed where she was.
Gillespie said, “I think it’ll lead us to Edward Merle.”
Ezio said, “Shouldn’t this be private, Frank?”
“Anna has a right to hear this. Come on in.”
She stepped into the room and pushed the door shut behind her.
Gillespie was opening his briefcase on the arm of a chair. The room had been built for a nineteenth-century millionaire; it was all deep rich woodwork — glass-enclosed bookcases, wainscoting, Dutch doors onto the garden, an Italian Renaissance chandelier. It was huge for a study; Frank was not a large man but he dominated it, and very few men had that quality.
Gillespie drew a single sheet of paper from the briefcase. “Name, vital statistics, fingerprints. Photograph in here as well.”
“On Edward Merle?”
“No, sir,” Gillespie said. “They’ll probably be changing his name again, giving him a new identity, relocating him, all that. It would take quite a while to get that information. I think this is faster.”
Ezio said, “Then spill it.”
“The government knows the four witnesses are targets. They’ve put all four of them under wraps.”
Ezio’s voice became sharp. “We know that, Charlie.”
Gillespie smiled. “Sure. The government assigns caseworkers to look after these witnesses, shepherd them along, get them resettled. You know how it is. Now I managed to get this information from our contact in the Witness Security office because I asked for it. She wouldn’t have volunteered it — I don’t imagine it would have occurred to her.”
Ezio spoke through his teeth: “You don’t imagine what would have occurred to her, Charlie?”
Gillespie put the sheet of paper on the desk and put the photograph on top of it. “The name and picture of the agent who’s assigned to take care of Merle. His name’s Glenn Bradleigh. We find Bradleigh, we’ve found Merle. And I don’t think Bradleigh is trying to hide. Why should he? He ought to be easy enough for your people to find. Start them looking in the Los Angeles area.” Gillespie picked up the photograph and looked at the face. “You find this man, he’ll lead you to Edward Merle.”
She looked at Frank. He was walking forward, a hard shine on his eyes. He took the photograph gently out of Gillespie’s hand. “I like a man who uses his head.”
“Yes, sir. I’m glad it worked out. I wasn’t sure she’d be able to get us the name but she came through.”
“You’re all right, C.K.” Frank turned to Ezio and put the photograph in his hand. “Find him.”
Chapter Five
California-Arizona: 3–6 August
1
Explaining it to Ronny was the worst part. Ronny sat on the motel bed watching both of them. Mathieson said, “I know it sounds kind of comic book. But it happens all the time. Glenn Bradleigh has more than a thousand families just like us on his roster.”
Ronny only watched him; it unnerved him. Jan was hugging herself and Mathieson went to the air-conditioner under the window. “You could hang meat in here.” He switched it off. Jan gave him a brief distracted smile.
The boy’s puzzled eyes searched him: Ronny wanted to understand but it was a lot to absorb. “What was this thing you testified to?”
“Bribery. Frank Pastor was involved in a real estate lawsuit. It wasn’t a criminal trial, it was a civil suit, but if he lost it he might be liable for fraud charges. And there was a lot of money involved in the case — hundreds of thousands of dollars.
“He wanted to buy the judge, to make sure he’d win the case.”
“Which side were you on? Whose lawyer were you?”
“Nobody’s. I wasn’t involved in the case.”
“You just said you used to be a lawyer, though.”
“I was trying another case in another courtroom in the same building. I went into the men’s room to wash some of the subway dirt off my hands and I happened to walk in just when Frank Pastor was slipping an envelope to the judge in the back of the men’s room. They didn’t realize I’d seen the envelope change hands.”
“How come?”
“They were around behind the row of stalls. I happened to see it in one of the mirrors over the washstands. It was an accident — a total coincidence. Things happen like that all the time but they’re always hard to believe when you try to explain them later.”
“They believed you, though, didn’t they? They must have, if Pastor went to jail.”
“It was my evidence that triggered the investigation, but they had a lot more to go on than just what I happened to see in the men’s room.”
“How come you knew who this guy Pastor was?”
“Everybody in New York knew him by sight in those days. You used to see him all the time on the television news, his picture in the magazines, all that kind of thing. He was a spokesman for some sort of antidefamation league and he was always in the public eye.”
“But if everybody knows these guys are gangsters, how come they’re not all in jail?”
He glanced at Jan. “Sometimes it’s very hard to get proof against them. They’re very clever people.”
“Doesn’t sound to me like this Pastor was so clever. He went to jail, right?”
Mathieson nodded. “I washed my hands and left the men’s room. I suppose they’d seen me by the time I left, or at least heard me, but neither one of them came out of the back of the room. I went right to the phone and called the District Attorney’s office. I had several friends there. I told them about the envelope I’d seen change hands in the men’s room. It could only have been one thing — a bribe. People don’t pass over harmless legitimate messages in secret like that. The District Attorney got a warrant from a criminal-court judge right away and they searched this judge’s chambers about two hours after I’d phoned. They found the envelope in the desk because he was in court all morning and hadn’t had time to get it away from his office.”
“What was in it, anyway? Money?”
“Seventy-five hundred dollars in cash. The envelope had both Pastor’s and the judge’s fingerprints on it.”
“Dumb,” Ronny said.
“Well they didn’t expect anybody to find it, did they.”
“I still think it must’ve been pretty stupid for Pastor to do that in person. He could’ve had anybody deliver the money for him. Some flunky.”
“Normally he would have. But the judge insisted that Pastor pay him off in person. If anything went wrong — and something did — the judge wanted to be able to take Pastor down with him. He didn’t want Pastor double-crossing him afterward. You understand, Ronny?”
“I think so. So they got caught. Did this judge fess up?”
“He might have, but as soon as he was released on bail he was killed. Shot to death on his own doorstep.”
Ronny drew air through his teeth. “Cripes.”
Jan said, “It’s not a TV movie we’re talking about, Ronny. These are real people. It’s real blood and real pain...”
Ronny scowled at Mathieson. “They killed this judge to keep him from talking, right?”
“Yes. That’s why sometimes it’s so hard to get evidence against them — they make people afraid to testify.”