“Neither,” Frank says. “I want to ask her about Summer Lorensen.”
Karen says, “You don’tlook like a police officer.”
“I’m not.”
“Then I don’t have to talk to you,” she says. “Good-bye.”
“Then you don’t care who murdered her?”
“I loved that girl like a daughter,” Karen says. “I wept for days. As I did for Alison.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you are looking for Alison Demers,” Karen says, “you will have to go to a cemetery in Virginia. Alison moved back east after Summer’s murder. She died in a horseback-riding accident.”
“When?”
“A month ago,” Karen says. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“I want to find who killed Summer Lorensen.”
“The police said that they found that man,” she says.
“But we both know better, don’t we, Mrs. Foster?” Frank asks.
She glares at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No?”
“No,” she says. “And if you persist in harassing me, I’ll call some men and have you tossed out of here.”
“Don’t bother,” Frank says. “I’m leaving. And Mrs. Foster?”
“What?”
“When you call Donnie,” Frank says, “tell him Frankie Machine says hello.”
79
“He’s in San Diego.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Tell that to Karen Foster. He was just there.”
“Where?”
“Rancho Santa Fe.”
“Shit.”
“It gets worse. He was asking about Summer Lorensen.”
Silence for a few seconds.
“This shit has to stop,” Garth says. “You don’t shut this down, our end of the deal is off.”
“You said you could shut down G-Sting…”
Dave sits in a van outside of Garth’s house, tapping into a conversation he’s having on the phone.
The other voice is unmistakable.
Teddy Migliore.
Dave goes back to the office. He feels sick to his stomach. Troy talks to Garth. Garth talks to Teddy. Teddy sends Detroit hitters out to whack Frank. Because of something Frank knows about a Summer Lorensen.
Summer Lorensen, Summer Lorensen…
There’s something there, lurking deep in the back of his head.
But it won’t come to him.
He gets on the computer. It only takes a few minutes to get a hit-Summer Lorensen was a prostitute murdered back in the summer of 1985. But what could that have to do with Donnie Garth? Or Frank Machianno, for that matter.
Dave goes back at it, searching for a nexus between Garth and the Lorensen woman.
Nothing comes up.
Then he searches for a connection between Garth and the date of Lorensen’s killing…
Bingo.
Hammond Savings and Loan. A boat party with prostitutes had ended up in the conviction of a savings and loan officer named John Saunders for misuse of bank funds. A madam named Karen Wilkenson got a couple of years for pandering. It was all part of the whole savings and loan scandal, and the party had occurred the night before the Lorensen murder.
He types in the name Karen Wilkenson and in a few seconds finds out that she married and is now Karen Foster.
Tell that to Karen Foster. He was just there.
Where?
Rancho Santa Fe.
Shit.
It gets worse. He was asking about Summer Lorensen.
Is it possible? Dave thinks. Donnie Garth killed this girl, somehow Frank knows about it, and then Garth goes to his old mob connections to kill Frank? Offering the shutdown of G-Sting in exchange?
But what makes Donnie Garth think he can shut down a federal operation?
Maybe the reason that a young FBI agent is feeding him information?
Dave looks over his shoulder and doesn’t see Troy. He walks down to the men’s room and spots the rookie’s pressed trousers underneath a stall. He waits until he hears a flush, then sees the trousers come up.
When Troy opens the stall door, Dave Hansen’s fist slams him back in. Blood from the kid’s broken nose sprays over his white shirt and his French cuffs. Dave grabs him by the throat, turns him over, and pushes his head into the toilet.
“Donnie Garth,” Dave says, jerking Troy’s head up.
“What-”
Dave forces his head back down and says, “Donnie Garth, you little shit. Is he paying you? How much?”
He lets Troy up again.
The young agent gasps for air.
Then he says, “I’m not working for Garth! I just report to him.”
“Who are you working for?” Dave asks.
Troy hesitates.
Dave starts to force his head back down.
Then Troy gives it up.
80
Donnie Garth has the shower blasting. He’s standing under the spray, looking out through the glass at the ocean, when suddenly Frankie Machine’s standing there with a pistol in his hand.
Garth shuts the water off.
Frank hands him a towel. “Remember me?”
Garth nods.
“Wrap yourself up,” Frank says.
Garth wraps the towel around his waist. Frank gestures for him to get out and sit down. Garth takes a chair by the window; Frank sits down across from him.
“I put two people in the dirt for you,” Frank says.
Garth nods again.
Frank smiles. “I’m not wearing a wire. You’re the rat, not me. You know, I always wondered how you got a pass on all that. You get a pass on everything, don’t you, Donnie?”
Garth doesn’t answer.
“Well,” Frank says, “you’re not getting a pass on this.”
“On what?” Garth asks. He looks small and old, sitting there in the towel, water dripping down his skinny legs into the thick carpet.
“Summer Lorensen,” Frank says.
He raises the gun and points it at Garth’s chest.
“It wasn’t me!”
“Then who was it?”
Garth balks, as if he’s trying to decide who he’s more afraid of.
“Whoever it is,” Frank says, “they’re not sitting here about to put one in you, Donnie, and I am. I saw you through the window that night, the little act between Alison and Summer. Then I walked away. What didn’t I see?”
“The senator,” Garth says, “couldn’t…perform. It was all set up-the Lorensen girl wasbegging for it, part of the act, but he couldn’t get it up. She did everything to him, believe me, but it was a no-go.”
“Then what happened?”
“She laughed.”
“What?”
“She laughed,” Garth says. “I don’t think she meant anything by it. I think it was just her, you know, but he got mad. He just went off.”
“Go on.”
“You were there! You know!”
Because you can’t tell one janitor from another, can you, Donnie? Me or Mike, cleaning up your messes for you, what’s the difference? Your shit gets cleaned up. You don’t have to look at it.
It’s clear to him now what happened. They carried her body out to the car and Mike drove her out on that lonely road and dumped her. Had the afterthought to “strangle” her and stuff the rocks in her mouth.
And Fortunate Son walks away clean.
It would have been manslaughter. He would have done what, two or three years, tops? Maybe nothing at all?
But his political career would have been ruined.
We couldn’t have that, could we?
Not over some whore.
No humans involved.
And everything stays quiet until Mike starts to take heat over the Goldstein murder, so he starts looking for something to trade. And he’s got a big one-except he’s not going to put himself in the bull’s-eye, so he puts me.
Thanks, Mike.
So Fortunate Son starts to clean up his past, and reaches out to Donnie, who reaches out to Detroit to do it for him.
Because these guys never do their own dirty work.
They have people likeme to do that.
What did Fortunate Son offer the Combination?
Hell, he’s going to be president-whatcouldn’t he offer them?
“Did he use you as a go-between?” Frank asks. “Tell me the truth, Donnie.”