The visitor stood in thought for several seconds. “You didn’t mention a body.”
“Not there, but there was a body, right? Are you positive?”
The visitor was clearly uncomfortable with this question. After a minute he said, “Yes, there’s a body, Frank!” And then, “Who else knows about any of this?”
“Figueriano. Matty Figueriano.”
“And he’s the guy you had take care of this?”
“Yes.”
“You used that gutter mop? I expected a clean job.”
Gallardi reacted angrily. “Yeah, I had a lot of time to screen applications that night!”
The visitor thought for a few seconds, and slowly shook his head. “They’ve got nothing that points to me as her killer, Frank!”
“Don’t be too sure. There’s still someone else’s blood on the rug. It’s pretty easy for me to figure out who that blood belongs to.”
Jag looked down at the floor for a moment. “They won’t find me in the criminal database, Frank!” After a pause, he said, “Anyone else know anything about this?”
Gallardi took a deep breath. He’d always wondered whether his worthless nephew, Lenny Magliacci, overheard his phone calls on the evening of Karly’s murder. Lenny was nearby in his office that night when Frank had called Matty to clean up the mess but had never given Gallardi any indication that he overheard his call. Besides, the listless bastard was too lazy to cause trouble. He practiced law for awhile but couldn’t make it and got into some trouble. No sense mentioning him, Gallardi decided.
“No,” Frank replied.
“What about Matty Figueriano?”
O’Malley had kept Gallardi up to date on the investigation, which was moving fast. “Here’s what I know so far,” Gallardi said. Matty Figueriano had become high-profile in recent years, squabbling with Atlantic City mob boss Joey Domino over drugs and for bringing a lot of attention down on him. Joey Domino, who turned thumbs down on the drug business after his own son died from a cocaine overdose, found out Matty was running a drug op on the quiet. Joey Domino had no use for Matty Fig anyway because he was with Joey’s son when his son O.D.’d and died, and wanted to kill him as soon as he found out. The feds and local cops were watching too closely and Joey decided to wait, but now this discovery of Matty Fig’s DNA and gold bracelet in a burial pit with a dead woman’s belongings was the last straw for Joey. Joey knew the feds would try to connect him to the girl’s murder because of his known association with Matty Figueriano. With this new evidence, they were likely to trace it to Karly. So Joey Domino sent Matty a message to take the rap all by himself — not for that suspected murder alone, but also for two others they’d been trying to pin on Joey. Matty denied everything but Joey’s messengers told Matty that life without parole, even the death sentence, would be better than the consequences of not bailing Joey out, and Matty Fig had no reason to doubt that was true. “That’s all I know,” Gallardi said.
Jag had stood at the window overlooking the city as Gallardi talked. “They find anything besides the gold bracelet?”
“That’s about it, but it all points to my place.”
“She lived at your hotel. So what?”
“Loose ends. I don’t like it.”
The man shook his head. “Where do you get all this information, Frank?”
“Never mind where I get it. I get it.”
They stared at each other for a moment. Finally the visitor said, “Worried aren’t you, Frank?”
“I don’t worry but it’s a problem to deal with,” Gallardi said. “If Figueriano confesses to Karly’s disappearance and those two murders as well, he can get himself off the hook with Joey Domino.”
“And go to prison for life? You don’t have to worry about that. He’ll take his chances with Domino. Tough guys think they’re invincible.”
Gallardi looked at the man in disbelief. “You know damn well it won’t turn out like that. Figueriano’s afraid of Joey. He’ll confess to those three hits and get off the hook with Joey Domino. Then he’ll plea-bargain with the feds to stay out of jail.”
“Plea bargain! With what?”
“You’re looking at him!” Gallardi said, jabbing his thumb into his own chest. “That D.A. in Atlantic City’s trying to make a name for himself. Hates gambling. Blames everything that happens on the casinos. You think he wouldn’t give his left nut to see me hanging from that flagpole on top of the Golden Touch? He’d trade Matty Figueriano for me in a heartbeat.”
The Washington man nodded and turned back to the window. A minute later he said, “Thought about how you’d defend yourself, Frank?”
Gallardi went over to the man, who was several inches taller than he, and spun him around. The blood vessels in Gallardi’s neck bulged as he spoke. “Listen to me! I saved your ass that night! Put my own reputation on the line! You keep me out of this like you said you’d do, and I don’t care how you do it. But you better hope nobody comes to me about this.”
“How do you expect me to deal with it now, Frank? I’m too visible and you know it.”
“That’s your problem. My name comes up in this, the chips fall where they fall. I warned you six years ago. You remember that, don’t you?” Gallardi was an inch from Jag’s nose now, his prominent chest bumping the visitor’s.
Jag studied Frank for a moment and then put his hands on the casino man’s shoulders and forced a smile. “Frank, you’re tough as ever. I like that.”
Gallardi pushed him away, in no mood to be mollified. “You’ll do well to remember that!”
The man nodded. “Forget it, Frank. Don’t worry. You knew I’d take care of it.”
Jag scrolled down his list of contacts and selected a number as his driver navigated the SUV through D.C. traffic.
The line answered after one ring. “What’re you doin’ out so late?”
“Little problem has come up. Meet in 30 minutes.”
CHAPTER 3
Ana Koronis thought it must be the fiftieth time she rolled into a new sleeping position that night, and it had been like that for the last month. Today was Sunday and she had planned to sleep in, but the combination of sleeplessness and the impending end of her relationship with Austin Quinn seemed to pull her down more each day. Her productivity at the law firm was lagging and one of her partners had brought it up at lunch on Friday. “Not yourself these days, Ana.” He had ignored her denial. “Why don’t you take some time off and get it together?”
It was more than a casual comment: Her personal life was impacting the law firm. The partner’s admonition had edged her over the threshold and now she was waiting for the right time to talk to Quinn. Couldn’t just let him come home to his place in Georgetown one day and find she had moved back across the river to her own townhouse in Alexandria, even though he too had to know it was over. He wasn’t blind.
She was dozing again when Quinn’s official line rang. The glowing red numbers on the digital clock said it was ten past five. Had to be Langley, as she was sure no one except his lieutenants at CIA had this number. Quinn fumbled for the speakerphone button in the darkness.
“Yeah?”
“Director Quinn?”