“Heard of her, yes. Disappeared, didn’t she, few years back?”
“Yeah, but now they dug up some things that belonged to her at a building site in Atlantic City. DNA shows it’s her blood on them. Maybe you saw it in the newspaper.”
“Had no idea!”
“Yeah. Few weeks ago.”
The man looked silently at Magliacci for a moment, then said, “Is this what you wanted to tell me?”
“Well, it’s related. See, Frank Gallardi was my uncle. I went over to his office after the funeral. I found some things that might have belonged to Karly in his vault. Also found your name.”
The host tried a laugh. “My name shows up in a lot of places.”
Magliacci glanced at his own hands and was surprised they were holding steady. “Exactly my point. Unfortunately, things have this way of getting in the newspapers when big names like yours are involved. Inadvertently, you know. And I’m sure you don’t want that to happen.”
“So where did you find it? My name.”
“The vault, indirectly.”
The man hesitated for a moment. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, Leonard. Could you get to the point.” It wasn’t a question.
Magliacci leaned forward. “Okay, I…I’ve got some financial problems. That’s why I’m here.”
The man studied him.
Magliacci went on. “I can make sure none of the information I found ever gets to the press, FBI, that sort of thing.”
The man looked at Magliacci for several seconds, then said, “Look, Leonard, I hardly knew Karly Amarson, certainly have nothing to hide. But if you need some money…well, Frank and I, we go way back, and you’re his nephew. How big are your money problems?”
“The price is five million dollars.”
The man’s face went pale. The seconds seemed to Magliacci like an hour before he responded. “Mr. Magliacci, I’m afraid you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”
“Well, let’s talk about that.” Magliacci described what he had found in the vault: The Tiffany ring with initials inscribed; the bloody knife; the black dress; and the phone pad bearing the Golden Touch logo and the Washington Post phone number. Then he talked about the time frame for the murder: Karly Amarson had to have been murdered somewhere between the day the ring was bought at Tiffany’s and the date the new area code for Atlantic City went into effect, a date Magliacci got from the phone company, because it was logical to assume that was when the hotel would have replaced the old note pads with fresh ones that showed the new area code. That was a 146-day window.
Those facts alone didn’t prove anything on this man Magliacci knew to be JAG but Magliacci was sure it would convince him of the kind of detail he was up against.
The man seemed to be in thought for a minute, then stood up as a clear indication the meeting was over. “Mr. Magliacci, there’s nothing there that concerns me. I have another appointment now, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll call someone to escort—”
Magliacci knew if the conversation ended there his remaining life would be very short. He remained seated and leaned forward.
“Maria Sanchez. Know her?”
“It makes no difference, but no, I don’t.”
“She knows you. Knew Karly too. Executive housekeeper at the Golden Touch. Very loyal to Frank. I’m finding out Karly talked to Maria about everything. You know how women are bad to talk like that.”
“And how does this Maria fit in?” The man was gripping the back of the chair he was holding so hard that his knuckles turned white.
“The ring. At first, you see, I was lookin’ for someone with the initials J-A-G, but when Maria told me Karly’s nickname for you was Jag, well, it sorta cleared that up.”
Magliacci watched the man’s eyes narrow as he looked at the floor, then back at Magliacci.
“Nobody ever called me that in my entire life.”
Magliacci nodded. “Karly confided in Maria at times, and Maria warned her to stay away from you. Then Maria saw you entering Karly’s apartment on the very day she disappeared. Said Karly was, like, draped all over you.”
Jag shook his head. “If she knew anything about Karly’s death she would have taken it to the police a long time ago. How did you dream up this frame, Magliacci?”
“Yeah! I wondered the same thing, I mean, why didn’t she go to the police then? So I asked her. And you know what? She had the perfect answer, given the kind of person she is. Maria was worried about Frank’s reputation. She thought you were a friend of Frank’s and knew it would look bad for him if you were associated with a murder there in his hotel. But then when Frank was murdered, she looked me up. Couldn’t hold it any longer. I’m the only person she trusts now that Frank’s gone. I’ve got her under control for now, no FBI or anything, but of course if she ever starts to think you might have been involved in Frank Gallardi’s death too—”
Jag slammed the chair he was leaning on into the coffee table, causing a surface crack in the glass top. He looked like he was about to move on Magliacci when Magliacci thrust a sheet of paper before his face.
“Better read this first. It’s Maria’s statement.”
Magliacci gave him a minute to digest the photocopy of the hand-written letter he had dictated to Maria Sanchez and said, “I can make all of this go away for you and keep Maria quiet. That’s what you’re buying.”
The man uprighted the chair and sat back down. Nothing was left of his eyes but twin dark beads. He was hoarse and breathed rapidly. “Leonard, you seem like a bright man but you’ve made a mistake here. A very big mistake. First, in thinking I have that kind of money, but most of all for taking me on. Take a look at where you are, this room you’re sitting in, who you’re talking to, all the security you saw out there, the resources I control. If I had anything to do with Karly Amarson’s death or was worried about you or this toilet scrubber Maria, has it not occurred to you that I could wrap all this up nice and quiet? You would not walk out of here if I was the man you say I am. You sane enough to understand that?”
Magliacci nodded. “That worried me some. So I planned for it.”
Jag sneered. “Not something you can plan for. That sort of thing is over when it happens.”
“Now you’re insulting me. You’re too wise to not assume I have planned for every contingency. Everything is in a safe-deposit box at the bank. That may seem like an old Edward G. Robinson movie trick to you but everything’s in there. Sanchez’s affidavit. The knife. Karly’s black dress, and the blood stains on it. Maybe all of the blood’s hers, maybe some of it came from the person who killed her. I don’t know, but the cops can figure all that out. With DNA and all. Anything happens to me or Sanchez, the police get a letter from my attorney directing them to the safe deposit box. When I get the money, the letter goes away and you get the keys to the box.”
With that, Magliacci lifted himself off the sofa. “Look, I know it can take some time to raise five million, so don’t worry about that. I can keep everything like it is for a few days. I’ll be in touch.”
PART TWO
Cam Warfield
CHAPTER 5
After winding up their Joplan discussion Cross and Warfield took two steps at a time up the wide stairs to the executive level where they stopped and shook hands, wordlessly looking at each other, cementing the charge given to and accepted by Warfield. If he’d ever before signed on for a mission filled with greater potential for widespread disaster, social upheaval and political consequence he could not think of it.
Warfield emerged from the White House compound and drove across the Potomac River into Virginia then south to the Alexandria Detention Center — no more than a twenty-minute trip. A deputy sheriff checked his I.D. at the visitor kiosk and Warfield parked in the shadow of the seven-story jail.