Leader of the Pack (Andy Carpenter) (29 page)

I would rather listen to twenty-four hours of opera than five minutes of Joey Desimone plotting a murder. Not only do I not want to hear the tapes, but their very existence angers me. The FBI knew with total certainty that Joey was a murderer, but at no time did they intervene.

I haven’t spoken to Cindy Spodek, though I know Laurie has. I should thank her for her help, but since I’m in my “miserable to everyone” mode, I’m not about to.

Cindy calls again tonight, at ten thirty when Laurie and I have just gotten into bed. I hear them talking for about twenty minutes. It doesn’t seem to be about business, but rather some house that Cindy and her husband are about to move into in a Boston suburb.

When Laurie gets off the phone, she tells me that Cindy said hello to me. “We’re going to have dinner next week. You up for that?”

“Where?”

“Here. She’s coming in on an assignment. She’s been traveling a lot, which has been a problem, because she and Tom are getting ready to move.”

“She working on a case here?”

Laurie shrugs. “I guess so. Must be a Massachusetts case that spills over.”

It’s weird the way certain things can hit you. I totally was aware that Cindy traveled and that her cases took her across state lines. It’s why they call it the “Federal” Bureau of Investigation, because it’s national.

I get out of bed, leaving Laurie there, which is not something I’m normally inclined to do. I spend the next nine hours diving into the box that Agent Beall had sent me; I can sleep some other time.

All the tapes have fortunately been transcribed and cataloged, which makes my job much easier. By morning I have what I need, and start calling Agent Beall in Washington every five minutes, until he gets in.

“I need to see you,” I say, when I finally reach him.

He tries to get me to say what I want, but I tell him it has to be in person. “I can be there by two o’clock,” I tell him, and he agrees to see me.

I bring a small suitcase, which I carry onto the plane. There are no clothes in it, only copies of the documents from the box and notes I’ve made from them. When I finally get to Beall’s office, I put the suitcase on his desk.

He smiles. “You’re moving in?”

“No, just negotiating another trade.”

“The last one worked out pretty well.”

“For you,” I say.

“Your client got off; isn’t that what you wanted?”

I nod. “Until I found out that he was guilty, which you’ve known all along.”

“Not me,” he says. “Just because the Bureau on some level had the information, there was no reason for me to be involved. It was a New Jersey case.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“What are you talking about?” he asks.

“You have enough information in that bag to put Joey Desimone away ten times over.”

“Did you cut class in law school the day they taught double jeopardy?”

“There are at least eight phone taps in there between Joey and his father, or associates of his father.”

“So?”

“So Joey was living in New York, and that’s where he made the calls from.”

Beall immediately knows where I’m going; I can see it in his face. But I spell it out for him anyway.

“He’s on those calls talking conspiracy to murder, arms smuggling, laundering money … which is wire fraud … and he’s doing it all across state lines. That’s federal, and has nothing to do with the trial in New Jersey.”

“So his lawyer is asking us to prosecute him?”

I shake my head. “I’m not his lawyer anymore, and I learned this information after he and I ended our relationship. And I’m not sure I’d constitute what I’m doing as asking.”

“What does that mean?”

“This is going to become public knowledge. It will happen either by you bringing charges, or by me going to the media and telling them that you stood by while a murderer went free. And then the pressure will be so great that your bosses will force you to make the case anyway. So do yourself a favor and do it now.”

I’ve got him, and he knows it. “It will take some time to put the case together.”

I point to the suitcase. “Your case is in that case, and it’s already together. A competent attorney, which I am not, could file it next week. But I’ll give you three weeks.”

“You understand it’s not my decision.”

“The people making the decision will see the wisdom in it. To say nothing of justice being served.” I’m sure they will bring the case; I’ve really left them no choice.

As I’m about to leave, Beall says, “You never told me how you knew it was Edward Young.”

“He told me he buys small businesses with big potential, and then hires people to run them who report only to him. Ryerson was a businessman who could run things; that’s why Young brought him in. Once he bought out Solarno, he had access to Desimone. He thought Desimone’s business could be run better, so he took it over.”

“How did he do that?”

“I assume with money. He bought Desimone’s employees; their loyalty was to the money. Times have changed.”

“That still doesn’t tell me how you knew about Young.”

“Money was one reason,” I say. “I knew that the operation had to cost a fortune to put together, and Young was the only person connected to this in any way that had that kind of dough.

“And I did some research on Young’s companies before I met him. I knew Coastal Cargo was one of them, and I saw the planes flying into Peru on television. I also found out that Iurato was heading to St. Louis. That was where Coastal Cargo was based, and where Young was from. He’s a huge Cardinals fan. Those were major coincidences, and I do not believe in them.”

“Nice work,” Beall says. “But you didn’t know for certain. And there was that shooting; his driver was killed.”

I shrug. “I figured he set that up to divert attention from himself, so he would look like a victim. But the bottom line is that when I came to you, I wasn’t absolutely positive I was right. But if I was wrong, I was wrong. I had to take a shot; I was defending my client.”

I leave Beall’s office confident that I accomplished my goal, and that they will file charges.

And Joey Desimone will go down.

With a different lawyer.

Who probably won’t visit him in prison.

“I thought I’d never see either of you again,” Harriet Marshall said. She’s petting Tara as she talks, still using that reverse pet that Tara is not crazy about, but allows her to do.

I’m not sure whether Harriet is talking to me or Tara, but I decide to do the answering. “I told you we’d be back,” I said. “I’m glad it’s not in the hospital.”

We’re at her house, in Fair Lawn. She was discharged from the hospital awhile ago, and is doing great.

“Me too,” she says. “I saw you on the news. I told everybody I know about it.”

“Have you been getting out a lot?”

She nods. “Some, and people come over all the time. Family and friends. But that’s not the only way I talk to people anymore, not since my nephew gave me a computer. Are you familiar with e-mail?”

I smile. “Vaguely.”

“You won that case, right?”

I nod. “I did, but the client is going to go back to jail. The FBI filed charges against him yesterday.”

“Does that upset you?” she asks.

“I’m OK with it.”

“You know, bringing Tara to see me in the hospital really helped. It reminded me of my Sarah, and of happy times.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I say. “Tara makes me happy every day.”

“Do you think you could help me find a dog of my own? They’re telling me I could live for a long time, and I’ll make arrangements for the dog to have a home with my daughter if I don’t.”

“Absolutely. I know a place where there are dogs just waiting for a home like this, and a friend like you.” Willie and I just rescued three mellow, senior dogs, any one of which would be perfect for this home.

“When could we do that?”

“How about now?”

She smiles and pets Tara again. “Now is good.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A while back, when I wrote
Play Dead,
I was accused of name-dropping, simply because I thanked a bunch of famous people. I stopped doing it for a while, because I didn’t want to look like I was showing off, but that stops here.

My relationships with these people help define me; they reveal who I am. Like it or not, I walk among the stars, and I’m not afraid to admit it.

So a heartfelt “thank you” to those mentioned below. I am proud to call all of you close, personal friends:

Barack Obama

David, Butch, and Hopalong Cassidy

Kelley Ragland

Kelly Ripa

Clarence and Marlo Thomas

Kim Kardashian

Kim Jung Il

The entire Jung Il family

Woody and Gracie Allen

Marv Throneberry

Marv Albert

Albert Schweitzer

Cynthia and Richard Nixon

Margaret Thatcher

Andy and Cherry Garcia

Doug Burns

Anne and Barney Frank

Too many Baldwins to mention

LeBron James

Marilyn and James Monroe

Kramer

Daniel and Jenny Craig

Robin Rue

Denzel and Martha Washington

Matt Martz

Ratzo Rizzo

Adlai Stevenson

The Williams family—Robin, Serena, and Tennessee

Andy Martin

Andy Warhol

Andy Carpenter

Jodie and Bananas Foster

Bruce Springsteen

Hector DeJean

Jenny and Senator Joseph McCarthy

Charlie Sheen

Charlie Chan

Lawrence and Elizabeth Taylor

Wolf Blitzer

Rod Blagojevich

Earl and Sigourney Weaver

Hyman Roth

Gunther Toody

Emma and Fred Thompson

Beth Miller

Harrison and Betty Ford

Vladimir Putin

Barth Gimble

Mel and Althea Gibson

Elizabeth Lacks

Warren Harding

Aretha and Benjamin Franklin

Debbie Myers

Peyton Manning

Meg and Private Ryan

Ernie Bilko

Roy Hobbs

Bruce, Spike, and Robert E. Lee

Scott Ryder

Neil and Hope Diamond

ALSO BY DAVID ROSENFELT

ANDY CARPENTER NOVELS

One Dog Night

Dog Tags

New Tricks

Play Dead

Dead Center

Sudden Death

Bury the Lead

First Degree

Open and Shut

THRILLERS

Heart of a Killer

On Borrowed Time

Down to the Wire

Don’t Tell a Soul

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DAVID ROSENFELT is the Edgar and Shamus Award–winning author of four stand-alones and nine previous Andy Carpenter novels, most recently
One Dog Night.
He and his wife live in Maine with twenty-seven golden retrievers that they’ve rescued.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

MINOTAUR BOOKS

An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.

LEADER OF THE PACK.
Copyright © 2012 by David Rosenfelt. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.minotaurbooks.com

Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein

Cover photo by TStockphoto / Shutterstock Images

The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

Rosenfelt, David.

     Leader of the pack / David Rosenfelt. — 1st ed.

             p. cm.

     ISBN 978-0-312-64804-6 (hardcover)

     ISBN 978-1-250-01490-0 (e-book)

   1.  Carpenter, Andy (Fictitious character)—Fiction.   2.  Dogs—Fiction.   3.  New Jersey—Fiction.   I.  Title.

     PS3618.O838L43 2012

     813'.6—dc23

2012007788

e-ISBN 9781250014900

First Edition: July 2012