"Bono and Pirini," he said without the slightest hesitation.
"Were you in on it, Cal?" "No. I swear." "Any more fires planned?" "Not to my knowledge." "Then what the hell are they doing here, Cal?" "They're just waiting, listening, you know, just in case they're needed for something else. Depends on what the kid does." Byrd squeezed tighter. He showed him his teeth and twisted the collar. "One lie, Cal, and I'm all over your ass, okay?" "I'm not lying, I swear," Cal said in a shrill voice.
Byrd turned him loose and nodded at the sidewalk. "Go, and sin no more." The wall of cops opened, and Cal walked through them and into the street. He hit the sidewalk at full stride, and was last seen jogging into the darkness.
Chapter 28
tVlDAY MORNING. REGGIE SIPPED STRONG, BLACK COFFEE in the darkness of predawn, and waited for another unpredictable day as counsel for Mark Sway. It was a cool, clear morning, the first of many in September, and the first hint that the hot, sticky days of the Memphis summer were coming to an end. She sat in a wicker rocker on the small balcony stuck to the rear of her apartment, and tried to unscramble the past five hours of her life.
The cops had called her at one-thirty, said there was an emergency at her office, and asked her to come down. She'd called Glint, and together they had gone to her office, where a half dozen cops were waiting. They had allowed Jack Nance to finish his dirty work and leave the building before they nailed him. They showed Reggie and Glint the three phones and the tiny transmitters glued into the receivers, and they said Nance did pretty good work.
As she watched, they carefully removed the transmitters and kept them for evidence. They explained how Nance entered, and more than once they commented on her lack of security. She said she "wasn't that concerned about security. There were no real assets in the office.
She'd checked her files, and everything appeared to be in order. The Mark Sway file was in her briefcase at home, and she kept it there when she slept. Glint examined his desk and said there was a chance Nance went through his files. But dint's desk was not well organized to begin with, so he couldn't be certain.
The police had known Nance was coming, they had explained, but they wouldn't say how they knew. He was allowed easy access into the building-unlocked doors, absent security guards, etc. -and they had a dozen men watching him. He was in custody now, and so far had said nothing. One cop had taken her aside, and in hushed confidence explained about Nance's connection to Gronke, and to Bono and Pirini. They had been unable to find the latter two; their hotel rooms had been abandoned. Gronke was in New Orleans, and they had him under surveillance.
Nance would serve a couple of years, maybe more. For an instant, she'd wanted the death penalty.
The cops had gradually left. Around three, she and Clint were left alone with the empty offices and the startling knowledge that a professional had entered and laid his traps. A man hired by killers had been there, gathering information so there could be more killings if necessary. The place made her nervous, and she and Clint had left shortly after the cops and found a coffee shop in midtown.
And so with three hours' sleep and a nerve-racking day about to begin, she sipped her coffee and watched the eastern sky turn orange. She thought about Mark, and how he'd arrived in her office on Wednesday, barely two days ago, wet from the rain and scared to death, and told her about being threatened by a man with a switchblade. This man was big and ugly, and waved the knife and produced a photo of the Sway family. She had listened with horror as this small, shivering child described the switchblade. It was a frightening event to hear about, but it had happened to someone else. She was not directly involved. The knife was not pointed at her.
But that was Wednesday, and this was Friday, and the same bunch of thugs had now violated her, and things were a helluva lot more dangerous. Her little client was safely tucked away in a nice jail with security guards at his beck and call, and here she was sitting alone in the darkness, thinking about Bono and Pirini and who knew who else might be out there.
Though it couldn't be seen from Momma Love's house, an unmarked car was parked in the street not far away. Two FBI agents were on guard, just in case. Reggie had agreed to this.
She pictured a hotel room, clouds of cigarette smoke hanging along the ceiling, empty beer bottles littering the floor, curtains drawn, and a small group of badly dressed hoodlums hovering over a small table listening to a tape recorder. She was on the tape recorder, talking to clients, to Dr. Levin, to Momma Love, just chatting away as if everything were private. The hoods were bored for the most part, but occasionally one would chuckle and grunt.
Mark didn't use her office phones, and the strategy of bugging them was ridiculous. These people obviously believed Mark knew about Boyette, and that he and his lawyer were stupid enough to discuss this knowledge over the phone.
The phone in the kitchen rang, and Reggie jumped. She checked her watch-six-twenty. It had to be more trouble, because no one called at this hour. She walked inside and ca-ught it after the fourth ring. "Hello." It was Harry Roosevelt. "Good morning, Reggie. Sorry to wake you." "I was awake." "Have you seen the paper?" She swallowed hard. "No. What is it?" "It's a front-page spread with two big pictures of Mark, one as he's leaving the hospital, under arrest as it says, and the other as he's leaving court yesterday, cops on both sides. Slick Moeller wrote it, and he knows all about the hearing. He's got his facts straight, for a change. He says Mark refused to answer my questions about his knowledge of Boyette and such, and that I found him in contempt and sent him to jail. Makes me sound like Hitler." "But how does he know this?" "Cites unnamed sources." She was counting the people in the courtroom during the hearing. "Was it Fink?" "I doubt it. Fink would have nothing to gain by leaking this, and the risks are too great. It has to be someone who's not too bright." "That's why I said Fink." "Good point, but I doubt it was a lawyer. I plan to issue a subpoena for Mr. Moeller to appear in my court at noon today. I'll demand he give me his source, or I'll throw him in jail for contempt." "Wonderful idea." "It shouldn't take long. We'll have Mark's little hearing afterward. Okay?" "Sure, Harry. Listen, there's something you should know. It's been a long night." "I'm listening," he said. Reggie gave him the quick version of the bugging of her office, with particular emphasis on Bono and Pirini and the fact they had not been found.
"Good Lord," he said. "These people are crazy." "And dangerous." "Are you scared?" "Of course I'm scared. I've been violated, Harry, and it's frightening to know they've been watching.".
There was a long pause on the other end. "Reggie, I'm not going to release Mark under any circumstances, not today anyway. Let's see what happens over the weekend. He's much safer where he is." "I agree." "Have you talked to his mother?" "Yesterday. She was lukewarm on the idea of witness protection. It might take some time. Poor thing is nothing but ragged nerves." "Work on her. Can she be present in court today? I'd like to see her." "I'll try." "See you at noon." She poured another cup of coffee and returned to the balcony. Axle slept under the rocker. The first light of dawn crept through the trees. She held the warm mug with both hands and tucked her bare feet under the heavy bathrobe. She sniffed the aroma and thought about how much she despised the press. So now the world \vould know about the hearing. So much for confidentiality. Her little client was suddenly more vulnerable. It was obvious now, the fact that he knew something he shouldn't know. If not, why wouldn't he simply have talked when the judge instructed him to?