The Syndrome

Chapter 14

It was so unfair.

For the past week, Adrie

Bitch!

Adrie

While she waited, she looked through the file on Dante Esposito, one of the city’s asphalt “experts.” From what she could see, it looked as if Esposito was going to testify that the asphalt in question was probably different from the mix they usually used. (Not good.)

When Slough finally came on the line, it was obvious from his cheerful tone that he’d forgotten why (or even that) he wanted to talk to her. Which put the ball in Adrie

“I got your messages,” she told him, “and I have the documents you wanted. Should I send them up?”

“I guess so. Anything useful?”

She hesitated. “Well… I found various inspectors’ reports—and they’re fine for us. As far as the inspectors are concerned, everything about the job was A-OK.”

Slough grunted his approval, then qualified it. “Well, that’s great,” he said, “but we still have Esposito—”

“Yes, but the final inspection was conducted by a man named McEligot. He’s retired now, but he’s the one who hired Esposito in the first place. I talked to him last night, and according to McEligot, the mix was fine. So—”

“Excellent!”

“And since Esposito didn’t even look at the asphalt until two years after it was laid down—”

“I like it!” Slough boomed. “Makes Esposito look like he’s shooting from the hip. Outstanding! We’ll kill the bastards.”

Eddie Bonilla picked her up for lunch at 12:30. He said he had a “bright idea” that he wanted to discuss with her—and, not only that, he’d buy her lunch.

He was waiting for her in his car, in the courtyard outside Harbor Place, where Slough, Hawley was headquartered. The car was a battered Camaro with a pair of Rubik’s Cubes hanging from the rearview mirror, and vanity plates that read SNUPER. Adrie

She sat back, and closed her eyes. On the whole, she liked being a passenger. It reminded her of the car trips that she took as a kid. She and Nikki. Who used to breathe on the glass so that she could draw on it and they could play tic-tac-toe. It made her think of all those long vacation rides to Lake Sherando, where they went five years in a row, camping out. Deck and Marlena up front, she and Nikki (and all the stuff that wouldn’t fit in the trunk) jammed into the back—along with Cupcake, the cat, in her cat carrier.

As they passed the Washington Monument, Adrie

“A gun.”

“What?” Bonilla was frowning at her.

She looked around. They were passing the Library of Congress, heading east on Pe

Bonilla shrugged. “Lotsa people do. Got one myself. Got a couple, in fact.”

Adrie

“Mangialardo’s. Great subs.”

At 9th and Pe

“Oh yeah. I forgot to tell you.” He tilted his head from side to side, not quite shaking it. “There’s a guy in Florida—‘information broker.’ You give him a name or a Social, he’ll run it through every bank, brokerage, and insurance company in the country.”

“Sounds illegal.”

Bonilla shrugged. “Not for me—‘cause I don’t know how he does it. None of my business. But the point is: he runs your sister—everywhere—and what he comes up with is… the same accounts you gave me.”

“The ones at Riggs—”

Bonilla nodded. “Checking and savings. Maybe twenty grand, tops, just like you said.”

“So he struck out.”

“I don’t think so. I think the guy found whatever there was to find. I think that’s it.”

Adrie

“That’s what you said. So I went through her accounts—all the way back to when she opened them.”

“And?” There were half a dozen police cars up ahead, double-parked outside a small store. Bonilla pulled up behind them into a space marked: NO STANDING.

He shrugged. “She opened the Riggs’ accounts a couple of years ago. Ever since, she gets a check each month—like a salary—five grand—exactly. Except, sometimes there’s more. Like she’s got expenses on top of her base.”

Adrie

“Jersey.”

“New Jersey? Why would she—”

“Not New Jersey. Just… Jersey! It’s an island in the English Cha

Adrie

“Yeah,” Bonilla replied. “That’s what I think, too—though I gotta tell ya, if she was banking in the Cha

He came out a few minutes later with a couple of Oranginas and two sandwiches wrapped in waxy white paper. It was just possible to eat in the car, a pile of napkins between them, without having to change clothes afterwards.

“I meant to ask you,” Bonilla said as they headed back toward Slough. “How’d your sister get hooked up with this quack, anyway? She get referred, or what?”

“I don’t know,” Adrie

“The reason I ask,” Bonilla said, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say this guy, Duran, was really knocked on his ass by that death certificate. I mean, it looks to me like he’s go

“I don’t have any choice,” she said. “We both know the police aren’t going to do anything. They’ve got five hundred unsolved homicides on the books. So they’re not going to get excited about a misdemeanor that carries a thousand-dollar fine and a one-year sentence—max! That’s why I filed the civil suit—which, by the way, took me about an hour to knock out. So it’s not like I’m spending all my time on it.”