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Claire held the ledger to herself. “I don’t believe that threat. I think this is some kind of personal vendetta with you.”
“Just answer me.”
“My answer is that your young Deputy Ted kept pressing me about what Reynolds was doing on those nights, and when I discovered that he was a policeman I thought he must have convinced himself that Reynolds did something terrible. Reynolds was here then for meetings, so I left this out for the boy to see, so he wouldn’t launch some awful circumstantial pogrom.”
A perfect right answer. “You didn’t know a graphologist would eat that ledger up in court?”
“No.”
“And what did you think Da
“I don’t know! Some kind of treason, but not sex murders!”
Mal couldn’t tell if she’d raised her voice to cover a lie. “Why didn’t you show Upshaw your real ledger? You were taking a risk that he’d spot a fake one.”
“I couldn’t. A policeman would probably consider our real minutes treason.”
“Treason” was a howler; profundity from a roundheels who’d spread for anything pretty in pants. Mal laughed, caught himself and stopped; Claire said, “Care to tell me what’s so amusing?”
“Nothing.”
“You sound patronizing.”
“Let’s change the subject. Da
“No. I’m not a thief. Or a comedie
Getting mad shaved ten years off the woman’s age. “Then don’t give yourself more credit than you’re worth.”
Claire raised a hand, then held it back. “If you don’t consider my friends and me serious, then why are you trying to smear us and ruin our lives?”
Mal fizzled at a wisecrack; he said, “I want to talk to Loftis.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m doing the asking. When’s Loftis coming back?”
Claire laughed. “Oh mein policeman, what your face just said. You know it’s a travesty, don’t you? You think we’re too ineffectual to be dangerous, which is just about as wrong as thinking we’re traitors.”
Mal thought of Dudley Smith; he thought of the Red Queen eating Da
“Get your names straight. You mean Deputy Upshaw, don’t you?”
“Just tell me.”
“I’ll tell you he was naive and eager to please and all bluff where women were concerned, and I’ll tell you you shouldn’t have sent such a frail American patriot after us. Frail and clumsy. Did he really fall on a cutlery rack?”
Mal swung an open hand; Claire flinched at the blow and slapped back, no tears, just smeared lipstick and a welt forming on her cheek. Mal turned and braced himself against the banister, afraid of the way he looked; Claire said, “You could just quit. You could denounce the wrongness of it, say we’re ineffectual and not worth the money and effort and still sound like a big tough cop.”
Mal tasted blood on his lips. “I want it.”
“For what? Glory? You’re too smart for patriotism.”
Mal saw Stefan waving goodbye; Claire said, “For your son?”
Mal, trembling, said, “What did you say?”
“We’re not the fools you think we are, recently promoted Captain. We know how to hire private detectives and they know how to check records and verify old rumors. You know, I’m impressed with the Nazi you killed and rather surprised that you can’t see the parallels between that regime and your own.”
Mal kept looking away; Claire stepped closer to him. “I understand what you must feel for your son. And I think we both know the fix is in.”
Mal pushed himself off the railing and looked at her. “Yeah. The fix is in, and this conversation didn’t happen. And I still want to talk to Reynolds Loftis. And if he killed those men, I’m taking him down.
“Reynolds has not killed anyone.”
“Where is he?”
Claire said, “He’ll be back tonight, and you can talk to him then. He’ll convince you, and I’ll make you a deal. I know you need a continuance on your custody trial, and I have friends on the bench who can get it for you. But I don’t want Reynolds smeared to the grand jury.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“Don’t make a career out of underestimating me. Reynolds was hurt badly in ‘47, and I don’t think he’d be able to go through it again. I’ll do everything I can to help you with your son, but I don’t want Reynolds hurt.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll take my knocks.”
“It’s impossible.”
“Reynolds has not killed anyone.”
“Maybe that’s true, but he’s been named as a subversive too many times.”
“Then destroy those depositions and don’t call those witnesses.”
“You don’t understand. His name is all over our paperwork a thousand goddamn times.”
Claire held Mal’s arms. “Just tell me you’ll try to keep him from being hurt too badly. Tell me yes and I’ll make my calls, and you won’t have to go to trial tomorrow.”
Mal saw himself doctoring transcripts, shuffling names and realigning graphs to point to other Commies, going mano a mano: his editorial skill versus Dudley Smith’s memory. “Do it. Have Loftis here at 8:00 and tell him it’s going to be ugly.”
Claire took her hands away. “It won’t be any worse than your precious grand jury.”
“Don’t go noble on me, because I know who you are.”
“Don’t cheat me, because I’ll use my friends to ruin you.” A deal with a real red devil: the continuance buying him time to un-nail a subversive, nail a killer and nail himself as a hero. And just maybe cross Claire De Haven. “I won’t cheat you.”
“I’ll have to trust you. And can I ask you something? Off the record?”
“What?”
“Your opinion of this grand jury.”
Mal said, “It’s a goddamn waste and a goddamn shame.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Mickey Cohen was pitching a tantrum; Joh
They were at the Mick’s hideaway, surrounded by muscle. After the bomb under the house went off, Mickey sent Lavo
Buzz kept watching, waiting by the phone for a call from Mal Considine. Davey Goldman and Mo Jahelka were prowling the grounds; a bunch of goons were oiling the shotguns stashed in the fake panel between the living room and bedroom. Mickey had started squawking half an hour ago, topics ranging from Audrey not giving him any to passive resistance on the picket line and how he was going to fix the UAES’s red wagon. Comedy time until Joh
The guinea Adonis brought bad news: when Petey Skouras blew to Frisco he took a week’s worth of receipts with him— Audrey told him when he picked up the Southside front’s cash take. Buzz horned in on the conversation, thinking the lioness couldn’t be stupid enough to try to play Petey’s splitsville for a profit—Petey himself had to have done it—his bonus atop the thousand-dollar beating. Joh