Mad Dog Justice (34 page)

“And, Roddy, the police have ruled out any connection between Danny getting shot and the mob? And you’re sure the kids will be safe at home?”

“Yes. There’s no connection. We’ll all be perfectly safe.”

“And you’ve told me everything? You’ve told me the entire truth about the restaurant, about Kenny Egan, you, and Danny?”

“Tracy, I’ve told you everything—every single thing,” he says as his heart pummels his ribs.

They embrace again and kiss deeply.

Roddy is overcome by the feel and scent of Tracy. She fits so perfectly into his arms, and their bodies seem to melt into each other. His hand goes to her neck and then her hair. He strokes its golden softness. He nuzzles her, burying his face in her neck.
Inhaling, he’s nearly overcome by the incredible fragrance of her—the scent of Tracy, like no other woman he’s ever known. He inhales again. It smells like home.

And now he’s back in the library at New York Hospital the day they met—when she jumped from the rolling ladder and landed next to him—how startled they were, suddenly thrust into kinetic awareness of each other. At that moment, looking into her green eyes as a nimbus of light surrounded her face, he realized he’d never been so powerfully seized by a woman as he was at that moment. There was something elemental about her, something combustive in her look and mien, and he felt heat as though they were both on fire. In that electrifying second, he could never have imagined over the course of years they’d build a life together—how they’d marry, have Tom and then Sandy, move to Bronxville, construct their own little world away from everything he’d known in his past; nor could he have envisioned how all the days of his life would narrow down to this apprehensive moment of yearning at his sister-in-law’s house on a mild March day on a quiet side street in Nutley, New Jersey.

Her head rests on his shoulder. The heat of her breath on his neck excites him.

They pull away and stare into each other’s eyes.

“I can’t imagine trying to live without you,” Roddy whispers.

A smile forms on her lips. It conveys sadness along with other feelings—perhaps regret, but love and caring, too. He waits for her to say something else, but she doesn’t.

“Let’s go home,” he whispers.

She nods, squeezing her lips together.

He thinks she looks resigned.

He senses what’s going through Tracy’s mind—uncertainty, worry, perhaps even acquiescence. He can’t be sure. But at least he has the luxury of time now—time to try setting things right. He knows that for as long as he lives, he never wants to spend
another day of his life thinking he might lose Tracy.

And Roddy can never make good on his promise to tell her everything.

D
anny sits at his desk poring over Lynda Ling’s worksheet. She owns a Chinese restaurant on Central Avenue, and her return is always complicated. It’s his third day back at the office, and Natalie kept things running smoothly while he was away. He’ll clear up a few minor glitches and be out of the office by six this evening. Angela and the kids are back in Tuckahoe, and life’s getting back to normal.

The intercom sounds: a soft buzz. Dan picks it up.

“Danny,” says Natalie, “Detective Morgan is here to see you.”

Dan’s scalp dampens and begins tingling; the sensation spreads to his shoulders and neck. “Tell him I’ll be out in a minute, Natalie.”

Morgan … this guy’s a recurring nightmare. He’s like an asthmatic attack, always lying in wait. Okay, so Yonkers is his turf, but what does he want now? There’s no news about who shot me. It’s all old. Just take a cue from Roddy. Say nothing. Less can be more
.

M
organ is sitting in the reception area, leafing through a magazine. Seeing Danny, the detective looks up and stands to his full height. “How’re you doing, Mr. Burns?”

“Much better, thanks. What can I do for you, Detective?”

Dan feels his heart kicking and thinks he hears a high-pitched
squeak in his chest, but he maintains a calm exterior. He can tell from Morgan’s poker face the detective thinks he has something up his sleeve.

I should’ve known it. He’s not gonna stop probing and snooping
.

“Could we talk for a few minutes?” Morgan says. He gestures to a nearby conference room.

“About what, Detective?” Danny feels his lips tingling.

I gotta keep from hyperventilating
.

“Just sorting out a few details on your case, Mr. Burns.”

“Okay, but let’s make it quick, Detective. I’ve been out of the office for a while and now I’m swamped.”

Danny leads Morgan to the conference room and closes the door. Morgan sits at the head of the rectangular table.

A bullshit power tactic … the guy sits at the head of the table in my own office
.

“I see you’re back at work. How come?”

“Whaddaya mean, ‘How come?’ I work for a living.”

“Understood, Mr. Burns. But there’re a couple of things I’d like to talk to you about.”

“What things?”

“Well, I’ve been looking into the whole business of you getting shot, and you know what I discovered?”

“What’s that, Detective?”

“You do know, of course, that all hospital visitors have to check in at the front desk and get passes to go upstairs, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Funny thing is, when I checked the visitor log at St. Joe’s, it turns out that one John Harris visited you.”

“Yeah?”

“In fact, he came to see you twice. And both times were days Dr. Dolan also visited you.”

Danny keeps his look neutral. He’s exquisitely aware his facial muscles tend to go tight when he’s tense; and he knows that by
concentrating—by incredible force of will—he can look relaxed, even though his insides are churning. Nope … he won’t show a scintilla of emotion. And he’ll say absolutely nothing.

“Well, Detective, the fact is, I did some part-time work for Mr. Harris.”

“Yeah, I know. I checked with a connection of mine at the Bedford PD and got to examine Harris’s computer files. Your name pops up here and there … on a deal in Aruba and a couple in Westchester County.”

“That’s right.”

“What do you know about Harris?”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“About his whole Ponzi scheme.”

“I didn’t know a thing about it.” Danny’s stomach clenches.

“But you worked for him, right?”

“I just did some work on a few properties here in Westchester.”

“What kind of work?”

“What is this, Detective? Another interrogation?”

“I’m just wondering how it is that Harris is dead, and a few days later, you’re back at work. It’s pretty strange. After Dr. McKay got shot with the
same
gun used to shoot you, Dolan and you lie low like two sewer rats. And then, right after John Harris dies, you come out of your holes. And, of course, Harris’s computer records show you were working for him.”

“That’s right. I was working on a property in Rye he was converting into a golf course. And there’s another in Larchmont he was thinking of turning into an assisted-living facility. But I didn’t think he had the capital for it.”

Shit, I’m already talking too much. Shut the fuck up, Danny Boy
.

“Did you know about his properties in the Caribbean?” Morgan says, tilting his head.

“He mentioned something about a deal in Aruba and asked if
I was interested in making an investment.”

“Did you?”

“No. I’ve had enough trouble with unusual investments, if you know what I mean.”

Morgan nods. “Did you do any accounting work on his Caribbean properties?” The detective’s eyebrows arch.

“Nope.”

“You know who did?”

“No, I don’t. So far as I know, he had an entire cadre of accountants. But I don’t know who the others are … or were.”

Morgan’s elbows rest on the table; he steeples his fingers.

“I understand your friend Dolan’s back at Lawrence Hospital. How come?”

“You’ll have to ask him, Detective.” Danny stands and moves toward the door. “If you don’t mind, I have lots of work to do.”

“I just find it strange that both you and Dolan get back to work right after Harris dies.”

“And just what are you implying?”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“I have nothing to tell you.”

“When was the last time you saw Mr. Harris?”

“I think it was two or three days before he died. I went to his house to discuss getting back to doing some part-time work on the Westchester properties.”

“Why part-time?”

“Because I have other clients I have to take care of. Any work I did for Harris was a small part of my practice.”

“Did Harris want you to work for him full-time?”

“He never asked, and I wouldn’t have done so if he had.”

“Why not?”

“I’d never put all my eggs in one basket by having only one client.”

“You know, Harris’s home was searched thoroughly by the
Bedford police and by New York State’s CID.”

“So?” Danny’s heart shoots into overdrive. It’s slamming like a racehorse storming out of the gate. But he’s sure his face reveals nothing.

“His computer showed all the schemes, just like what was on the Internet.”

“Yeah, so?”

“It’s very strange. Harris apparently jumped from the balcony and killed himself because it was all exposed online.”

“Yeah?”

“But when his computer’s Internet browsing history was accessed, there was no evidence he’d visited the sites where his files were posted.”

“So?”

“So … how’d he know his scheme was exposed if he hadn’t seen those sites before he jumped?”

“I have no idea, Detective.” The racehorse inside Danny’s chest pounds its way around the track’s first turn.

“Where were you the night Harris died?”

“Which night was that?”

“Four nights ago.”

“I’d have been at the Doral Arrowwood.”

“Can anyone confirm you were there that night?”

“I have no idea, Detective. I’d have had dinner in my room.”

“Why in your room?”

“Because I was eating too much in the dining room. It’s a buffet; and in my room, I could control what I ate. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a ton of work to do.”

“Was anyone with you? Your wife, for instance?”

“No, she was in Riverdale staying at her brother’s place.”

Dan opens the door.

“Mr. Burns?”

Danny stops and turns. “What, Detective?”

“You sure there’s nothing else you wanna tell me? Like why you’re back at the office now … and Dolan, too. Or about your work with John Harris?”

“Detective, I don’t want to talk to you anymore. You insinuate all kinds of crap and you’re harassing me. My office manager will show you out.”

“All right, Mr. Burns. If that’s the way you want it, I’ll—”

“That’s
exactly
the way I want it.” Danny stands in the open doorway and calls, “Natalie, will you show Detective Morgan to the door?”

“Mr. Burns?”

“Oh, and, Detective, on your way out, please make sure the door is closed. We’ve had a new lock installed, and sometimes the door doesn’t close properly. I can’t get the landlord to call a locksmith. At least he’s put security cameras in the lobby and stairwell … just so you know. That’s why I feel safer now.”

“That’s very wise. But, Mr. B—”

“Oh, and if you ever find out who shot me, I’d like to know who the bastard is, okay?” Danny waits a beat. “Now, you have yourself a good day, Detective.”

Danny turns and leaves the conference room.

He can only assume Morgan’s concern about his relationship to Harris is no more than mere speculation.

At least that’s what Danny hopes it was.

R
oddy and Danny sit in forest-green Adirondack chairs beneath a cover of shade provided by a large sugar maple. Holding bottles of Bud, they look out over a grassy meadow to a stand of majestic spruce trees in the distance. Beyond that, the gentle hills of the Berkshires rise against a plate of deep blue sky. It’s a brilliant June day; the temperature is in the midseventies, and the mountain air is clear and crisp. A cool breeze plays at the back of Roddy’s neck. The fragrance of field flowers is in the air. A house wren burbles while finches and black-capped chickadees peck at seeds in the bird feeder Tracy has hung from a low bough of the maple. The kids are playing volleyball.

“Roddy, are you going to get the grill ready?” Tracy calls.

“As soon as Ivan and Sylvia get here.”

“Where are they?”

“They just called. They’ll be here soon. They took the wrong exit on the Taconic.”

“How’re things going with Ivan and your new partner? Is it David?” asks Danny.

“Dave’s working out fine. We really needed another team member.”

“So maybe something good came out of what happened back in February.”

“It’s all worked out. Things are back on track, better than ever.
And Tracy might become executive director of the library. They realized her value during the two weeks she was gone.”

“So here we are at Lake Rhoda,” says Dan. “I never thought of coming up here with Angie and the kids. Maybe we’ll buy a place. You should think about that, too, Roddy. If you sink a few bucks into a place, you’d have equity.”

“That depends on what the homeowners association says.”

“What do they have to do with it?”

“There’s a meeting this evening. Wanna go?”

“You don’t own this place.”

“We rent from Ann Johnson. She wants to sell, and we’re thinking of buying the place.”

Dan leans close to Roddy. “You know,” he murmurs, “whenever I’m with a client and the word ‘equity’ comes up, I think of McLaughlin’s.” He sighs and shakes his head.

“I try not thinking about it … ever.”

“Roddy, it’ll be with us for the rest of our lives.”

“Yes, it will.” Roddy takes a pull on the beer. “We all live with secrets. It’s part of being alive.”

“You think there was a better way we could’ve handled Harris?”

“I try not to second-guess it. I guess we could’ve called the police as soon as we saw what was on the computer, but we’d never’ve known for sure who was after us or why. I’d hate to go on thinking some mob goons were coming for us because of Kenny … or Grange.”