Every Move She Makes (39 page)

"Got it all planned, do you?"

"The afternoon, at least. Paolini's case is this afternoon.

I didn't move. I'd purposefully put it from my mind.

I'd had to. I thought of the threats, all designed to keep me from
testifying in this case. And now, today was the day. All I had to do was
walk in, swear to tell the truth, testify, then wait. Wait to see if
someone-Paolini-would make good on the threats. "I'll be damned if I let
that happen." Torrance gave me an odd look at my continent. "The
threats," I clarified. "Why should I wait? I say, find a way to bring
Paolini in and confront him now."

"Makes you wonder why someone at the DA's office didn't think of that."

"Doesn't it, though. The question now is, what charges?"

"I'm sure if we look hard enough, we'll find something," Torrance said.

A few phone calls later, I had what we needed. "A speeding ticket," I
said after I'd hung up. "He hasn't paid it yet, and it's past due."

"That's it?"

"it was the best they could do, considering. Vice is going to tail him.

They owe me for playing a hooker for them on a sting a couple of months
ago." After taking a few sips of lukewarm espresso and steamed milk, I
dragged myself into the bathroom to shower. I glanced at my garment bag.

What to wear while interviewing a mobster? I decided on jeans,
sweater-and boots in case the crap got too deep to wade in. Brushing my
wet hair, I looked in the mirror. The braise on my temple had faded
considerably, now a shade of yellow ew purple. I belatedly wondered if
Paolini wasn't behind the poisoned pizza caper. I'd have to remember to
ask, then decided I was being overly optimistic if I expected him to
answer about anything. "Ready or not, Paolini, here we come." At
precisely nine, Torrance and I, acting as backup in addition to the four
Vice officers, watched from our own vehicle as Paolini's black limousine
pulled up in front of the Olympic Club. I thought of Reid, stopping to
talk to someone in a black limo outside the PD. The city was full of
black limos, and I had no way of knowing if that particular limo
happened to be Paolini's. But I intended to ask. The arrest went without
incident, Paolini accepting the trumped-up charge of failure to pay a
traffic fine, undoubtedly because he knew that by the time the booking
was filled out, his lawyer would already be there and he'd be a free
man. He was searched, and brought in by the Vice detail.

At the jail we secured our weapons in the gun locker.

The custody officers had already moved Paolini into an interview room. I
had my feelings about facing Paolini, the man suspected of placing the
hit on me at the Twin Palms. I wasn't afraid, but neither was I
comfortable with it. I wanted a clear head, and thinking about the night
I was shot did little to help. With Torrance at my side, however, I felt
a slight degree of comfort. Especially once I stifled the outlandish
thought that Paolini had put the jail guards on his payroll somehow. It
could happen, and it had happened, but I couldn't go through this
interview worrying about it. Paolini smiled when I entered the room. He
unnerved me still, and I wondered if his looks didn't play a part in
that. He was tall, thin, olive-complected. His narrow face and aquiline
nose were strangely handsome. Seeing him this close was like stepping
back in time to the night we attended the Save the Rain Forest dinner
together. Instead of a tux, however, he now wore a pink Ralph Lauren
polo shirt and tan slacks neatly pressed. He sat on one side of the
table, barely sparing Torrance a glance, and appearing for all the world
as though we were calling for tea. "Inspector Gillespie. So nice of you
to visit. And you brought your friend." "Such a pleasure to see you
again, too," I said. Two things I knew from countless jailhouse
interviews were, never show fear and don't let them get the upper hand
in the conversation. Paolini would take advantage of both.

"We're not here to play good cop, bad cop. We want some answers."

"And perhaps I can give them to you," he said, still with a smile. "My
attorney is on his way. I feel magnanimous in that I am to be released
soon." I bet you do. "Tell me about the warehouse owned by Hilliard
Pharmaceutical." He looked mildly confused. I gave him the address. "Oh,
yes. An import/export business. Until the unfortunate matter with the
on-site manager." "The money laundering scheme disguised as a Save the
Rain Forest fundraiser dinner," I supplied. "So the police tell me."

Aside from the money and drugs we'd confiscated, for which his case was
on appeal, he'd skated on the money laundering charges, gathering a
one-year sentence. But there was still the dead body to be reckoned
with. "You aren't aware of the freezer left there?" "We had no freezer,
Inspector. Who is your friend?" he asked, nodding to Torrance, who
leaned against the door, strong, silent, arms crossed, very much the
bodyguard.

"Lieutenant Torrance from IA."

"Found yourself in a bit of trouble?" I hid my exasperation at Paolini's
attempt to steer the conversation. "There was a body in the freezer."

"Inspector Gillespie. I do hope you are not blaming me for a body you
found?" "I don't know who to blame. I was hoping you could shed some
light on the matter." "If I could help you, I would. But I don't know
much of what's gone on in the outside world this past year. What sort of
trouble have you gotten yourself into?" he asked, eyeing Torrance.

"You're saying you have no idea a body was found in your warehouse?"

"None.

"Okay, let's move on to Reid Bettencourt."

"The DA investigator?"

"Yes." Paolini waited.

I had nothing solid, but I forged ahead. "You were seen talking to him."

"And I want to know why."

"Perhaps it would be best if you asked him."

"I'm asking you."

I waited several seconds. He remained silent, smiled.

"Very well," I conceded. "Phone threats."

"I have received none." I wanted to wipe that smirk right off his face.

Was it a guilty smirk, or the type all ex-cons gave to cops who come to
question them? It bothered me that I couldn't tell. "Do you deny that
you've had someone calling me over the last year, making threats that if
I testified at your trial, you'd kill me?" He steepled his fingers,
placed the tips at his mouth, his expression serious. "Why would I
bother?"

"Because you believed I might be intimidated by threats?

Suddenly he laughed. "Inspector Gillespie. Why would I threaten you, and
not the officers who were listening on the wire? Were they not also a
part of that case?" They were, and he had a point, though a minor one.

They could only testify to what they heard, and I failed to see how that
could make him innocent. I was-receiving death threats about his case.

"Okay, let's say you didn't order one of your men to do this. How do you
explain the hit on the two property clerks, and the destruction of the
evidence in your case?" "An unfortunate incident with fortunate
results." I shot from my chair, slamming my hands onto the table. My
face was inches from his, and I expected to feel Torrance grab my
shoulder, restrain me. It occurred to me he might have to restrain
himself "Two innocent people are dead because of that. They had
families. Grandchildren." He stared a moment, then gave an apologetic
smile. "You'll have to forgive me. What I said was tactless." The smile
vanished, and he continued, "But I did not have those men killed. My
attorney promised me that I'd be getting off on a ... technicality.

How else did you think we were granted a retrial?"

"You tell me."

"The lab worker who tested the drugs was dirty. He could very well have
switched the product, tainted the evidence. Or hadn't you heard he was
arrested for falsifying evidence and being under the influence of the
very drugs he was testing?" Taking a breath, I sat and leaned back in my
chair. It suddenly occurred to me that Paolini might be behind the
corruption and arrest of Scott Forrest, the lab tech. His arrest had
produced a domino effect throughout the city. Paolini's case was tainted
by Forrest, which meant Paolini would win his appeal on the drug
charges, undoubtedly get credit for time served on the money laundering
charge if not be totally acquitted on that as well. He'd be released in
a heartbeat.

Unless we could get him on witness intimidation-me.

Despite my false bravado, I had to admit I was somewhat intimidated. I
suppose it came from being shot at close quarters. Even so, I would
never let him see it. "You expect me to believe you're innocent?" I
asked slowly, evenly, not willing to give an inch. "You know very well I
was shot outside one of your drug runner's motel rooms a year ago. I've
lived with constant threats of death. Someone almost made good on it the
other night. Someone you know quite well." He never blinked.

"Antonio Foust," I announced.

His gaze widened almost imperceptibly. His jaw clenched. "Inspector
Gillespie," he began, his voice low, tinged with anger, his gaze cutting
into mine. "It appears I have been made the fool." "And how is that?" I
asked, hiding my surprise at his reaction. I would have expected the
earlier smirk, not this bridled anger.

"You have proof that Tony tried to kill you?"

"His fingerprint in my house."

"A print?"

"Not to mention a couple bullet holes in my bed. Or isn't that enough?"

Paolini stared at his hands on the table before him, palms up. "What
happened to you a year ago, at the Twin Palms ... I was most sorry to
hear." His gaze met mine once more, the anger diminished. "I liked you.

Had I not, you would never have gotten the information you had. You
would never have gotten so close. But I was not responsible. I had no
idea until the news made it to me through the usual channels. "And as I
said earlier, I did not order the threats on your life. I did not HI,
nor did I order anyone to kill the two men who worked for your
department. I am a businessman. Perhaps unscrupulous at times, but not
to the point of killing innocent people."

"And if you didn't do it, who did? And why?"

"The why of it is easy. To set me up, of course."

"Come again?"

"My dear Inspector. If I am found guilty of murdering your two officers,
possibly receiving the death penalty, there is one person who stands to
gain everything." "And that would be?" The anger returned to his eyes. A
vein on his temple pulsed. "Antonio Foust."

What's this about Bettencourt?" Torrance asked after e left the jail.

"I saw him talking to someone in a limo. It was purely a guess."

"Apparently an accurate one."

"Right now, I'm more interested in what Paolini had to say about Foust.

Do you believe him?" The heels of my boots clicked across the floor,
echoing to the end of the hall. Several staccato beats later, he
answered. "What he's saying makes sense." "Sense? How does a man guilty
of the crimes Paolini's committed make a claim that he doesn't kill
innocent people?" "Think about the known hits. True, never proved, but
what kind of people were they?" Torrance was right. If Paolini hadn't
had them killed-allegedly, I forced myself to add-they undoubtedly would
have killed him or someone else. It didn't excuse the man. But it did
make sense. So did the fact that his case was bound to be dismissed on
the basis that the lab tech, Forrest, was dirty. Every other case that
had made it to retrial because of the same reason had been dismissed. I
needed to think about this logically. "Okay. Foust makes the phone
threats the moment Paolini is in jail, perhaps at first with his
blessings, until Paolini's released. Later, Foust learns his boss's case
is up for appeal, and concocts this plan to set him up? This is
ridiculous," I said, frustrated. I was having a difficult time changing
my mind about Paolini's guilt after so long. I bore a scar on my
shoulder, for God's sake. Who shot me? Was it, as Paolini had said, an
unknown person? Did he really have no knowledge? I supposed it was
possible. And for the moment, water under the bridge. I stopped in the
middle of the hallway and looked at -Torrance. "If what he is saying is
true, then Foust has been planning this for a long time.