The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) (4 page)

"You awake, lady?" he heard himself ask.

A small shudder moved across her shoulders. Then
she nodded slowly, still not turning. The wounded man
groaned. He was looking at her now, looking hard.
His
glazed eyes seemed to be begging for help. But she had
withdrawn from him. She kept her own eyes on the
floor near her feet. No, Lesko decided. This woman was
definitely no bimbo. She was part of this. Maybe even
the biggest part.

"Nice try, lady." Lesko whispered the words
hoarsely. The woman stiffened as she heard them. In his
voice she heard reluctance and a certain sorrow. But
she also knew that
he had made a decision. The woman
raised one gloved hand.

"Give me one more minute of life," came a voice
softly accented, surprisingly calm, "and I wi
ll try to reach an
accommodation with you." She paused, then
added, "There will be no lies."

Lesko said nothing.

"My name is Elena. Does
it
have meaning to you?"

It did. On any chart Lesko had ever seen of the
South American cocaine hierarchy, the name Elena was
near the top. But there was always a question mark next
to it, or a box of dotted lines around it, because so far
nobody had come up with proof that she even existed.

"And you are Detective Raymond Lesko. You are here to avenge Detective David Katz." A gentle voice.
Polite. Respectful. Sympathetic. "Although it may be
hard for you to believe, I applaud that. I applaud loyalty
even as I insist upon fair play in all affairs. Do you be
lieve in fair play,
Mr. Lesko
?"

Lesko blinked.

What the hell is this? Now I'm going to talk ethics
with coke de
al
ers and killers?

"'
Turn
around slow," he said.

She ignored the order.

    
"If your late partner had come to make an arrest,
Mr. Lesko, that would have been fair enough. We live
by our wits and we accept the risks."

It was an educated voice. The accent as much Euro
pean ... maybe German ... as it was Latin. An
d
there was a tremor in it. Fear but not panic.

"But your partner came to steal," she continued.

If
he had stolen once, perhaps twice, we would have over-
looked it in the interest of peace. But
he came to the
well once too often, Mr. Lesko. He forced us to protect
ourselves."

"Who ordered the hit?"

She cocked her head toward the dead
man
in the
black suit. "My late
associate
chose
the time and place.
He shot Detective Katz. This other man assisted him."
At that the wounded man gave a deep sigh of despair,
and dropped to his knees.

“
Naturally," Lesko curled his lip. "The dead guy di
d
it." The
h
ell with this, he thought. Lesko swung the
automatic and dropped its front sight onto the middle of the mink collar.

"Of course," she added quickly, "I gave the order."
Lesko wavered.

Shit.

"
Okay
, what's going on here, lady? Are you asking
me to shoot you or not shoot you or what?"

"My hope is that you will not." The shoulders
trem
bled
and
the voice quiver
ed
a
bit
but still, that reason
able
tone. "You are, I
think, satisfied that Detective Katz
was a thief. The fact that he stole from
trafficantes
makes
that
no less true. I felt the need to
protect myself
against him and I have done so. You felt the need to
avenge him and you have done so. We have both done
what was expected of us. I consider that our accounts
are even. To save my life, however, I am prepared to.
make an additional accommodation."

Lesko could only stare. The woman raised one hand
and pointed to the table she was facing.

"May I reach into
that suitcase?" she asked. When no,
immediate answer came, she
rose
from
her chair and
walked to the
table. She was smaller than she seemed
while
seated
. Taking care not to block Lesko's view, she
reached past the open
lid
and extracted two plastic bags  
filled with white powder. These she placed on the ta
b
le's edge nearest Lesko. Still, she kept her face from
him.

"Cocaine," she pointed. "A less evil substance than
s
ome,
I
think.
Mind you, Mr. Lesko, I do not speak of
the
derivative you call crack. That is a development we
deplore for many reasons. But cocaine, in its proper
form, creates no armies of addicted street criminals. It is
an entertainment for young men who drive BMW's and
young ladies who go to discotheques. It allows fright
ened little people to feel that they are lions."

"Turn around, lady. I mean
i
t."

"I would prefer that you do not see my ......

"Turn around. Now."

             
The woman called Elena took a Iong breath. Her
shoulders rose, then fell, and she turned to face him.
Lesko studied her.
She was, he guessed, in her early
forties. A handsome woman, finely boned, deep-set eyes
that were oddly gentle. Her skin was tanned. Not natu
rally dark, but tanned. If she was Bolivian she showed
no sign of native blood, unlike the mestizo with the
crucifix. Lesko could see now that she was much
more frightened
than
she'd seemed. She was holding her jaw
tight to keep it from quivering. And the fingers of one
gloved hand were dug into the other.

             
"You were saying, lady?"

             
Her eyes fell upon the automatic pistol now aimed
between her breasts, and then to the shotgun trained on
the other man who was now loudly hyperventilating.,
She seemed afraid of guns. Not just being shot by them.
Guns themselves. Lesko gestured toward the two
plastic bags.

             
"By any chance, are you about to offer me that shit?"

             
She hugged herself as if for warmth. "They are
worth approximately two hundred thousand dollars. It
is the accommodation I mentioned. It is a fine that I
impose upon myself."

             
"And you figure that'll make us even."

             
"It is my hope."

             
"Lady, you're out of your fucking mind, you know
that?
Why don't I just blow you apart and take it all?"
Her chin came up.

             
"Because there would be no
honor in that, Mr. Lesko. My offer was a fair one."

        
"I don't believe this."

             
"It is a serious proposal
all
the same. You
will
please
consider it."

"What if I should just shoot you and then turn this
stuff in?
"
Would there be honor in that?"

"Certainly not. Your duty re
q
uires that you arrest
me. If Mr. Katz had done his duty he would still be
alive."

"You had him killed at his house in front of his family.
Why?
"

"I did not expect that. Specific instructions were
given that his family was not to be harmed. These people can be pigs. They have been known to murder ba
bies and to mutilate wives and mothers as an object
lesson. I do not permit such things. These two took it
upon themselves to make his death terrible in the mem
ory of those who would be left with the money he stole."

"An object lesson." Lesko showed his teeth.

She nodded weakly.

"So is this." The shotgun thundered. By the time he
reloaded, Lesko was shooting through a cloud.

Almost
two years. Newspaper headlines, a depart
mental investigation, another one by
the Drug Enforce
ment Administration, microphones stuck in his face everywhere he went, even a segment on
60 Minutes
in
which Lesko declined to participate.

Even Hollywood got interested. Some producer
showed up along with a retired detective Lesko knew
fairly well, one of the French Connection cops who was
now an actor, but Lesko didn't want to listen. Then
there must have been a hundred working cops who
wanted to buy him drinks no matter how much he in
sisted he was home fixing his toilet at the time of the
shootings. Lesko said thanks, but no. Just leave him
alone. There were times, though, when he'd like to
have heard from Harriet Katz. But what was she going
to say to him? I feel much better now, thank you? I don't
wake up scared and crying anymore during my own
four o'clock-in-the-morning? I no longer need half a
fifth of vodka to get through an evening because I know
justice has been done?