Dead Even Page 19

  “When can we see him?” Sara asked.

  “He’s in recovery right now. Why don’t you go find out where his room is. They’ll be bringing him up there within the hour.”

  Twenty minutes later, Sara waited impatiently in her grandfather’s semiprivate hospital room, fluffing his pillows, rearranging the flowers she had brought, and making sure the TV worked. Finally, the door to the room opened and two orderlies wheeled Pop in on a gurney. He looked awful: His features were pallid, his arm was in a cast, and a gauze bandage covered the right side of his forehead. The moment Sara saw him, tears flooded her eyes.

  “Pop, are you okay?” she stuttered.

  “Alice?” he asked, his eyes still closed, his voice creaky.

  “Pop, it’s me. It’s Sara.”

  “Sara?” Confused, Pop slowly blinked his way to recognition. “Sara. Sara, you’re here. How’re you doing?”

  “Terrific,” she said, wiping her eyes and laughing “How’re you?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t feel anything.”

  “That’s normal, Pop. Don’t be scared. Just tell me what happened. Were you attacked?”

  He shook his head as the orderlies lifted him off the gurney and moved him onto the bed. “I lost my footing.”

  “No one pushed you?” Sara asked.

  “Pushed me?” Pop’s breathing was heavy, but he fought to speak. “I was…the subway stairs after lunch…I hear the train coming…then swarmed by a crowd of people…all trying to make it. I get bumped pretty hard…hit the concrete. Always…everything’s a fight in New York.”

  Sara looked over at Guff, trying to gauge his reaction to the story.

  “Did you get a look at the guy who bumped into you?” Guff asked.

  Again, Pop shook his head. “I barely knew…what was happening.”

  At that moment, the door opened and Jared rushed in. “How is he?” Jared asked, heading directly for Sara.

  Sara enveloped her husband in a tight hug as the tears again filled her eyes. “He’s okay,” she said. Thinking about what the stranger said in her office, she held Jared even tighter. “He’s going to be fine.”

  “I’m so sorry, Pop,” Jared said. “I just got the message.”

  Pop reached out for Jared’s hand and grabbed it tight as soon as he approached. With a reassuring nod, Jared tried his best to look unaffected. But all he could think was that this was a warning from Rafferty.

  “Don’t worry, we’re here,” Sara said, unnerved by the scared look that was still on Pop’s face. “We’ll make sure you—” Her sentence was interrupted by the ringing of the phone on the nightstand.

  “That’s probably the head of the Transit Authority calling to apologize,” Guff said as Sara picked up the phone.

  “Hello,” Sara said.

  “Hi, Sara. I was just calling to see how your grandfather was doing.”

  “Who is this?” Sara managed.

  “You forget me so soon? We just met a few hours ago. Now why don’t you take my advice: Stop investigating me and start working on your case.”

  “I know it was you,” Sara said.

  “Me?” he asked glibly. “It’s a crowded subway. That’s no place for an old man wearing a navy-blue jacket and a pair of wrinkled khakis. Anything can happen if you’re not ready for it.”

  “Tell me wh—” Before Sara could make the demand, she heard a click. He was gone. Pretending to continue her conversation, she added, “Great. Great. No problem. And thanks for all your help, Doctor.” Hanging up the phone, she saw that everyone in the room was staring at her. “That was Pop’s doctor,” she explained.

  Jared’s eyes narrowed at his wife’s tone. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  “No, yeah, it should be,” Sara said. “The doctor just wanted to warn me that it may get worse before it gets better.”

  At eleven o’clock that evening, Sara and Jared returned home. After hanging her coat in the closet, Sara headed straight for the bedroom. Jared followed.

  “Considering he just went through surgery, I think he looks pretty good,” Jared said as Sara unbuttoned her blouse.

  “Yeah,” she answered.

  Noticing his wife’s blank expression, Jared said, “What’s wrong? You’ve been quiet all night.”

  “It’s nothing,” she said, unhooking her bra and pulling off her skirt. When she was done getting undressed, Sara put on an old Columbia T-shirt and climbed into bed. “Do you think he’ll—”

  “Pop’s a fighter,” Jared said, joining her under the covers. “He didn’t live this long by being fragile.”

  Jared carefully considered Pop’s accident. It could’ve happened to anyone, he told himself. There’s no reason to think it was a message from Rafferty. Over a dozen times, Jared repeated the logic to himself. Not once did he actually believe it. Hoping to take his mind off the subject, Jared curled up next to his wife. “Please, don’t,” Sara said as she pushed him away.

  Surprised, Jared took a careful look at her. Lying on her back, Sara was staring at the ceiling and holding on to the covers with a tight fist. Her eyes jumped with an anxiousness Jared hadn’t seen for some time. After what happened with Pop, she was clearly afraid.

  Jared moved in closer and gave her a tiny kiss on her cheek. “He’ll be okay,” he said.

  “That’s only part of it.”

  “What’s the other part? Your parents?”

  “No,” Sara said. C’mon, she thought to herself, ask one more time.

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s the case,” she said. “I want you to drop the case.”

  “What? Why would the case—”

  “I don’t want to go up against my family, Jared. Life’s too short for that.” As she let her statement sink in, she watched his eyes for a reaction. When he looked away, she knew she had hit home. Hoping to close, she added, “I mean, you and Pop are the only—”

  “Sara, I appreciate that you’re worried about Pop, but how many times do we have to go through this?”

  “You don’t underst—”

  “I do—I know what today did to you. And I love him as if he were my own family. I just…”

  “You just what?”

  “I just…” Jared wavered for a moment. With Pop hurt, she needed him. He didn’t want to turn away. Then, as always, he came back to Rafferty. That was all it took. Regardless of what else was happening, he wasn’t going to risk her life. “I know Pop’s injury is opening old wounds, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry.”

  Sara knew he was right. It wasn’t just Pop, though. It was Jared. Turning away from her husband, she once again mentally replayed her conversation with the stranger in her office. That was where it originally unraveled. It started with him. Then the threat about Jared. Then Monaghan. Then the pain in Pop’s eyes when he was wheeled into the hospital room. Then the stranger’s phone call. Then the loss of her own parents. For Sara, it always seemed to come back to that. Shutting her eyes tightly, she fought against the fit of emotion that she could feel working its way up from her stomach. She gritted her teeth and breathed slowly. Gradually, she regained her calm. Wiping her eyes to show no sign of tears, Sara turned over and looked at the curve of Jared’s back. Without question, he was the most important thing in her life, and she’d do anything she could to keep him safe. Tapping him on the shoulder, Sara said, “I just want you to know, I’m only doing this because I love you.”

  “I know,” Jared whispered. “I love you, too.”

  “I think he was about to tell her,” Rafferty’s guest said, pulling off the headphones.

  “No, he wasn’t,” Rafferty said.

  “You weren’t even listening.”

  “Believe me, he wasn’t,” Rafferty insisted. “He’s too smart to do that.”

  “If you’re so confident about him being quiet, why am I still listening to their conversations?”

  “Because after a day like today, anyone would be tempted to tell their spouse.
Sara’s grandfather’s in bad shape—that really sent them at each other. But if Jared didn’t say anything tonight, you can believe he’s going to keep his mouth shut in the future.” Standing up, Rafferty adjusted his tie. “Now what do you think about her grandfather’s accident? Think anything’s fishy there?”

  “Sounds like he just lost his footing on some stairs. Happens all the time. Why?”

  “I’m not sure,” Rafferty said. “I’m just nervous that someone else may’ve put another piece on the board.”

  Chapter 11

  “HOW’S YOUR GRANDFATHER?” CONRAD ASKED WHEN Sara and Guff entered his office.

  “He’s okay. The nurse said he slept through the night, which is a good sign.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Conrad said. “And on the bad side, Victor told me about your conversation with Monaghan.”

  “He did?” Sara asked, confused.

  “I don’t understand this guy,” Guff said. “Last week, he wanted to tear you a new one, and this week he’s your BFF.” Realizing that no one knew what he was talking about, Guff added, “BFF—best friend forever. Didn’t you ever have that in junior high?”

  Ignoring the joke, Conrad studied Sara’s face. “You still think Victor’s wrapped up in this, don’t you?”

  “I’d be a fool if I didn’t. No matter what I do, he always knows what I’m up to. And that means one thing: Victor Stockwell’s either really concerned, or, much as it offends you, really dirty.”

  “Don’t say another word.” Conrad checked the hallway, then closed the door. When he returned to his seat, he explained, “This isn’t something to be flip about. Victor’s been here for almost fifteen years. He’s got a lot of friends wandering these halls, and he’s not the type of person you want as an enemy.”

  “That’s fine,” Sara said. “But where does that leave me?”

  “Accusing a veteran with no proof,” Conrad said. “Now did you finish going through his old files?”

  “Most of them, but I think it’s time to move past the cobweb stuff. We have to get back to the original question: If you were one of the best prosecutors in the office, why would you request this petty burglary in the first place?” Sara asked. “I was thinking about this on the train this morning. Besides prosecuting a case, what else can an ADA do with it?”

  “We can decline prosecution, or we can downgrade it to a misdemeanor,” Conrad answered.

  “Besides that,” Sara said. “And think about the other party in this case. From hiring my old firm to hiring Jared, someone is obviously looking out for Kozlow. He’s clearly connected to someone. Now assume Victor is also connected to those people. If you were a dirty ADA, what else could you do?”

  “You could bury the case,” Guff said.

  “Exactly,” Sara said, pointing at her assistant. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. Victor promises some hotshot that he’ll bury a case. But when the case comes in, some eager new ADA grabs it before it hits his desk. When Victor hears the news, he goes nuts and has the ECAB secretary call every ADA in the building until they find out who has it.”

  “But if that’s all true, why didn’t Victor just take the case back?” Guff asked.

  “He couldn’t at that point. I had already brought it into the open. It was too late to—”

  “Are you both out of your heads?” Conrad asked. “You think Victor Stockwell is burying cases?”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “There’s a difference between something being possible and something being provable,” Conrad said. “And if I were you, if you can’t prove it, I wouldn’t say it. Besides, you’ve got no business going after someone like that in the first place.”

  “If you really mean that, why do you keep encouraging me?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard what I said. From the very start, you’ve been warning me away from Victor, but every time I need help going through his background, you’re more than happy to point me in the right direction. So what’s the truth?”

  Conrad showed the tiniest of smirks.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” Sara asked. “You think he’s dirty, too.”

  “I’m reserving judgment. But the truth is, I trust your instincts. There’re too many unexplained coincidences in this case, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that I don’t believe in coincidences. Now if you want to keep looking, I’ll help you look, but once again, I’m not going to let you put Victor’s career at risk unless you have proof.”

  “I’m not bringing him up on charges. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.”

  “Whatever you’re doing, I still think you’re missing part of the picture,” Conrad said. “Even if you did bring the case out in the open, if Victor really wanted to bury it, he could’ve taken it back and declined prosecution.”

  “Are you kidding? Once I saw the facts, Victor couldn’t just decline prosecution. It may’ve been small, but it was still a good case.”

  “Maybe,” Conrad said. “Although he still could’ve pled it out. All he had to do was give Kozlow a reduced sentence or downgrade it to a misdemeanor.”

  “Unless, for some reason, the person pulling the strings didn’t want any record of the burglary at all.”

  “I’d believe that,” Guff said, shrugging his shoulders.

  “You also believe all vegetarians are evil,” Sara said.

  “Don’t laugh,” Guff said. “Hitler was one.”

  “There’s still one flaw in your theory,” Conrad said to Sara.

  “Which is?”

  “You have no explanation for why this minor burglary was supposed to be hidden.”

  “I know,” Sara said. “That’s where I get stuck every time.”

  “How about this?” Guff asked. “Maybe Kozlow is related to someone and they’re trying to keep his record clean.”

  “Or maybe Kozlow’s on parole in another state, and any record here would get him crucified there,” Conrad added.

  “I checked that the first day,” Sara said. “Kozlow’s been arrested twice, but he’s never been convicted.”

  “Maybe he’s up for a job where he can’t have any sort of criminal background on his record,” Conrad said.

  “Now that’s interesting,” Sara said.

  “Wait, I got it,” Guff said. “Maybe Kozlow made a bet with some really bad-ass tough guy. And the bet was that Kozlow wouldn’t get arrested for a whole month. Then, he pulled the burglary and got arrested. So now, he has to hide the arrest, or he’ll lose the bet.”

  “Yeah, that could be it,” Conrad said sarcastically. “The way I hear it, betting on your own likelihood of being arrested is all the rage these days. It’s sweeping Vegas like an electric broom.”

  “C’mon, stay with me,” Sara said. “Any other ideas?”

  “I think the first step is finding out more about Kozlow and who’s footing his legal bills,” Conrad said. “When you get that, you’ll at least know the parties involved. Then we can try to put together the motive.”

  “And then we can figure out how they’re related to the doorknob guy from yesterday,” Guff said.

  “The doorknob who?” Conrad asked.

  Sara shot Guff a look. “He means Kozlow,” she said abruptly. “If we can link him with his moneyman, we’ll have a much better idea of what’s going on.”

  “Did you do it?” Jared asked the moment Kozlow entered his office.

  “Do what?” Kozlow asked, strolling to his usual chair in the corner.

  Jared shot out of his seat and slammed his door shut. “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he said. “Sara’s grandfather fell down a flight of stairs last night and—”

  “Calm yourself. I heard what happened.”

  “How’d you hear?”

  “Like I said, I heard…but I had nothing to do with it.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Believe what you want, but I’m telling you the truth. If we did do it
, we’d make sure you knew about it. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

  Jared thought about the logic of Kozlow’s argument. “So it wasn’t you?”

  Kozlow smiled. “For once, boss, we’re innocent. The old man just took a fall down some stairs.”

  Sitting alone in her office, Sara picked up the phone and dialed the general number for Jared’s law firm. “Wayne and Portnoy,” the receptionist answered. “How can I help you?”

  “Can you please transfer me to Accounts Receivable?” Sara asked.

  After a short pause, a female voice answered, “Hello, this is Roberta.”

  “Hi, Roberta,” Sara said in her most congenial tone. “This is Kathleen calling from Jared Lynch’s office. I was just wondering if you could help me find some information on a client who—”

  “Who the hell is this?” Roberta asked.

  Panicking, Sara said, “It’s Kathleen.”

  “Kathleen who?”

  “Kathleen Clark,” Sara said, remembering Kathleen’s last name from last year’s holiday card list.

  “Well, that’s real funny, because Kathleen Clark was just down here two minutes ago buying some stamps,” Roberta explained. “Now do you want to start over, or do you want me to call the cops?”

  Without saying another word, Sara hung up.

  A minute later, Guff walked in without knocking. Taking one look at Sara, he asked, “Who sunk your battleship?”

  “No one,” Sara said. “I just tried calling Jared’s law firm, and—”

  “They busted you, didn’t they?” Guff asked, shaking his head. “I told you not to do that. It’s unethical and you know it.”

  “Oh, and suddenly you’re Mr. Ethics?”

  “Sara, I know who I am. I know my faults. I over-generalize, I’m generally pessimistic, I don’t like kids, I don’t floss, I don’t believe in spontaneous combustion, I think most people are fad-following sheep waiting for their televisions to show them the next great logo to plaster on their chests, and I think guys with goatees are fundamentally stupid. But I also know my days are numbered. And I understand, deep down in my black heart, that when my time has come, my reckoning will have paid attendance. Just to torture me, they’ll televise it. But I can live with that because I understand myself. I know my lot in life.”