Corrupt Practices (49 page)

I drive down the mountain road much too fast, hoping that somehow I’ll catch up to Grace. But the only way I’ll overtake her is if she’s crashed. That’s not an improbable scenario—she’s had several auto accidents while manic.

Once I’m down the hill, I take Sunset Boulevard to the freeway. During the fifteen-minute trip to the Marina, I ponder the tragedy that is Grace Trimble. How did this happen to her? How will she end up? I’m afraid of the answer.

And then I think about Andrew Macklin again. What was his relationship with the Assembly? Why didn’t I look into his role while the case was still going on, when I could have used the discovery process? What if he had access to the Assembly’s bank documents?

Only when I pull up to my condo do I see it with absolute clarity. The truth is simply there, as if I’ve known it all along. I
should
have known it all along.

Now, it’s too late.

A car speeds under the security gate just as it’s about to close. I shift into reverse and try to back up, but the car pulls up behind me, blocking my escape route. The driver gets out, moving quickly but methodically. I lock the doors from the inside and fumble for my cell phone, trying to dial 911. Before the call goes through, he’s at my window, arm raised, handgun pointed at my head.

“End the phone call and get out of the car,” Manny says. His normally smooth voice has a raspy quality that doesn’t sound human. His lips are twisted upward in what could be a cruel smile or an expression of regret.

Grace is a much quicker study than I am, always has been. When Ed Diamond told me months ago that he learned from an underworld source that The Emery Group had paid six million dollars to a company called Nonagon, LLC, he swore me to secrecy. Only he, Lovely, and I knew the name of that company. I broke my promise to Ed only once—when I told Grace Trimble about Nonagon the Sunday before she testified at trial. I thought I owed her the whole truth.

During dinner, Manny identified Nonagon as one of the Geometrics. There’s only one way he could have known that.

“Let’s talk about this,” I say after I get out of the car.

“Not a word.” He gestures with the gun. “Let’s go.”

We climb the stairs. My legs feel heavy, useless. The fear I feel in court is nothing like this. This terror is like liquid nitrogen, so chilling that I’ll shatter if I so much as twitch. And yet, I keep walking.

When we get to my front door, he orders me to open it fast. My hands are shaking, but I manage to get the key in the lock. When we’re inside, he directs me into the bedroom.

“Put on your running clothes.”

“I don’t—”

“Put them on. You’re going for a late night jog.”

I undress slowly, trying to buy time. Is this how Harmon felt? The calculation, the mental bargaining, the ghoulish unreality of it all?

“Hurry up.”

As I’m dressing he takes out his cell phone and punches in a number with one hand, never lowering the gun or taking his eyes off of me. “Victor, I need your help with something. I’ll be in Venice. Dell Street. Linnie Canal Bridge, north side.”

I live in the Marina. He’s taking me to Venice Beach, less than a mile away. The area has gentrified in recent years, but there’s a rough gang neighborhood just a few blocks north. And there’s a homeless community living on the beach not too far away.

“Victor Galdamez. Your ex-gang member turned potential law student, right? But he’s not an
ex
-member, is he?”

“Shut up.”

“He was the leader of those goons who beat me up that night I left The Barrista. I see that now. His was the voice of my assailant in those nightmares.”

“I tried to get you to stop. I really did.” He waves the gun. “Now put your shoes on.”

I go to the closet and get my running shoes. It would’ve been a good place to hide a weapon of my own, but I’ve never believed in them, never thought the Second Amendment was so important. Maybe if I can get him talking, then . . . what?

“It was you who tipped off the Assembly that Raymond Baxter hired me,” I say. “And you told them that Ed Diamond looked at the financials and that Grace was posing as Sandra Casey. And . . . and about the stage fright. What, more anonymous e-mails?”

His shrug is almost apologetic.

“You know, I blamed Kathleen Williams.”

He smirks. “I’d wager that Frantz believed it was Lovely Diamond still being loyal to him.

“The trial. You were helping me. But it was really a cover-up, a way to end all of this without further risk. I prove that McCarthy was using Assembly money to pay bribes and the cops would think he killed Harmon, Rich, and Deanna. And that’s exactly what’s happened, except you drank too much wine tonight and—”

“Finish tying those shoes, goddammit,” he says through clenched teeth. “Do you imagine I don’t know you’re stalling?”

When I finish tying my shoes, he says, “Get your house key and wallet. Leave the cell phone.”

We go outside and head back to the parking garage. Maybe someone will be down there. Or maybe a neighbor has reported to security that a strange car is double-parked. It’s a clear night, only ten thirty. This place should be teeming with people.

As it turns out, the common areas are deserted. So is the garage. I consider shouting or making a run for it, but I remember what Deanna looked like when I found her.

He forces me into the passenger seat of his car. With one hand on the gun and one on the steering wheel, he backs out of the garage, drives out onto the street, and heads west down Washington Boulevard toward the beach. I have five minutes—ten at the most.

“Did Rich know about the bribery scheme?” I ask.

“You know why you’re asking me these things, my friend?”

“Tell me.”

“Because you don’t know when to give up. You think you can talk me out of it. The silver-tongued orator who argued his way out of a death sentence. It’s a shame, really. It makes it harder on you. It’s easier just to accept it. Harmon accepted it. I could see it in his eyes.”

“Did Rich know about the bribery scheme?” I repeat.

“The only thing Rich knew how to do was blow smoke up the asses of McCarthy and his stooges.”

“That’s why all this happened? Because you were jealous of Rich making more money than you?” My cheeks flush; anger and disgust cloud my judgment. “No. I don’t buy that. There’s got to be more to it. A woman? Gambling? Your wine collection? Or were you trying to show Elena that you could pay your own way without having her wealthy father finance your—”

He lunges toward me and hits me in the nose with the butt of the gun. The car swerves into the adjacent lane, providing a perfect opportunity to grab for the gun, but I’m dazed. Blood gushes from both nostrils. I put my right thumb and forefinger to my nose and pinch. Then I drop my arm and wipe some of the blood on the seat. I bend over, pretending that I’m trying to staunch the flow, and let several droplets fall onto the floor mat. The least I can do is leave some of my DNA behind in his car. Maybe a crime scene investigator will find it someday.

I should keep my mouth shut, but I just can’t manage it. “Here’s what I think happened. McCarthy asked Rich to set up these shell companies, and as always, Rich came to you for help. Like you said, he was too dumb to realize that McCarthy was setting up a money-laundering scheme. But you’re not dumb, Manny. You saw what was going on and took advantage of the opportunity to give yourself access to the Assembly bank accounts. There was so much illegal money passing through those accounts that no one would notice your skimming. And even if they did, how could a thief like McCarthy complain that someone was stealing from him? But you miscalculated. Harmon found you out.”

He scowls at me, and his fingers tighten around the handle of the gun.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” I say. “When Rich left the firm, how did you manage to keep your hand in the till?” As I talk, I scan the road for an avenue of escape. What if I were to open my door and jump out? No chance. He’ll shoot me as soon as I reach for the handle.

“I’ll answer that one,” he says. “In a few minutes you’ll have no memory, anyway. Rich kept asking me for help even after we weren’t partners anymore, even after I took the job at the law school. The son of a bitch never once offered to pay me for my time. He thought I owed him free work because I was his friend.”

“And then he found Harmon’s notes.”

“You know what’s ironic? He actually asked me to help him find out who was diverting the money. I refused at first, told him I was frightened. So he promised not to tell a soul about my involvement no matter what. Not even Grace. He swore on it with one of his sacred Assembly oaths. And ever-loyal Rich Baxter kept his promise.”

Rich was loyal, all right, but also a fool. If he’d told me that Manny and Grace were helping him in his investigation, everything would have been different.

“So that’s how you were able to snatch the DVD from the Silver Lake apartment,” I say. “After that, all it took was a few bogus transactions in his name and a call to the IRS, and Rich was behind bars.”

We stop at a red light. There’s a patrol car across the street, but it’s going in the opposite direction. When it passes, I shudder.

“Are you cold, my friend? Should I turn down the air conditioning?”

We make a right turn on Dell Avenue, a narrow street that runs over the canals and past homes that sell for two million dollars and up. Bridges and walkways crisscross the system of canals that a man named Abbott Kinney built in the early twentieth century to mimic Venice, Italy. It never quite worked out. At this hour, the neighborhood is deserted.

“Why kill Rich?” I ask. “He was in jail. About to take the fall for your crimes.”

“Because of you.”

At first I don’t understand, but then it comes to me—Rich would never have figured out what was going on, even with a smart lawyer. But I knew too much about the firm, about the Assembly. Sooner or later, Rich and I together would have discovered the truth. Manny couldn’t wait around for that to happen.

“Galdamez arranged the hit?”

“There are always Lazers in the MDC. A fistfight for a diversion and it was done. You were right. The guy’s a martial arts expert. Rich didn’t feel a thing.”

The car rollercoasters up and down an arched bridge. I’m already nauseated from the terror and the blood I’ve swallowed. My nose is throbbing. “I think I’m going to be sick, Manny.”

“Hold on, my friend. We’re almost there.”

I take several deep breaths. It doesn’t help. And yet, even now I’m driven to ask questions—a lawyer to the end. “Was Harmon killed the way the Guglielmi report says?”

“No more.”

“And I assume Deanna just got in the way. Grace is still out there, Manny. You have millions stashed away. Drop me off in the desert and get on a plane to somewhere far away before I get back to civilization.”

“Don’t you wish. As for Grace, she won’t be out there much longer. You saw her tonight. She’s so far gone she’ll probably take care of my problem herself.”

“What about me? Why did you wait until now?”

“I’m offended, Parker. It’s because you’re my friend.”

He’s enough of a psychopath to believe it. More likely, killing me would’ve raised too many questions. I was Rich’s lawyer. Now, he has no choice.

He parks the car just as we cross the bridge over Linnie Canal. When he starts to get out, I decide to run, but when I try the handle the door doesn’t budge. He’s set the child lock or something. Only when he gets to the passenger side window does he disarm the lock.

Dressed in running shorts and a tank top, I shiver in the cold ocean air. When I stumble over the curb, he grasps my arm to steady me. He orders me to walk down the bridge to the pathway that runs along the canal. I know what he’s planning—the cops will think I was jogging down the pathway and was assaulted by a gang member or a transient. They’ll find my wallet, but no money. Galdamez will be here soon to make sure that the scene looks legit.

“On your knees!” Manny says.

I want to plead for my life, to reason with him lawyer to lawyer, friend to friend, but nothing comes out. I want to tell Lovely she’s perfect, that nothing she’s ever done or will do could make me believe otherwise. I want to apologize to Kathleen Williams. Before Manny can move behind me, I go for the gun, grab hold of his wrist, and throw a punch with my free hand, but the blow glances off his cheek. He jerks his arm away and aims the gun at my chest, and I hear the shots and the sickening moan. There’s a high-pitched whine in my ears, or is it the sound of my own voice shrieking in terror? I fall to my knees. I don’t feel anything. Why don’t I feel anything?

Manny crumples to the ground. I look behind him toward the canal. Just rippling moonlight on the black surface of the water. I look up at the bridge and see a swatch of green, stationary against the night sky. And then the swatch streaks across the bridge and down the walkway. She’s holding the gun with two hands, aiming at Manny’s body even as she glances at me. Her eyes are clear, cold, rational.

“Grace?”

“I always knew it was either him or you. Until tonight, I just didn’t know which.”