The Bannerman Solution (The Bannerman Series) (48 page)

“Why did you come here, Robert?”

“Your family's out of this. You keep mine out of it.”

“You had to sneak in my back door to tell me that? You couldn't have called? If all you're here for is a per
sonal ass
-
kick, why didn't you just ask me to meet you
someplace?”

Loftus didn't answer. Lesko suddenly understood.

“Robert,” he sat back, “could it be you wouldn't talk
on my phone because there's a wire on it?”

Loftus tried to sidestep. “There's always that
chance.”

“If I'm wired,” Lesko told him, “and anyone but you heard the calls I made lately, they know I talked to your wife and they also heard me telling the cops about prus
sic acid. Robert, I don't think this personal chat is
strictly between us anymore.”

Lesko had been watching him closely. Loftus stiff
ened at the mention of the prussic acid. Then he stared
past
Lesko
at a face only he could see, and his lips curled
into a silent curse.

“Who killed him, Robert?” Lesko asked quietly.

Loftus slowly drew up his knees and folded his arms
across them. He took a deep breath and released it
slowly. “You ever get really tired, Lesko?”

“Once or twice.”

Lesko bit his lip. Careful, he told himself. Go easy.
Robert Loftus was suddenly getting that confessional look. He'd seen it a thousand times. The look of a man
who
wanted to talk. But when it comes, you have to give
the guy room. He has to do it his own way.

“My wife
…
” Loftus stopped himself. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. He ran the
fingers of one of them over the dryer. Maybe his wife
had one like it. “Her name is Katherine,” he said finally.

Lesko waited.

“She teaches high school English.”

He said nothing.

“I've got two kids. Both in high school, not the same one. My daughter wants to play classical piano. My son
wants to be just like me.”

Lesko didn't want to hear this. But he knew Loftus
needed to say it. He nodded that he understood.

“I'm not what I want my son to be, Lesko. For him,
for my daughter, I want nice, I want clean. They think
I'm a great guy. Even a hero.” He took another deep
breath; another long silence. “Lesko,” he said finally, “if
I had known what was going to happen, I would have
stopped it.”

“What do you want from me, Robert?” Lesko asked
gently.

“I don't know.”

“I believe you about your family. I think I believe
you about Donovan. But if you're looking for a pass on
this, you'll have to give me something pretty god
damned good.”

Loftus looked up. “The line on you is you're straight.
How straight are you?”

“I give my word, I keep it. If you're asking am I dirty,
the answer is no. I hurt cops who are dirty.”

“You're so straight, how'd you get friendly with
Elena?”

Lesko had seen that question coming. Normally he
hit people who asked it, but from Loftus it was probably
reasonable. “I saw her exactly once. Two minutes'
worth. But I made an impression.”

“The barbershop?”

Lesko shrugged. “How's she figure in this?”

“If you're as straight as you say, I'm not sure she
does. It's a matter of someone adding two and two and getting six.”

Lesko started to ask who. But he found himself want
ing to ask something else. “You know her? I mean, per
sonally?”

Loftus nodded.

“Tell me about her.”

”A classy lady. Ballsy. In her own way, she's also very
straight.”

Lesko sniffed at that. Calling a drug trafficker
straight is like calling a rapist romantic. “If you know
her so well, why did you have to ask if I'm friendly with
her?”

“It's complicated.” Loftus waved off any further
questions and rose to his feet. “If you want to make
sense out of this, Lesko, I'm the only one who can help
you do it.”

“I'm listening.”

“First we talk deal.”

“Bullshit. Because you're such a wonderful parent I'll try to see you don't get hurt any more than you got
coming. That's your deal.”

“Not enough, Lesko.”

“What's enough? A character reference?”

“I might need you to kill some people. You might
want to by the time I'm finished.”

CHAPTER 16

Doug Poole could not believe he was doing this. Sitting
in Mario's with Anton Zivic and Molly Farrell. Before
yesterday, it would have been exciting. Today he was
too upset to eat.

They'd walked up to his car. Hi, Doug, how are you?
What do you say we grab a sandwich? What was he
supposed to do, roll up the window?

They offered him a drink. He should have said no but he had one anyway. Just wine. And then a bacon cheese
burger fixed by Billy McHugh himself. He picked at it,
claiming a queasy stomach, and Molly Farrell reached
over and took a couple of big bites so Billy's feelings
wouldn't be hurt.

By the time coffee came, Doug Poole was almost
beginning to believe that the lunch really was just a
friendly invitation to break up a useless surveillance.
Colonel Zivic telling funny stories. Like how Molly Far
rell dressed up as a scooter hooker to get him out of
Rome, and how two Russians chased after them in a taxi,
never dreaming that Billy McHugh was driving. Molly
laughing. Such a nice smile. And she's one of these
women who reach out to touch you when they talk. Her
touch is warm and soft. Just like anybody's.

But then came the questions. Colonel Zivic sort of
glided sideways into them, first telling a John Waldo
story that led to an apology for John's roughness the
other day. Then to the talk they had had when he
regained consciousness.

“Doug,” Zivic dropped his voice, ”
you
assured us
that Palmer Reid's interest is purely a curiosity about a
possible relationship between Paul Bannerman and Raymond Lesko. Is that correct?”

Here it comes, Doug thought. “That's what I'm told.
It's really all I know.”

“You also said you don't believe any such relation
ship exists.”

“My boss, Mr. Loftus, doesn't believe it.” Doug
wished he had another glass of wine. “But he says al
most anything Paul Bannerman does makes Mr. Reid
crazy. Mr. Loftus is trying to keep him from overreact
ing. That's why he sent me here. Just to keep Mr. Reid happy.”

“The tap on Susan Lesko's phone, Doug. This is for
the same reason?”

Poole's jaw tightened. He sipped his coffee. “Please
don't insult me, Colonel Zivic,” he said into his cup.

“It is simply Anton now, Doug. And I do not under
stand the insult.”

He lifted his eyes. “Sir, I'm not in your league, but
I'm not a jerk, either. Don't think you can buy me a
sandwich and spring any question you like on me just
because I admire you.”

“No insult was intended,” Anton said earnestly. “If
Mr. Reid is as curious as you say, the first thing he would
do is tap Mr. Lesko's phone. This should surprise no one. If Susan Lesko is believed to be a link in this connection,
her phone would be tapped as well. This is not common
procedure?”

“I guess.” He relaxed a notch.

“And are you satisfied, Doug, that there is nothing
sinister happening on our end? That we wish only to be
left in peace?”

“It seems a waste of talent. But I guess, yes.”

“And that it would be tragic, therefore, if a false premise led to aggressive measures and then to retalia
tion?”

“Yes.” Poole was beginning to perspire.

“And of all Palmer Reid's people, you realize that
you are the most accessible to retaliation?”