Thirty-Eight

Mooney had finished his coffee by the time I got back to the table. “This stuff makes me jumpy,” he said. “Or maybe you make me jumpy. Why do I have the feeling you’re holding something back?”

“Because I am,” I said flatly. “But before we talk about it, I want to know what’s gonna happen.” I nodded in the direction of the elevators in case he didn’t catch my drift.

“To Dee Willis? Nothing. Nobody’s gonna bring up that old suicide. Christ, the guys at Jamaica Plain are bitching about me having the nerve to even ask for the file on that one. Say they can’t find it; it’s in some warehouse. I can fill out a form and maybe they can get it to me in six to ten weeks, if anybody ever bothered with the paperwork.”

“Cooperative,” I said. “I thought suicide was still a crime in this state.”

“They are cooperative,” Mooney said defensively. “They’re also overworked. Look, nobody’s ever gonna know if the girl was dead or alive when Dee left. Nobody’s ever gonna know if your friend could have been saved. I mean, let’s say she might have been barely alive. Maybe if Dee had called the cops, the paramedics, somebody, this Lorraine might have stayed in a coma for the rest of her life, another Karen Quinlan. What I mean is, maybe Dee did her a favor by walking out. You were the dead girl’s friend, right? Does it make a difference to you? Do you think I should rake it all up again? You think this Lorraine’s parents want to hear that maybe their daughter didn’t just kill herself, maybe she tried to take Dee Willis along for the ride?”

“That’s Dee’s story,” I said.

“The corpse ain’t talking,” Mooney replied. “You think the parents really want to know their little girl slept with other little girls? How come you didn’t know that? Being her friend and all?”

“Tell me about it, Mooney,” I said angrily. “You know all the gay guys in the squad room? You can pick ’em out? All I know is she never came on to me. Neither did Dee. I must not be her type.”

Mooney said, “I don’t plan to call a news conference and neither do you. Let it lie. Let the people who can sleep nights sleep.”

“And Ray?”

“We’ve got a warrant, and we’ll keep looking till we find him. Sooner or later, unless he’s smarter than the average killer, he’s gonna show up at his sister’s house, go see an old girlfriend or some cousin in New Bedford, and we’ll nail him.”

“You don’t think Dee’s in any danger?”

“From him? I think he wants money, pure and simple. If he’s real dumb, he’ll get in touch with Lockwood, and from what I understand the lawyer will roll him over.”

“He killed somebody. He might figure he’s got nothing to lose.”

“There hasn’t been any public outcry about Brenda’s death. One more musician suicide doesn’t rate newsprint, unless the victim’s a star. Still, if you want to beef up security around the concert, we can do that, a little.”

“And I can ask her road manager to add some bodyguards,” I said slowly. “On second thought, maybe arrange something myself.” I wondered if Gloria’s big brothers might like a chance to earn some of MGA/America’s money.

“Now,” Mooney said, “you want to tell me the rest? Like what Roz is dressed up to be?”

“You saw her?”

“I’m not blind, Carlotta.”

“I thought you were fully occupied watching Dee swing her butt.”

“My, my, that lady does attract vipers to her camp,” Mooney said, shaking his head at me.

“Maybe it takes one to attract them,” I said. “You want to hear about the others?”

“Like who?”

“Like who stole my handbag.”

“Ray, right?”

“Uh-uh. Ray has been a very careful guy. He’s been working as an orderly, listening to Davey for months; he’s been cool. And I know he didn’t trash my house.”

“So who did?”

“That’s where Roz comes in. She’s researching the situation.”

“In that getup?”

“Of course, you could do it better, but then you’d say I was using the department’s resources to do my own work.”

“Does it have anything to do with Mickey Manganero?”

“It does.”

“Drug enforcement drools when they hear his name,” Mooney said. “And the Boston Police are, of course, interested in helping out DEA.”

“Want to go to a concert with me?” I asked. “It’s a hard ticket to come by, but I’ve got a friend.”

“Two tickets? Just you and me? Like a date?”

“Three tickets,” I said, “and a chance to earn major points with a cooperating law enforcement agency. You get to invite a colleague from DEA.”

“Sounds okay,” Mooney said cautiously.

“Pick somebody who likes music,” I said, and then I told him what I knew about Hal Grady—that he gambled, that he’d recommended a local loan shark to Dee Willis, that Dee had mentioned Hal’s particular fondness for Atlantic City, Manganero’s old stomping ground. I asked him if he had ways to find out whether Hal Grady was handling more cash than he ought to be.

“You think Manganero’s using Grady to launder money?”

“Offhand I can think of half a dozen ways to do it, and I’m not even a crook. Say Hal’s touring a real dog band, low ticket sales. Well, he gives away big blocks of tickets—to hospitals, charity groups, fills the house. I think they call it ‘papering’ the house. The auditorium’s full, but there’s not much money in the till. Grady gets the extra cash from Manganero.”

“Another way?” Mooney asked.

“On a tour like this one, a guaranteed sellout, Hal can cook the books. Top tickets for this show are a little under thirty bucks. When Hal writes it up, he adds ten bucks a ticket. The extra comes from Manganero. Or Grady can lie about the size of the house. You think somebody goes through the books and wonders whether some stadium really holds forty-two thousand seven hundred and sixty-two seats? Or he could jiggle the number of premium seats. You know, a place like the Performance Center, they must have different prices for orchestra seats and balcony seats. Hal doubles the number of expensive seats, halves the number of cheapies.”

“That’s only four ways,” Mooney said, deadpan.

“Use your imagination,” I said.

“If Hal’s reporting a bigger take than he should for a sellout, you’d think somebody at MGA would notice,” Mooney said.

“So the Gianellis have got somebody at MGA, or maybe somebody at the bank. Maybe both. You find that hard to believe?”

“No.”

“They’ve probably got the police commissioner.”

“Can you back that up?”

“No, Mooney, I can’t. I’m just getting a little carried away here. All I want to say is there are a lot of ways that Manganero can use a guy like Hal Grady.”

“You think somebody from MGA is involved?”

“If Hal’s been doing a lot of work for MGA, I’d say that’s a definite possibility.”

“Think Dee knows about it?”

I shrugged my shoulders and sipped coffee, not really tasting it. “At long last, I think I can say I’ve learned something about Dee,” I ventured after a long pause. “There’s probably nothing she wouldn’t do to get ahead.”

“Try this one. Do you believe the story she told me?”

“About Lorraine?”

“Yeah.”

“Like you said, after all these years, does it make a difference? Is it gonna make Lorraine any less dead?”

Mooney said, “Did this Lorraine maybe write the songs?”

“Shit, Mooney,” I said, “no. You’ve got a mind like a cop, a damned devious mind. No!”

“Why so fierce?” Mooney’s voice was soft.

“No,” I repeated. “Absolutely no.”