Peter Spiegelman - Black Maps

“Provided it doesn’t compromise our client,” Mike interrupted. DiPaolo looked annoyed, but she nodded agreement.

“Yeah, heaven forbid. So, March, the stage is yours. Hit it.” I swallowed some coffee and began.

“We told you our theory on Monday-that somebody was running a blackmail business, using Nassouli’s personal files, targeting his former business associates. Well, we were right. It was Trautmann and Mills, in it together, until last night.

“They must’ve grabbed Nassouli’s files very early on, in the first days or weeks that Parsons was on the job, and before the Brill team came in with their document control system. That would’ve been just after Nassouli had dropped out of sight. I gather from what Trautmann said that Mills walked in on him while Trautmann was going after the files.

“Based on what I know of Trautmann, I’m surprised Mills didn’t disappear then and there. But somehow he survived that encounter, and he and Trautmann partnered up. I don’t know how he did it. Could be Mills had been going after the files, same as Trautmann was. Could be he’d already looked them over and figured out their value, to someone with the right background. Maybe he understood that he had some of the expertise, but not all of it. And when he stumbled on Trautmann maybe he saw someone who could fill in the gaps. Maybe he was able to sell Trautmann on all that before the psycho could whack him. Who knows? But one way or another, each of them saw in the other something that he needed.

“I’m not sure how they divided the labor, but I can guess. Mills was a forensic accountant. And he knew his way around finance and banking and funds transfer. I expect he would’ve analyzed the files and picked out the promising targets. Trautmann could’ve helped with that, since he’d actually known these people. Mills probably worked out the delivery instructions for the blackmail payments, so as not to trigger any suspicious activity reports. I’d guess he also took care of moving the money around, once they’d got hold of it.

“Wherever they kept their funds, I doubt it was under their own names. And from what I overheard, they had more than just offshore bank accounts. It sounded like they’d bought property, too. In which case, they’d have needed documentation-fake passports certainly, maybe bogus corporate documents too. I figure Trautmann would’ve handled that. He also took care of communicating with their victims.” DiPaolo listened quietly, still except for one foot, which turned slow circles at the end of her crossed leg. Pell fidgeted.

“The earliest score I know about was two years ago. They were in the middle of their latest one when all this happened. The cases I know of- and I don’t know them all-involved people who’d dealt with Nassouli a long time ago-ten years or more. Maybe that was by design. Sticking to people on the far side of the statute of limitations would’ve lessened the odds of running up against you guys. Or maybe they weren’t that smart. I don’t know.

“They’d had a couple of failures, but from what Trautmann said, they’d had enough successes to make it worthwhile. Between them, they’d moved the money where they wanted it, and figured out how to spend it without attracting attention. Everything was copacetic, until I came along.” I paused and drank some more coffee.

“When I showed up at MWB with Tom, it primed the pump. Mills got jumpy. When Trautmann told him I’d paid him a visit too, Mills must’ve flipped. He must’ve recognized me right away from Trautmann’s description, and gone into a panic. I’m not sure he ever came out of it. It was Mills who dimed me out to Pell. He thought it up all by himself, and it was just the kind of too-cute stunt that would occur to a smart amateur like him. I figure if he’d talked to Trautmann about it first, Bernie would’ve buried him on the spot. But you’ve got to give Mills some credit; his idea almost worked. It got you to haul us downtown and warn us off. We just put up more of a fight than he counted on.” DiPaolo was expressionless, but in the corner of my eye I saw Mike shaking his head slowly. I didn’t dwell.

“When Trautmann found out what Mills had done, he knew the clock was ticking. So things accelerated. They put the squeeze to their latest victim, to wrap him up this week, and they were packing up their shop. From what I heard, it sounded like they’d culled through the files to find the most promising prospects-I guess so they could start up again someplace else. The keepers were in the boxes. If I understood Trautmann right, he’d burned the rest.” DiPaolo laughed, short and cold.

“And we know how the boxes ended up, don’t we?” She looked at me. I looked back, blankly, and went on.

“I figure they were going to split after this last job. It could be that Trautmann was always planning to off Mills. He didn’t strike me as the partnership type, and he was definitely seeing Mills as a liability. Or maybe it was yesterday’s events-Mills’s panic and his leading me to Trautmann-that decided him. Either way, Mills was going to disappear, and so was I, once Trautmann had found out what he wanted to know.” I downed the last of my coffee. “I got lucky. Mills didn’t.”

Everyone was quiet. Neary got up and poured some coffee. Mike looked out the window. DiPaolo stretched her neck, like she was working out the kinks.

“That was nice, March. But it’s full of ‘could be,’ and ‘maybe,’ and ‘I guess,’ and ‘I figure.’ You got anything firm to back this up?” she asked.

“I’ve got a bag lady who identified Trautmann as the guy who paid her to send a fax to one of the victims. But you should probably know, she talks to Jesus-and according to her, he talks back.” Neary suppressed a snicker. DiPaolo shook her head.

“That’s it? That’s what you’ve got for me? A fucking fairy story, backed up by a schizo? That’s great,” she said. I shrugged.

“It’s what I have. It fits what happened, what I saw and what I heard. I can’t prove most of it-not the way you want it-and, yeah, there are parts I’m guessing at. But the big pieces fit.” Pell snorted derisively and looked pleased. I thought he was going to say something, but he didn’t.

DiPaolo played with a ringlet of her strange blond hair. “Tell me about the fire, and those boxes. I read the reports, but I want to hear you tell it,” she said. I told her, just the way I’d told it to the cops last night. When I was done she looked at me without expression for a long time.

“The Queens arson guys are thinking maybe there was an accelerant used in the kitchen,” she said.

I nodded. “There was. Like I said, there was most of a gallon of vodka that got shot. That stuff burns.” She looked at me some more.

“Too bad for us. But pretty fucking lucky for your client, don’t you think?” she said. I didn’t respond. “What about other victims? Got any names for me?” I looked over at Mike, who was still looking out the window. I was about to speak when he broke the silence.

“I think that comes right up to the line of attorney work-product, Ms. DiPaolo,” Mike said, and he said it so it sounded true. DiPaolo gave him a long look. I thought she was going to press the point, but I was wrong.

“You think either of those two had anything to do with Nassouli’s death?” she asked me. The question took me by surprise. DiPaolo continued. “Agent Pell has advanced the theory that Trautmann did Nassouli. A falling-out among thieves. Trautmann finds out Nassouli is about to skip, gets a little miffed at being left high and dry, and airs him out. Then, along the lines of your story, he makes for the files, trying to get something out of the deal. What do you think about that?” I was quiet for a while.