Richard Patterson - The Lasko Tangent

“Including tonight, when you called him from the airport?”

“Yes, damn it. Now let me go.”

“Did you call anyone besides Woods tonight?”

She shook her head. If that was true, I had time-a little time, maybe, before Lasko’s boys showed up. I needed that. I let my hands drop. She straightened and smoothed her hair. She reached deep within and pulled out some poise. I had to admire that, even then. “OK,” she said in her own voice. “You want to know about McGuire. He didn’t know. Really. That’s why he didn’t believe Lasko killed Lehman. Of course, he didn’t want to.”

“What was all that crap about settlement?”

“They dangled a commission seat in front of him. I don’t think it was a trade-off. But they made it easy for him to think about all the good he could do if he just let this one go.”

It was always “just this once” in this place. Mary went on. “You’re very clever, Chris, much more than Woods thought. But you were so hung up on McGuire, you just knew it had to be him. Jack set him up to agree to that settlement. Then Jack played the good guy. You’ve heard of the ‘good guy-bad guy’ act, haven’t you?”

I couldn’t say anything. “You know,” she said, “Woods even tried to get McGuire to take you off the case. McGuire wouldn’t do it. Jack said he seemed to have some notion that you represented his better side.”

I stood there feeling stupid. “All right,” I finally said. “You know so much, tell me who started all this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Who tipped McGuire on the stock manipulation?”

She smiled slightly. “Ike Feiner.”

“Try again.”

“I’m serious. We couldn’t figure out why Feiner didn’t catch it. He did, at least one of his market watch people did. I checked it out. Feiner told the guy that he’d take it to McGuire. He didn’t. I suppose that makes him the tipster.”

“Why in hell did he do that?”

“My God, Chris. He wants to be chief enough to poison McGuire’s soup. I suppose he thought that the case would either blow up in McGuire’s face or that McGuire would get promoted. It was a gamble.”

I shook my head. “I’m going to have a tough time accepting that all this happened so that Ike Feiner could be a GS-16.”

“I’m sure that wasn’t the idea.”

“That’s the way it turned out.” For a moment, I was lost in the last two weeks.

Mary’s eyes softened. She spoke quickly, looking at me. “Chris, you think I was with you because of the case. Maybe I used that a little. But I didn’t have to come the other night. And I didn’t have to stay. I did that because I wanted to.”

Two days ago she had been at my place. It seemed longer. I shook my head. “I’ve had the privilege of hearing one of your little speeches about politics, remember? The President’s your man. It’s a little tough to buy that you were just helping Woods under pressure, or hanging around me out of girlish adoration. You were just another weapon. If they couldn’t kill me, they could catch me at the airport. And if that didn’t work, they could use you to pry the memo out of me and give it to Woods. Even after that, you were going to play along.”

She nodded her concession. “All right. But that doesn’t have anything to do with the other. If I kept you away from Lasko, or got this memo, you would be safe. I cared for you. You were good at things, gentle underneath-and so free. Money does make you free, you know.”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Chris, please let’s not lose this too.”

It was no good. “I’ve lost more, and long ago. My martinis will still taste good, and I’ll still like the first day of fall. And I mean to live for more of both.”

A touch of panic crossed her face. She grabbed my wrists. “Give me the memo, Chris, and I can protect you. There isn’t anywhere you can go with this. Not Woods, the White House, or anywhere else.”

She was right. I looked over at Woods. Still out. The only glint in his eyes came from the light on the ceiling. But time was running out. I had to do something to stay alive. I turned to Mary and pointed to the chair behind my desk. “Sit over there.”

She did that, looking faintly triumphant. “Can we talk this over now?”

I reached for my phone. “First you get to listen to the end of a brilliant career.”

Her tone mixed doubt and asperity. “What are you doing?”

“Just sit still.” My right hand throbbed as I dialed. It was my last shot.

A man and a woman answered together. I spoke to the man. “Mozart lived to be thirty-five, you idiot. I looked it up.”

Greenfeld sounded mildly astonished. “Chris? I thought something had happened to you.”

“No. Listen, I’m in a hurry. You still want the Lasko story?”

“Sure.”

Mary’s fingers gripped both sides of the chair. “I’ll meet you tonight,” I went on. “But let me run through it, quick, in case I get held up. That may help protect me. Got a pencil?”

“Yup. Go.”

“OK. Lasko’s company is cash poor. Lasko drove up his stock price to get extra money out of an offering. Your source is the testimony of Sam Green. Lasko took the one-point-five million and laundered it through a dummy corporation on St. Maarten, run by a Peter Martinson-”

“He was the guy with you yesterday, right?”

“Uh-huh. Martinson passed the money through a bank in Curacao and then Alec Lehman passed it through on July 28 to a vault at the Mariner Bank in Miami. I’ve got a memo from Lasko and bank records. The box was in the names of Lehman and Robert Catlow.”

“Jesus. Why? A payoff?”

“I figure they were going to make a ‘contribution’ to the President. The timing fits with your source’s story that the antitrust case almost settled. But our investigation held settlement up, so the money didn’t move from the second bank and I can’t prove it. Can you print this?”

I heard him exhale. “All except the bit about the President. It’s probably true, but the money never got there. You’ve got documentation or sources for everything else.”

“Good enough. Put me down as an additional source.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yup. Fame is the best way to keep me breathing. Listen, what do you see happening to Lasko and Catlow?”

“When we print this? The President will be forced to drop them, and Justice will have to prosecute on manipulation and embezzlement. And the antitrust case against Lasko will go to trial.”

I looked over at Woods. Still out. “There’s more. Two weeks ago Lehman’s lawyer called me to set up a meeting.” Mary leaned forward waiting to hear her name. “Jack Woods called Lasko to tip him off. Lasko had Lehman killed before he gave me the memo. A Boston cop, Lieutenant Di Pietro, is working on it now. This-and publicity-should light a fire under him. And that’s my way out.”

I could imagine Greenfeld scribbling furiously. “This is incredible,” he finally said. “Can you document the part about Woods?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s the one weak part.”

“I’ll work on that. Anyhow, I went out to Lehman’s place and found the memo from Lasko with the deposit box numbers on it. I hid it in my desk.” Mary tensed, as if holding her breath. I went on. “Woods found out about it and tried to jimmy my desk. He’s currently stretched out on my floor, where he fell after I hit him with an onyx bookend.”

“Goddamn, Chris.” He paused, mind racing. “What about McGuire?”

The courtship of McGuire was a link to the White House. But McGuire would never be a commissioner now.

“Chris, you still there?”

“McGuire’s not involved.”

“Certain?”

“Yeah, I’m certain. Listen, can you get this in the morning paper?”