Sue Grafton: V is for Vengeance

“No need,” I said. “That’s what medical insurance is for.”

“It’s also payment for a job he wants done if you’re agreeable.”

“A job?”

“Short-term. Nothing egregious. Let’s call it a task.”

“And what might that be?”

“Check the envelope again. You missed something.”

When I opened the envelope the second time, I found a tape cassette wrapped in plain white paper.

“He thinks that should have an airing.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know. He says you’ll get the idea. He’s trusting you to do anything you like with the information as long as it’s made public.”

“Have you heard it?”

“Nope, but if I know him, it’s worth whatever he’s paying you.”

At that, she got up and headed for the door.

“What if I decide against doing it?”

“The money’s yours anyway.”

I said, “Why?”

She smiled. “He says you play straight and he thinks you’re a woman of your word.”

When I heard the outer door close behind her, I opened the middle drawer of my desk and took out my tape player. I hadn’t used it for so long, I had to replace the batteries before I could get it to work. Once I was set, I popped the tape into place and pressed play.

The sound quality was excellent. I heard Dante say,

“Sergeant Detective Priddy, it’s nice to see you again. It’s been a while.”

“You seem to be holding your own.”

“I was until recently.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, ‘Oh.’ Let’s cut to the chase here. My brother’s been seen in conversation with you. I’ve heard it from more than one source and it doesn’t sit well.”

The conversation took six minutes and ended with Len saying,

“Is that what this meeting’s about? Unsolicited advice from a fucking gangster?”

“I don’t think of myself as a gangster. The term offends me. I’ve never been convicted of a crime.”

“You will be.”

“You’re entitled to feel smug because you win either way. I’m out, he’s in, it’s all the same to you. You think you’ve got your hands full with me, wait until Cappi’s in the driver’s seat. He’ll turn this town on its ear.”

“So why don’t you do us all a favor and get rid of him?”

“Why don’t you? I’ve got enough problems as it is without adding murder to the list.”

“You only have one problem, buddy. We are taking you down.”

“Oh, please. How long has this investigation been going on? Two years, three? You’re playing patty-cake with the FBI and who else? DEA? ATF? All government grunts, a bunch of jack-offs. I already told you I’m out of here. Cappi’s the one you should worry about. Take him out and the business is all yours.”

“Meeting’s over. Good-bye and good luck.”

“Think about it. That’s all I’m saying. Retire from the PD and live in style for a change. You could do a lot worse.”

“I’ll take it under advisement. What’s the time frame for this departure of yours?”

“That’s no concern of yours. I’m telling you this much because I want to be fair since you’ve been such a help to me.”

And that’s where the tape ended.

I sat and pondered the possibilities, rubbing my nose thoughtfully. Cheney would be ecstatic and so would the district attorney. The problem was I couldn’t count on either one to push the revelations to maximum effect. They were more likely to delay exposure of the tape until they were ready to take action. In legal circles, this can take years. There had to be somebody out there who was fearless and aggressive, someone who could manipulate the facts and drive the message home while managing to sidestep the repercussions.

I left my desk, pulled the carpet back, and put the packet of cash in my office safe without counting it. I returned to my swivel chair, lifted the handset, and called Diana Alvarez.

When she picked up, I said, “Hey, Diana. Kinsey Millhone.”

There was a momentary pause. She must have been assessing my tone, which I confess was friendlier than it had been in times past. Cautiously, she said, “What can I do for you?”

“It’s the other way around. Buy me a decent glass of Chardonnay and I’ll do something for you.”

Respectfully submitted,

Kinsey Milhone