S Rozan - Absent Friends

Laura Stone turned her head, as though looking around Phil's office, taking in the books, the pictures, and the mess. What was she, Elizabeth's age? No, a little older. The age he'd been when Markie Keegan was assigned to him. The fingertips of her left hand lifted to her temple, pressed. Headache? Or maybe he was supposed to think she had one, so he'd be gentle with her.

He waited to see.

Laura Stone brought her eyes back to him. “It didn't turn out so well for Mark Keegan, that deal.”

“You think that's the fault of the deal?”

She wrote and moved on. Plainly, what she thought wasn't a topic of this meeting. “What's your relationship with Mark Keegan's widow?”

“Private.”

“You and Sally Keegan have been intimate since you met, isn't that true?”

No, it's not true. Markie'd been in jail five months and dead sixteen before the foggy cold night on the Staten Island ferry when I first kissed Sally. “No comment.”

“What's your relationship with Edward Spano?”

Ah, Eddie. I knew we'd get to Eddie. “No comment.”

“Is it true you were taking money from Spano all these years and passing it on to Mark Keegan's family?”

Not directly. Not that I knew about. “No comment.”

“But you don't deny the money didn't come from New York State?”

“That's public record.”

“Where did it come from?”

Wish to hell I knew. “No comment.”

“You're acquainted with Marian Gallagher? Of More Art, New York? And the McCaffery Fund?”

“Yes.”

“Ms. Gallagher suggested that you, as the attorney handling the payments, would have to know the source of the funds.”

“Did she?”

“Would you care to comment on that?”

“No.”

“Is she wrong?”

“Usually.”

Laura Stone let go a sudden smile. “You don't like her?”

Shrug. “You met her.”

She reined the smile in, as though it had escaped by mistake, all business again. So, he thought, now we share a secret. Now we're buds. Good move, and well done. Probably usually works.

She said, “But you received the money from somewhere.”

“True.”

“Close to $350,000 over the years, that's a lot of money. Harry Randall thought it came from Edward Spano through McCaffery. Do you want to deny that?”

I'd love to. “No comment.”

“What was its purpose?”

“The money? To support Keegan's wife and child.”

“Who would want to do that?”

Anyone who knew them. “No comment.”

“Would Edward Spano have any reason to do it?”

“Not that I know about.”

“If Spano had paid Mark Keegan to kill Jack Molloy, would he have had a reason to support Keegan's family once Keegan died?”

If he had, you bet he would. “No comment.”

“Why did Jack Molloy threaten Mark Keegan?”

“He didn't just threaten Mark Keegan, Ms. Stone, he shot at him.”

“Why did Jack Molloy shoot at Mark Keegan?”

No change of tone. Phil had to grin. He'd have done it just that way himself. “He was drunk and from what I hear, he was crazy.”

“He'd been like that all his life, and he'd never shot at Keegan before.”

“How do you know?”

“Had he?”

Hope in her eyes, something new to uncover? Too bad. “No. Not according to Markie, no.”

“Then why?”

Not a secret. If he didn't say, she'd get it somewhere else, then come back at him again, confirm or deny. “Jack was a gangster. Markie had heard that Jack was the subject of a police operation and was about to get the ax. He told Jack about it.”

“That upset Molloy? I'd think he'd be grateful.”

“Jack checked it out. It wasn't true.”

“Checked it out how?”

“He called the Answer Man. How the hell do you think?”

Her eyebrows rose at his sharp tone. She shifted in her chair. If she hadn't been wearing slacks, he'd bet she'd have tugged her hem down.

“If it wasn't true the police were running an operation against Jack Molloy, why would Mark Keegan say they were?”

“That's what Jack wanted to know.”

“Did Keegan think it was true? That the police were cracking down on Jack Molloy?”

“He told me he did.”

“Where did he hear it?”

“He never said.”

“You were his lawyer, and he never told you?”

“Never.”

She gave him a conspiratorial look that said, Come on, we both know you're better than that, you can get all kinds of things out of people.

Hmm, Phil thought. That's a good one. I'll have to try it.

He didn't answer her, so after a moment she went on. “Maybe Keegan was working both sides.”

He'd been waiting for that. “Neither side.”

“What does that mean?”

“Markie hung around the fringes, but he wasn't in Jack Molloy's crew, and he wasn't on the NYPD payroll, either.”

“So he said?”

“So everyone said.”

“True?”

“As far as I know.”

“But it's what Molloy thought, wasn't it? That it was Keegan himself who was ratting him out to the police?”

“Might have been.”

“If it were true, it could be the reason for the plea deal. To keep Keegan from revealing his source.”

“Could be. As I said, I didn't think so. But I never knew.”

“They dropped the manslaughter charges.”

“It was a good deal.”

“It could be construed as the NYPD showing gratitude for services rendered.”

“It could. Or as overworked ADAs with no witnesses, a defendant with an infant son and no priors, and a victim no one would miss.” If there was any such thing. Jack Molloy had a brother, a father, and mother. Phil had seen her over the years, Peggy Molloy. One of the few people in Pleasant Hills with a smile for him, one of the people he'd least expect it from.

“Even if the story wasn't true,” Stone said, “couldn't it have been planted by the police?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, though he knew exactly what she meant.

“Maybe they couldn't make anything stick to Molloy, so they were trying to scare him, make him think they were out to get him. So he'd back off. Maybe even leave town, get to be someone else's problem.”

Well, whatever she was, she wasn't stupid. “Markie wouldn't say where he heard it. But I looked into it at the time. I couldn't find anything either way.”

“Or,” Laura Stone mused, “maybe it was something else entirely. Maybe somebody else wanted to scare Jack Molloy. Could the story have been planted on Keegan by Eddie Spano, do you suppose?”

“I asked Markie that flat out. He told me if I thought he was working for Spano, I could go to hell.”

“Any thoughts on it now?”

Now? Now, when they're pulling thousands of bodies in small pieces from smoking rubble around the corner? Now, when ash could mean anthrax, and loud sounds made you jump? Now, when Sally's not speaking to me and Kevin tells me Fuck off, Uncle Phil? Shit, lady. Now you could ask me if Eddie Spano was the Messiah, and I'd have to say it was possible. “I haven't thought about it.”

“What would you say if I told you Harry Randall didn't kill himself?”

“I'd say your paper already made it clear they don't think it was suicide.”

“There's evidence that points that way.”

“Not strong evidence.”

“Why do you say that?”

“If the police bought your theory, they'd be camping in my office.”

“Maybe they just haven't gotten around to you yet.”

“Around to me? I'd be the first.”

“You consider yourself a suspect in Harry Randall's murder?”

“I consider myself a successful criminal defense attorney. To some cops that makes me guilty of a lot worse things than murder.”

“Did you kill Harry Randall?”