William Bernhardt - Hate Crime

“Why? Where are we going?”

Mike was already halfway across the terminal and accelerating with each step. “To correct a tragic error. Before it’s too late.”

The place wasn’t open yet, but that didn’t stop Mike. She was there, and that was all he cared about.

“Shelly!”

The petite barmaid was dusting the back shelves, around and between the bottles of exotic liqueurs. She jumped when she heard his voice. “Wh-what?”

With one hand on the countertop, Mike vaulted over the bar and landed just before her. “Show me your arm.”

Deep lines creased her face. “What? But it hasn’t healed.”

He reached forward and jerked her arm out of the sling.

“Ow!” Shelly cried.

On the other side of the bar, Baxter was gaping in amazement. “Mike, what the hell do you think-”

He wasn’t listening. He grabbed the bandage on her wrist by one end.

“Ahhh!” Shelly cried out. “Please stop!”

Mike ripped off the bandage with one jerk.

And revealed… nothing. No wound, no scar.

Shelly fell silent. Her eyes scoured the bar, finally returning to the man standing just before her. “Look, I can ex-”

“Can it,” Mike barked, pushing her toward a bar stool. “No more of your bull. You’re going to sit down now and tell me what really happened. All of it.”

“But I don’t-”

“Quit the crap!” he bellowed. “You’re already in so deep you may be irredeemable. Perjury on top of everything else. Your only hope whatsoever at this point is to tell me the truth. And that’s exactly what you’re going to do.”

On a day like today no one should have to be inside, Mike groused as he rode the elevator to the fifth floor. This was a day for outdoor activity, rappelling and canoeing and playing touch football with the neighborhood children. And he wished that was what he was doing. Actually, he wished he was doing anything other than what he was doing.

FBI headquarters, of course, was open 24/7, and he’d kept his ID card, happily, and by luck he managed to catch her still in her office.

“Mike!” Special Agent Swift said, when she saw him coming her way. She was wearing another one of those turtleneck sweaters, and God but she looked good in it. “You decided to take me up on my offer.” She put a mildly lascivious look on her face. “Which offer?”

“I’d like to talk to you for a moment.”

“Sounds good to me, sugah.”

“I don’t mean the usual foreplay byplay. I mean really talk.”

She frowned. “You’re awfully serious today, tiger. What’s up?”

He took a deep breath. “Shelly spilled. I mean everything. The truth.” He gazed with a deep and penetrating expression into her eyes. “I know.”

Her head craned back. “Know what?”

Mike stared at her, and as he did, that damned Billy Joel song, “The Stranger,” started rattling through his head again. “Swift,” he said quietly, “I know.”

She seemed confused, trying to calculate what next to say, what next to do.

“I’d appreciate it if you’d play straight with me and not try anything stupid. I haven’t called for backup. Yet. And I’ve asked Baxter to remain outside.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any point in trying to convince you that Shelly is lying.”

Mike slowly shook his head.

“Stupid woman. It was a mistake to ever involve her.” She fidgeted with her hands, her long red nails clicking together. “What tipped you off?”

“Tony Barovick,” Mike replied succinctly. “I’ve read his journal. I’ve talked to his friends. Maybe it’s just ego, but I came to feel as if… as if I knew the man. Even though I didn’t. Felt like I knew what kind of person he was. He had flaws and problems and insecurities, just like the rest of us. But I think he was basically a good person. A decent person. That’s why I had a hard time believing he was involved in some two-bit drug-running operation. And I had a particularly hard time believing he had any part in the abduction of a little boy, even when all the evidence pointed in that direction. I just couldn’t believe he would ever want or need money that much.”

“People aren’t rational,” Swift said. “Not all the time. They do strange and unpredictable things. You can never really know another person.”

“Yeah,” Mike continued. “I knew that fifty grand we found on Manny had to be the proceeds from the kidnapping, but the serial numbers didn’t match. In other words, the loot had been laundered. But how? Manny didn’t have any means or connections for laundering money. Charlie the Chicken certainly didn’t. That would require someone with a legitimate business. Mario Roma.”

“He has always maintained that he severed his mob ties.”

“Not that that means much. But he didn’t need mob ties. He had his own club. Money laundering would be a cinch, especially with Shelly helping. She hadn’t been involved in the kidnapping, but she was more than happy to help out with the laundering once Mario promised her a small cut. All they had to do was replace the money that came into the cash register with money from the ransom, a little at a time. Not enough to create suspicion, or a trail. It would be a slow process. But it would work.”

“Assuming no one found out.”

“Yes, but someone did, didn’t they? Tony Barovick, the poor chump. He says in his journal that he had responsibility for the cash register. He counted the daily receipts. He let Shelly do a lot of the accounting work because she was better at it, but he was ultimately responsible. And I also know from reading his journal that he took his responsibilities very seriously. He must’ve caught Shelly or Mario making the switch, or somehow figured out what they were doing. That’s why he had to die.”

“Shelly told you they used her to lure Tony out.”

“Which was all a big con to bail herself out of trouble. She didn’t have to be forced to do anything. She put on that fake sling and told people she’d tried to kill herself after Tony was killed to divert suspicion and give herself a story to tell in case anyone questioned her hard about her fatal phone call. After Mario realized Tony was onto the money-laundering scheme, I’m thinking he went ballistic. A hothead like him-I can see it happening. He thinks his little scheme is crumbling all around him. He panics. And he decides Tony has to die.”

“Mario could never keep his head together under fire,” Swift commented.

“So,” Mike continued, “he needed to get Tony alone, fast, before he said anything to anyone, so Shelly lured him out. She knew he’d come. He loved her. He thought he knew her.” He shoved his fists angrily into his pockets. “But you never really know anyone, do you, Swift? She betrayed him. Just like you did me.”

“What?”

“Don’t waste your breath,” Mike grunted. “I was such an idiot. Tony Barovick, a kidnapper. In retrospect, it’s so stupid.” He swung his fist in the air, pummeling an imaginary punching bag. “Tony Barovick wasn’t the fourth kidnapper. You were.”

She took a step closer to the doorway. “That’s a pretty serious accusation, sport.”

“It’s all too obvious. For months now I’ve been beating myself up over that botched rescue mission. I couldn’t figure out what went wrong. How did the kidnappers know when the snipers had been pulled in tight, making it safe for them to flee through that underground passageway? How did they know you and I were coming up the rear fire escape? Easy. They had a man on the inside. You.”

“Mike, I’ve been working with you to solve that case.”

“No, you’ve been clinging to my side like a barnacle to make sure I didn’t get too close to the truth. And I suppose if you ever thought I was too close, you would’ve taken care of me-just like you did the others.”