Sandra Brown - Ricochet

“Do they know that house exists? Savich? Your husband?”

“I don’t know. I don’t believe so.”

He doubted it, too. Had Napoli known where she was that night, he wouldn’t have had to ambush her in her car. He had tracked her only as far as her automobile. “Your brother was convicted of dealing,” he said, prompting her again.

“Well, not exactly. That was the charge, but the case never went to trial. Savich advised him to plead guilty at his arraignment. His court-appointed lawyer disagreed, but Savich held sway. He said if my brother showed remorse, he would get a light sentence and possibly even probation without incarceration. So he pleaded guilty.”

“And?”

She took a deep breath. “And he got sentenced to fifteen years at Jackson.”

“Shit.” The state prison in Jackson was a maximum security prison and housed death row. Only the most hardened criminals were sent there. “His priors must have been-”

“This was his first felony, Duncan.”

“Then why such a stiff sentence?”

She looked at him levelly. “Because occasionally one of Savich’s dealers has to be sacrificed. Otherwise, Judge Cato Laird’s leniency would arouse suspicion.”

“Cato Laird’s leniency?” Duncan ’s eyes narrowed. “Wait, are you saying-”

“Savich and Cato are partners. They’ve been working together for years.”

It hit him like a thunderbolt. “Laird goes light on Savich’s mules.”

“And gets well paid for it.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“Savich has dozens of dealers. They can’t escape arrest one hundred percent of the time. So when one of them gets arrested and winds up in Cato’s court, he usually finagles a way to have the charges dropped. Or he favors the defense attorney during the trial. If he can’t maneuver an acquittal, he gives the dealer a light sentence, sometimes probation. Soon, the dealer is back on the streets, making Savich money. Savich pays off Cato, and considers it a cost of doing business. Everybody’s happy.”

“Son of a bitch,” he repeated, loud enough to draw frowns from two older ladies walking their dogs along the pier. “It’s been there right in front of us all this time and we missed it!”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself or the narcotics officers,” Elise said. “There’s never any direct contact between them. Cato never mentions Savich. Never. He did to me only once, and that was when he explained to me your outburst over Savich’s mistrial.”

“Which makes a hell of a lot of sense now. They were going through the motions, knowing the goddamn outcome the whole time.”

“Probably,” she agreed. “Make no mistake, it’s a very slick operation. No one would suspect the setup because Cato is smart enough to sacrifice a scapegoat now and then.”

“Like your half brother.”

“Who realized he’d been sacrificed and decided to expose their game. But before he could, he was killed. It was only his second day in prison. He died in the shower-”

“With a bar of soap stuck in his throat. Your half brother was Chet Rollins.”

She looked at him with surprise. “You knew him?”

“Oh yeah,” he said tightly. “I never met him, but I know who he was.”

“We had different fathers, different last names,” she explained. “But in every other regard, he was my brother. Savich and Cato killed him.”

Quietly he said, “And yet you’re friends with Savich and you’re married to Cato.”

“Not because I want to be!” she exclaimed. “They don’t know of my connection to Chet.”

He searched her eyes, her expression, but could find no deceit there. “Okay. Tell me the rest of it.”

She took a moment to collect her thoughts. “Before being whisked off to prison, Chet wrote a letter and gave it to his attorney to mail to our mother.”

“Your mother? Not you?”

“That was for my protection. He knew I would be the one who actually read the letter. But if anyone came looking to see whom he had contacted, they would find a terminally ill old woman who posed no threat.”

“It was a tell-all letter.”

“Yes. He explained how Cato and Savich were in cahoots and how they had set him up, and others before him. He asked for my help to expose them, but stressed absolute secrecy. He had talked to some people, hinted-”

“What people?”

“The Savannah PD narcotics officers who’d busted him. But he hadn’t struck his deal yet. He hadn’t been guaranteed any protection. He was scared because he knew of others who had tried to turn snitch and died for it.”

“How well I know.”

Pensively she stared at a sailboat as it glided past. “I was ready to drop everything and rush to Chet’s rescue, talk to the police myself. But before I could even leave for Jackson, Mom was notified of his death. She was practically comatose by then. I doubt she ever understood that he was gone.

“Chet was buried without ceremony by the state. I hated that, but I knew that if I made myself known and claimed his body, I’d have no chance to avenge his murder. And I was determined to get vengeance on the two men who were responsible.”

“Why didn’t you take Chet’s letter to the state attorney, the FBI, the officers he’d initially talked to?”

“They hadn’t responded immediately. Obviously they were mistrustful of a con who’d pleaded guilty, then after being sentenced claimed that he’d been set up. Would a letter to his sister have been believed? Would you have believed it?

“And who was I to trust? Cato and Savich were miles from the prison shower room that day. They had facilitators within the system, but I didn’t know who they were. If I raised a hue and cry but failed to bring them to justice, how long do you think I would have lived?”

He knew she was right on all points and told her so.

When she turned her head toward him he saw tears in her eyes. “Not that I was afraid of dying. I just didn’t want to die then. Chet had loved me and had depended on me to look after him from the day he was born. I swore that if it was the last thing I did, I would make Cato and Savich account for his death.”

She brushed the tears from her eyes, then shielded them by raising her hand against the sun. “It’s getting hot.”

“You need some different clothes.” He stood up and extended his hand down to help her up. “Let’s go shopping.”

He knew if he drove around awhile, he would find a Wal-Mart sooner or later. He drove slowly through the shaded, picturesque streets of Beaufort, in no particular hurry.

“This is a lovely town,” she said. “They make a lot of movies here.” She expanded on that for five minutes, practically without taking a breath.

When she finally wound down, Duncan said, “You’re pretty smart on the topic. How’d you learn all that stuff?”

She blushed at the compliment, but shrugged off her encyclopedic knowledge. “Movie trivia.”

She returned to her story by telling him about her mother’s death. “Her mind actually gave out before her body did. Anyway, as soon as I had settled all that, I quit my job, vacated my apartment, and moved to Savannah.

“I felt I would have a better chance of breaking into Savich’s underworld than I would into Cato’s social circle. Chet had mentioned in his letter that Savich hung out at a club called the White Tie and Tails. I got a job there.”

Duncan had the air conditioner on, but she lowered the passenger window and let the warm wind blow on her face. “I never danced onstage. I didn’t do lap dances. I never left with a customer. I served drinks. That’s all.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“But you wondered. Everyone does.” After a reflective pause, she said, “Some of the clientele, you’d be surprised, were very nice. Sweet. Almost…I don’t know, embarrassed or apologetic. Of course others were loud and drunken, obnoxious and vulgar. I hated them. But I stayed on and eventually came to Savich’s attention.” She looked across at Duncan. “Not in the way you’re thinking.”