Phillip Margolin - Ties That Bind

"How was Hayes involved?"

"Don't be impatient," Billie said as she took another mouthful of pie. "The year I made detective, the DEA arrested Sammy Cortez, a Mexican national who worked for Pedro Aragon. The feds had Cortez cold for a major drug conspiracy rap that carried a life sentence without parole. Cortez was talking a blue streak in hopes of cutting a deal, and one of the things he claimed he could clear up was the murder of a banker in Portland a few years before."

"Israel?"

Billie nodded. "He said that there was a conspiracy of well-connected, wealthy men who had ordered Israel's death and wanted it to look like a suicide. Cortez said that these men and Aragon went way back."

"Did he say that Hayes was involved?"

"He never mentioned any names, wouldn't say anything else without a deal, except for one thing. He said these men had been together so long that they even had a nickname for the group--The Vaughn Street Glee Club."

Kate looked skeptical. "What did Aragon ever have to do with a glee club?"

"Beats me, and Cortez couldn't explain the name either. He said it was an inside joke. Anyway, DEA thought Cortez was full of shit about the glee club thing but they notified us anyway. I went over to the federal lockup to talk to him because I knew about the Israel case. When I got there I learned that a lawyer had just spent half an hour with Cortez. When they brought Cortez into the visiting room he looked scared to death and he wouldn't say another word about anything. Want to guess who the lawyer was?"

"Wendell Hayes?"

Brewster nodded. "Now, I knew a little about Cortez from another case. He was a genuine tough guy, but he was also a strong family man. On a hunch I checked on his wife and their eight-year-old daughter. The daughter hadn't gone to school the day before Hayes visited or the day of his visit, but she went back the day after Cortez stopped cooperating. I tried to talk to the daughter, but the mother wouldn't let me near her."

"You think she was snatched to shut him up about this club?"

"Maybe, or maybe the talk about the club was bullshit. Cortez could have told the feds a lot about Aragon's organization. They had plenty of motivation to shut him up."

"Is Cortez still in prison?"

"Cortez is in hell. He was knifed in the yard soon after he started serving his term."

Chapter Thirty-One.

Tim Kerrigan needed help from someone with power and connections. Hugh Curtin was Tim's best friend, but what could "Huge" do about Ally Bennett? William Kerrigan had power and connections, but telling his father about his sordid relationship with a prostitute would only confirm every belief his father held about his son's failure to measure up. When Kerrigan thought about it, there was only one person he could go to for help.

Harvey Grant lived alone high above city center, behind stone walls, in a secluded area of the West Hills. Tim stopped at the iron gate that blocked access to the judge's estate and spoke into a black metal call box. Victor Reis, an ex-cop in his fifties, who acted as a combination butler, bodyguard, and secretary for the judge, answered. Moments later, the gate swung open and Tim drove up a long driveway before stopping in front of a three-story brick house of Federalist design.

Most of the windows in Grant's mansion were dark, but the house was often alive with light and sound. The judge was famous for his large parties and intimate get-togethers. An invitation to one of Judge Grant's soirees was eagerly sought and cherished because it signified that you were one of Portland's elite.

Tim parked in front of a recessed portico where Harvey Grant was waiting.

"Come into the study," the judge said solicitously. "You look like you can use a strong drink."

"I've done something incredibly stupid," Kerrigan said as they walked down a side hall to a wood-paneled den.

"Wait until you've calmed down," Grant said as he sat Tim in an armchair near a fireplace with a carved cherrywood mantel, in which a fire had been laid. Tim leaned his head back and soaked up the warmth. As soon as he closed his eyes he felt bone-weary.

"Here," Grant said. Kerrigan jerked awake. He had not realized how much the meeting with Ally Bennett had taken out of him. The judge pressed a cold glass into Kerrigan's hand and took a sip from a glass he'd filled for himself.

"Thanks," Kerrigan said as he gulped down half the glass.

Grant smiled warmly. Kerrigan had always been amazed by his mentor's steadiness. Even in the most contentious courtroom situation, Harvey Grant floated above the fray, counseling the combatants with the calm, reassuring voice of reason.

"Feeling a little better?" Grant asked.

"No, Judge. It's going to take a lot more than a glass of scotch to fix my problem."

"Tell me what happened."

Kerrigan could not look Harvey Grant in the eye as he told him about his sordid evening with Ally after his speech at the trial lawyers' convention, and its aftermath. The judge took an occasional sip but his expression did not change as he listened. Kerrigan felt lighter after unburdening himself. He knew he was taking a risk going to an officer of the court, but he was certain that Grant would protect his confidence and he hoped that the judge would find a solution to his dilemma.

"Is this the only time that you've done this sort of thing?" Grant asked.

"No." Kerrigan hung his head. "But I've always been so careful. With Ally . . . I don't know what I was thinking. I was drunk, I was depressed . . . ."

Kerrigan stopped. His excuses sounded weak and unconvincing.

"Cindy is a good person, Tim."

When Kerrigan looked up, there were tears in his eyes.

"I know that. I hate myself for lying to her. It makes me sick."

"And there's Megan to think about," Grant reminded him.

Kerrigan fought back a sob. Everything was tumbling down around him. Grant sat silently and let Kerrigan grieve.

"Have you talked to your father about Miss Bennett?" Grant asked when Tim stopped crying.

"God, no. I couldn't. You know how it is between us."

"So, you came straight here?"

Tim nodded.

"Is it your impression that Miss Bennett has kept what she knows to herself?"

"I don't know, but she'd lose her advantage over me if our relationship became public knowledge."

"What do you think would happen if she went to the press and you denied her allegations?"

"Do you mean can she prove we spent the night together?"

Grant nodded. Kerrigan rubbed his forehead. He tried to remember what had happened that evening.

"I registered with false ID, but the clerk at the front desk might remember me. And I went there again tonight. I may have left prints in the room. Fingerprints last a long time. They don't clean very thoroughly at that place."

"Most likely, though, it would be her word against yours, no?"

Kerrigan thought of something. "Phone records. I phoned Ally from my office the night I first saw her and I used a pay phone in the hotel where I gave my speech. No one could prove I made either call, but the phone records would be powerful circumstantial evidence that she's telling the truth.

"And what does it matter if she can prove what happened? Once that type of allegation is made it sticks with you forever, no matter what the truth is."

"You're right, Tim. If this got out it would be disastrous, and it would ruin your chance to be a senator."

Grant paused and took a sip of his drink. His brow furrowed. "What do you make of this business with the cassette?"

"Dupre ran a pretty high-scale operation. We know that politicians and wealthy businessmen used it. Bennett could have been in a position to tape incriminating evidence that Dupre could use for blackmail."

Grant nodded, then became pensive again. Kerrigan waited, exhausted, grateful for the pause. When the judge spoke, his tone was measured and thoughtful.