“Let me tell you what I’m willing to do for you first,” said Sims. “I can make this all go away. The gun was planted, of course it was. You are innocent, of course you are. You know who did it, of course you do. I’ll follow your lead, I’ll find the culprit, I’ll make him pay. You tell me who. Clarence Swift? Fine. Someone else? Great. Your mother? My mother? My wife? Please. I’m flexible, really. It will all take some doing, and I’ll suffer the heat from my superiors, but nothing I can’t handle in the end. And for you, life goes on. Your fine legal practice, your new flat-screen television, your pleather couch. And finally, Victor, you can consummate your renewed relationship with Mrs. Denniston. How sweet would that fruit taste? I grow weak myself, merely thinking about it.”

“I can tell by the slobber on your lip.”

“I’m just so excited for you, Victor.”

“And in exchange for all this happiness?”

“A little bit of truth. Do you think you can handle that? One honest word out of you. Do you think that can be arranged?”

“It depends.”

“Yes, I know it will be hard. But try. Try as if your life depends on it, which it does.”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay, here it is. I need the answer to one simple question: Where is the money?”

“The money?”

“The one point seven million dollars that the murdered man stole from that bearded pervert Gregor Trocek. It’s somewhere, I know that. The U.S. Trustee is looking for it. Gregor Trocek is looking for it. You, too, are looking for it, are you not? It is in play, and I want it.”

“You’ve been after it from the first.”

“Not from the first. At first I was looking for a killer. But then, after my meeting with Mr. Nettles at Inner Circle Investments and a careful look at the books, I had something loftier on my mind.”

“That’s why you chased Jamison away.”

“I thought Mrs. Denniston could lead me to it. I needed to keep the pressure on her.”

“And now you’re putting the pressure on me.”

“I didn’t plant the gun, Victor, but I know opportunity when it bitch-slaps me in the face.”

“And you think I know where the money is?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“How?”

“Because you’re clever and you’re inside, and because Gregor Trocek wouldn’t have sliced a ring in your chest if you didn’t know.”

“And if I tell you where it is, my problems disappear?”

“Absolutely. You’ll still have to go down to the Roundhouse with Hanratty and be booked – there’s no escaping that with the gun found in your bedroom. But as soon as the money is in my hands, I’ll pull the strings to have you released immediately and the charges dropped. You’ll be off scot-free.”

“And you’ll retire in style in Montana.”

“Yes, exactly. Or Saint-Tropez. I hear it’s quite nice.”

“They don’t fly-fish in Saint-Tropez.”

“With the money, Victor, I can buy my fish at a restaurant, which I suspect is far preferable.”

“What about Hanratty?”

“I’ll take care of Hanratty.”

“You’ll pay him off?”

“Hanratty can’t be paid off. But he can be led, like a dog can be led. It’s just a matter of burying the bones shallow enough. Don’t worry, Victor, I’ll hold up my end.”

And I was sure he would. I had been confused as to Sims’s motives during the whole of this case. He seemed a complex character. Was he out for justice, out for political gain, out to screw me for the sheer pleasure of it, or was he simply too lazy to run an investigation on the ups? All valid motives, and each I could appreciate, but which was it? I hadn’t known, but now I did, the son of a bitch. He only wanted what the rest of us wanted. It’s always a little disappointing, isn’t it?

So here I was, in a tough spot, with an easy way out. I was being framed for a murder. Framed by whom? By Clarence Swift and, sadly, by Julia. I had given her a chance to save us, she had taken the chance to bury me. How sweet, how so much like her. It’s why I’d felt relief the moment I saw the gun she planted; my future would be free of her. But now, as a result of their framing, this piece-of-crap corrupt cop was suddenly in a position to blackmail me into telling him about the money. And the thing was, he was right, I did know where the money was. But there was more here than an opportunity to get Sims rich and me off the hook. There was an opportunity to achieve the thing that had set us both to laughing just a few moments before, an opportunity for justice.

Justice, justice shall you pursue. It’s right there in the Good Book, sitting like a road map for me to follow. Justice for everyone, justice for all. An appropriate justice for Clarence Swift and Terrence Tipton, for Gregor Trocek and Detective Sims, that crooked son of a bitch, justice for Julia Denniston who had betrayed me once and again, and yes, justice of a sort for me, too. A laughable thing to find in this world, justice, but a beautiful thing as well, when meted out with just the right dose of bitter vengeance.

I sat across from him as I figured it out, all the while watching his face shine with an unwholesome eagerness. It would take a betrayal on my part, sure, but really now, what’s a little betrayal among old lovers?

“You want to find the money, Detective,” I said finally, after thinking it through, after seeing the parts all fit together.

“Yes, Victor,” he said, with as much sincerity as he could muster. “I truly do.”

“Then you just need to follow Mrs. Denniston. She’ll take you right to it.”

“And where would I find her at this time of night?”

“I don’t know where she is now, but I know where she’ll be.”

And then I gave him a Kensington address.

41

There wasn’t much time to change Hanratty’s mind.

The trip from my apartment to the Roundhouse, even in the middle of the day, was not a long one, and in the middle of the night, if you caught the lights right, it could be positively swift. Once we hit the Roundhouse, I’d be sent straightaway to processing, and then to arraignment court, and then to jail until a bail was set that I could pay, which, considering the charge of murder and the state of my bank account, seemed unlikely. My future freedom would then depend on Sims, who, with the money scent now in his nostril, was as dependable as a rabid dog. So I had to somehow alter Hanratty’s destination before we hit the Roundhouse. But it wasn’t just to keep my butt out of jail.

Like a demented chess player, unmindful of the consequences, I had set the pieces in motion. At some point, probably on the road out of town, the paths of Sims and Trocek and Clarence Swift would intersect and the bullets would fly. Just the thought of it brought a little pitter-patter to my heart. But it wasn’t long after I sent Gregor to chase Clarence, and Sims to meet up with them, that I realized that when the bullets flew, Julia would be caught in the middle, and her predicament would be my responsibility. I had to do something about it, and I had to do it fast.

But I was now in the backseat of a cop car, with my hands cuffed behind my back and without an easy way out. And it didn’t help that the man in the driver’s seat had an emotional temperament and a skull both of which could only be described as igneous. Still, I had one card to play that might crack even his stone demeanor.

“Your partner is a crook,” I said to Detective Hanratty as he drove me east, toward police headquarters.

Sims had dashed off in his own car to chase after Julia, and so I was alone with Hanratty. He actually wasn’t playing it as hard I thought he would. He had let me bandage my chest, clean the blood from my ear, put on a new shirt and tie just like the old shirt and tie, let me grab my suit jacket before we left. He had cuffed me, sure – rules are rules – but he didn’t tell me to shut the hell up when I called his partner a crook, like I had expected. All he did was clench his jaw and set his features, just as he had when Sims had sent him from my apartment, which was a promising start.