wet ducks.
“No problem,” Foltrigg said loudly as if it was very much a problem.
She pulled a large tape recorder from a hidden drawer in the table and set it in front of her. “Mind if I tape this little conference?” she asked as she plugged in the microphone. The little conference would be taped whether they liked it or not. “I’ll be happy to provide you with a copy of the tape.”
“Fine with me,” Foltrigg said, pretending he had a choice.
McThune and Trumann stared at the tape recorder. How nice of her to ask! She smiled at the two of them as they smiled at her, then all three smiled at the recorder. She was as subtle as a rock through a window. The damnable micro-cassette could not be far away.
She pushed a button. “Now, what’s up?”
“Where’s your client?” Foltrigg asked. He leaned forward and it was clear he would do all the talking.
“At the hospital. The doctor wants him to stay in the room near his brother.”
“When can we talk to him?”
“You’re assuming that you will in fact talk to him.” She looked at Foltrigg with very confident eyes.
Her hair was gray and cut like a boy’s. The face was quite colorful. The eyebrows were dark. The lips were soft red and meticulously painted. The skin was smooth and free of heavy makeup. It was a pretty face, with bangs, and eyes that glowed with a calm steadiness. Fol-trigg looked at her, and thought of all the misery and suffering she’d seen. She covered it well.
McThune opened a file and flipped through it. In the past two hours they had assembled a two-inch-thick dossier on Reggie Love, aka Regina L. Cardoni. They had copied the divorce papers and commitment proceedings from the clerk’s office in the county courthouse. The mortgage papers and land records on her mother’s home were in the folder. Two Memphis agents were attempting to obtain her law school transcripts.
Foltrigg loved the trash. Whatever the case and whoever the opponent, Foltrigg always wanted the dirt. McThune read the sordid legal history of the divorce with its allegations of adultery and alcohol and dope and unfitness and, ultimately, the attempted suicide. He read it carefully, though, without being seen. He did not, under any circumstances, want to make this woman angry.
“We need to talk to your client, Ms. Love.”
“It’s Reggie. Okay, Roy?”
“Whatever. We think he knows something, plain and simple.”
“Such as?”
“Well, we’re convinced little Mark was in the car with Jerome Clifford prior to his death. We think he spent more than a few seconds with him. Clifford was obviously planning to kill himself, and we have reason to believe he wanted to tell someone where his client,
Mr. Muldanno, had disposed of the body of Senator Boyette.”
“What makes you think he wanted to tell?”
“It’s a long story, but he had contacted an assistant in my office on two occasions and hinted that he might be willing to cut some deal and get out. He was scared. And he was drinking a lot. Very erratic behavior. He was sliding off the deep end, and wanted to talk.”
“Why do you think he talked to my client?”
“There’s just a chance, okay. And we must look under every stone. Surely you understand.”
“I sense a bit of desperation.”
“A lot of desperation, Reggie. I’m leveling with you. We know who killed the senator, but, frankly, I’m not ready for trial without a corpse.” He paused and smiled warmly at her. Despite his many obnoxious flaws, Roy had spent hours before juries and he knew how and when to act sincere.
And she’d spent many hours in therapy, and she could spot a fake. “I’m not telling you that you cannot talk to Mark Sway. You cannot talk to him today, but maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day. Things are moving fast. Mr. Clifford’s body is still warm. Let’s slow down a bit, and take it one step at a. time. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Now, convince me Mark Sway was in the car with Jerome Clifford prior to the shooting.”
No problem. Foltrigg looked at a notepad, and reeled off the many places where fingerprints were matched. Rear taillights, trunk, front passenger door handle and lock switch, dash, gun, bottle of Jack Daniel’s. There was a tentative match on the hose, but it was not definite. They were working on it. Foltrigg
was the prosecutor now, building a case with indisputable evidence. . . .
Reggie took pages of notes. She knew Mark had been in the car, but she had