Swanson and Fitch were gambling on two things. The first was Beverly's slow recognition of Jeff Kerr's name on the phone yesterday. The second was her assertion that she hadn't talked to Claire in four years. They were assuming both to be genuine.
"We'll pay for information," Swanson said.
"How much?"
"A thousand dollars cash to tell me everything you know about Claire Clement." Swanson quickly removed an envelope from his coat pocket and laid it on the table.
"Are you sure she's in no trouble?" asked Beverly, staring at the gold mine before her.
"I'm sure. Take the money. If you haven't seen her in four or five years, why should you care?"
Good point, thought Beverly. She grabbed the envelope and stuck it in her purse. "There's not much to tell."
"How long did you work with her?"
"Six months."
"How long did you know her?"
"Six months. I was working as a waitress at Mulligan's when she started. We got to be friends. Then I left town and drifted east. I called her once or twice when I lived in New Jersey, then we sorta just forgot about each other."
"Did you know Jeff Kerr?"
"No. She wasn't dating him at the time. She told me about him later, after I'd left town."
"Did she have other friends, male and female?"
"Yeah, sure. Don't ask me to name them. I left Lawrence five, maybe six years ago. I really don't remember when I left."
"You can't name any of her friends?"
Beverly drank some espresso and thought for a minute. Then she rattled off the names of three people who'd worked with Claire. One had been checked out with no results. One was being tracked at the moment. One had not been found.
"Where did Claire go to college?"
"Somewhere in the Midwest."
"You don't know the name of the school?"
"I don't think so. Claire was very quiet about her past. You got the impression something bad happened back there, and she didn't talk about it. I never knew. I thought maybe it was a bad romance, maybe even a marriage, or maybe a bad family, rotten childhood, or something. But I never knew."
"Did she discuss it with anybody?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Do you know her hometown?"
"She said she moved around a lot. Again, I didn't ask a lot of questions."
"Was she from the Kansas City area?"
"I don't know."
"Are you sure her real name was Claire Clement?"
Beverly withdrew and frowned. "You think maybe it wasn't?"
"We have reason to believe she was someone else before she arrived in Lawrence, Kansas. Do you remember anything about another name?"
"Wow. I just assumed she was Claire. Why would she change her name?"
"We'd love to know." Swanson removed a small notepad from a pocket and studied a checklist. Beverly was another dead end.
"Did you ever go to her apartment?"
"Once or twice. We'd cook and watch movies. She didn't party much, but she invited me over with friends."
"Anything unusual about her apartment?"
"Yeah. It was very nice, a modern condo, well furnished. It was obvious she had money from sources other than Mulligan's. I mean, we got paid three bucks an hour plus tips."
"So she had money?"
"Yeah. A lot more than we did. But, again, she was very secretive. Claire was a casual friend and a fun person to be around. You just didn't ask a lot of questions."
Swanson pressed her on other details and came up dry. He thanked her for her help and she thanked him for the cash, and as he was leaving she offered to make a few calls. It was an obvious solicitation for more money. Swanson said fine, but then cautioned her about revealing what she was doing.
"Look, I'm an actress, okay. This is a piece of cake."
He left her a business card with his Biloxi hotel number written on the back.
HOPPY THOUGHT Mr. Cristano was a bit too harsh. But then, the situation was deteriorating, according to the mysterious folks in Washington whom Mr. Cristano answered to. There was discussion at Justice about simply aborting the whole scheme and sending Hoppy's case on to the federal grand jury.
If Hoppy couldn't convince his own wife, how the hell was he supposed to influence an entire jury?
They sat in the back of the long black Chrysler and drove along the Gulf toward nowhere in particular but Mobile in general. Nitchman drove and Napier rode shotgun and both managed to act completely oblivious to the mauling of Hoppy in the backseat.
"When do you see her again?" Cristano asked.
"Tonight, I think."
"The time has come, Hoppy, for you to tell her the truth. Tell her what you've done, tell her everything."
Hoppy's eyes watered and his lip quivered as he stared at the tinted window and saw his wife's pretty eyes as he laid bare his soul. He cursed himself for his stupidity. If he had a gun he could almost shoot Todd Ringwald and Jimmy Hull Moke, but he could most definitely shoot himself. Maybe he'd take these three clowns out first, but, no doubt about it, Hoppy could blow his own brains out.
"I guess so," he mumbled.
"Your wife must become an advocate, Hoppy. Do you realize this? Millie Dupree has to be a force in that jury room. Since you've been unable to convince her with the merits, now you have to motivate her with the fear of seeing you go off to prison for five years. You have no choice."
At the moment, he'd rather face prison than face Millie with the truth. But he didn't have that choice. If he didn't convince her, she'd learn the truth and he'd go off to prison.
Hoppy started crying. He bit his lip and covered his eyes and tried to stop the damned tears, but he couldn't help it. As they drove peacefully along the highway, the only sounds for several miles were the pitiful whimperings of a broken man.
Only Nitchman couldn't conceal a tiny grin.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The second meeting in Marlee's office began an hour after the first one ended. Fitch arrived again on foot with a briefcase and a large cup of coffee. Marlee scanned the briefcase for hidden devices, much to his amusement.
When she finished, he closed his briefcase and sipped his coffee. "I have a question," he announced. "What?"
"Six months ago, neither you nor Easter lived in this county, probably not in this state. Did you move here to watch this trial?" He knew the answer, of course, but he wanted to see how much she would admit, now that they were business partners and supposedly working on the same side.
"You could say that," she said. Marlee and Nicholas were assuming that Fitch had now tracked them back to Lawrence, and this was not altogether bad. Fitch had to appreciate their ability to hatch such a plot, and their commitment to carry it out. It was Marlee's pre-Lawrence days that had them losing sleep.
"You're both using aliases, aren't you?" he asked.
"No. We're using our legal names. No more questions about us, Fitch. We're not important. Time is short, and we have work to do."
"Perhaps we should begin by your telling me how far you've gone with the other side. How much does Rohr know?"
"Rohr knows nothing. We danced and shadow-boxed, but never connected."
"Would you have cut a deal with him had I not been willing?"
"Yes. I'm in it for the money, Fitch. Nicholas is on that jury because we planned it that way. We have worked for this moment. It'll work because all the players are corrupt. You're corrupt. Your clients are corrupt. My partner and I are corrupt. Corrupt but smart. We pollute the system in such a way that we cannot be detected."