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“Yeah, but like you said, you were sixteen. We barely saw each other, even on our scheduled weekends. You were either on a ski trip or with a girl. I didn’t have the slightest idea you listened to my phone calls, or paid attention to my caseload.”
“Paid attention?” A corner of Lane’s mouth lifted. “I hung on every word. You were one hell of a role model.”
“I was a jackass.” Monty jumped on the chance to speak his piece. “It took me half a lifetime to realize what was important. Don’t emulate me, not in those ways.”
“It’s a little late, Monty.” Lane gave an offhand shrug. “I am who I am. But don’t be so hard on yourself. You were a great father. You still are. Pig-headed as hell, but great. How about taking some advice from your adult son? Stop viewing things in such a binary fashion. If I’ve learned anything from my career, it’s that very little is black-and-white. Images, photographs—it’s all about shades of gray. And since life imitates art…well, you get the drift.”
“Yeah.” Monty felt a tremendous surge of pride at the
man his son had become. “I get the drift. I’ll try to bear it in mind.” He cleared his throat, reverting to the original topic. “So, is that everything you need to know about the crime-scene photos?”
“For now. I’ve got lots to work with. The bodies. The blood splatters. The basement. The exterior of the building. Once I get the negatives, I’ll scan them all into my computer. Then I’ll bust my ass until I find something to show you. Something that’ll help you put the real killer away.”
“That’s what I want to hear. And not just for my sake.”
“Right.” Lane lowered his gaze, staring at the rug. “I met Morgan Winter last night. I see why you feel for her. It’s obvious she’s going through hell.”
“Did you tell her you’re working with me?”
“No. Before she showed up, Congressman Shore specifically asked me to steer clear of the subject. As it is, Morgan’s pretty obsessed with this investigation. The reason she was late getting to the Shores was that she stopped by the D.A.’s office to drop off copies of some newspapers clippings. But you already know that. She said she’d given you the originals.”
A nod. “They’re articles about her father’s more noteworthy arrests. I’ve dug up some pretty interesting facts from them—some of which I’ll need to clarify with Congressman Shore at Monday’s meeting.”
“Okay, now you’ve aroused my curiosity. Anything you can run by me now?”
Monty got that intense homicide-detective look. “Jack Winter put away a big-time drug and weapons dealer named Carl Angelo a few months before the murders. Angelo had quite an entourage on his payroll over the years. I did some research, going way back. Thirty years ago, Angelo hired a twenty-six-year-old piece of street scum to transport hot guns for him. The guy was caught in the act and arrested. The charges were dropped. The file is sealed.”
“Someone cut a deal.”
“Sure looks that way. And this scum and Jack Winter must have built a long-term relationship, one that included testifying against Angelo at his trial.”
“Okay, so you’re figuring the guy was a confidential informer.”
“Had to be. If he wasn’t a CI, why would they drop the charges and seal the file? And why would he be testifying against Angelo thirteen years later? I plan on getting hold of the accusatory instrument read at Angelo’s arraignment. Plus, if this CI really was a CI, and Winter needed him for Angelo’s arrest, then there’s a master file somewhere with his forms and registration number. I plan on getting my hands on that, too.”
“Matching a name with a CI registration number is a tall order. Especially in the D.A.’s office.”
“Not to worry. Even though those control officers are determined to protect their informers’ identities, I’ve got my contacts. I’ve also got Congressman Shore’s leverage. In the meantime, I’ll start out the easy way. I’ll call the Central Clerk’s Office and have them dig the Angelo case file out of storage. That’s a matter of public record. I’ll go over the trial transcript with a fine-tooth comb. When I find the witness testimony I’m looking for, that’s when I’ll call in my favors from the D.A. I’ll get a copy of this CI’s documents, or at least a couple of forms with his registration number, some basic info, and some dates on them. I’ll compare the details there with the details of his testimony. Believe me, I’ll be able to figure out if it’s the same guy.”
“You’re going to a lot of trouble to follow up on this angle. Who is this guy?”
“His name is George Hayek. He’s an international arms dealer.” Monty studied his son’s expression, saw no visible recognition. “I guess you didn’t cross paths with him in your overseas assignments. He lives in Europe; Belgium, I think. He’s made a fortune, selling weapons to foreign governments. Whether or not those deals are legit, I don’t know.”
“Is there evidence to say otherwise?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t get it. Why are you focusing on him in connection with the Winters’ homicides? What’s the tie-in?”
“Hayek’s arrest record. Not the sealed one. He had a previous conviction before the gunrunning incident. Nothing major, just an attempted car boosting. He got off with a couple of months’ time and community service. I got hold of that online booking sheet. Hayek made one phone call—to Lenny Shore.”
Lane did a double take. “Lenny? What’s Hayek’s connection to him?”
“Good question. But there definitely was one. Lenny posted Hayek’s bail. Which gives us an interesting link. Lenny is Arthur’s father. Seventeen years ago, Arthur was a state assemblyman and Jack Winter’s closest friend. And Jack Winter was prosecuting Carl Angelo, who I suspect Hayek was informing on for years and who testified against Angelo in court.”
“So the Winters’ homicides could have been an act of revenge.”
“It’s a distinct possibility. Or maybe Hayek ratted on Angelo to move up in the gun-trafficking world. It’s still all supposition. I need the D.A.’s records and the court transcripts. Most of all, I need to learn about what makes Hayek tick. I’m hoping I can learn that from Lenny Shore. I’m glad we’re eating at his place on Monday.”
