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“Lorenzo was a cop. Automatic death penalty,” Noah said.
Mallory laughed humorlessly. “Death penalty? Bring it on.”
“Lorenzo was killed between eleven p.m. and midnight Monday. I don’t suppose you have an alibi?”
“Home. Fran came over a little before seven, worried because of the questions Lorenzo had been asking. I told her to calm down, that nothing connected us to Prenter’s murder.”
“Fran could have killed him. You’d be an accessory.”
“Fran didn’t kill him.”
“I’m not buying this.”
“I don’t care.” Mallory sighed. “Your warrant was thin, and you know it, but I’m not getting a lawyer, and I’m not going to defend myself. I don’t want to. I’ve given you everything. I’m done.”
Noah frowned, a thought coming to him, but then it left. Hans picked up on the silence and said, “Fran lawyered up. Clark Jager.”
Mallory shrugged. “You really want to put her in prison?”
“She killed at least one man.”
“Who deserved it.”
“Who didn’t have a trial. She’s scared.”
Mallory nodded. “She was always the weak link. But she’s not talking, because the only one she can turn on is me, and I’ve already given myself up. What more can I tell you?”
“Fran’s lawyer is threatening to pull the police records of every WCF staffer—and volunteer. Their argument is that if someone at WCF is involved, it’s not Fran Buckley, but one of her staff.”
Mallory straightened. He immediately saw the repercussions of such a move, which Noah and Hans were counting on.
“That’s bullshit. No one else at WCF was involved. You got Biggler, and he never killed anyone. He was my backup. He watched my ass.”
“And his sister Brenda, who was your lure,” Hans said. They hadn’t gotten the report back from Abigail and the bartender at Club 10, but Hans played the bluff perfectly.
“Please be lenient with Brenda,” Mallory pleaded. “She helped because she worships her brother. I don’t think she ever really thought deeply about what we were doing.”
“It was just the three of you—four including Fran Buckley.”
“Yes,” Mallory said. “Lucy had nothing to do with any of it, except unknowingly setting up the meetings. You know that, both of you.”
“We know it,” Noah said, “but we won’t be able to stop Jager if he petitions for all criminal records. Lucy’s past will be on display during the trial—”
“Fran will plead. She won’t let Lucy suffer—”
“She’s not cooperating. She denied involvement, and implied it was someone else at WCF.”
Mallory pounded a chained fist on the table. “You can prove otherwise! I told you what happened!”
“Your word means shit right now,” Noah stated. “Jager will tear you apart in the courtroom. You could be saying that the sun rises in the east, and no one on the jury will believe you when Jager gets through with destroying what little credibility you might have. It doesn’t matter whether we believe you or not.”
“I have proof.” Mallory hung his head. “I didn’t want it to come to this, but…” His voice trailed off and he was lost in thought for several seconds. “The night before she killed Weatherby, Fran flew commercial from Dulles to Albany. Her college roommate, Sylvia Dunham, lives in Troy. She borrowed Sylvia’s car to drive to Boston. Sylvia had no idea what Fran was doing, I don’t know what excuse Fran gave her, but Sylvia will remember the trip because Fran got into a minor accident driving back on I-90. The car wasn’t totaled, but Fran wrote her a check to pay for damages so that there would be no insurance claim. The accident was the early morning after Weatherby was killed—I told Fran I would take care of everything, and she left.”
All verifiable. “That’s not definitive proof.”
“Other than my word, that’s all I have.”
It might be enough to make her squirm, Noah thought. But it wouldn’t make Jager sweat.
