The Client (Page 36)
Roy Foltrigg made a grand entrance into the story when he stepped in front of the cameras to announce the indictment of Barry Muldanno for the murder of Senator Boyd Boyette. He, too, got the front page in both New Orleans and Washington, and Glint remembered a similar photo in the Memphis paper. Big news, but no body. This, however, did not throttle Mr. Foltrigg. He ranted against organized crime. He predicted certain victory. He preached his carefully prepared remarks with the flair of a veteran stage actor, shouting at all the right moments, pointing his finger, waving the indictment. He had no comment about the absence of a corpse, but hinted that he knew something he couldn’t tell and said he had no doubt the remains of the late senator would be found.
There were pictures and stories when Barry Muldanno was arrested, or rather, turned himself in to the FBI. He spent three days in jail before bail was arranged, and there were photos of him leaving just as he had arrived. He wore a dark suit and smiled at the cameras. He was innocent, he proclaimed. It was a vendetta.
There were photos of bulldozers, taken from a distance, as the FBI trenched its way through the soggy soil of New Orleans, searching for the body. More of Foltrigg performing for the press. More investigative reports of New Orleans’s rich history of organized crime. The story seemed to lose steam as the search continued.
The governor, a Democrat, appointed a crony to serve the remaining year and a half of Boyette’s term. The New Orleans paper ran an analysis of the many politicians waiting eagerly to run for the Senate. Foltrigg was one of two Republicans rumored to be interested.
HE SAT NEXT TO HER ON THE SOFA, AND WIPED HIS EYES.
He hated himself for crying, but it could not be helped. Her arm was around his shoulder, and she patted him gently.
"You don’t have to say a word," she repeated quietly.
"I really don’t want to. Maybe later, if I have to, but not now. Okay?" "Okay, Mark." There was a knock at the door. "Come in," Reggie said just loud enough to be heard. Clint appeared holding a stack of papers and looking at his watch.
"Sorry to interrupt. But it’s almost ten, and Mr. Foltrigg will be here in a minute." He placed the papers on the coffee table in front of her. "You wanted to see these before the meeting." "Tell Mr. Foltrigg we have nothing to discuss," Reggie said.
Clint frowned at her and looked at Mark. He sat close to her as if he needed protecting. "You’re not going to see him?" "No. Tell him the meeting’s been canceled because we have nothing to say," she said, and nodded at Mark.
Glint glanced at his watch again and backed awkwardly to the door. "Sure," he said with a smile as if he suddenly enjoyed the idea of telling Foltrigg to take a hike. He closed the door behind him.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Not really." She leaned forward and began flipping through the copies of the clippings. Mark sat in a daze, tired and drained, still frightened after talking things over with his lawyer. She scanned the pages, reading the headlines and captions and pulling the photographs closer to her. About a third of the way through, she suddenly stopped and leaned back on the sofa. She handed Mark a close-up of Barry Muldanno as he smiled at the camera. It was from the New Orleans paper. "Is this the man?" Mark looked without touching it. "No. Who is it?" "It’s Barry Muldanno." "That’s not the man who grabbed me. I guess he’s got a lot of friends." She placed the copy in the stack on the coffee table, and patted him on the leg.
"What’re you gonna do?" he asked.
"Make a few calls. I’ll talk to the administrator of the hospital and arrange security around Ricky’s room." "You can’t tell him about this guy, Reggie. They’ll kill us. We can’t tell anybody." "I won’t. I’ll explain to the hospital that there have been some threats. It’s routine in criminal cases.
They’ll place a few guards on the ninth floor around the room." "I don’t want to tell Mom either. She’s stressed out with Ricky, and she’s taking pills to sleep and pills to do this and that, and I just don’t think she can handle this right now." "You’re right." He was a tough little kid, raised on the streets and wise beyond his years. She admired his courage.
"Do you think Mom and Ricky are safe?" "Of course. These men are professionals, Mark. They won’t do anything stupid. They’ll lay low and listen. They may be bluffing." She did not sound sincere.
"No, they’re not bluffing. I saw the knife, Reggie. They’re here in Memphis for one reason, and that’s to scare the hell out of me. And it’s working. I ain’t talk-ing."
Chapter 15
JTOLTRIGG YELLED ONLY ONCE, THEN STORMED FROM THE office making threats and slamming the door. Mc-Thune and Trumann were frustrated, but also embarrassed at his antics. As they left, McThune rolled his eyes at Glint as if he wanted to apologize for this pompous loudmouth. Glint relished the moment, and -when the dust settled he walked to Reggie’s office.
Mark had pulled a chair to the window, and sat watching it rain on the street and sidewalk below. Reggie was on the phone with the hospital administrator discussing security on the ninth floor. She covered the phone, and Glint whispered that they were gone. He left to get more cocoa for Mark, who never moved.
Within minutes, Glint took a call from George Ord, and he buzzed Reggie on the intercom. She’d never met the U. S. attorney from Memphis, but was not surprised that he was now on the phone. She allowed him to hold for one full minute, then picked up the phone. "Hello." "Ms. Love, this is-" "It’s Reggie, okay. Just Reggie. And you’re George, right?" She called everyone by their first name, even stuffy judges in their proper little courtrooms.
"Right, Reggie. This is George Ord. Roy Fol-trigg is in my office, and-" "What a coincidence. He just left mine." "Yeah, and that’s why I’m calling. He didn’t get a chance to talk to you and your client." "Give him my apologies. My client has nothing to say to him." She was talking and looking at the back of Mark’s head. If he were listening, she couldn’t tell. He was frozen in the chair at the window.
"Reggie, I think it would be wise if you at least meet with Mr. Foltrigg again." "I have no desire to meet with Roy, nor does my client." She could picture Ord speaking gravely into the phone with Foltrigg pacing around the office waving his arms.
"Well, this will not be the end of it, you know?" "Is that a threat, George?" "It’s more of a promise." "Fine. You tell Roy and his boys that if anyone attempts to contact my client or his family I’ll have their asses. Okay, George?" "I’ll relay the message."
IT WAS REALLY SORT OF FUNNY-IT WAS NOT, AFTER ALL, his case-but Ord could not laugh. He returned the receiver to its place, smiled to himself, and said, "She says she ain’t talking, the kid ain’t talking, and if you or anyone else contacts the kid or his family she’ll, uh, have your asses, as she put it." Foltrigg bit his lip and nodded at every word as if this were fine because he could play hardball with the best of ^hem. He had regained his composure and was already implementing Plan B. He paced around the office as ff in deep thought. McThune and Trumann stood bv the door like sentries. Bored sentries.
"I want the kid followed, okay," Foltrigg finally snappec at McThune. "We’re leaving for New Orleans, and I want you guys to tail him twenty-four hours a day. I ^ant to know what he does, and, more importantly, me needs to be protected from Muldanno and his henchmen." McThune did not take orders from any U. S. attorney, and at this moment he was sick of Roy Foltrigg. And the idea of using three or four overworked agents to follow an eleven-year-old kid was quite stupid. But, it was not worth the fight. Foltrigg had a hot line to Director Voyles in Washington, and Director Voyles wanted the body and he wanted a conviction almost as bad as Foltrigg did.