Dead Man’s List. Mike Lawson

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      “I’m sorry, but I can’t talk right now. I have to get my daughter to the doctor’s office.”

      The woman was a terrible liar. DeMarco was a good one.

      “Ms. Tyler,” he said, “if you don’t talk to me today, you’re going to be subpoenaed to testify before a congressional committee. You’re going to have to fly to Washington and you may be there for several days, at your own expense, until the committee gets around to hearing your testimony. If you want to avoid all that, I’d suggest you talk to me.”

      Tyler struck him as a timid person, not all that sure of herself, and he felt like a heel bullying her. But he needed answers.

      She closed her eyes briefly then said, “I have to get a neighbor to watch my girls. There’s a café across the street. I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”

      

      “These guys are connected somehow to the CIA,” Mary Tollier told Emma.

      When the U.S. Capitol police officer had taken the driver’s licenses from the two men in the Buick she had photographed the licenses, then dusted them with fingerprint powder and photographed them again. Emma then took the memory chip from the cop’s camera to a woman named Mary Tollier who worked at the DIA. Tollier had once worked for Emma, and thanks to Emma’s influence, she had ascended the bureaucratic ladder, coming ever closer to that shatter-proof glass ceiling. Mary Tollier owed Emma.

      “What!” Emma said. “Who are they and what do they do?”

      “The answer to both questions,” Mary said, “is I don’t know. The names on the licenses are phony. I ran their fingerprints, got nothing from any of the databases, but half an hour later I got a call from a very rude man at Langley asking why I was running those particular fingerprints. We traded insults and hung up.”

      “Thanks, Mary. Oh, Mary, I just thought of something. You’re a music lover. I have a friend in a quartet, and tomorrow they’re playing some stuff by this marvelous new Swedish composer. I can’t make it, and I was wondering if you’d like to have my ticket.”

      Emma would tell Christine that she had to use the ticket to bribe Mary to get information.

      Emma knew she deserved to go to hell for what she’d just done.

      

      Janet Tyler entered the café twenty minutes later as promised, and saw DeMarco sitting in a corner booth. She had changed out of the Gerber-stained T-shirt and combed her hair and put on some lipstick. She was a pretty, young mom—and a very nervous one.

      She took a seat across from DeMarco. “What’s this all about?” she said.

      “Would you like some coffee?” DeMarco said.

      “No.”

      “Okay. I know you worked for Paul Morelli in 1999. You were involved in some kind of zoning study, but you quit after only two months. I want to know why you quit.”

      “I didn’t like the job,” Tyler said.

       Terrible liar.

      “I don’t believe you,” DeMarco said.

      “I’m telling you the truth. I just didn’t—”

      “Did Paul Morelli attack you, Janet? Did he rape you?”

      Tyler’s eyes widened in shock but DeMarco couldn’t tell if she was shocked because he’d made an outrageous, untrue accusation against Morelli or if it was because he knew what Morelli had done to her.

      “No,” she said. “He never did anything to me. I just didn’t like the job and I quit. Why are you asking these questions?”

      Lydia Morelli had said something about Tyler’s fiancé, something to the effect that her fiancé had been used to silence her. That had been eight years ago and Tyler had kids, so DeMarco assumed that by now she had married the guy.

      “Who’s your husband, Janet?” DeMarco asked.

      “I’m not married.”

      “Then who’s the father of your children?”

      “That’s none of your business.”

      “Janet, I work for the federal government. How long do you think it’s going to take me to find out what I want to know?”

      “You bastards,” she said. “Why can’t you just leave us alone? What are you going to do? Take my children from me? Deport their father?”

      “Jesus, no,” DeMarco said. And what was she talking about?

      Tyler put her head in her hands and started sobbing, which made DeMarco feel even worse than he already felt.

      “Janet,” he said, “I’m not going to do anything to you or your kids. I just want to know—”

      “My fiancé’s name is Hussein Halas. He’s a Jordanian national and we’re not married because he hasn’t been able to get a divorce from his wife. Now is there anything else you want to know?”

      “I told you. I want to know if Paul Morelli did anything to you. And if he’s blackmailing you in some way to ensure your silence.”

      “No,” she said, but she didn’t look at him when she said the word. “Can I go now?”

      DeMarco couldn’t think of anything else to say to make her talk. “Yeah, you can go.”

      Tyler immediately rose to leave, wanting only to get away from DeMarco as fast as she could. He felt like a thug leaning on her the way he had and because of this, he said, “And don’t worry, Janet. I promise I’m not going to do anything to harm your family.”

      DeMarco had no idea if he could keep the promise he’d just made.

      

      “Did you check the fingerprints I sent you, Marv?”

      “Yeah. Why are you asking about these men, Emma?”

      “I’m not going to tell you.”

      “Well, shit, Emma. I can’t just—”

      “You know, Marv, maybe the media won’t care. I mean, how long has it been? Ten years? Twelve? Yeah, maybe after all this time they won’t care that you guys stole a suitcase of heroin from a DEA evidence locker and then traded it for Russian surface-to-air missiles. Now that wouldn’t have been so bad, except maybe the part about stealing the dope, but then you gave the missiles to a terrorist and he used one to shoot down a helicopter carrying a Philippine politician. And the real bummer was, the politician was on our side. Oops.”

      “We didn’t know he was a terrorist,” Marv whined.

      “I know. You went way beyond stupid on that one, Marv.”

      “You’re bluffing, Emma. That op was classified then and it’s СКАЧАТЬ