Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

N ight had fallen on Manhattan. Joe sat in the small, cold room in the jail with the attorney prosecuting Connor Boyle for the murder of Wade Martin. With thick blond hair, smooth cheeks, and an unlined face, Mr. Radcliffe couldn't have passed the bar exam more than a handful of years ago. Most criminal lawyers had reputations as bulldogs, but Radcliffe resembled a golden retriever.

While the attorney reorganized paperwork, Joe silently prayed again for Lauren. In the aftermath of the double homicide, Mr. Clarke had brought her to the station, where both their statements had been taken, and then he'd seen her home with a promise to Joe that he'd take care of her every need. What she needed, Joe thought, was a mother, so he had asked Clarke to bring Lauren his. Mama would wrap her in love until Elsa and Ivy could get to her. She'd stay as long as Lauren wanted. Joe would return to her as soon as he could.

He tapped his pencil on the notebook splayed open on the table. Beside it was the recording Lauren had captured on the microphone she'd worn. Next to that was a box containing all the evidence and notes Lawrence had promised in his final breath. It was exactly where he'd told Lauren it would be in his apartment, hidden inside a reproduction bust of Napoleon. It corroborated what Fred confessed, but it went further than that, too.

Mr. Radcliffe cinched his paisley necktie tighter. "Let me make sure I understand this all correctly." He'd requested that Joe help lay out all the evidence, but the attorney needed to have a firm grasp on the story, too.

"Lawrence Westlake started the forgery ring to get the cash he needed for the Napoleon Society venture," he began. "The museum in Newport cost a fortune, to say nothing of the cost of filling it with actual antiquities. That had been his aim, at least at the start."

"Right," Joe said. "His goal had been to have a legitimate museum with genuine artifacts. From what I could gather, the forgeries started as a means to an end."

"And this Fred Klein, the registrar at the Met? How did Lawrence meet him?"

Joe told Mr. Radcliffe that according to the explanation Lawrence had left behind, Fred had been a connection of Dr. DeVries's, alias Daniel Bradford. The doctor and his wife weren't at home when Joe sent officers to pick them up. Joe figured they were long gone and wouldn't be coming back.

At some point after the Napoleon Society began selling forgeries, the thrill of deception had become its own reward, or so Joe supposed. Lawrence had been running the ring since he'd moved to Manhattan seven months ago. Which meant that when he approached Lauren last October, his only goal was to use her. The expedition he'd invited her to join would have been funded by selling forgeries.

Mr. Radcliffe made a note in the margin of his legal pad. "The situation escalated after Dr. Lauren Westlake declared Mr. Moretti's papyrus a fake. Ray decided that if it had almost fooled Dr. Westlake, it would fool anyone else. He didn't want the forger to get caught. He wanted to go into business with him and take a cut of the profit, as repayment for the money Ray had already paid for the fake. It was also a fee for allowing the forger to live."

"That's why Ray sent his brother, Tony, to Feinstein's antique shop to find out who brought in the papyrus." Joe flipped to a copy of the police logbook and pointed to the nighttime complaints about the noise. "That was the night of the break-in. Feinstein didn't know Lawrence's name, just that he'd had the check made out to the Napoleon Society. Under duress, Feinstein shared that much with Tony and was scared into keeping the whole thing quiet. It didn't take Tony long to learn about the Napoleon House in Newport. He set it on fire to lure a Napoleon Society board member to him."

Joe had to admit, it was a great plan, as far as crimes went. It was a secluded area. Tony knew Lawrence would already be vulnerable because of the fire. Those injuries Lawrence had claimed were from falling on the train tracks were actually from Tony, who apparently felt that his business proposal needed a little something extra. Tony promised that full cooperation would put him in the mood to expedite the roof repair with his connections.

The deal was made.

The door hinges squeaked. Joe and Mr. Radcliffe stood while Connor entered with his lawyer, Mr. Dover. The defense attorney's thinning hair had been shellacked into place with Brilliantine, and his mouth seemed carved into a perpetual scowl. After brief introductions, they sat.

"What's this all about?" Mr. Dover tented his hands on the table.

"I need to nail a pair of slippery criminals. I have all this evidence." Joe gestured to what he'd gathered. "But I need a witness. A living witness. The two who gave me all this were shot and killed this morning in my custody." He looked to Connor, whose eyes were ringed with shadows. He'd lost weight since Thanksgiving.

Mr. Dover unbuttoned his pinstripe suit jacket, exposing the matching vest beneath. "They were shot and killed by the criminals you want to put away?"

"By one of them," Mr. Radcliffe clarified. "He left the weapon he used at the scene of the crime."

Mr. Dover nodded, apparently familiar with this tactic of using a weapon once—with care not to leave fingerprints—and discarding it on the spot.

"Big market for guns these days," Joe said, and watched Connor's gaze flick away. Both attorneys had already been given the evidence linking Connor to the weapons that had gone missing from the police's custody.

"This one caught my interest especially, though." Joe pushed an enlarged photograph of the rifle across the table. "Mr. Boyle will find that familiar."

"Don't respond to that." Mr. Dover lifted his glasses and looked under them at the photo.

"Here's the serial number." Joe shared another photo, then brought out another slip of paper. "This is a receipt from one of the raids Mr. Boyle participated in. It itemizes all the weapons confiscated and allegedly surrendered to the Property Room. That's his signature there. That's the serial number, make, and model of the rifle we recovered today. I believe the man who used it today to gun down my prisoners was Tony Moretti."

A frown deepened on Mr. Dover's face.

Connor's sallow complexion veered green. Behind his NYPD detective badge, Joe grieved again that his friend's choices had led here. But there was still time to make a right decision.

Mr. Radcliffe folded his hands on the papers before him. "Mr. Dover, we'd like you and your client to listen to a story. The ending is up to you."

And then, with the cadence of an opening statement fit for the courtroom, the prosecutor told of a young policeman, an alcoholic even before Prohibition. He had lost his way, gotten mixed up with the Morettis somehow, and ended up accepting French wine in return for four free guns a month. Then his conscience grew too heavy to ignore, and he stopped. He didn't fulfill his contract with the Morettis, which meant his life, or worse, his aunt's, might be in danger. So when Tony Moretti gave an order to kill Wade Martin, Connor did it.

From inside a manila folder, Mr. Radcliffe pulled out the photograph of Wade with Tony's writing on the back. "This was found in the city directory in Mr. Boyle's desk."

Sweat gathered at Connor's hairline and trickled down the sides of his gaunt face.

"Martin worked in one of Ray's buildings, Mr. Dover," Mr. Radcliffe went on. "He learned too much about the Moretti operations. My best guess is that the Morettis used your client to pull the trigger in what would appear to be a raid gone wrong. After all, why do your own dirty work when someone else could do it for you?"

"But today was different," Joe added. "Too much was at stake. Tony had been keeping tabs on Lawrence, so he knew ahead of time about the meeting this morning and the risks involved. The Morettis knew that if Lawrence and Fred were arrested, they'd sing during interrogation about their ‘business arrangement' and the extortion, arson, and fraud that went with it. Ray couldn't risk being arrested, let alone imprisoned. So Tony silenced Fred and Lawrence—but too late." He gestured to the evidence Lawrence had gathered and shared as he died.

"As Sergeant Caravello said, Mr. Dover, I need a witness against the Morettis," said Mr. Radcliffe. "Cooperation would be rewarded."

"Rewarded in what way?" Mr. Dover asked. "The charge against my client in the case of Wade Martin is first-degree murder. Are you saying you'd reduce the charge?"

"Yes." Mr. Radcliffe leaned back. "A reduced charge and a reduced sentence. Plus, you could have a choice of prisons for the incarceration."

A frown creased Connor's brow. "What about my aunt?"

"We'll make sure she's okay, Connor," Joe said.

"How? I don't want her anywhere near the Morettis."

"I don't, either," Joe told him. "I'll make arrangements for her to move away if she wants. Someplace nice and quiet where she can begin a new life without looking over her shoulder."

The cords of Connor's neck grew taut. "Do it. I'll testify."

Mr. Dover opened his mouth but closed it again without speaking. He must have known this was the best deal his client was going to get.

Joe released a breath. "You're doing the right thing. She'll be safe, Connor."

"Once you've served your time," Radcliffe added, "we'll make sure you get to your aunt if that's what you want."

"By the time I'm out, she'll either be very old or will have passed into glory already," Connor said. "I don't want her to be alone in the meantime. She went to school with someone who married young and moved out of state decades ago. We heard she was widowed. Aunt Doreen would like to see her again, but they lost touch over the years."

"All the better," Mr. Radcliffe inserted. "She'll be harder for the Morettis to track that way."

"I'll find her, Connor," Joe promised. "I'll take care of everything."

"All I need is your autograph agreeing to our bargain." Mr. Radcliffe slid papers across the table. Mr. Dover read them, and Connor signed and passed them back again.

As Radcliffe secured them in his briefcase, a spark entered Connor's eyes. "I want to say something to Joe."

Mr. Dover sighed. "I suppose the risk of incriminating yourself is a moot point anyway."

Connor laughed darkly. "Now that I'm pleading guilty to murder? I'll say." He turned to Joe. "You still have no idea what any of this has to do with that oyster shell Wade Martin was holding the night I shot him."

Metal scraped the floor as Joe shifted his chair closer to the table. "I'm listening."

"You deserve to know, so here it is as I understand it. Ray got wise about Wade. Wade sensed a shift in their relationship and was anxious to get back in his good graces."

Joe held up a hand to interrupt him. "How do you know all this?"

"Ray told me." Connor continued to share the story.

Wade had known Ray was a collector. He picked up the oyster shell at Rosenberg's and gave it to Ray as a good luck token he hoped would curry favor. It didn't. Once Ray decided Wade was too big a liability, he sent the shell through Connor to be delivered along with the message "Your luck ran out" moments before Connor killed him.

Forgery had nothing to do with it.

And yet, the pursuit of forgeries had led to this chance of nailing the Morettis.

Well, that and the murders of two men in his custody.

Joe hated that Lawrence Westlake and Fred Klein had been killed today. He hated the trauma Lauren had suffered, from Fred threatening her life to her father abandoning her to Lawrence being shot and wasting his dying breath on excusing himself rather than begging for her forgiveness. He wished he could have found a path to justice without any of this.

All Joe could do now was trust the legal system to make sure the killers didn't get away with it.

Mr. Dover thumbed through the copy of the agreement Connor had signed. "Will that be all, Detective? Mr. Radcliffe?"

This wasn't all, in fact. For Connor and Doreen, the Morettis, and Lauren, this was the end of one chapter and the start of the next.