"On what charge?"

"First-degree murder."

She jumped up, all five feet of her, and stood with her mouth dangling open.

I held up a forefinger and repeated the news: "Murder one."

She gulped. I had never heard anybody gulp before, but she definitely gulped.

"Who the h.e.l.l did he kill?"

"How about Harry Raines for starters?"

"Oh my G.o.d!" she said, and the "G.o.d" stretched out for several seconds.

I walked into her office and dropped the Baggie-cased .38 on her desk.

"I'd feel better giving this to you than the Keystone Kops down in homicide. It's the gun Donleavy used to do the trick. We dug it out of the river about half an hour ago."

"Harry Raines," she said with awe, staring at the .38.

"Donleavy has an alibi but it won't hold water," I continued.

She hadn't caught up with me yet.

"Harry Raines?" she repeated, still staring at the gun, as though she expected it to say something back.

"You may have a little trouble proving premeditation," I went on. "I don't think the idea occurred to him until about thirty minutes before he did it . . . "

This time she heard me and cut me off in midsentence. "That's plenty of time," she said quickly. "h.e.l.l, if he gave it five minutes' thought, that's premeditation enough for me."

"If you can make it work in court, that's okay by me."

"Why did he do it?"

I gave her the basic details as quickly as I could, including background on the pyramid accounts, the Hollywood boxes, and Seaborn's questionably benign role in the matter.

"So the motive was fear of exposure by Raines," she said. "Seems to me he was on borrowed time, anyway. Tagliani would have surfaced sooner or later."

"By that time Donleavy hoped to have established such a strong power base of his own that he could override his 'error in judgment.' That's what he likes to call it."

"What do you call it?" she asked.

"Graft," I said. "Besides, as I told Donleavy, murder leads to murder."

"You mean he killed somebody else?" she asked, her eyebrows flirting with the ceiling.

"Accessory," I said.

"Before or after the fact?"

"Both."

"Who was it?"

"Ike Leadbetter."

"Ike Leadbetter! Ike Leadbetter!"

"Yeah, you remember him, don't you? He used to be chief of police."

"Leadbetter's death was an accident," she said.

"Only because you couldn't prove otherwise," I told her.

She closed one eye and gave me her sternest look. "Don't get uppity with me," she said.

"Dutch Morehead thinks it was murder and I'm inclined to agree. At first I figured Dutch was angry and wanted to make a case out of the Leadbetter drowning. It wasn't Tagliani's style to kill a police chief, particularly when Tagliani was on the dodge. And there weren't any other likely suspects. Then I thought better of it."

"Oh? How come?"

"I don't believe in accidents any more than Dutch does. Not in this town. Not when the police chief is the victim."

"Why was Leadbetter killed?" she asked.

"Look, Ms. Galavanti, if one person in this town was likely to make Tagliani, it was Leadbetter. He had done some time on the force in Atlantic City before coming here, so he was more than just a little familiar with LCN and how it operates."

"You think Leadbetter recognized Tagliani?" she said.

"Right, and Leadbetter went to Donleavy with it, the natural thing to do. After all, Donleavy was Harry Raines' personal choice to head the Committee. Donleavy was facing exposure himself, so he panicked and took it to Tagliani, who had Leadbetter burned. That's when Rio was set up and Tagliani put Donleavy on the sleeve. "

"And had him on the hook forever," Galavanti said.

"You get an A in the course. Want to try Cherry McGee next?"

"Cherry McGee? How about the Kennedys and Anwar Sadat?" she said. "Let's not leave anybody out."

"You want to finish the story for me?" I said.

"Go ahead, you're doing great," she said. "Except that Longnose Graves killed Cherry McGee and his hoodlums." She paused for a moment, then added, "Didn't he?"

"Nope."

"Humph," she said. "I'll admit we tried everything but prayer to hang it on Graves."

"And couldn't," I said, "because he didn't do it. At least Graves says he didn't and I'm inclined to believe him."

"Why?"

"I kind of like him."

"Well, that's one h.e.l.l of a good, legitimate reason," she said caustically.

"Why would he deny it?" I said. "Everybody thinks he did it anyway, and he wanted to. Somebody beat him to it."

"Any ideas?" she asked, then, waving her hand vigorously in front of her face, said, "How silly of me, I'm sure you do."

"Same cast," I said.

"Are you saying Tagliani killed his own man?"

"Cherry McGee and Graves were in a Mexican standoff and Donleavy was on the spot again. He had to stop all the shooting before Raines got nervous. When Tagliani couldn't nail Graves, he eliminated McGee. McGee was a hired hand, he wasn't family. Tagliani couldn't have cared less."

She whistled softly through her teeth. "Can we prove any of this?" she asked.

"Donleavy and Seaborn may break down and unload it all," I said. "But if you're as good as they say you are, it doesn't make any difference. Donleavy can only hang once, and most of the Taglianis who were involved are probably dead."

She looked at me like she was waiting for a second shoe to drop. Finally she said, "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, what do you want out of all this?"

I said, "Cohen, alive and spilling his guts. Then I'll have my RICO case. It would help me a lot if you got a court order to freeze the pyramid account until we can get into it. I'd like to know n.o.body's going to push the erase b.u.t.ton on the computer before we get there."

"I'll take care of that in short order," she said, running in high gear, her eyes as bright as a Mexican sunrise. "n.o.body's going to believe this," she said, standing up and flipping her gla.s.ses on the desk.

"There is one more little favor . . . " I began.

She eyed me slyly. "I knew it," she said.

"Did either Winslow or Lukatis have any priors?" I asked.

"I wish you'd let me in on this thing you have about Lukatis."

"It's personal," I said.

She pondered my question a little longer.

"Yes, there was a case on the books against Winslow," she said finally.

"For what?"

"Controlled substance."

"What happened to it?"

"Dead-docketed."

"For . . . ?"

"Lack of evidence."

"Ah, good old lack of evidence," I said.

"Look," she said, "if I don't have the goods, I can't go to the grand jury. My buck and wing is terrible."

"I'm not blaming you," I said quickly. "Was it dropped before or after the trip with Lukatis?"

"I really don't remember."

"Guess."

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"Well?"

"Probably after."

"Beautiful. And t.i.tan asked you to drop the case, right?"

She had to think about that one for a while.

"Not exactly," she said. "He just didn't come up with the goods for an indictment."

"Fair enough," I said. "Okay, we're even, kiddo. By the way, I suggest you push for a no bond on Donleavy. If I'm right, he probably has half a million dollars waiting for him in Panama. If he gets on the street, he'll turn rabbit."

"Over my dead body," she snapped.

"Don't say that," I groaned. "We've got enough of them already. Who knows, kiddo, you just might ride the Raines case into the governor's mansion."

I winked at her as she scurried by and headed for the booking desk.

71.

NANCE SHOWS HIS STRIPE.

The Breezes reeked of money. The conservative, two-story townhouses were Williamsburg gray with scarlet trim, and the walkways wound through ferns and flowering bushes that looked almost too good to be real. Some intelligent contractor had left a lot of old oaks and pines on the development and there wasn't a car in sight; the garages were obviously built facing away from the street. The lawn looked like it had been hand-trimmed with cuticle scissors.

There was a combined exit and entrance in the high iron-spike fence that enclosed the compound. It was divided by an island with a guardhouse and around-the-clock guards. The one on duty, a tall black weightlifter type, was starched into his tan uniform, and his black boots glistened like a showroom Ferrari.

He looked at me through no-s.h.i.t eyes and shifted his chewing gum from one cheek to the other. He didn't say anything.