Deadline for Lenny Stern, Peter Marabell [sneezy the snowman read aloud .TXT] 📗

question, Sylvia, RC 44?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do,” Fleener said.

“Would you like to explain the meaning of the question, Captain?”

“I’d rather hear from Sylvia, if you don’t mind, Mr. Bakersfield.”“Well, I do mind, Captain. What’s the purpose of the question?”

Without serious objections from Bakersfield, Fleener continued. “Have you seen RC 44 anywhere?”

Sylvia shook her head.

“How about at the Cavendish Company? Maybe on a truck or car?”

“Captain, that’s enough,” Bakersfield said, “until you tell me where this interview is going.”

“How about a tattoo,” Fleener said. “A 44 inside a circle?”

“Why do you make things up,” Sylvia said, still glaring at Fleener.

“I think annoyance has morphed into anger,” Hendricks said. “What do you think, Russo?”

I just stared, riveted by the people on the other side of the glass.

“A tattoo, a circle around the number 44. Seems pretty simple to me. You’ve seen it, haven’t you?”

Sylvia sat stone-faced, but clearly angry.

“An odd tatt, don’t you think?” Fleener said. “What does it mean, Sylvia?”

“Why isn’t Bakersfield cutting off the questions?” I said.

“This isn’t his ballpark, Russo. He doesn’t understand. Of course, his client isn’t helping any.”

“Tell me about RC 44.”

“You have no …I don’t know what you mean,” Sylvia said.

“Sam Dexter says you know all about the tattoo, Sylvia.”

“Whoa, Don,” I said. “I didn’t know that.”

“Neither did I,” Hendricks said.

“Dexter’s lying,” Sylvia said, raising her voice.

“Lying about the tatt?” Fleener said.

“Yes, of course,” Sylvia said.

“Lying about drugs?”

“Yes.” Her voice grew louder.

“Tell me about the Cavendish Company truck with the vanity plate, ‘RC 44.’”

Sylvia never hesitated. “I don’t know anything about company trucks.” But her response had no weight behind it.

“A vanity plate, RC 44, on a company truck, your company truck.”

She shook her head. Shook it with dramatic flair, like that was more convincing.

“The RC,” Fleener said, “it’s for Ramsey Cavendish, your husband, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my husband,” Sylvia said, clearly angry. “My husband’s dead and you know it.”

“What’s the connection, Sylvia? Ramsey and 44?”

“Captain,” Bakersfield said, but Sylvia cut him off.

“Shut up,” she said, her head only inches from Bakersfield face. “Shut up, just shut up. Both of you.” She turned Fleener’s way, “You have no right …”

Fleener pressed on. “What does the 44 have to do with your dead husband, Sylvia?”

Fleener flipped a few pages in the manila folder. It was show. He already knew what it said.

“Ramsey Cavendish died in prison. Says here he was beaten to death, Sylvia. Did your husband know about the 44?”

“Where’s Fleener going with this, Don?” I said.

“Don’t have a clue.”

“Leave Ramsey out of this, damn you,” Sylvia said. “He’s dead. I don’t want you talking …” She couldn’t finish the sentence. Tears fell down her cheeks. She wiped them away with a finger.

“Why did Sam Dexter and his buddies threaten to kill Lenny Stern?”“Damn,” Hendricks said.

“What?” Bakersfield said. “No, Sylvia. Don’t answer.”

“Sylvia.” Fleener paused. “Did you tell Dexter to kill Lenny Stern?”

“That’s it, Captain. We stop. Now.”

“What about Kate Hubbell? Did you tell Dexter to kill Kate Hubbell, too?”

Sylvia Cavendish came out of her chair, leaning on the table toward Fleener.

“You’re damn right I did. That man killed Ramsey!” The tears ran freely down her face now. “The woman got dead, so Stern knew he was next. I wanted him to sweat it out…every…single…day.” Sylvia drew the words out. “Like me when Ramsey went to prison. I want Stern dead. You hear me, dead.”

Bakersfield was out of his chair. “No. Sylvia, not another word. Captain, we’re done. I need time with my client. Now.”

Sylvia sat down, crying hard. Bakersfield put a hand on her shoulder. She swatted it away.

Fleener closed the manila folder, took his jacket, and left the room to Sylvia Cavendish and Randolph Bakersfield.

Fleener came in with us.

“Well shit,” Hendricks said. “Did you have any idea … ?”

Fleener shrugged.

“She gave it up pretty easily,” I said.

“She didn’t give anything up,” Fleener said.

“But Sylvia admitted she ordered Lenny killed.”

“All Sylvia cares about is her hate, Russo. Getting even for her husband’s death. Somebody had to pay. Lenny Stern, Kate Hubbell, anyone related to the book project.”

“That thing about 44,” I said. “That sent her over the line.”

“Took me a while to figure it out,” Fleener said. “The 44? That was the number of days Ramsey Cavendish survived in prison before he was killed.”

I shook my head. “Jesus …”

“What do you want to do about the sons?” Fleener said.

“Pick ‘em up,” Hendricks said.

A veteran criminal attorney once explained Martin Fleener this way: “Fleener is like LeBron James. The game looks the same because it is. But Fleener plays at another level. His experience and instincts work seamlessly. Fleener trusts his instincts, even if they conflict with logic. It takes him places others can’t conceive of, not on their best days.”

48

“What’ll happen to Sylvia Cavendish?” AJ said. We sat with Henri and Sandy at a table near the front windows at City Park Grill. Lenny Stern was there, too, after wrapping up his grand book tour in the Windy City. Lenny, Sandy, and Henri drank beer, AJ and me, chardonnay. We’d ordered crab-spinach dip and sweet potato fries for the table.

“That’s up to Don Hendricks,” I said. “Fleener said it’d be a few days yet.”

“What about Sam Dexter and Ben Jarvis?” Sandy said. “And the two from Carp Lake?”

“Dexter will be charged with killing Kate Hubbell,” I said.

“It still doesn’t seem clear why he killed a woman he didn’t know,” Sandy said.

“But it mattered to Sylvia.” I put down my wine glass. “From what Hendricks said, Sylvia could be pretty persuasive. The bad boys weren’t the savviest bunch either. Toss in the free drugs, they were easy marks for Sylvia.”

“The others?” Sandy said.

“All of them were in on it,” I said. “The threats, everything. Pretty gullible. Give them a free tattoo, it’s like a club.”

“I still don’t see … I have a hard time with Sylvia,” Lenny said. “I know she blamed me. But that was a long time ago.”

“She wanted revenge, Lenny,” Sandy said. “She figured you were responsible for her