“That's history.”
“I know about Mallory's wife.”
Dickie was out of his seat. “You were the one who told Morelli!”
“That Mallory is a mean son of a gun. No telling what he'd do if he found out someone was fooling around with his wife. He could plant drugs in your car, Dickie. Then you'd get arrested, and just think what fun that'd be . . . the strip search, the beating you got when you resisted arrest.”
Dickie's eyes shrunk into hard, glittery little marbles. I figured his gonads were undergoing a similar transformation.
“How do I know you won't go to Mallory even if I tell you about Mo?” Dickie asked.
“And lose my edge? I might want to blackmail you again.”
“Shit,” Dickie said. He pushed back in his chair. He stood and paced and returned to his seat. “There's client confidentiality involved here.”
“As if you ever cared about client confidentiality.” I looked at my watch. “I haven't got a lot of time. I have other things to do. I need to get in touch with the dispatcher before Mallory goes off shift.”
“Bitch,” Dickie said.
“Dickhead.”
His eyes narrowed. “Slut.”
“Asshole.”
“Fat cow.”
“Listen,” I said. “I don't have to take this. I got a divorce.”
“If I tell you about Mo, you've got to promise to keep your mouth shut.”
“My lips are sealed.”
He rested his elbows on his desk, laced his fingers together and leaned forward. If it had been a normal-sized desk we would have been nose to nose. Fortunately, the desk was as big as a football field so we still had some space between us.
“First off, Mo didn't do any of the killing. He got mixed up with some bad guys . . .”
“Bad guys? Could you be more specific than that?”
“I don't know any more than that. I'm working as an intermediary. All I'm doing right now is setting up a line of communication.”
“And it's these bad guys who did the killing?”
"Mo was fed up with the gangs and the drugs inching closer to his store, and Mo didn't think the cops could do much. He figured the cops were bound up by laws and plea bargaining.
“But Mo knew a lot from listening to the kids. He knew the dealers' names. He knew who specialized in kiddie sales. So Mo started his own little sting. He'd go to the dealer and suggest a partnership.”
“Let the dealer work from Mo's store.”
“Yes. He'd set up a meeting, usually in his store or garage, someplace else if the dealer was jumpy. Then Mo would give the meeting information to a friend of his. Mo would disappear from the scene and the dealer would be taken care of by this friend. In the beginning, Mo didn't know the dealers were being killed. I guess he thought they'd get roughed up or threatened and that would be the end of it. By the time he figured it out it was late in the game.”
“Why'd Mo jump bail?”
“Mo freaked. The gun he was carrying when Gaspick pulled him over was a murder weapon. It had been used to kill a dealer who subsequently floated in on the tide. I guess Mo had bought into some of it by then. Got caught up in the righteousness of being a vigilante. Mo said he never used the gun. In fact, it was empty when he was pulled over. Mo probably felt like John Wayne or something carrying it around. Don't forget we're talking about a shy, nerdy sort of guy who spent his entire life behind the counter of a candy store in the burg.”
I felt a painful stab in the midsection. Morelli had withheld that information from me. He'd never told me about the gun connection and the floater. Now it made sense. Now I realized why Morelli was interested in Mo from the very beginning. And why Mo had jumped bail.
“Why has Mo suddenly decided to turn himself in?”