Concrete Desert (David Mapstone Mystery 1)

“I have a thirst for knowledge.”

“Yes, I suppose you do,” he said. “Rico Verde was very good to me. My name wasn’t associated with it, of course. But I made a tidy profit, which is essential for a young man with political ambition and no money.” He was picking apart the dried-flower arrangement.

“What about your family’s money?”

He snorted. “There was none. A college trust fund, tightly controlled. Then nothing. That was my old man. In the 1960s, everybody in America made money, except him. A former governor no less. He refused to profit from his name or connections. He was weak. Sam wasn’t weak. Sam knew money and power. If that put him into debt with unsavory people, it was worth it.”

“And if thousands of people bought Rico Verde land that didn’t exist?”

“I guess I don’t feel anything for them,” McConnico said. “I hope they voted for me. I remember calling that year for very strict sanctions against the real estate frauds that were ruining our state.”

“So you are a hypocrite as well as a crook.”

“Oh, David, to ascribe hypocrisy is to assume there is a just God and a moral universe. We know that doesn’t exist. If it did, where is my punishment? Where is your justice? History is written by the victors-isn’t that what they say?”

“And what about your cousin, Rebecca?” I asked, feeling a numbness in my feet. “If you’re a victor, how do you live with that, McConnico? Just a kid, really, came out west thinking she could get a little freedom but still be safe with her family. Easy prey for your ‘strong man’ Sam, right?”

He blinked at me twice, then blinked twice again. “Nobody knows what happened to Rebecca. You said it was a serial killer. I believe that.”

“I believed it once,” I said. “Then I found out about Rebecca’s secret lover, a distinguished man who visited only at night. And I found out she was pregnant when she was killed. And I found out Sam Larkin came by his mob connections by marriage, so leaving his wife wouldn’t have been healthy-even if he intended to do it.”

“Sam helped her,” he said, a hint of pleading in his voice. “When Dad got her the job at the law firm, she couldn’t even type.”

“Helped himself,” I said harshly. “And when she came back from Chicago, knowing she was pregnant, she decided to confront him.”

“He couldn’t leave Aunt Louise!” he hissed. “Rebecca knew that!”

“First they made love. She’d been gone a month, after all. Then she told him she was pregnant. They fought. He flew into a rage.”

“He never meant for it to happen!” McConnico hissed, boring into me with his eyes. “I’m the only one he ever told-when I was thirty years old. How do you think it made me feel! It was like this ‘thing’ I carried around inside me all these years. I wanted it all to go away-Jesus, I was a kid when this happened-and I thought it had. Then you show up.”

There was a movement behind him, and Peralta slid out a chair and sat. McConnico looked disoriented. He looked at me and then at Peralta. For a long moment, all we heard was the luminescent hush that attaches to conversations in very expensive restaurants. McConnico’s face grew so red, I thought he was going to have a stroke.

“You were recording this, weren’t you?”

Peralta said, “Senator, you have the right to remain silent.…”

“Don’t you Mirandize me, you son of a bitch!” he shouted. A waiter discreetly cocked his head in our direction.

“Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.…”

“Peralta, your career is dead if you go through with this. Do you hear me!”

“You have the right to an attorney.…”

“If you want a future in politics in this state, Peralta, you are to forget this ever happened!”

“If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

“I own your ass!” McConnico cried. “You do what I tell you! You are to leave this room and get the tape and bring it to me. If you don’t…”

He stared at Peralta, who was impassive and grim. McConnico was breathing faster. “Senator,” Peralta said, “let’s step outside quietly.”

More time passed. McConnico started to sob silently. “This isn’t what you think, Mike.”

“It’s time to go.”

“He’s twisted everything,” McConnico wagged a finger in my direction. “I had nothing to do with any of this!” He was outright bawling now, snot and tears running down his face. Peralta’s expression hardened.