“Actually, yes. Elyse had been having trouble with the clasp of her watch ever since she got dressed for the evening. I fixed the clasp for her while the server was pouring. So I noticed the time when I put the watch back on her wrist.”
“I see.” Monty was jotting everything down. “Any idea where I can find this Margo Adderly?”
“Not a clue.” Arthur gave an arbitrary shrug. “It was seventeen years ago, and very inconsequential.”
“To you, maybe. Obviously not to her.”
“She was emotionally distraught, Montgomery. Not homicidal. Plus, if she wanted to kill anyone, it was me. But if you have doubts, feel free to track her down. Start with the D.C. area, since that’s where she’s from.”
“I will.” Monty stopped writing.
“So, is that it?” Arthur was getting ready to stand up.
“One more thing. Why did you tell me that the last time you spoke to George Hayek was when he worked for your father?”
Arthur paused, something definitely flickering in his eyes. “I had no idea George was still on your list. Have you determined that he’s connected to your investigation?”
“That’s a question, not an answer.”
“The answer is, I gave you the most candid response I could. Any further information is privileged.”
“Ah.” Monty rolled his pen between his fingers. “Meaning your friend the D.A. doesn’t want it getting out that Hayek was, or still is, a CI for his office.”
Inhaling sharply, Arthur settled back in his chair and seized his half-empty coffee container. “I should have gotten the twenty-ounce size. I didn’t realize I’d be here all morning.” He took another gulp, then met Monty’s gaze. “How did you find out?”
“Can’t say. Any further information is privileged.”
“Very amusing. What do you want to know—and why?”
“Three things.” Monty counted off on his fingers. “One—did Hayek call you on July twenty-ninth, 1976, at your office at Kellerman Development and tell you he’d been arrested for running guns for Carl Angelo? Two—did you, in turn, contact Jack Winter and make a deal with him that resulted in Hayek’s charges being dropped and his file sealed in exchange for his becoming a CI? And three—as a CI for the D.A.’s office, did Hayek eventually testify against Carl Angelo and help Jack put him away just a few months before Jack and Lara were shot to death?”
Arthur’s lips had drawn into a grim line. “Yes, yes, and yes.”
“Then you shouldn’t have to ask why I’m still interested in Hayek.”
“I see why you think Angelo might have ordered the hit on Jack. But how would that involve George?”
“Angelo was in prison. Hayek was free as a bird. Maybe he was offered enough cash to arrange the hit on Jack. Or maybe Angelo wanted to find out who’d been ratting him out and Hayek was scared shitless he’d be made and eliminated. So he killed the only person who knew he was the CI who’d gotten Angelo convicted. I don’t know. But I plan to find out.” Monty paused. “It’s interesting though. Your pal the D.A. is pushing like hell to find out who killed his rising star Jack Winter. Yet he’s obviously not in someone’s face about this Hayek angle. I wonder why.”
“No idea.” Arthur polished off his coffee. He looked like he wished it were bourbon. “And now I’ve said all I can say on this subject. Anything more, you’ll have to go to the D.A. directly.”
“If that’s what it takes, I will.”
TWENTY-NINE
Monty met Lane at the Second Street Café, a short cab ride away from the Maimonides Medical Center in Brooklyn, for a quick burger and update.
Lane frowned when he saw his father’s face. Monty had given him a brief rundown on the Taconic incident. But his story and the visual didn’t match up. “You told me the only damage was to the car. It doesn’t look that way to me.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you saw my Corolla. It needs bodywork, a paint job and a new windshield—not to mention a Super Sucker to pick up all the pieces of glass. Me? My jaw stings and I’ve got a few pulled muscles. None of it hurts as much as my pride. Your mother needed the truck today. She’s getting supplies for the horses. So guess who had to take her little royal-blue bumper car to work?”
“You’re driving Mom’s Miata?” Lane’s lips twitched.
“Wipe that smirk off your face.”
“I’ll try. But it won’t be easy. The image of you—” Lane broke off at the murderous gleam in Monty’s eyes. “Okay, okay, I won’t goad you anymore.” He sobered. “No clue on who was driving that BMW?”
“Nope. But whoever it was was a hired hand. As for the car, it probably belongs to the scumbag he’s working for—the real perp we want.” Monty gave Lane a questioning look. “In the meantime, how’s Jonah doing?”