“You swear you won’t tell my parents?”
“That’s something I think you should tell them when you’re ready. I won’t. Did you tell the FBI or other detectives any of this?”
“No. I’m sorry. Is that bad?”
“No, because I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. Where is this South Run Park?”
“It’s off the parkway, right past Lee Chapel.”
I turn my notepad to a blank sheet and hand it to her, along with a pen. “Can you draw a map, show me how to get to South Run and then the path?”
Thirty-six
I follow Amanda’s hand-drawn map, which does a good job of guiding me to the Fairfax County Parkway. I don’t like to use Google maps for certain things, especially shit like this, ’cause the information is definitely logged. You never know.
It’s about five o’clock and the beginning of the rush-hour traffic, but traffic is going the opposite direction. I make the right turn and find South Run Park a short distance ahead on the right. I turn in and follow the road to the parking lot. The rec center is ahead on the left, but I keep right and drive to the other end of the lot, where it borders the wooded area. Several cars are parked in the lot, but none that fit the description of Edgar’s car. I park anyway. Before I can exit, my cell rings again.
Costello.
I answer with “What’s up?”
“Did you get my message?” she asks coarsely, like she’s upset.
“No, haven’t had time. I’m just finishing up in Virginia. Why?”
“Fuck you, Frankie.”
That throws me off.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” I ask.
“I called Lenny Claypole’s wife earlier today—”
Oh shit…
“—to tell her about the sentencing date and a bit more about the plea offer. She thanked me for some kind of service I supposedly provided that paid off their car loan.”
“Let me explain.”
“Yes, you will explain, but let me finish. I talked to Lenny Claypole, and from what I could gather, it sounded a lot like the two of you came to some sort of arrangement that if you paid off his car debt he’d accept the plea. What the fuck are you thinking? Are you trying to get me disbarred?”
“Of course not. You know better than—”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do here.”
“You’re going to do nothing.”
“Do nothing? Are you on drugs?”
That’s almost funny, ’cause I know it was just one of those statements only made in anger.
She continues. “Do you realize what you’ve done? I don’t care what type of deal you think you have with my client. I’m his advocate. Do you know what that means? Damn.”
“It won’t fuck anything up. Just let me explain.”
“Do your best, Frankie.”
“I told him you wanted me to look into everything again, see if we could possibly find something helpful for trial. When we were done and I knew we had nothing, that everything had been exhausted, I simply advised him, based on my experience, that it didn’t look good. I broke it down for him and he came to his senses and said he’d take the plea.”
“And that wonderful offer you made to pay off his car loan had nothing to do with it?”
“That was just something I offered because his wife can’t afford the car payments.”
“Then they lose the damn car. You lie to the wife about some ‘special service’ I offer and you manipulate Lenny into taking a plea deal. That’s sure as hell what it sounds like. In some warped way you think you’re helping me out because I didn’t want to go to trial and lose? The fuck, Frankie!”
“I was helping him, and I guess you, too.”
“That was foolish and incredibly inappropriate. And where the hell would you come up with eight thousand dollars? In cash, no less.”
“You think I don’t have savings? ’Sides, he’s going to pay me back.”
“So you made some sort of contract with my client?”
“No, he’s good for it. Leslie. It was just a favor. Granted I didn’t think it through. But I thought I was doing a good thing. You’re the one that put it in my head with all this ‘second chance’ shit.”
“Please don’t put this back on me. You really fucked up.”
“Okay, I fucked up. I’m sorry.”
“That’s just not good enough. You’ve done some funky shit in the past, but nothing that compares to this. Oh, wait, I forgot about the little girl. Silly fucking me. I don’t know, Frankie. I just don’t know. I need some time to digest this. Don’t call me and don’t come to the office.”
“What are you talking about? You’re seriously overreacting here.”
“I’m not overreacting. I told Lenny if he wants to go to trial then that’s what we should do and not to worry about whatever deal the two of you made, but he said no, to take the plea.”
“So what does that tell you?” I ask, before she can continue.
“You just don’t get it, Frankie. Back the fuck off. I’m done with this.” She disconnects.
I slip my cell back into the left inner pocket of my jacket.
It takes me a couple of seconds, but then: “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”