As for Dante, he disappeared while I was still bleeding on his scuffed linoleum floor. After he decked me, I remembered seeing him slip into his office, where he grabbed the suitcase from his desk and moved out of my line of sight. When the FBI agents burst in, I expected him to be escorted out in handcuffs. By then, he was gone. There were numerous explanations for his escape. Some said there was a secret room where he concealed himself until the police wrapped up the raid and departed. Others speculated he’d gone out the window and hung on to the frame while he hauled himself and his suitcase up onto the roof and made his way to the fire escape on the far end of the building. Even when the hidden staircase came to light, the man himself had vanished so completely, he might as well have been B. D. Cooper jumping out of that plane.
Len Priddy, on the other hand, was much in the public eye—smug, self-satisfied, and apparently bulletproof. He was a bad man, but a clever one, and he’d managed to dance out of the reach of the law. With Dante gone and Cappi dead, there were no corroborating witnesses to substantiate Priddy’s relationship with the crime family. For those who’d hoped to see him behind bars, disappointment was keen that there was no justice in sight.
Three weeks later I had a visitor. I was sitting at my desk when a woman appeared in the doorway, saying, “Hi, I’m Lou Elle. Are you Kinsey?”
“I am.” By then, most of my facial bruises were gone and my nose was only mildly swollen, so I didn’t feel I needed to explain my appearance. She probably didn’t know the difference since I’d never met her before. I said, “What can I do for you?”
“I work for Lorenzo Dante. Or maybe I should say I worked for him, past tense. Mind if I have a seat?”
“Be my guest. I hope you’re here to tell me what happened to him.”
“Yes and no. He got in touch with me once, but says I won’t be hearing from him again. It’s probably just as well. The less I know about him the better for both of us. Dante Enterprises is out of business.”
“But you came out of it okay?”
“I’m fine. He made sure I wouldn’t be caught in the mess. I’m not sure you’ll appreciate this, but he had Abbie buy plane tickets for himself and a companion, leaving for Manila on Thursday night. He had me buy a second pair of tickets so when the CHP intercepted the limousine on its way to LAX, they found my husband and me in the backseat instead of him. You should have seen the looks on their faces. Talk about disappointed! They were all set to make the arrest. Instead, they had to wave us on our merry way.”
“How did he manage to get away?”
“Sleight of hand. In a year or two, I’ll fill you in, but at the moment, all you need to know is he’s landed safely and he’s set for life.”
“I hope so. I only met him once, but I liked him.”
“He must have liked you too. Despite the punch in the nose,” she added.
“I was never so surprised in my life.”
“He felt bad about it. I’m sure he would have apologized in person if he’d had time.” She opened her bag and took out a thick envelope and passed it across the desk. “For you.”
I picked up the envelope and opened the flap widely enough to catch sight of a fat packet of currency, bound by a rubber band. Topmost was a one-hundred-dollar bill and I was guessing the rest were duplicates.
“That’s not a gift,” she pointed out. “It’s reimbursement for pain and suffering.”
“No need,” I said. “That’s what medical insurance is for.”
“It’s also payment for a job he wants done if you’re agreeable.”
“A job?”
“Short-term. Nothing egregious. Let’s call it a task.”
“And what might that be?”
“Check the envelope again. You missed something.”
When I opened the envelope the second time, I found a tape cassette wrapped in plain white paper.
“He thinks that should have an airing.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. He says you’ll get the idea. He’s trusting you to do anything you like with the information as long as it’s made public.”
“Have you heard it?”
“Nope, but if I know him, it’s worth whatever he’s paying you.”
At that, she got up and headed for the door.
“What if I decide against doing it?”
“The money’s yours anyway.”
I said, “Why?”
She smiled. “He says you play straight and he thinks you’re a woman of your word.”