“That’s the way things worked out. It was just a little group.”
Mason Lord cleared his throat, and suddenly Warren O’Dell turned pale. “Uh, sir,” he said, nodding his head and making a sweeping gesture with his hand toward an expensive white leather sofa. “Please, sit down. I was devastated at the news of Louey’s death. I was going to call you.”
“Were you now, Warren?” Mason said. “Why?”
It was obvious that Warren O’Dell was scared spitless. He was standing in the middle of his beautifully furnished office on the nineteenth floor of the McCord Building on Michigan Avenue looking as if he wanted to jump out a window.
“Yes, sir,” he said finally. “I would have called you as soon as it happened, but it was such a shock, you know. I couldn’t pull myself together until just this morning. Louey’s dead, blown up by a car bomb. I can’t believe it. It doesn’t seem possible. I heard you allowed the cops to investigate?”
Ramsey felt a small ripple of surprise in his gut. Did O’Dell consider Mason Lord to be some sort of god with total immunity?
“It was murder, Warren. I’m a law-abiding citizen,” Mason said, his voice austere, as if he’d been the one to insist on the cops coming in. He looked toward Ramsey. “Judge Hunt is the man who saved Molly’s daughter.”
“Oh, yes, now I see. I couldn’t imagine why he was here, with you, seeing me. It’s the shock of Louey’s death. It’s shaken me badly. I gave my girl the day off I was so upset.”
“I see you have some boxes shoved behind your desk, Warren. I don’t suppose you were planning to destroy some documents? Perhaps in preparation for a nice long vacation?”
“Oh no, sir. I was just cleaning house. Nothing more.”
“I’ll see that you get any assistance you require,” Mason said.
“No, sir, I’m just fine, really.”
Mason Lord barely raised his voice. “Gunther.”
The huge man was there in the doorway, looking dead on at Warren O’Dell. As if O’Dell were a bug, Ramsey thought.
“Yes, Mr. Lord?”
“We need to assist Mr. O’Dell. See those boxes shoved behind that impressive mahogany desk of his? We’ll take those and have a look at them. Ramsey, maybe you would be so kind as to look through Mr. O’Dell’s file cabinets.”
“I have some questions first,” Ramsey said.
“Please, Mr. Lord, there’s really nothing-”
Mason Lord raised his hand. O’Dell was instantly silent. “Judge Hunt wants to ask you some questions, Warren. You will answer them completely and honestly.”
Warren O’Dell’s bald head glistened with perspiration. He watched Gunther carrying out the boxes. He licked his lips. “Yes, sir.”
Ramsey felt exceedingly strange. Here he was with a powerful criminal boss who had a potential witness nearly pissing in his pants, and he, Ramsey, a federal judge, was a co-conspirator in what was probably extortion, at least duress. Who cared? “Mr. O’Dell, tell me about Mr. Santera’s finances.”
Warren O’Dell swallowed. He looked again toward Gunther, who was coming back into the office, his gun in its shoulder holster clearly visible because his coat was open.
“Louey was broke,” he said at last. “Dead broke. He was doing this tour to try to pay off his debts. There’s nothing now that he broke his contract, not even loose change.”
“Louey was broke?” Ramsey repeated. “Did he owe a lot of money?”
“Louey wasn’t ever big on denying himself. Then he got butt-deep in debt. There’s this small consortium in Las Vegas. I think they arranged for Louey to lose heavily at the craps table, which he did. He was a lousy gambler, but he wouldn’t admit it. He thought he was the greatest in just about everything. No, in everything. He was into them for nearly a million dollars. They kept him gambling and he couldn’t begin to pay them off. They just kept adding on interest. They made threats. On him, on your daughter, sir, and on your granddaughter.”
“Names, please, O’Dell,” Ramsey said. “Give me names and then give me records.”
Mason rose and walked to the small bar, a chrome-and-glass affair on wheels with three gold leaf-framed glass levels. He picked up the brandy decanter and poured an inch into a snifter. He never turned, just stood there, looking out the wide windows, sipping on the brandy. He said quietly, “I know who it is.”