CHAPTER 41

Martha Perkins led eight-year-old Phillip Servito into the penthouse. She was under strict instructions from Phillip’s father to ensure that no harm came to him during the twenty minute walk from his school to the penthouse. When Phillip burst into the kitchen, Karen wrapped her arms around him. “Hi, darling. I missed you,” she said as she kissed and hugged him. “Did you have a good day at school?”

Phillip nodded. He a miniature carbon copy of his father, she thought.

“Are you hungry?”

“I’m starving.”

Karen gave Phillip the two peanut butter and jam sandwiches she had prepared, and then turned to Martha.

“I’m leaving now, Martha,” she said. “I’ll be at the hospital until eleven.”

Karen’s taxi stopped in front of the Medical Arts Building at the corner of Bloor Street and St. George Street. “Wait for me here,” she said, handing the driver a twenty dollar bill. She got out, waved and smiled at Lanotti, who was parked inches behind her taxi, and hurried to a bank of pay telephones in the lobby of the Medical Arts Building. She inserted a quarter and dialed Mike’s office number.

“Hi, babe,” Mike answered before the first ring had ended.

“How did you know it was me?”

“I just guessed. You’re right on time.”

“I told Martha I was going to be at the hospital until eleven—I’m at Bloor and Avenue Road. I’m going to take a taxi to the hospital, walk in the front door, and leave from the back. Then I’m going to walk to the southwest corner of Bay and College. I should be there by five-thirty. Can you meet me there?”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Karen entered Toronto General Hospital and marched directly toward Becky Singer, who was on duty at the reception counter.

“Hi, Karen,” Becky said with a big smile.

“Hi, Becky. I need you to do me a giant favor?”

“Sure. What?”

“I want you to tell whoever calls me tonight that I’m in the hospital, but can’t be reached. Will you do that for me?”

Becky winked. “You walking on the wild side tonight?”

“Just making up for lost time.”

Karen saw no sign of Mike’s car when she arrived at the southwest corner of Bay and College. She glanced at her watch and realized she was five minutes late. Her heart beat faster. She imagined Lanotti’s black Mustang pulling up to the sidewalk, its slimy driver relentlessly staring at her with a grin.

The shrill sound of a car horn caused her to turn to sharply, and she saw a sparkling new, dark green Jaguar XKE at the curb, no more than five feet away. Mike waved to her from the driver’s seat.

Karen hurried to the car and quickly climbed into the passenger side.

“When did you get this?” she asked with a big smile.

“Yesterday. It’s a little extravagant, but it beats the hell out of driving a station wagon. I thought it was about time I enjoyed some of my hard-earned money. Your husband could make me one of the richest men in the graveyard if I’m not careful.”

Karen frowned. “That’s a poor attempt at humor,” she scolded, and then hugged Mike hard. “Let’s go somewhere and get naked.”

Mike drove to the Inn on The Park, a luxury hotel overlooking the Don Valley in Toronto.

After drinks in the Copper Lounge and a candlelight dinner in the elegant Cafe de L’Auberge, the happy lovers toasted their rendezvous with an expensive bottle of merlot. They danced briefly after dinner, and then disappeared to the Presidential Suite. The king-sized bed was the focal point of two glorious and passionate hours free from the perils of the dangerous world to which they knew they would soon have to return.

Alex McDowell telephoned John Hill two days later. “Good morning, John. I thought it was about time I brought you up to date.

“Go ahead. I’m holding my breath.”

“We conducted a search and seizure operation on Jim Servito’s farm on March fifth.”

“That must have been fun. How did Servito enjoy it?”

“He wasn’t happy. His behavior was described as extremely hostile.”

“Catch any fish?”

“We did, and we still think Servito’s our man, but I’m afraid it’s going to be extremely difficult to get an indictment. His paper’s a joke. It’s obvious he went to a lot of trouble to set up smoke screens. Most of what we seized were copies of bogus gasoline invoices. Tracking them is like taking a trip through Disneyland—it’s all make-believe.”

“I’m confused. What the hell is it that makes you still think he’s our man?”

“He made one mistake. Mike King.”

“You said he was a big player in the retail gasoline business. You have something on him?”

“One of Servito’s companies sold a lot of gasoline to King’s company. We found a ton of invoices corresponding to the sales.”

“That’s wonderful. Then you’ve got him.”

“Not quite.”

“Why?”

“Jim Servito isn’t the owner of the company that made the sales. His wife is.”

Hill shifted in his seat. “So where do we go from here?”

“At this point, I really don’t know, John. One thing is immutable, however. The burden of proof is ours. We have to prove the son of bitch evaded, and that isn’t going to be easy.”

“Do you have a game plan?”

“I wish we did. Suspicion of guilt and seventy-five cents gets you a cup of coffee. We’re dealing with an extremely smart and slippery individual, and he’s also extremely well advised. He’s retained some pretty high priced lawyers, and they’re giving us all kinds of flack. The hell of it is that the politicians are putting serious pressure on me to find the money. They want a perp and I really don’t think they give a shit about who takes the fall.”