The Second Mouse - Archer Mayor [57]
Gunther had considered this moment, even anticipated some of the language. But instead of responding as he’d thought he might, he merely extracted a small tape player from his pocket and laid it on his knee.
Without a word spoken, he pushed the Play button.
Beverly Hillstrom’s precise voice entered the quiet room. She was speaking on a phone in the middle of an ongoing conversation.
“I realize that we’ve had our professional differences, Mr. Freeman. And I’m sorry to say that it appears we’ve had our personal ones, too, dating back to the death of your au pair, Ellen Turnley . . .”
Freeman slid forward in his chair, but was stopped in midreach for the recorder by the fierceness of Gunther’s glare. “What is this?” he asked instead, his eyes narrowed, as Joe hit the Pause button.
“It’s something I’d like you to hear.”
“That was a private conversation,” he said. “I doubt this is even legal.”
“That’s an interesting place to go,” Joe answered him. “Before we do, though—and we will—I’m hoping you’ll humor me.”
Freeman hesitated, his imagination snagged on Joe’s possible meaning. Finally, he slid back and made a show of crossing his tailored legs casually. “Fine,” he said. “Carry on.”
Joe rewound the tape a few inches. “. . . had our personal ones, too, dating back to the death of your au pair, Ellen Turnley—”
“That has nothing to do with this,” Freeman’s recorded voice cut her off. “What you did back then was unprofessional and clearly politically motivated, but I have totally put it behind me. My complaints against you and your department concern the way you hemorrhage money for frivolous reasons.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Beverly, for Christ’s sake. I’ve told you all this before: You stop wasting money, and I’ll stop slapping your butt. Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”
“What I’m not into, Mr. Freeman,” she answered icily, “is being blackmailed.”
“Oh, come on,” he burst out, his voice bright with superiority. “The fact that you were a bad girl once probably shouldn’t be held against you. God knows, I don’t. But then, a lot of people are nastier than I am.” He paused before adding, “And you’ve pissed off a ton of them, Bev.”
Freeman held up his hand. “Can we stop this?” he asked Joe.
Joe interrupted the tape again. “Why?”
“Because I don’t see the point,” the other man went on. “You’re obviously an ally of Hillstrom’s, and by either challenging my integrity or trying to scare me, you’re hoping to force me to betray both good management practices and a matter of principle. But like I said to her: Nothing personal. You’ve been a cop for a long time. Maybe too long, from what I’m seeing right now. Be that as it may, I think someone with your record should be respected for what he’s done, and maybe forgiven a lapse of judgment. You leave now and I’ll let bygones be bygones, with no reprisals against you or Hillstrom.”
He laughed and tilted his head as if he’d just heard a good joke. “I mean, Christ, Joe. A man with your mileage must see what a slippery slope this is, right?”
Joe had actually been of two minds about going this route and had sympathized with Beverly when she bridled at his suggestion to bug the phone call. So while he’d believed her cause to be just and reasonable, he’d also needed some insight into Freeman’s point of view before proceeding.
There had indeed been questions concerning a slippery slope. They’d been quickly rendered moot. On tape, Floyd Freeman had struck him, just as he was doing now in person, as a manipulative, amoral opportunist. A crook who simply hadn’t yet been caught. Perhaps Freeman was correct in one thing, though: Maybe Joe had been a cop for too long. However, he’d convinced himself that a career dedicated to doing the right thing was an adequate counterbalance for running a little fast and loose with a slimy guy like this.
He appraised Freeman with a long, quiet look and commented, “I think you chose the slope long before I got here.”
He started up the tape again to