When Kelson, Rodman, and Cindi came, Genevieve Bower and Doreen were sitting on a brown leatherette sofa playing blackjack. Marty, in a sleeveless white T-shirt that exposed the mushroom-like stump of his missing arm, worked at one of the functioning computers. The room smelled of sweat and SpaghettiOs.
Genevieve Bower said to Doreen, ‘If you can’t find a job in Chicago, you could clean up at the blackjack tables in Reno.’
‘More likely we’ll all be living here with Marty for the next year,’ Kelson said. ‘You’ve got some vicious guys coming after you. You know someone named Ramsey Garner?’
‘Shh,’ Marty said, and tapped the keys on his keyboard.
Genevieve Bower put down the deck of cards. ‘Is he one of Uncle Harry’s people?’
‘He does it all for Harold – builds a backpack bomb, hunts for missing relatives like you, takes a punch without complaining too much.’
‘Shh,’ Marty said again.
‘And he has a funny friend who doesn’t talk,’ Kelson said.
Marty tapped more keys, hit enter, stared at the computer screen, and shouted, ‘Fuuuck.’ Then he looked at Rodman, Cindi, and Kelson with tired, red eyes. ‘I’m getting real close, but this is a bastard.’
Genevieve Bower said, ‘He works day and night – he doesn’t sleep.’
‘This one’s for Neto,’ Marty said.
‘You’re close?’ Rodman asked.
‘Three, four times, I think I’m in,’ Marty said. ‘But I’m a fucking rat in a fucking maze. I see the cheese, but when I go to grab it, it isn’t fucking there. I’d hate Neto for it if I didn’t love the little fucker so much.’
‘If you get the money, you’ll give it back to G&G?’ Kelson said.
‘You’re joking, right? After what they did to Neto? I’ve got places to hide it so deep, they’ll need a fucking submarine.’
‘One of the families that put their money with G&G – the Winsins – came to see me. They want to talk to you.’
‘Yeah, DeMarcus told me. Screw that.’
‘They want to make their case,’ Kelson said. ‘They threatened to hurt you if you don’t talk.’
Marty blinked his red eyes. ‘I’m snug in this little hole. I can stay here for fucking ever. You can tell these people this rat would rather chew off a leg than deal with pricks like them.’
‘I’ll quote you,’ Kelson said.
‘I appreciate that.’
Kelson said, ‘You know, for this kind of money, others will come after you.’
Marty gave him a tired smile. ‘It’s a hard fucking world.’ He offered to heat pork ’n’ beans for everyone, though he had only two bowls and they’d need to share. Rodman said they’d just eaten, and, after convincing Marty to call if anyone tried to break in, he, Cindi, Kelson, and Doreen went up through the stairwell and out to the street.
Late that afternoon, after dropping off Rodman and Cindi at their apartment and Doreen at hers, Kelson sat alone in his office. He slipped his shoes off under his desk and rested his feet on the desktop. His KelTec lay in his lap, warm and reassuring.
He called Emma Almonte’s number and, when the recording prompted him, said, ‘Where did you go?’ He left his name and number and asked her to call.
Then he called his lawyer Ed Davies and filled him in on all he’d learned since they last talked.
‘This goes from bad to worse,’ Davies said. ‘What am I supposed to do with it?’
‘The Cranes have money and power,’ Kelson said. ‘The Winsins too. Enough to make life rotten for the people they don’t like. How they get away with it, I don’t know. I figure they have connections at the police. How many or how deep, I don’t know either. If I vanish or turn up dead the way people around the Cranes do, you’ll at least have what I’ve told you.’
‘Sounds like the smart thing for me to do would be to forget it.’
‘You could do that. I wouldn’t be around to stop you.’
‘Be careful,’ Davies said. ‘I don’t want to have to face that decision.’
Next, Kelson dialed Nancy at the Healthy Smiles Dental Clinic. The receptionist said his ex was filling a cavity. Kelson said he would hold.
Five minutes later, Nancy picked up the line. ‘What?’
‘You know how sometimes the professional bleeds over into the personal?’ Kelson said.
‘I know I’ve got a nine-year-old with gauze packed in his cheeks and he keeps making pukey noises. So unless you want to help with the Lysol, make it quick.’
‘I’m working a job with some people who might have threatened you,’ Kelson said.
‘Me?’
‘And Sue Ellen.’
‘Jesus, Sam – why did you tell these people about Sue Ellen?’
‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t.’
‘Of course you would. You can’t help yourself.’
‘OK, I would, but I didn’t. She never came up until these people mentioned her. It’s what they do. They intimidate.’
‘What did they threaten to do?’ She’d forgotten the nine-year-old with the gauze.
‘They kept their options open.’
‘Jesus, Sam.’
‘I know. Watch her close right now.’
‘I always watch her close.’ As if he’d insulted her.
‘Don’t let her sneak out at night.’
Now he’d gone too far. ‘Look, she does that because of you. What am I supposed to do? Lock her in her room?’
‘If that’s what it takes.’
‘You’re a lousy dad, Sam.’
‘I try as hard as I can.’
‘Try harder.’
‘Watch out for yourself too,’ he said. ‘These people scare me.’
She hung up on him.
‘I try,’ he told the dead phone.
Then he dialed Venus Johnson at the Harrison Street Police Station.
‘You won’t like this,’ he said, when she picked up.
‘Then don’t bother me with it,’ she said.
‘What can you tell me about Victor Almonte’s backpack bomb?’
‘That’s police and FBI business,’ she said, ‘which means it isn’t yours.’
‘You’ll want to look close at the cell phone that triggered it.’
She sounded angry. ‘How do you know it had a phone trigger?’
He said, ‘When the FBI does the forensics, they’ll find the number that called to set it off. Don’t waste your time running around looking for the other phone. It’s in the debris you bagged from the library.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I know – you wonder why Victor Almonte called his own phone when he could just set off the bomb with a switch or button. The answer is, he didn’t. You won’t find his prints on the second phone – or, if you do, they’ll be there because someone made sure they were there in the days before the blast. But you’ll find other prints if enough remains of the phone to lift them. They’ll match one of the victims – Neto LeCoeur.’
‘What you’re saying makes no sense.’
‘I’m telling you what I’ve heard.’
‘Who’s your source?’
‘One of Victor Almonte’s army pals – a guy named Ramsey Garner.’
She seemed to catch her breath. ‘Hold on a second,’ she said, and when she came back, ‘Does this Ramsey Garner have red hair? Freckles? Maybe dress in a green golf shirt?’
‘See? I’ve always thought highly of you,’ Kelson said.
‘His name popped up on my screen fifteen minutes ago,’ she said. ‘Seems forty minutes before that, a pickup truck pulled to the side by the I-94 exit at Randolph and shoved Garner’s body on to the pavement.’
‘He’s dead?’
‘Sure, if a broken neck is dead.’
‘Huh. Anything else in the report?’
‘Yeah, we caught a guy we think did it, though the witnesses could only identify the truck – and only with a partial description. This guy sent a patrolman to
the ER. We have him in lockup on charges of fleeing and resisting.’
‘Got a name?’
‘The report says he isn’t talking.’
‘How about a description?’
‘Medium height, Caucasian. Blue jeans and a—’
‘Black T-shirt.’
‘Now how the hell did you know that?’
‘I spent the morning with him and Ramsey Garner,’ Kelson said.
‘Why would he kill Garner?’
‘Maybe Garner talked too much.’
‘You need to come to the station,’ she said. ‘Now.’
‘Thought you’d never ask.’
FORTY
Kelson sat with Venus Johnson at a metal table in a homicide unit interview room. After a while, FBI Special Agent David Jenkins joined them. His partner Cynthia Poole came in a minute later.
‘Tell them,’ Johnson said.
‘First,’ Kelson said, ‘Harold Crane and his daughter Sylvia – who run an investment company called G&G – are tied to the Rogers Park Library blast.’
Cynthia Poole looked skeptical. ‘An investment company blew up a library?’
David Jenkins sounded like he knew he was wasting time but was used to it. ‘Mr Kelson called and threw that at me before. He has this theory—’
Kelson said, ‘They make people disappear.’
‘Disappear?’ Poole exchanged a look with Jenkins. ‘Like who?’
Kelson was prepared for that one. ‘Emma Almonte.’
The FBI agents exchanged another look. Poole nodded at Jenkins. He said, ‘We have Emma Almonte.’
‘You have her? How so?’
‘We took her into custody again,’ Jenkins said. ‘For further questioning.’
‘But when I called you – after she walked out of her house – you said—’
‘We don’t reveal everything to private citizens,’ Jenkins said. ‘That would defeat the purpose.’
‘But—’
‘But nothing,’ Poole said. ‘We asked you before to stop interfering. Every minute we spend with you takes a minute away from the work we need to do.’
Venus Johnson said, ‘He knew about the cell phone trigger.’
Jenkins pressed his lips together. ‘Backpack bombs come with detonators of three kinds. Timer, manual trigger, or cell phone. Suicide backpacks almost always use manual triggers or cell phones, because why bother with a timer? So, now you’re fifty-fifty. It takes more than a coin flip to impress us.’
‘Who do you think called the cell phone?’ Kelson said.
Poole said, ‘We have Emma Almonte in custody.’
Kelson laughed. ‘You think she—’
‘We think she can help us determine who did call,’ Poole said.
‘Neto LeCoeur,’ Kelson said.
‘The kid playing Grand Theft Auto on the computer two seats from Victor Almonte?’ she said.
‘The twenty-three-year-old man who dug into the G&G books and transferred its funds – and who has a hacking background.’
‘Our digital forensics people—’
‘Your digital forensics people suck. Tell them to look closer at the library rubble. They’ll find the phone that set off the trigger. Neto texted from it.’
Jenkins suppressed a smile. ‘Unless Neto LeCoeur was a computer genius, he couldn’t do this.’
‘I don’t know about a genius,’ Kelson said, ‘but he was damn good.’
Cynthia Poole smiled outright. ‘So this was – what, a double suicide bombing?’
‘It was a robbery,’ Kelson said. ‘Neto transferred the G&G money into his own account. G&G wanted him to text them when he finished their job – which he finished, but by ripping off their money. He set them up. But they set him up too. The text went to the phone in Victor Almonte’s backpack. Boom.’
‘That’s it?’ Jenkins said.
‘That’s a big part of it,’ Kelson said.
‘Keep the rest to yourself, OK?’ Jenkins pushed his chair from the table and stood. ‘You lost me the moment you opened your mouth.’
Kelson spoke to Poole. ‘G&G hired one of Victor Almonte’s army friends to work security. A guy named Ramsey Garner. Strong-arm stuff. He told me this.’
‘All of it?’ Poole said.
‘Enough of it.’
She still smiled. ‘Where is he now? If he’s talking to you, why isn’t he talking to us?’
Venus Johnson said, ‘He’s dead.’
Poole pushed her chair from the table too. She said to Johnson, ‘You called us based on a dead witness and the word of a brain-damaged ex-cop?’
Johnson said, ‘I called based on information I thought you should have.’
Kelson said, ‘She’s got a mute guy in lockup too.’
When the FBI agents left the room, Johnson gave Kelson a look as if she would tear him apart. But she said, ‘Jagoffs.’
‘They’re looking at Emma Almonte?’
Johnson shook her head. ‘They’re looking at Tom Runeski.’
‘The other victim’s husband? A guy who cuddles his baby girl on the news? That’s harder to fit than Neto.’
‘Runeski does web design. He did a site for a business Emma Almonte’s company worked with, like, three years ago – before Emma Almonte even took her job at the company, but still.’
‘These FBI people are as bad as the Cranes. Do they have Runeski in custody too?’
‘That’s what I hear.’
‘They’re wrong,’ Kelson said.
‘But they’re the FBI. They get to be.’
‘You can fix this,’ Kelson said. ‘Are you going to talk to the man who threw Ramsey Garner out of the car?’
‘Right after you called, two lawyers showed up for him. Then a third lawyer.’
‘Sent by the Cranes?’
‘No one’s saying – at least the lawyers aren’t. I don’t know how they learned we had their man here.’
‘Money talks,’ Kelson said. ‘Any chance I can see him?’
‘Why do you ask dumb questions?’ she said. ‘It gives people a bad impression of you. What would you even ask him?’
‘I’d tell him,’ Kelson said. ‘I’d say he’s next on the Cranes’ list. They can’t risk having him reveal their secrets. He’s got to disappear. And in jail there’s only one way to disappear – unless they can get him out on bail, and then there’s still only one way, though maybe then his body’s never found. I figure he knows all this already, but I want to tell him anyway. Maybe then he’ll mumble his story to someone with good enough ears to hear it before he gets a shank or a bedsheet around his neck.’
‘I knew you could think a thought or two,’ she said. ‘I’ll get him moved where he’s safe.’
‘Make sure you know the guards who bring him dinner.’
‘You’ve got a bad attitude about cops,’ she said.
‘I used to be one,’ he said.
‘You must’ve hated yourself.’
FORTY-ONE
Instead of leaving the station through the main entrance, Kelson went down to the prisoner intake room. A handcuffed man with eyes that looked drugged into another universe swayed by a large wooden desk as a tall cop talked to the desk officer. At one end of a row of wall-mounted plastic seats, a man in a charcoal-gray suit sat talking quietly but heatedly with Sylvia Crane. At the other end of the row, standing by the wall, another man, older but dressed like the first, talked with Christine Winsin. A woman in a blue skirt and matching jacket, with a black briefcase, stood in the middle of the room reading her phone.
Kelson went to her and said, ‘Door number three?’
‘Pardon me?’ She had straight blond hair with strands of gray.
‘Who sent you?’ he said.
‘I’m sorry – who are you?’
‘Sam Kelson.’ He took a business card from his wallet and gave it to her. ‘And you’re here for the mute man? I call him Squirt.’
She blinked. ‘You’ll have to excuse me – you seem to have mistaken me for�
�’
‘Ms Crane has her lawyer, and Ms Winsin has hers,’ Kelson said. ‘Whose are you? Are other G&G clients sticking their fingers in? Is Squirt looking out for himself?’
‘Excuse me,’ the woman said again, and she moved away, looking down at her phone.
So Kelson went to Sylvia Crane and her lawyer. ‘Don’t worry about him telling your secrets,’ he said to her. ‘He doesn’t talk awake or asleep.’
‘Oh, hello, Mr Kelson,’ she said, as if they ran into each other at police stations all the time. ‘This is one of our G&G lawyers, Jim Edwards.’
Kelson shook hands with the man and said, ‘She didn’t trust you enough to send you alone, huh?’ Then, to Sylvia Crane, ‘You’re really worried about Squirt, aren’t you? You want him in your own hands. Are you going to try to cut a deal with him, or just make him go away?’
She gave him an almost convincing look of bafflement. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
He said to the lawyer, ‘How does it work? When they announce bail, do you and Christine Winsin’s lawyer count down from three and then race to see who can pay it? My money’s on the blue skirt. She’s got the legs to win anything up to a half mile.’
Sylvia Crane gave him a wry look. ‘You know Christine Winsin?’
‘And her brothers. They visited me in my office. They seem to share your interest in Marty LeCoeur – but maybe with a different result in mind.’
‘Marty who?’ she said.
He started to answer, then realized what she was doing. ‘You’re pretty good. The problem is, I think you need to be better than pretty good to survive in the game you’re playing.’
He went over to Christine Winsin and her lawyer. ‘Hello, Ms Winsin. Ready for the auction?’
The lady looked at him, irritated at the interruption. ‘Excuse me?’
‘You going to buy yourself a mute? Cut a deal with him before Sylvia Crane can?’
‘I’m sorry?’ As if she didn’t know him.
Kelson grinned at her. ‘You aren’t even pretty good. You come here with your thousand-dollar shoes and your million-dollar lawyer, and you don’t belong. You should call it in, or have your assistant’s assistant do it. Next time, stay home with the show dogs. But I guess you’re afraid to leave Squirt alone even with your lawyer – like Sylvia Crane.’
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