She nodded and he directed her to a nearby desk. Then he turned back to Colby. “My office,” he said.
Colby mulled over his options. He could tell Pearson to kiss his ass, and get permanently kicked off the task force, if he wasn’t already. That would go over like a lead balloon with Kropper, not to mention Mannion. Or, he could just throw himself on the FBI man’s mercy, claiming that he knew he was wrong, but the sight of freed, serial killer Laird and his asshole attorney had been too much for him. Pearson liked to talk, and he liked to assert his authority. Maybe if he felt he had Colby kowtowed that would be enough.
After deciding that was the best, or more like the only, course, he tried a preemptive move.
“Look,” he said, once they were in Pearson’s office, “I’m sorry I blew my top back there. I know it was wrong.”
Pearson’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Is that so?”
Feeling like a delinquent youth in the principal’s office, Colby clamped his mouth shut, silently reminding himself that this guy had no real authority over him.
“What do you think your superiors will say when I tell them how you practically ruined the case we’ve been building so carefully?”
Colby said nothing.
Pearson glared at him. “You practically told Mr. Fontaine to go F himself.”
Colby looked down. “I was sorta hoping you’d keep it between us.”
“Between us?” Colby nodded.
Pearson’s head began bobbling up and down, like one of those artificial dogs on a car’s dashboard. He was obviously winding himself up.
“You have no conception of what you almost did there, do you?” he asked.
Almost did? That didn’t sound too bad.
Colby shook his head, still focusing his gaze at the floor.
“We asked Laird, and his attorney, to come in today for an interview for a specific reason,” Pearson said. His enunciation was exact. Like he was explaining the Pythagorean Theorem to a fourth grader. He sighed. “Did you get my message to report in immediately?” Colby nodded.
Pearson exhaled again. “There’s been a significant development. One that could break this case wide open.”
The Fed seemed to have expelled most of his anger.
“You going to tell me about it?” Colby asked.
“I have a meeting planned for three PM, at which time I’m going to brief the entire team.” His eyes caught Colby’s. “You know, I have the greatest respect for you as an investigator, but you have to learn to exercise restraint.”
Colby nodded again.
“As you may know,” Pearson continued, “we have a very sophisticated forensics lab in the Chicagoland region. I was able to pull some strings. They shelved all their other lab work in favor of evaluating the evidentiary samples I’ve given them regarding this case.”
Colby’s excitement was beginning to grow. This could be the game point.
“The cigarette butt from the Kelly Turner crime scene,” Pearson said. “It was a Pall Mall cigarette, the same brand as in the original crime, placed in the exact same place as in the original. And…” Pearson paused and let a smile creep over his lips. “It came back with a positive match for Morgan Laird.”
Colby was in momentary shock. This was too good to be true. Almost.
“When did you find this out?”
“About an hour ago. I then sent out the message.”
“I’m assuming Laird and his lawyer don’t know this yet?”
Pearson nodded.” You got a look at him today. He’s physically incapable of carrying out these crimes.”
“But it still places him at the scene. He’s got someone helping him.”
“Or it could have been planted there.”
“Planted?”
“It’s unlikely, but we have to consider it.” Pearson began lapsing into his lecture mode again. “If, in fact, he is working in concert with someone. A younger, stronger person who’s following his directions, it could also explain how a confederate would have such in-depth knowledge of the crime scenes.”
Colby doubted Laird would have such clear recall, but he said nothing.
Pearson flashed a self-satisfied smile. “That’s one of the reasons we asked Laird to come in for the interview, with his attorney present. To make it seem routine about asking about his whereabouts. Naturally, they don’t know the extent of our DNA findings.”
Something gnawed at Colby.
“Laird may not be a Rhodes Scholar, but he must know about DNA. Why would he leave such an obvious piece of evidence?”
Pearson shrugged. “Perhaps he isn’t as aware of our technological advances as you may think.”
Bullshit, Colby thought. But what he said was, “How certain are you about the results?”
“Well, there is one more conclusive test that has to be completed. It was an exact match for the monochromic test. The nuclear DNA results should be available shortly. But as of now, we’re confident that it’s a high percentage probability’s match for Laird.” Pearson’s jaw twitched slightly. “Unless he has an identical twin brother no one knows about.”
“What’s our plan?”
Pearson moved forward, tenting his fingers. “We’ve placed him under surveillance. Our interview got him locked into a statement of his recent whereabouts during some of the crimes. What we need to do now is backtrack and see how many holes we can punch in it. Once we have that done, and the final test result, we should be able to tie this one up with a nice ribbon.”
It took Leslie several minutes of waiting on hold until she finally heard Graven’s gruff voice come on the line. When she identified herself, his tone softened fractionally.
“How’s things south of the forty-eighth, luv?”
“Not bad,” she said. “They’re very helpful down here.”
She heard a low murmur, then he said, “Good, good. Where are you at in the investigation?”
She gave him a quick update, including her suspicions that something didn’t seem quite right at New Genesis Corporation and the coincidental death of Norton’s partner.
She heard him sigh, and could almost picture the classic eye-rubbing gesture that usually accompanied it. That normally meant bad news was imminent. “Let’s leave that investigation to the appropriate authorities, shall we? One of our informants gave us a possible lead. Local punk who was bragging about stabbing some guy with a knife.”
It figured. She was down here, a thousand miles away, and the real detectives almost had the case solved back home. “Anybody I’d know?”
“I don’t think so, luv. Name’s Willis Campbell. Got a nice long record of arrests for everything from pissing on the sidewalk to shoplifting.”
“Nothing violent?”
“No, but he might be trying to move into the big leagues.” He paused, then added, “We’re sweating him now.”
Oh great, she thought. They didn’t even wait for me to call with my update. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, so his voice filled the empty silence.
“You still there, luv?”
“Yes,” she managed to say, clearing her throat. “You want me to come back?”
“Nah, stay down there and finish what you started. We’ll need to show we covered all the bases on this one.” She heard his deep chuckle. “See some of the sights if you have time. I’ve always wanted to visit Chicago myself.”
“You’ll let me know how the interview goes, right?”
“Of course, luv,” she heard his distant voice say. “You’re part of the team. Maybe the next time we speak, we’ll have this one all wrapped up and ready to go.”
Matthew waited until the whimpering and pounding in the trunk had completely subsided before he started driving around looking for places with automated teller machines. His first stop was at a Jewel store in a strip mall. Desmond Kirby, the dead tech, had about fifty dollars cash in his wallet, but he’d been stupid enough to write his PIN on the top of his ATM card. It was just a matter of hitting several of
these machines and doing the maximum withdrawals each time. Matthew didn’t even worry about the built-in camera systems. He had the perfect, identical twin fall guy in the trunk.
The lights of another strip mall shone up ahead in the dwindling afternoon light. There were several smaller shops and a grocery store. A fast food joint, too. He was getting hungry, and he probably should get something for his rider in the trunk, when he woke up, of course.
But first I’d better drain the Kirby account, he thought with a smile. After all, time is money, and he was running short of both. A shiver went up and down his spine, like he was on the verge of coming. This proved that he was smarter than all of them. Smarter even than Jetters, his surrogate father, whose perverse manipulation had caused all this.
But that’s what he gets for trying to play God, Matthew thought.
He took a deep breath. Everything up to today, before his exquisite escape, had been more or less scripted. Sure, he’d done it all with a panache that Morgan would be proud of, but he’d still been following the set script of Morgan’s old crimes. The escape today, on the other hand, had been all him, his own ingenuity…the plan, the execution, everything. It’d been more intense, too. Way more. He felt a thrill, an almost sexual pleasure as he remembered the strangulation. The adrenaline coursing through him, his heart pumping, all of it. Intense, vivid, invigorating.
After finding a parking spot near the doors, he surveyed the lot. If he was going to keep the Kirby car, he’d better get some new plates. This lot didn’t look crowded enough. He’d be too conspicuous ripping off someone’s plates. One thing he didn’t need was to attract the attention of some cops. Better to wait. More than likely, the car wouldn’t be reported stolen right away. The old man wouldn’t dare go to the cops.
Matthew exited the car as gently as he could. No sense waking Sleeping Beauty. The electronic doors slid open at his approach, making him feel almost regal. And why not? He was back in the game.
The ATM was located near the front entrance, allowing people quick and private access before they went shopping. Matthew punched in the PIN, wondering how much longer before this cornucopia would dry up. He had to factor in the possibility, albeit remote, that they’d cancel the card. But that would mean reporting the guy’s death, and he figured the old man would try to cover that up. They’d probably notify the widow that her husband died in some kind of freak accident.
The bills slid down into the slot in front of him. He pocketed the money and headed back to the car, whistling as he walked.
A cover-up. That’s how they operated. That’s what they did best.
But soon, very soon, all that would be changing. He patted the silent trunk and smiled.
Knox looked up and caught a hazy reflection of himself in his car window, the settling dusk making it almost mirror-like. But it was an incomplete image, a vague suggestion instead of a crisp reflection. Much like his quest. Figuring that Matthew would be shrewd enough to use the resources he had at his disposal, Knox immediately went to the personnel records and found where Desmond Kirby’s direct deposit checks went. After that, a series of quick phone calls later, he had the location of the corporate security office of the bank. Luckily, it was in an office complex nearby. The building was only one-story with the front being composed of a wall of glass windows.
Nice for the employees, but unfortunately, it was also an easy mark for someone with an interceptor-cone scanner and a laptop. He set up about fifty feet away, and put the scanner on his dashboard. In no time he’d intercepted enough Internet signals from the high speed broadcasters to tap into the bank’s security records. From there it was only a hop, skip, and a jump into monitoring the recent activity on Kirby’s ATM card.
The pattern of recent withdrawals was obvious, and when the list first popped up on the screen he realized he might be too late. Matthew had been a busy boy. Knox scanned the list of figures, quickly adding them up in his head. Ten stops so far, at three hundred bucks each. The kid had some walking around money. The list of locations indicted he was moving toward the city. Back to his apartment?
Where else could he go? He needed operating money, and now he had that. But he also needed his IDs, a change of clothes, and another car. He had to be going home.
Knox glanced at his watch: four-twenty. With the rush-hour in full effect, he had at least two hours before it began to fade. He might be able to make it over to Matthew’s apartment on an intercept course. But then again, even if he didn’t, he still had the GPS transmitter that he’d secreted on the Corvette. Why not let him get there, settle into his own car, and then track the little fucker down? Plus, Jetters had instructed him to get rid of Laird, too.
Knox stared again at the screen. Another cash advance popped up, showing a Jewel store in Bridgeview. The direction of travel was unmistakable. Knox decided to go for the intercept and the quick ending. Should be a simple enough matter of setting the trap, then waiting.
His cell phone rang, jarring him out of his reverie. He picked it up and heard the old man’s frantic voice on the other end.
“He did it. That son-of-a-bitch did it.”
“Did what?” Knox asked. “Who are you talking about?”
“Those two cops,” Jetters hissed out the last syllable. “Dirkenstein just told me they faxed him a copy of a federal subpoena for Norton’s records concerning Morgan Laird. And for Vernon Krems’s address and personal information.”
Knox let out a slow breath. This was an inconvenient complication, nothing more, yet it was coming at a time when he least needed it.
“What are we going to do?” Jetters asked. His voice sounded brittle, on the verge of cracking.
“First, we don’t panic.”
“Panic? How dare you say that to me? You’ve made a royal mess out this entire situation.”
Knox could picture the old man’s face reddening, and he was glad this conversation was over the phone so he was spared the old bastard’s hot breath in his face. “Can we fight the subpoena? Get it quashed?”
“And look even more like we’re hiding something?”
Knox couldn’t resist. “Aren’t we?”
“Don’t be crass.”
Knox heard the old man’s rapid breathing in the receiver. At this rate he’d be ready for that new heart sooner rather than later.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“You’d better.” Jetters emphasized each word. “What are you doing?”
“Closing in,” he said, keeping things vague. “It shouldn’t be long now.”
“Laird?”
“I’ve got a meeting with his lawyer in a bit,” Knox said, trying to sound reassuring. “I’m not too far from his office.”
“The lawyer. No telling what he knows. Remember, I don’t want any loose ends.”
Knox repeated he would take care of it, but suddenly found himself listening to a click and then silence. The old bastard had hung up on him.
He replaced the phone in his pocket with slow deliberation, then dropped the Taser on the seat.
He left the laptop on the console and went to the trunk. After pulling aside the faux leather lining at the right-rear fender, he leaned over and pulled open a small metallic door that for all appearances looked like a storage compartment. The small safe had been set into the fender wall behind it, and Knox punched in his pass-code. Four red lights glowed on top of the door, and it popped open.
The area inside was more spacious than it looked. Knox removed a plastic case that held something about the size of a hardbound book. Through the blue translucence it looked to be a rather thick computer reference manual. Knox shut the door of the safe, and recoded the security combination. He handled the case gingerly as he walked back to the driver’s seat and shut the door. Setting the item on his lap he glanced out the windows to make sure no one was watching him. His hands slid into his pockets, and he slipped on the thin, black, leather gloves before slipping the computer book from the blue transparency. He opened the boo
k to the cut-out pages and ran his gloved fingers over the Beretta 9 mm semi-automatic pistol that reposed there. Hefting it, Knox racked the slide back and locked it in place. He reached in the book again and withdrew the long, circular silencer and screwed it onto the end of the barrel.
Chapter 13
As Colby stepped out of the shower he marveled at the quick response the Feds had gotten on the subpoena for New Genesis. Pearson had been obliging about that, at least.
Of course he’d probably only did it to impress Leslie.
He dried off and thought about how perfectly everything had fallen into place: Laird leaving DNA at the scene of a copycat murder, him being allowed to stay on the case despite blowing his top at Fontaine—that had been worth almost any price, Pearson agreeing to get the subpoena for Leslie…she’d seemed so deflated after she’d talked to her boss.
“It looks like they have it just about wrapped up,” she’d said. “Nothing for me to do but spin my wheels down here.”
“Then why not let me show you a little bit of Chicago tonight?” he said. It had been spontaneous. Her shocked look gave way to one of those demure, lips-only smiles that she did so well. “I can show you on Ontario Street.”
“I think,” she said, “I’d like that very much.”
After wrapping the towel around his waist, Colby ran a comb through his hair, using a hair-drier to hurry the process up. With his hair sufficiently fluffed, he grabbed the deodorant and was just about to apply it when the phone rang. Leslie calling to cancel?
He stubbed his bare toe on the molding rushing to the other room. Barely controlling his anger and pain, he glanced at the Caller ID and saw it was a cellular call with a local area code. He answered with a growl. “That any way to answer the phone?” It was Dix.
“This better be good,” Colby said. “And quick. I got a date.”
“Oh? With who?”
“None of your business.”
“Oh, must be that good-looking babe you were walking with outside the Federal Building.”
“How the hell did you know that?” Dix’s laugh echoed in the receiver.
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