He slowed down, letting traffic fill in between him and the cars he’d honked at. No sense taking the chance that they might call the cops or get his license plate, since the private mailbox place was just up ahead. The end of his plan so close. Sure, he’d had to accelerate it a bit, cut off his original plan to duplicate the rest of Morgan’s series of murders. He wondered what Morgan had thought when he’d seen the news show about the copycat killings. Had he been pleased? Or maybe, envious. Envious that he was no longer capable of pursuing the ultimate thrill?
Matthew’s mind shot ahead, thinking of the last moves of the game. Completing the final chapter, and then taking off for someplace safe, where he could leisurely watch as the old man’s empire came crashing down.
The mid-morning sun was high in the sky, but it was still chilly and miserable. Typical mid-October.
He’d have to settle someplace warm, where no one would come looking for him. Maybe the Bahamas or Mexico. One of those American conclaves surrounded by abject poverty. Where the cops were fat, lazy, and corrupt. Where he could continue his hobbies.
He smiled, remembering a news show about a place called Juarez, where they’d found the bodies of over a hundred women. Now that would be an interesting record to break.
Leslie held her breath as Colby swung the unmarked police car through the crowded streets with a wild abandon as he kept talking on his cell phone. He was, she decided, a man possessed. Maybe that’s why his cell worked down here and hers didn’t.
If only she could tap into his energy and drive to solve her own case, which was growing more problematic with each passing minute. She found herself feeling stressed. Graven was expecting results, and she hadn’t a clue about how to proceed. Maybe she could ask Colby for advice. He’d been more than willing to give some a few days ago, when they’d first gone out to interview Norton’s colleagues. But now he was totally focused on his friend’s arrest. She listened to his half of the conversation.
“Yeah, Carmel, I know,” Colby said into his phone. He twisted the wheel, driving with one hand and bobbling his head back and forth like a ball on a pivot. “But I’m telling you, there’s a whole helluva lot more to this.” He drew his lips together as he was obviously listening.
“No, I didn’t try to blow you off.” He frowned. “It was more of a misunderstanding, believe me.”
Leslie tilted toward him as the car made a very quick right turn. Colby slammed on the brakes and honked at another vehicle that had begun to pull out in front of him.
Maybe he wants me to take the wheel, Leslie thought to herself, smiling at his antics. He was a colorful one, that was for sure.
“Look,” he continued, “you’re sitting on the biggest story of your career. All you got to do is trust me. Give me what you got so far, bring me up to speed, and I promise you an exclusive when I get to the bottom of this.” He listened, then scrunched up his lips.
“Yeah, Dix might have said that, too, but when I say it, I can deliver. You know that.”
Luckily they’d turned onto a less populated street and nobody was getting in their way. Leslie wondered if her sudden stress-sweat was a result of Graven’s ominous comments or Colby’s driving habits. Everyone down here seemed belligerent and in a hurry.
“Okay, sounds good,” Colby said. “Right, I see.” After several long pauses, during which time his expression twitched slightly, he grunted a few encouraging monosyllables. Finally, he said, “All right, thanks. I’ll get back to you, I promise. Just keep sitting on it till you hear from me.”
The person on the other end must have said something disconcerting because his lips twisted into a scowl, and he muttered a reluctant sounding, “Okay, if that’s the way it’s gotta be.” When he terminated the call he held his cell phone up like he was going to throw it at something. “Bitch.”
“Bad news?” Leslie asked, hoping to mitigate the tension.
“Yeah, this reporter I know is telling me she’s going to run with the story of Dix’s arrest tonight at five. There’s no way I can convince her to wait.” “Sounds bad.”
He set the cell phone on the seat between them. “I tried to tell her they got the wrong guy. Maybe she’ll think about it and be too worried about a lawsuit.”
“Maybe.”
He slowed for a red light. “And I didn’t forget about your homicide case, either. I just need to work this Laird murder until I get my buddy out of the frying pan.”
That sounded a little more promising.
“I appreciate that,” she said, but still heard that loud, sucking sound in her mind’s ear of the chances of her solving her first homicide going down the drain. Still, that was no excuse not to give it her best down here. “Is there a secure server around here anywhere? I need to check my departmental e-mails.”
“I know just the place,” Colby said.
Chapter 18
Despite Colby’s quick-driving tactics, when he got back to his own Area office it was apparent that he’d lost the race by a landslide. In fact, the landslide looked like it was sitting there waiting to fall on him. A landslide of shit. He saw a scowl on Kropper’s face as the lieutenant caught sight of him and Leslie entering the office area and waved a summoning hand. It was a big scowl, but that wasn’t the worst of it. There was a corresponding expression on Deputy Superintendent Mannion’s face as well. Colby swallowed hard, turned to Leslie, introduced her to Detective Ray Brewer at the desk across from his, and told her to wait there. The timing didn’t seem right to get her on the Department’s computer system.
“Good luck, Rog,” Brewer whispered. “They been waiting on you.”
“Heard you wanted to see me, boss,” he said as he walked into Kropper’s office.
“Shut the door,” Kropper said.
Oh-oh, Colby thought, knowing that was always a bad sign.
Kropper pointed to the chair in front of his desk. The “hot seat.” The lieutenant’s face was a shade redder than usual, his waspy frame angling in his overstuffed chair, like he was lining up a shot on a billiard table, and it looked like he was planning on using a lot of English.
Colby sat, stealing a glance at Mannion, whose lips had drawn into a tight line.
“What the hell happened over there this morning?” Kropper asked.
Colby started to take a deep breath, but before he could answer Kropper asked another question, his voice rising an octave or two. “And where the hell you been?”
Colby cleared his throat, but the thin man cut him off again, thrusting an index finger at him from behind the desk.
“This better be good,” he said, “or you’re gonna be spending some time in the shit-house, dammit.”
Colby licked his lips. They obviously knew about his little fracas with Bosworth. Did they know about his unauthorized visit to the MCC as well?
“Lieu,” Colby finally managed to say, trying for a look somewhere between apologetic and oppressed, “if you’re talking about that little misunderstanding between Bosworth and me—”
“Misunderstanding!” Kropper’s hand thumped the top of his neatly arranged desk, causing the stacks of paper to jump. “You break a fellow officer’s nose in a brawl in a fucking FBI office, no less, and you call it a little fucking misunderstanding?”
Colby ducked his chin, and shrugged. “Hey, he took a swing at me first.”
“That ain’t what Special Agent Pearson said.” Kropper’s gaze looked like it could pierce wood. “You broke Bosworth’s fucking nose.”
Colby scratched his cheek. It would have been better if he would’ve let Bosworth’s washer-woman punch connect. At least that way he would have had a bruise to show that Bosworth swung first.
“Detective,” Deputy Superintendent Mannion broke in, “didn’t I tell you that I was very concerned that the department not be embarrassed by this copycat thing?”
“Yes, sir,” Colby said. From the DC’s expression, Colby’s hope that old “Take-it-to ’em Mannion” would see things in a different light didn
’t look too promising.
“And how do you think it looks for your section leader to get a phone call from the damn Feds about two of our officers being involved in a brawl in his office?” Mannion had taken on the tone of a disappointed father. But he hated the FBI. That much Colby knew. Maybe this would be salvageable.
“I know it probably looks bad, sir,” Colby said, “but Bosworth took a swing at me first. I used to box. It was instinctive.”
Mannion frowned. “That might be a good excuse for clobbering some shithead on the street, but in the Federal Building, in front of a room full of witnesses?”
Colby thought about saying that Pearson wasn’t an objective witness, but didn’t. A tiny glimmer of hope emerged. Maybe Bosworth had gone to the ER instead of the MCC. Maybe the Feds didn’t know about Colby breaching the no-visitation edict yet. Once they did, it would be like throwing gasoline on a bonfire. But, hell, they’d find out sooner or later. He decided to take a chance.
“Sir,” Colby said, bypassing the still-fuming Kropper and looking directly at The Deputy Superintendent, “you remember Detective Fred Dix, don’t you?”
Mannion nodded, his eyes narrowing. “Yeah, we used to work together in Eighteen.”
“The Feds are trying to work up a case against him for killing Laird and Fontaine, but he didn’t do it.”
Mannion’s brow furrowed. He looked over to Kropper, whose cheeks still held two silver dollar-sized red spots.
“You didn’t tell me that.” Mannion’s voice sounded like it was coming from the pit of his stomach.
“This is the first I heard about it.” Kropper suddenly looked scared.
It was as he expected. Mannion hated the Feds as much as he did. Colby sat up, figuring this was his best shot, and gave them a quick run-down of the events, ending with, “And it looks like the Feds are trying to railroad him.”
Mannion frowned. “Shit, this is even worse than I figured. Not only do I have two dicks assigned to a federal task force acting like they’re in a bar brawl, but now I have a retired copper about to be announced as the prime suspect in the murder of a shitbird and his fucking attorney. Can it get any worse?”
Colby stole a glance at Kropper, who sat there, just glaring at him.
Mannion was on his feet, pacing. He parted the horizontal Venetian blinds that flanked the window to the detectives’ office.
“Who’s the broad?”
“She’s from Toronto PD,” Colby said. “She was working with the taskforce down here.”
“Toronto? Canada?”
Colby nodded.
“Oh shit,” Mannion said, flipping the blinds closed with his fingertips. “Not only are you acting the fool in front of the Feds, but you’re doing it in front of some foreign copper?” His cheeks flushed, and he held out his hand. “Give me your badge and ID. You’re stripped until further notice.”
“Stripped?” Colby said. “For how long?”
“Until further notice,” Mannion repeated. “I got to figure out how to do damage control on this shitstorm.”
“But—” Colby started to say.
“No fucking buts,” Mannion said, snapping his finger. “Your badge and ID.”
Colby reached in his pocket and handed over his badge case.
“Give us your weapon, too,” the Deputy Superintendent said.
“Aw, come on, boss.” Colby’s voice was plaintive.
“No. You give up your gun, so I know you ain’t gonna be working this fucking thing on your own and causing me more heartburn.” Manion glanced at Kropper. “Unofficially, you take his piece and have him sign a letter saying he voluntarily surrendered it to you.” Kropper nodded and picked up the phone.
“Boss,” Colby said, “if I can just work on a few things around here—”
“No way. You’re stripped, plain and simple, pending further disciplinary action. You’re not to be engaged in any police investigations,” Mannion said. “That’s an order. Got it?”
“But I’ve been helping Detective Labyorteaux with her investigation.”
“Who?”
Colby gestured at Leslie who was now standing next to Brewer as they both watched the office.
“Have Brewer help her.” Mannion brought his big index finger up and poked Colby in chest. “You go home.”
Colby glanced down at Kropper, who was smiling ear-to-ear, and realized he had few options.
But, a smart general picks his battlefields, he thought.
The afternoon sunlight filtered in through the dirty glass of the wig shop, shifting so that the block letters were represented as shadows on the tile floor in front of him. Matthew watched as the Asian woman combed and clipped the long hairs around his neck into something resembling a Mick Jagger-cut. He felt like sticking his tongue out, but decided that it would look a bit too gauche. Actually, the reflection staring back at him from the mirror didn’t look half-bad. Noticeably flashy, but that was what he wanted. Let whoever saw him remember the hair, so it’ll be easier to doff the wig and slip away.
“A bit shorter here and here,” he said, suddenly thinking the style was way too feminine. But maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea, either. “No, on second thought,” he said, raising his hands. “It’s fine the way it is.”
“You wait one minute,” the old slant-eyed bitch said. “I fixie.”
He pushed her hand away and jumped out of the chair, wondering what it would be like to kill an Asian. He wondered if Morgan ever had. He would have probably called the bitch a chink or a zip. Taking a deep breath, he forced the rage burning in his chest to dissipate.
Not the time, or the place right now, he told himself. Save it for later. Plus, he had his “brother” sleeping off another tranq-laced candy bar. It wouldn’t do to get delayed giving this slant-eyed cretin a well-deserved beating, and have the Blem wake up and go wandering around the parking lot. Plus, he needed to maintain a low profile. And he had to get to his safety deposit box to pick up his emergency stash, now that he had the key back. The wig would help throw off anybody staking out the bank, just in case Knox had found out about that, too.
The chink looked nervous. She flashed a set of crooked teeth, reinforced by gold inlays.
He smiled. One of those would make a good trophy.
She smiled back. “You sure you like? You no like, I fixie.”
“No, really, this is fine.” He adjusted the smile to what he hoped was a boyish look, and allowed a trace of femininity into his posturing. Let her think he was a fag. Less threatening and less likely to arouse suspicions prematurely.
The old woman’s eyes looked perplexed under the epicanthic folds. “You want box?”
“No,” he said, and smiled, thinking all the while of the rush he’d get if he could only reach out and grab that scrawny-looking neck. “I’ll wear it.”
Knox had given up the surveillance, for the time being, but kept his GPS tracker on as he drove back to New Genesis. If the Corvette started to move, the tracker would let him know and he could begin an immediate intercept course. Without anything more, he realized, he was reduced to a sad little game of wait and see. The Kirby card had shown no new transactions after the rental thing, and although it would be nice to know what kind of vehicle the little punk had chosen, nosing around there could be counter-productive. He lamented not leaving Matthew’s cell phone in his apartment as a lure before. He could have tracked the signal, and used that to triangulate the little punk’s location, as well. But it was like waiting for a city bus in the rain—no telling when it would show up. Plus, time wasn’t on his side. Not only did he have to find Matthew, but he had to make sure that the cops didn’t. Not that they’d be looking for him at this juncture. Not yet, anyway.
The subterfuge of using that stupid, old cop had been a Godsend, a gift. The guy had waltzed in at just the right moment.
Knox was on a roll, and if he played his cards right, he could ride it all the way to Easy Street.
His cell phone rang, jarring him out of
his concentrated reverie. The number was New Genesis. “Where the hell are you?”
“Coming back to the center, as you instructed, sir.” He figured tossing in the last bit of respectful salutation would butter the old coot up. It was like adding a new ball to a juggling routine. This one required a bit of extra attention. “Have you perfected that feature you told me about?”
“I believe we have,” Jetters said. “It should be useful to you.”
“Fine,” Knox said. “I’ll be there shortly.” He was about to terminate the call when he heard the old man’s anxious voice again.
“You’re sure everything’s…ameliorable?”
This was working out better than he had hoped. Just wait till he sprung the blackmail scheme on the old bastard. But to do that, he had to get Matthew. Soon.
“Everything,” he said, “will be just fine.”
Colby was operating in stealth mode now. He’d made a show of introducing Leslie to Ray Brewer, as he whispered to both of them to sit and wait for his call. As soon as he’d cleared the building, he dialed Brewer’s desk, praying that Kropper or Mannion wouldn’t be near the heavyset detective when he answered.
“Can you talk?” Colby asked.
“Yeah, your girl, Les, has been explaining the game of hockey to me.”
“Great. Where are Kropper and Mannion?”
Brewer grunted, and Colby figured he was checking out the LT’s office. “They’re still shooting the shit.”
Colby waited a few seconds, wondering how much Leslie had told Brewer about what was really going on. “She told you about Dix, right?”
“Yeah. What you need me to do?”
Colby thought. “Find out where the Laird murder happened, and who caught the case.”
Blood Trails Page 22