I pushed the door open and stepped into the room. After the bright sunshine, I could barely see. Dim light squeezed around the heavy drapes in the front windows. All the other lights were off. The kitchenette at the left rear of the unit had a small frosted glass window that added a little more light, but not enough to read a newspaper. It was so dark I could scarcely make out Wallace standing on the far side the bed, a revolver in his hand. Pointed at me.
Chapter 57
“Put your hands up, McCrary. Hands up.” He held the revolver in two shaky hands. He shifted his weight, dancing from one foot to the other.
“That’s not necessary, Steve. You don’t have to point a gun at me. I’m here to help you.”
“Never call me Steve. Never call me Steve. You don’t have the right to call me Steve. You don’t have that right, McCrary. I’ve earned the right to be called Dr. Wallace.” He waved the gun up and down to emphasize his point. “I sometimes let dear friends call me Steven. Yes I do, I do actually. But you are not a dear friend; I don’t know you.”
I make it a policy never to argue with people who are pointing a gun at me. Especially nervous, twitchy, crazy people. “Sorry, Dr. Wallace. It’s okay for you to call me Chuck though. Everyone does.” I smiled. “I’m here to help you.”
Wallace relaxed a smidgeon. On a ten-point scale, the tension in the room declined from 9.9 to maybe 9.5, or maybe that was just me. I didn’t raise my hands, but I kept them where he could see them.
Wallace waved the revolver. “How can you help me? I don’t need any help. I’m just fine actually. I especially don’t need your help, McCrary. How can you help me?”
“Redwood…” I watched to see if his eyes widened. They did and I continued. “Redwood sent eleven people to kill you and Katharine Shamanski and Michelle Babcock.” His eyes widened more. “Three of them are waiting to catch and kill Michelle Babcock, and four of them are waiting near your apartment as we speak. They came down from Chicago to kill you all. They’ve already killed James Ponder. I came here to save you from them.”
“I don’t need saving. I’m just fine actually. I’m just fine. Redwood would never kill me; I’m central to the operation. Central.” He smiled as if he loved hearing his own words. “Central to the operation. James was only a pawn. A pawn and a dupe, McCrary. He’s no great loss. No loss at all actually.”
“Please call me Chuck, Dr. Wallace. Everyone calls me Chuck. May I sit down? We need to talk.”
“Sit down? Sit down?”
I pointed at the ancient Formica and chrome dinette set with its two matching chairs. It looked like an original from the 1940s. “Maybe I can make us some coffee or tea and we can talk. How about that? Do you have coffee or tea?” If he had coffee, I prayed it was decaf. I didn’t want to make this nutcase any more nervous than he already was.
Wallace wobbled two jerky steps toward me, waving the gun as he advanced. “I have tea, McCrary. I have tea. Do you know how to make tea?”
“Sure, Dr. Wallace. I’ll get the teapot.” I moved sideways to my left toward the kitchen; Wallace moved sideways to his left toward the front door like we were twirling in a slow dance.
He nodded while keeping the gun aimed at me. But I had moved farther away.
“I’ll make the tea and you and I will sit at this dinette near the front door and talk about things.” I backed into the kitchen as Wallace sidestepped toward the dinette set. “Why don’t you take a seat by the front door while I make the tea.” The farther away from me he was, the more likely he would miss if he did shoot.
As I lifted the teapot with my right hand, I reached behind with my left and unlocked the back door. Couldn’t hurt. “Where are the tea bags, Dr. Wallace?”
He let go of the gun with his left hand and pointed. “First cabinet.”
As I filled the teapot, I noticed two used cups filled with water in the sink. I set the pot on the burner and turned it on. “Thank you, Dr. Wallace.” I opened the cabinet and pulled out a box of teabags. “And the cups?”
He pointed again. “Second cabinet.”
“Thank you, Dr. Wallace. Why don’t you have a seat by the front door and I’ll sit across from you while we wait for the water to boil. I’ll fix us a nice cup of tea.”
Wallace took one more step sideways. His left leg bumped against the chair.
“Dr. Wallace, since you’re standing beside the chair, why don’t you sit down while I fix the tea?” The teapot began to whistle.
When he glanced to his left, the revolver wavered. “Maybe I will sit down.” The pistol wobbled again. “I’ve not been sleeping well actually. Not well at all.”
“Then pull the chair out and take a seat.” I watched for my chance.
As Wallace turned to grab the chair, I opened the back door.
“Now Snoop.” I jumped out the back, slammed the door behind me, and rolled out of the line of fire as Wallace fired a single time. The bullet shattered the frosted glass window. I reached into my side pocket and pulled out my cellphone, which had been on the whole time. “You got him, Snoop?”
“I’ve got him. We’re clear.”
It’s a funny thing about one gunshot. Most people who hear one gunshot don’t recognize it as gunfire. If they’re of a certain age, they think it’s a car back-firing, forgetting that modern cars almost never back-fire. If they’re younger, they think someone slammed a door, or dropped a heavy trunk—almost anything but a gunshot. It’s when they hear two or more gunshots that they call the police. I wasn’t worried about that, although it wouldn’t bother me if the cops did show up. I was on the side of the angels this time.
I opened the back door and turned the teapot off. Snoop was standing across the room from Wallace with the professor’s revolver in his left hand. I started breathing again. “Good work, Snoop. You want tea?”
“Nah. I got too hot standing out there in the sun listening to you and Dr. Looney Tunes here while you enjoyed yourself in the cool of this lovely air-conditioned room.”
I poured a cup of water for Wallace and carried it and a tea bag to the dinette. “Here you are, Dr. Wallace.” I set it on a paper towel for him and dragged the other chair across the room in case he decided to throw boiling water at me.
He dipped his tea bag up and down, up and down, up and down. “I could use a nice cup of tea actually, McCrary.”
Snoop sat on the bed. I turned the chair around and straddled the back. “Dr. Wallace, tell me about Redwood.”
Wallace’s eyes narrowed. “Redwood would never kill me. Never kill me actually. I’m central to the operation.”
I pulled out the sheet of paper that Terry had prepared for our meeting the previous day and set it in front of Wallace. “Do you know what this is?”
He looked at the paper with some small interest. The tea had calmed him. “No. What is it?”
“That’s a list of the code names and phone numbers of the people Redwood sent to kill you.”
His eyes cut to me then back to the list.
“You see Redwood’s name at the top,” I said. “We know all about him.”
“I’m central to the operation actually.”
“Not any more, Dr. Wallace. In Redwood’s opinion, you are no longer an asset; you are a liability. Ever since you set off that railroad bridge bomb. That was a bridge too far.” I couldn’t resist making the reference to the old war movie.
Wallace’s bottom lip trembled as he brought the cup to his lips and blew on it. He was staring at something far, far away.
“The names below Redwood’s name are designated Team One. Do you see them?”
He pulled his gaze to the list again. “Team One?”
“Yes.”
“Johnny J, Ted, and Forte. Those are the three gunmen from Chicago that Redwood sent to ambush Michelle Babcock.”
He stared at the list.
“Do you see Team Two?” I asked.
He nodded.
“The first name, Al was Alberto A. Echeverria. I say ‘wa
s’ since Al is dead.”
“Dead?” He blew on his tea then sipped.
“Redwood sent Team Two to kill me and then to kill you. You and I are on the same side; Redwood wants us both dead. But I killed Al Monday night.” I watched his reaction. There was none so I continued. “Artie was Arthur Caprese. I killed him Monday night too. Deuce was Lawrence R. Lambert, Jr. My friend Snoop over there, he killed Deuce on Monday night. Snoop’s on your side too, because Redwood tried to kill him twice.”
Wallace’s eyes darted like pin balls in an arcade, the tea forgotten.
“Last was Yank, William J. Yankelowicz. I killed him too. All of them are dead. But Redwood sent them to kill you, me, Michelle, and Snoop.” The tea was now cool enough for me to pull the chair over to the table. I showed Wallace a picture of the four bodies. “This is the crime scene after Snoop and I finished with them.”
Wallace took the phone and zoomed the picture. “I’ve never seen these men.”
“Of course not. You weren’t meant to see them until it was too late.” I tapped the paper. “Look at Team One.” He did. “They’re still out there. Johnny J. is John L. Janowicki, Ted is Theodore V. Bonham, and Forte is Forte Fortunato. Two hours ago, they were parked at the Mango Island ferry terminal waiting for Michelle to show so they could kill her.
“And then there’s Team Three: Harry, Johnny R., Lou, and Willy. We don’t know their full names, but I have their pictures.” I found the photos I’d snapped near his apartment and scrolled them where he could see. “You’ll notice that one killer is a woman. You might never suspect her. But the stroller is a prop. It’s empty. She keeps her gun in there.” I didn’t know that, but it was what I would do if I were her. It sounded good too.
I found the next picture on my phone. “Dr. Wallace, these eleven people killed James Ponder. Here’s what he looked like the last time I saw him.” I showed him the crime scene photo of James Ponder’s body when the Port City Marine Patrol dragged it from the ship channel.
Wallace’s eyes grew as big as silver dollars. “That’s… that’s horrible. James was a pawn, but he didn’t deserve that.”
I didn’t mention that he’d murdered a night watchman with a tire iron and helped murder two railroad workers. “Redwood is your enemy. Even if I stop the remaining seven killers, he’ll keep sending more until… You. Are. Dead.”
“But… but… why? I’m central to the operation. Central actually.”
I wagged a finger in his face. “Not any more, you aren’t. Now that we know about it, Dr. Wallace, there is no more operation. There will be no more put options. No more sucking money from the marketplace like a vampire.”
That struck a chord. He flinched.
“Yes, I know all about the put options. That operation is finished, kaput, over. You and Katherine Shamanski are the only ones still alive who can identify Redwood. That’s why you have to help me stop him. It’s the only way to save your own life.” I waited for his reaction.
“But we were doing so well,” said Wallace. “We were doing so much good. Redwood donated to so many progressive causes and progressive campaigns. He funded so many environmental programs. We were making the world a better place. A much better place actually.”
I spread my hands. “Not any more. It’s over. You’re a dead man walking, unless you help me take Redwood down.”
Wallace picked up the paper with the killers’ names and phone numbers on it. He crumpled it in his hands, turned away from the table, and bent at the waist. He raised his hands to his face and sobbed loud and long.
Snoop and I glanced at each other. I shrugged. We waited for the catharsis to end.
Wallace began to whimper and shake. It occurred to me that he probably had not set foot out of that room for two days and had had nothing to eat. The sobbing grew fainter and faded into silence. He took a deep breath and let it out. Fumbling with the list of killers, he tried to straighten the creases he’d made, rubbing it repeatedly with the side of his hand on the Formica table before he pushed it away and put both hands in his lap.
He looked at me. “Does Redwood really want to kill me?”
Chapter 58
Special Agent Eugenio Lopez looked up from his desk. “You can keep your stinking cappuccino, McCrary. It’s bad enough you call me down here on a Saturday morning, but you hide a person of interest in the case.”
“I hid a POI? I don’t understand.”
“The girl, Michelle Babcock. Her father hid her under a rock somewhere, but you put him up to it.”
That wasn’t a question, so I said nothing. I couldn’t deny it, although technically it was her grandparents who hid her.
“Whaddya say to that?”
“I have nothing to say to that, Gene. This is America. You’re entitled to your opinion on anything, even if it’s wrong. That’s the beauty of America, the land of the free and the home of the brave. We can agree to disagree.”
“Stop waving the flag and cut the crap. Tell me why you called me down here. What’s so damned important that you spoiled my Saturday?”
“I thought the Bureau never slept when they were on a case.”
“That’s a load of crap and you know it. We put our pants on one leg at a time just like everybody else.”
I sat down. “I’ll make you glad you came down on the weekend. I’ll answer some of your questions now.”
“Where’s Michelle Babcock?”
“Wrong question. Ask me who the bombers are.”
“Okay, you win. Who are the bombers?” He picked up the cappuccino.
I dropped Wallace’s picture on the desk. “This is Steven Wallace, PhD, professor of environmental studies at UAC, the ring leader of the other two perps, and, I might add, a real nutcase.”
“He was already a person of interest. We asked Babcock about him, remember?” He pulled a legal pad from a drawer and wrote on it.
I set Ponder’s picture beside Wallace’s. “The late James Ponder, PhD candidate, formerly taking environmental studies under Wallace. He’s the bearded guy from the video.”
“We had already figured that out.”
“He had a Bachelor of Science in Chemistry and he could have helped build the bomb. He stole the boat used to transport the bomb.”
“We knew about the BS in chemistry; we did not know about him stealing the boat.” He wrote some more on his notepad.
I tossed a stick drive onto the desk. “These are videos of Ponder stealing the boat and driving it up the Seeti River to wherever they hid it while they made the bomb. I can tell you what canal the house was on where they built the bomb, but you’ll need to pin it down to the specific house. You folks are good at that. There may be another co-conspirator connected to the house.”
I sipped my cappuccino while Lopez wrote down what I told him.
“I don’t suppose you know who the third perp is, do you?”
I lined up the third picture beside the other two. “She was on your radar also. Katherine Shamanski, senior at UAC, working toward a Bachelor of Science in Environmental Studies. She majored in chemistry for two years before she switched to environmental studies. She helped Ponder build the bomb.”
“Where is she now?”
“She went into hiding after the bombing. I’ve had an operative looking for her without success. I suspect she’s back with her parents in Chicago, but I don’t know that for a fact. She’s not in her apartment and her car is gone. Maybe she drove to Illinois. Y’all will have to find her, but you’re good at that too.”
Lopez wrote that down. “You got more?”
“I can prove Ponder stole a boat but not that it’s the boat the bomb was in. By the way, he wore gloves when he stole the boat and when he drove it to the railroad bridge a few days later. Even if you found the remains of the boat, there wouldn’t be any fingerprints on it. You’ll have to prove it’s the same boat that blew up the train. But y’all are good at that sort of thing too.”
Lopez made more notes.
&nb
sp; “Shamanski bought the bomb materials a little at a time in various places in Georgia, South Carolina, and maybe Alabama. I can prove she bought 150 pounds of ammonium nitrate on one trip to Georgia. We inferred the other purchases from her credit card activity.” I tossed another stick drive onto his desk. “This is the video of her purchasing one bag. Also a list of her credit card charges on the other buying trips.”
Lopez held up the stick drive. “Are you an anonymous source on these drives?”
“If you like, I’ll take them back, wipe my prints, and mail them to you.”
“Nah.” Lopez grabbed a tissue and wiped the stick drives. “I think I came to my office on Monday morning and found them lying on my desk. No idea how they got there. Coulda been somebody on the cleaning crew got paid to place them. No way to tell.”
“Works for me. You should claim inevitable discovery. We got the videos with old-fashioned shoe leather. No warrants required.”
“How did you get Shamanski’s credit card history?”
When someone asks a politician a question they don’t want to answer, they answer a question they do want to answer. I did the same thing. “You could get the same information with a warrant based on the purchase video I gave you. Inevitable discovery.”
“But how did you get the credit card information in the first place?”
“Let’s just say an anonymous source.”
Lopez shrugged. “I had to ask.”
I tapped the first picture. “You know that Wallace is the faculty advisor for a UAC club called Defenders of the Earth.” Lopez started to speak. “Yes, I know. The TV show either doesn’t know about the club or doesn’t care. The other two perps are club members. They’re a sort of an inner circle. They call themselves the Three Musketeers. He’s Shamanski’s faculty advisor, and I think he’s sleeping with her too, but I haven’t devoted any of my limited resources to prove it. You may want to look into that in your search for motive.”
Dangerous Friends (A Carlos McCrary novel Book 4) Page 23