by Jane Gorman
She shrugged. “Case is closed. Our Philly cop has gone back to Philly.”
“Huh.” Sam ran his tongue along his teeth before taking a sip of his soda. “Closed.”
“Yup.” Ramona kept eating.
He watched her again, then took a bite of his own slice. Thinking.
He had finished his first slice before either of them spoke again.
“Okay, we both know the case isn’t closed, right?”
Ramona grinned at him. “I guess you’re right about that. FBI says it is. And it’s their case.”
“I guess.” Sam wiped his fingers off on a thin paper napkin, then tossed it back on the table and picked up his second slice.
Now it was Ramona’s turn to watch him. She didn’t wait long. “What are you saying, Sam? You think you can reopen this?”
“Probably not.” Sam spoke with his mouth full, then swallowed. “That doesn’t mean I have to stop looking into it, does it?”
Ramona shook her head. “They’ve got a motive, you know. Saint-Amand was a thorn in the side of some dangerous people. And they tried to take him out. Jay Kapoor got in the way.”
“And they had the opportunity, assuming someone on Saint-Amand’s staff let them in to the residence that morning.” Sam nodded as he spoke, fully aware that the FBI’s case was strong. “They just need to find some physical evidence that placed the shooter in the house, and they’re good.”
“They haven’t found any.” Ramona put her head on the side. “Short of a confession, I don’t think our guy is going down for this.”
“And that’s not likely. Look, my options are let this go, knowing that the shooter — if it was our friendly neighborhood drug dealer — will get away. Or…”
“Or?”
“Or start with the assumption that those maids are telling the truth, trusting my gut on this one, and finding out who really pulled that trigger.” He raised an eyebrow at Ramona.
She took a long sip from her cup, watching Sam. “Okay, I’m in.” She smiled.
“Good.” Sam leaned forward. “What do we know? We know the shot came from inside the house. I think Beth and Elise are out of this, I don’t like them for it at all. Not even for letting the shooter in. If Beth knew something like that, I’d have seen it in her eyes.”
“Agreed.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sam smiled.
“Yeah, don’t sound so surprised.” Ramona laughed. “I’ve learned a lot from my dad, and one of those things is to trust your judgment, Sam Burke.”
“All right, then who’s left?” He counted off on the fingers of his right hand. “McFellan and Marshall were both alone in the house.”
“And Towne was there,” Ramona added.
“Towne? Are we looking at him seriously?”
Ramona shrugged. “Could be, I don’t know. He went crazy yesterday in the Old Post Office tower.”
“True. All right, we add Towne to the list. How do any of them fit with all the other clues about motive?”
“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Ramona asked. “Motive.”
“We figure that out, we got our killer.”
“And without it, we’ve got nothing.”
35
Sam blew on his coffee before taking a sip, pulling his lips back in a toothy grin as he inhaled in appreciation. One thing he knew he could always count on was Tish’s coffee.
To his right, Howard sat back in his chair, cradling his own steaming mug, watching the evening light settling down over the quiet street.
“Why’s Troy still hanging around?” Sam asked. “I thought he’d’ve hightailed it back to his friends by now.”
“Friends?” Howard grunted. “Some friends, getting him tied up in this mess.”
Sam dipped his head. “He’s gotta take some responsibility for his actions, Howard. You can’t blame his friends.”
“No kidding.” Howard leaned forward and rested his mug on the porch railing in front of him. “Tish seems to be getting through to him with some help from next door.” He shrugged as he nodded his head toward the house to their right, home to a woman who had been like a grandmother to both his children. “The boy’s still angry, but… I don’t know.”
Sam smiled, taking another sip. “There’s hope for him yet. I know, that’s why I wanted to take care of him.”
“And thank you for that—” Howard cut himself off as Tish stepped out onto the porch, followed by Troy. She carried a tray of cinnamon bread, its sweet scent so strong it carried over the smell of the damp yard and the pungent odor of the coffee.
Sam grinned and reached out for the plate Tish offered.
“Still getting visitors, I see. That’s good.” Sam gestured with his chin to indicate a group of three young people, two men and a woman, walking toward the entrance of the Frederick Douglass home up the street.
“He sure is. A man to remember.” Howard glanced at his son. “Right, Troy?”
Tish nudged Howard with her shoulder as she took the chair next to him, but Troy didn’t respond, simply sat on the porch step in front of Sam.
“We fought to be free. To be free, you hear that son? Not to be jailed.”
“I know, Dad, I hear you.”
Sam heard the weariness in Troy’s voice. Saw the deep shadows gathering under his eyes. He knew how hard it was for Troy, growing up in this neighborhood, trying to do the right thing. As much as he was surrounded by people willing to watch out for him, he was also surrounded by poverty. By the continual, futile struggle to get ahead. It was too easy to get sucked in to the lure of easy money. To the lie that it didn’t matter what he did, he’d end up on the wrong side of the law anyway.
As if reading his thoughts, Tish spoke, echoing her husband’s sentiments. “It’s a tough neighborhood, but it’s a good one. It was good enough for Douglass, it’s good enough for us. We’ve got some good friends on the alley and we’ll watch out for each other.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes more, enjoying the coffee and cinnamon bread, the last light of the sun calming and soothing them, a strain of Muddy Waters barely audible from within the house.
“It’s not the neighborhood that makes the man,” Sam finally said. “Look at this case I’m working on.”
“I thought that was closed?” Howard’s voice was sharp.
“Maybe so, maybe so.” Sam moved his head from side to side. “Like I said, look at this young man, Jay. He grew up in the right neighborhood. He got a good education, got a good job. And what happened to him?”
“You can hardly blame him for getting shot, can you?” Tish asked, surprised.
“That’s the thing, isn’t it.” Sam turned to look at his friends. “If someone shot him—”
“I thought he wasn’t the intended target?” Howard jumped right to the point again.
“I know” — Sam held up a hand — “but let’s say he was. Then there was a reason. We’ve been looking into his background, to see if we could find a motive. A reason someone might want him dead.”
A sound escaped Troy’s lips. A cross between a laugh, a cough, and a snicker. He wiped his hand over his mouth, as if to wipe the sound away, and took a bite of his bread.
“You got something to say, son?”
Troy shrugged and smiled, glancing back at his parents, then turning back to stare at the house across the street. “Nope.”
Sam watched Troy’s back, strong and firm. Steady. Able to handle whatever came his way. “Did you know Jay Kapoor, Troy?” he finally asked.
Troy shrugged again.
“He was involved with the dealers we picked up yesterday, we know that.” Sam thought a little more. “The same guys you were caught with the other day, right? Maybe you two crossed paths.”
“Maybe.” Troy played with his bread. “It’s a big world, lots of people dealing. No reason I should know him.”
“No.” Sam took a last sip of his coffee, then placed the mug on the worn wood below his chair. “But you did, didn’t you?”
�
��What if I did?” Troy shifted, turning to face Sam and his parents.
“What do you—” Tish started to ask, but Sam interrupted her, lifting his hand to stop her question.
“Talk to me, Troy, tell me what you know. It could really help me out, you know.”
Troy lifted one side of his mouth in a lopsided smile. “I owe you one, don’t I?”
“Yes, you do.”
He shrugged again. “Yeah, I knew him. A bit. We dealt together a couple of times. Nothing more, Mom,” he added as Tish made a high-pitched sound. “Look, it was no big deal. I’m getting out of it, Mom, I told you.”
As Tish sat back in her chair, Sam pushed Troy harder. “So what do you know about Jay? What was he into?”
Troy frowned as he thought. “He seemed like the kind of guy who always had the next thing lined up. He planned ahead, you know?”
Sam nodded as Troy continued, “He wasn’t going to get stuck with the drugs, it was a means to an end for him.”
“For the money?” Sam asked.
“Nah, that’s the thing.” Troy smiled. “He didn’t do it for the money. He had other income sources, he made that clear.”
“Then what?” Howard asked.
“Information.” Troy shrugged. “He wanted to know who was buying. Who was using.”
“Why would he care? He doesn’t care about us.” Howard let his anger seep through his words.
“Not us, Dad, them.” Troy jerked his head. “Up on the Hill, in the northwest. The rich and powerful. He wanted to get dirt on them.”
“Ah.” Sam nodded. That made sense. That was who Jay Kapoor had been.
Sam was still digesting this information when Troy spoke again. “He was getting out, he had a better thing lined up.”
“Do you know what it was?”
“Not really. He mentioned it in passing one time. That this would be his last deal. He had something big, something to do with someone getting killed. An accident, I think.” Troy shrugged. “Didn’t matter, it was something Jay knew was going to pay off for him. Big time. He was one happy customer last time I saw him.”
36
“Seriously, he confessed?” Adam tossed back the last of his whiskey and gave Pete a look of disbelief.
“Yep, it was that easy.” Pete shrugged and raised a hand to get the bartender’s attention. “You have time for another?”
Adam glanced at his watch. He’d left Sylvia in the apartment an hour ago, telling her he needed to catch up with Pete about work. He knew he’d find him at Blackie’s, their usual haunt. “Sure, why not. So tell me about this confession.”
“Smiley fingered him. I don’t know what he’d done to Smiley, but he even agreed to sign a witness statement.”
“Huh, go figure.” Adam wrapped his hand around his glass. “Getting rid of the competition, I suppose. Good ole capitalism at work.”
Pete smiled. “I guess so. When Jake confessed, he gave us everything. Even his fence.”
“What?” Adam laughed out loud. “So it’s a twofer?”
“A good day all around, buddy. At this point, we’ve actually got back almost everything that was taken.” Pete shook his head as he sipped his beer. “A couple of art pieces gone. The fence didn’t have them, says he never got them.”
Adam patted Pete on the back, then winced as the vibration hit his bad arm. “Not bad, considering.”
“Considering how many cases go unsolved in this city?”
Adam raised an eyebrow and nodded his agreement.
Pete shrugged. “Well, that’s just a fact of life, you know how it goes. We need to take our victories where we can get them, you know?”
“I do, partner, I do. So what else is going on now? Captain told me to take a few days off, heal myself, then I’ll be back on the streets with you.”
Pete eyed Adam’s sling suspiciously. “Is that what you think? I’m guessing you’ll have a bit more light duty in store first, buddy. Sorry.”
“Nah, that’s fine. I probably need it.” Adam reached over the bar to grab a bowl of peanuts and tossed a few into his mouth. “Hey, thanks again for helping out with Julia — not only catching the guy, but taking care of her, you know?”
Pete shook his head and glanced down. In the bar’s dim light, it almost looked like his face turned a little red. Adam laughed to himself. Not a chance. Pete could handle a little praise, that much he knew.
“Just helping out a friend. And it was a lucky break, really.” Pete’s words were swallowed by his pint cup coming up to his mouth.
“Hmm.” Adam shrugged. “There really isn’t any honor between thieves, is there?”
“Hah, as if. They’ll turn on each other faster than a pack of jackals. ‘A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another!’”
“Umm…” Adam brought his eyebrows together and stared at his partner in a parody of concentration. “Benjamin Franklin?”
“Close. Shakespeare.” Pete grinned and took a sip of his beer.
Adam grinned and laughed softly under his breath. “I guess the rule to live by is, if anyone gets anything on you, make sure you’ve got something on them, too. Kept running into that in DC, too.” Adam’s thoughts ran to Jason McFellan, the challenges he’d face once word got out about his blog. As it was bound to do, eventually.
Pete laughed gently. “That’s right, they’ll either make you pay or they’ll turn you in.”
Adam put his whiskey back on the bar, his head on the side. “They’ll make you pay…. That’s it. That must be it.” He pushed his stool back as he stood, almost knocking it over.
“What is, partner? What did you figure out?”
“I’m catching the first train back to DC in the morning.”
“Sylvia won’t be happy with that. She wants you to toe the line. Get in the commissioner’s good graces. Not ignore his instructions.”
Adam shrugged. “He told me to take a few days off, get myself healed before coming back to work.”
“I don’t think going back to DC is what he had in mind. I’m telling you, Sylvia’ll be pissed.”
“I’ll deal with Sylvia. I gotta get back there. I know what’s going on.”
“Of course, sir. Yes” — Adam shook his head no as he spoke into the phone — “I understand.” He frowned as he listened, one hand in the air like a supplicant. “No, I don’t agree. No.”
Adam ran his free hand through his hair, grabbing a handful and almost pulling it out of his head.
His voice rose. “I really think you’re making a mistake—”
He stopped talking, his mouth in a thin line.
“Yes. Sir.” The sarcasm punctuating his last word followed the phone as he threw it onto the sofa.
At this time of night, he hadn’t been able to get through to Deputy Commissioner White. Only the lieutenant in charge of Dignitary Protection. Who had no interest whatsoever in listening to Adam’s suggestion that the FBI had it all wrong. Or that a U.S. senator was involved.
He let out a small laugh as he realized he couldn’t entirely blame him for that.
He was still standing there, in the middle of their living room, when Sylvia came in through the front door.
“Hey, I’m glad you’re here.” He put his arms around her, inhaled her familiar scent. “Where’ve you been?”
“Meeting a colleague for a drink. Just like you were.” Sylvia stepped out of his embrace and moved across the room.
“You didn’t mention you were going out.”
She didn’t look at him as she responded. “You didn’t ask.” She stood at the low counter that separated the room from the kitchen, her back to him as she dug through a pile of letters that lay unopened.
Adam shut his eyes for a moment, took a breath. “Okay. I need to talk to you. I’m going back to DC in the morning.”
Sylvia stopped her search and turned to him. “They asked you to go back? I thought the case was closed.”
“Not exactly.” He let out his breath. He had
a feeling where this was going to go. “The case is closed. I’m just not so sure.”
“Does anyone else agree with you?”
Adam shook his head. “Nope. In fact, the lieutenant ordered me to stay out of it. Not to go back to DC.”
“You’re going to go anyway. Because you think you know better than anyone else.”
Adam shrugged. “I have to go back.”
With a sudden turn, Sylvia grabbed the letter opener from the counter and threw it at him. It bounced harmlessly off the sofa, but she exploded with violence. “The hell you do. You’ll piss people off. That’s the opposite of good for your career.”
“I don’t care about my career. Don’t you get it?”
“And I do. Don’t you get that?”
They both stopped, Sylvia with her hands on her hips, her eyes glaring, Adam with pleading in his.
“I have to go back. I think I know what’s going on,” he tried to explain.
“If you leave… if you screw things up…”
“What? What will you do?”
“I don’t know, Adam. I just don’t know.”
37
“Thanks for the lift, buddy.”
Sam looked sideways at Adam and raised an eyebrow. “Glad to see you back in town, Kaminski. Why the return?”
Adam stowed his bag in the trunk before getting into Sam’s car, pulling the door closed behind him. “We’re not done on this case, are we?”
Sam grinned and shook his head as he pulled around Union Station. “Not by a long shot. So where to?”
“The Hill. It’s gotta start there.”
Sam pulled into the right lane, his eyes on the morning traffic around him. “I can’t imagine it was easy for you to get permission to come back here.”
“Easier than you might think. I had some leave coming.”
Sam took his eyes off the road. “You crazy? Your lieutenant doesn’t know you’re here?”
“And he’s not going to find out, unless this pays off.”
“Yeah, or unless you get yourself snagged by the Bureau for harassing a sitting U.S. senator.”