Death Never Lies

by David Grace

  “I’m not some fucking Arab in a rug market, Mr. Green.”

  “I’m not saying you are. It’s just that–”

  “One and quarter and if you say anything other than ‘yes’ we’re done.”

  “Yes,” Feeney answered immediately. “What are the mechanics?”

  “I’ll give you a choice. You can pay me half now and half when the job is done but if we go that way I’ve got to know your real identity, where you live, and the names of your wife and kids. That way I can be sure that you’ll pay the second half.”

  “What’s the other option?”

  “Payment in full in advance.”

  “What’s the third option?”

  “I hang up the phone and drop it into the garbage disposal.”

  Feeney thought about trusting a killer-for-hire with a million and a quarter dollars. Why wouldn’t he just keep the money and laugh all the way to the bank? Then Feeney thought about some thug coming after his wife and daughter or telling the feds the name of the man who hired him to kill a Supreme Court Justice. Or he could forget the whole thing.

  “What’s it going to be?” Donald asked.

  “How fast can you do the job?”

  “You don’t rush something like this.”

  “I want it done sometime in the next four weeks. It has to happen before they take their vote. How do I get the money to you?”

  “Do you know about bitcoins?”

  “I’ve heard of them. I’m sure I can figure it out,” Feeney answered.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow with the transfer information. After that, destroy this phone.”

  “How will we get in touch?”

  “When I call I’ll give you a new phone number. Destroy this phone and get another one. Use it to call the new number. It’ll be one that Mr. Black doesn’t know about.”

  “All right. I can do that.”

  “Wait a minute,” Donald said an instant before Feeney was about to hang up. “Why do you want that particular target taken out?”

  “Have you ever heard of The Weapon Shops Of Isher?”

  “What?”

  “The right to buy weapons is the right to be free. As soon as the government takes away our guns the Secret Police will come for us. We have to be armed and ready when the New Gestapo shows up to take us all to the concentration camps.”

  Are you fucking for real? Donald thought.

  “Yeah, OK, fine, you want to get ready to go to war with the government, but that’s not what I meant. I was wondering why you picked that particular guy. Why not Lazzaro or Swanson? They’re supposed to be sure bets to vote against you. It would make my job a lot easier if you’d let me go after one of them and you could be sure that you’ll get the result you want. From what I’ve heard Hopper’s a tossup.”

  For a moment Feeney considered telling Donald why he thought that Hopper was going to vote to take their guns away. But if this all turned to shit and they caught Donald he would talk and Feeney didn’t want the Gestapo to know that a patriot had hacked Hopper’s clerk’s computer.

  “We can’t do it that way,” Feeney answered.

  “Why not?”

  “Suppose you take out Swanson and the law gets struck down five to three instead of five to four,” Feeney said, pretending that he didn’t know how Hopper was going to vote. “That means we would have murdered a Supreme Court Justice for nothing, just on the off chance that we might not have gotten the decision we wanted. Even people who would normally be on our side would go nuts if we did something like that.

  “On the other hand if we removed Swanson and the decision was four to four that means that if Swanson is replaced with a new justice like him, and with this president and this senate that’s what would happen, then the next time this sort of law came back to the Supreme Court we would be sure to lose.

  “But if we take out Hopper before anyone knows how he was going to vote then the law still gets knocked out and the guy who replaces Hopper will probably be somebody in the middle like him instead of somebody who’s already against us like Swanson, and the new guy will think twice before he crosses us. Now do you understand?”

  “I’m sorry I asked. Get ready to buy a shitload of bitcoins.”

  Feeney slipped the burner phone into his pocket and headed back to his borrowed car.

  * * *

  A week later Feeney transferred the bitcoins to some oddball Internet server in Belarus and picked up his new burner phone. After that all he could do was wait.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  By the time Kane and Danny got back to the office Eustace had vanished leaving behind only a cryptic note: “Out on the case.” Greg ground his teeth in silence, resenting the fact that Useless could get away with flitting around the city on his own while he, like an errant child, was not allowed out of the office without a chaperone. It had not always been that way but a succession of what Immerson called “problems” and Kane called “encounters with assholes” had led to Immerson’s strict enforcement of the otherwise largely ignored travel-with-a-partner rule.

  “So, Useless can wander around the countryside free as a bird and I can’t get a sandwich without a babysitter? Is that what you’re telling me?” Kane had snapped the first time Immerson had threatened to write him up.

  Immerson angrily sucked in the edges of his cheeks while he struggled to pick out which of Kane’s transgressions to deal with first.

  “I told you not to call him that!”

  “Useless is as Useless does,” Kane snapped.

  “There! Right there is why I can’t trust you out in the world alone.” Kane glared but said nothing. “Every other agent in this Division knows enough to at least pretend to be on his best behavior when I call them in here. But not you. You just can’t help yourself. Until I can trust you to make it through the day without unnecessarily pissing off half the people you talk to, you only go out with a partner.”

  “So if we’re out someplace and Eustace needs to take a pee do I have to go into the can with him?”

  “Do you have a death wish? Do you want to lose this job the way you lost your last one?” Immerson asked in an almost compassionate voice.

  “I’m a good investigator. I close cases.”

  “Closing cases in not enough! Jesus, Kane, you’ve got to learn how to get along with people, even people who aren’t as smart as you are – especially people who aren’t as smart as you are.” Greg parted his lips but Immerson waved him into silence. “No, you’ve pissed me off enough already. Quit while you’re behind. Get out of here before I write you up.”

  Teeth clenched, Kane stormed back to his desk. No, he decided, remembering that confrontation, it would not be a good idea to complain now about Useless’ Lone Ranger habits, besides it was almost quitting time.

  “Do you want me to work on sharpening the parking lot footage or should I go back to the video from the sidewalk cameras?” Danny asked, waking Kane from his reverie.

  “Let it go until tomorrow. There’s no point in putting in any overtime on it.”

  “I was thinking that maybe we might be able to pull up a scar or a tattoo or something on the guy who dropped off Brownstein’s car.”

  “There’s less than a one in a thousand chance that we’ll get anything useful from the parking lot video,” Kane said idly slapping his ballpoint against his palm. He looked up to find Rosewood staring expectantly at him. “The color of his hands was much lighter than the glimpse the camera caught of his face. That tells me he was wearing latex gloves so we’re not going to see any tats. Between him walking hunched over, the hoodie and the sunglasses he could be the Elephant Man and we wouldn’t know it.”

  “We still might catch something once he was out on the street,” Danny suggested.

  “He’s a pro so the odds of that are. . . .” Kane shrugged. “It’ll wait until tomorrow.”

  “Agent Kane, do you think it’s him, the deputy who was with your nephew?” Danny asked in an uneasy tone. “Is that w
hy you think he’s a professional?”

  “He’s a professional because of the way he’s put this whole thing together. Is he Mearle Farber? I sure hope so. Anyway–” Kane paused and pulled out his ringing phone. The screen said ‘Martin Fouchet.’ “I’ve got to take this. I’ll see you in the morning.” Kane tapped the “accept” icon. “Hi Martin.”

  “Greg, have you found out anything about Mr. Brownstein? Any leads?”

  Kane considered a half dozen ways of politely ducking the question but found he couldn’t ignore the combination of hope and fear in his friend’s voice.

  “Let’s get dinner and I’ll bring you up to speed. Pick a place.”

  “I’m attending a conference at the Jefferson on, well, the details don’t matter. They have a five star restaurant–”

  “Five stars? That means half the menu will be chopped liver, raw fish and snails. No thanks.”

  “They have a cocktail lounge that serves burgers and club sandwiches and the like. We could probably get them to bring you a steak. It’s on me.”

  “That sounds better. See you at seven.” Kane slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned to see Danny typing something on his computer. “Danny, go home.”

  “I just thought I’d get a start on the FR-2.”

  “Go home, call a girl, have some fun.”

  “I already told Diane that I had to work late. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to have dinner with an old friend and give him some very bad news.”

  * * *

  Perhaps in anticipation of a difficult meeting or maybe just because he was tired and frustrated and in need of a drink Greg left his car in the employee lot and took a cab to the Metro station. The Jefferson Hotel was barely more than a long block down Massachusetts from Dupont Circle and he found Martin Fouchet waiting for him in the black and white tiled reception room. Kane thought the professor looked pinched and lean as if he had been twisted and half wrung dry but Greg pretended not to notice.

  “Hi, Marty,” Kane said grasping Fouchet’s hand and pasting on the best smile he could manage.

  “Greg, thanks for meeting me. I – well, let’s get a drink and something to eat.” The professor led the way to a bar that looked like a 1950s men’s club, all leather chairs and dark wood and walls hung with mahogany-framed maps. A waitress brought menus and ran through the bar’s cocktail specials in an almost sing-song voice. When she came to one concocted of hot apple cider and spiced rum Kane waved his finger as if signaling an auctioneer.

  “Just decaf for me,” Fouchet said, “otherwise I won’t sleep.”

  From the tightness of his lips and the lines around his eyes Kane figured his friend had other reasons than Brownstein’s absence for not being able to sleep but he said nothing.

  “Can I bring you gentlemen any food from the bar menu?” the girl asked.

  Kane took pity on Fouchet and passed up the $38 strip steak in favor of the $21 burger and fries. The professor ordered a bowl of chicken noodle soup and a green salad.

  “Have you found Mr. Brownstein?” Martin asked as soon as the waitress had stepped away.

  “No,” Kane said but trapped by the pleading look in Fouchet’s eyes added, “He’s disappeared.”

  Fouchet paused and seemed unable to assemble Kane’s words into an understandable sentence. “Do you have any leads?” he asked finally.

  Do you have any hope? Kane thought he meant.

  “Here you go.” The waitress, “Holly” her name tag said, reappeared before Kane could answer. “One Cider Me Timbers and one decaf coffee. I’ll bring your meals in a few minutes.”

  Kane took a long swallow and felt the hot cider and rum warm a path all the way to his stomach and spread out from there. After looking into Martin’s bleak face he took a second gulp.

  “Marty, he’s gone.”

  “You mean he’s run away, left the country or something?”

  “I mean he’s vanished.”

  “Washington isn’t the middle of nowhere. There has to be something you can do – surveillance cameras, cell phone records, something. How long can he hide without someone noticing him? What if I offer a reward?”

  “I’m sorry, Marty. I didn’t make myself clear. He didn’t disappear. He was disappeared. Someone took him and put him someplace where no one is ever likely to find him again.”

  “And you have no clues, nothing?” Fouchet asked.

  Kane tried to stall by taking another sip and was surprised to find his glass almost empty. He waved at Holly for another round.

  “It was professionally done,” Greg finally answered, looking back at his friend. “Someone who knew what they were doing wanted Brownstein to disappear and that’s what’s happened. I have no idea how we’re going to find the perpetrator leastwise locate Brownstein’s body.”

  “Body? You think he’s dead?”

  Kane took a breath then accepted a new drink from Holly.

  “Marty,” Kane said once she had left, “professionals don’t run an operation like this for the heck of it. Somebody wanted Brownstein gone without a trace and that’s what’s happened.”

  “But why?”

  Kane glanced away to collect his thoughts and found his eyes settling on a stylish blonde sitting alone on the far side of the room. Noticing his attention she gave him the briefest of smiles then looked away.

  “Does he owe people money, loan sharks or something like that?” Fouchet asked, his voice almost a whine. “I could pay them if it’s money they want. I just need one signature from him.”

  Just as Kane dragged his eyes away from the blonde and back to his friend Holly appeared with platters and bowls.

  “Marty,” Kane said a moment later, “I’m not supposed to discuss open cases with anyone outside my department but, confidentially, I’ll give you my opinion if you want it.”

  “Of course I want it!” Fouchet snapped.

  “Congress gave HHS a mandate to identify potentially dangerous substances and keep them out of the country. As you well know they do that by adopting regulations that ban chemicals they think may be dangerous. Getting one of their prohibitions reversed in court could take years. According to Brownstein’s deputy his department was only a couple of weeks away from approving a new set of regulations covering a whole new list of prohibited substances.”

  Kane realized that he was babbling like a school teacher and forced himself to stop. He caught the blonde glancing at him out of the corners of her eyes.

  “Anyway,” Kane said, forcing his gaze back to his friend, “With Brownstein AWOL there’s no one to sign off on the final draft of the new regulations. It could be weeks, probably months, before his post is officially declared vacant, a list of replacement candidates is drawn up, they’re vetted, the powers that be agree on his successor, and the new Director gets up to speed and signs the revised regs, assuming that he doesn’t want to overrule the staff and make some changes to the list.”

  Kane took a bite of his burger and washed it down with the last of his cocktail. Martin stared at him expectantly. Do I have to draw you a picture? Kane thought, angry for no reason that he could justify.

  “My guess is that somebody wants to import something on that new list, Marty, a lot of something on that list. Making Brownstein disappear buys them at least an extra couple of months to get their material into the country.”

  “You’re saying that he’s gone and that’s the end of it?” Fouchet demanded, angry, as if Kane had told him that he was giving up on Brownstein’s disappearance because he was too lazy to do his job.

  “I’m saying that there’s no physical evidence, no forensic evidence, no video, no cell phone records, no credit card records, no eye witnesses, no body, no nothing, zero. Nothing short of a really good session with The Amazing Kreskin and a ouija board is going to get us any closer to finding Brownstein’s body,” Kane snapped then wanted to bite his tongue. “I’m sorry, Marty. Sometimes I get–”

  “It’s all
right, Greg. I understand. I’m grateful that you took this on at all. I was just hoping . . . .” Fouchet slouched back in his chair and closed his eyes. “Well, I can’t have my people sitting around twiddling their thumbs while we wait for this to be all sorted out. Maybe we’ll be able to find another way.” There’s always Mexico, Fouchet thought but he kept his musings to himself.

  Marty lowered his eyes and they sat there in silence for perhaps a minute before the professor looked up and blinked several times, as if confused about where he was and how he had gotten there. A moment later he checked his watch.

  “I’ve got a meeting with, well, it doesn’t matter. And I probably should call my team, let them know that we’re not getting the ACX as planned. Maybe someone will have an idea about another way to go.” Fouchet dropped a pile of bills on the table. “Tell her to keep the change,” he said then squeezed Kane’s shoulder. “Thanks, Greg. I know you did the best you could.”

  Kane’s eyes followed his friend all the way to the door and then drifted over to the blonde woman who, perhaps sensing his attention, lifted her head and looked back at him. He had two choices, leave or go over and introduce himself. If the collapse of his marriage had been more recent, if he hadn’t been drinking, if he hadn’t felt that old tingling in his pants, he might have given her a polite nod and called a cab. Instead he stood and walked across the room.

  “Hello,” he said, mustering a polite smile. “My friend just left and since we’re now both alone I wondered if I might join you.”

  The woman’s jaw was a bit too square for her to qualify as a classic beauty, more like the fresh-scrubbed but subtly hot girl-next-door. If Kane were describing her in a police report he would have said that she was five-feet six, a hundred-twenty-five pounds, thirty-five years old, blonde and blue, but that’s not how Kane’s brain was working right then. Instead he noticed the creamy hollows of her shoulder blades and the beginning of her cleavage and he imagined how the chill night air might raise her nipples against the thin silk of her dress.