Death Never Lies

by David Grace

  I’ve got you, you son of a bitch! Danny thought, then reached for the phone to call Kane.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Kane drowsed on the couch while his dinner of microwaved frozen lasagna congealed in the pit of his stomach. It had been a long day.

  Millingham, or his bosses, had finally tired of the pissing contest and had arranged a meeting with Kathryn Hopper for mid-afternoon. Kane found her middle-aged, pale, nervous and anxious to please. He searched in vain for the free-spirited young woman who had turned her back on middle-class convention and decided that that girl was long gone. Instead today’s Kathryn Hopper had the look of a two-time loser who was anxious to please her probation officer and was willing to do anything to avoid going back to the joint.

  “My dad’s all right, isn’t he?” she asked thirty seconds into the interview. “He’s not in any danger?”

  “He’s fine. I’m just doing a security assessment. Have you noticed–”

  “Because if he needs anything from me, if there’s anything I can do to help him, just tell me what it is and I’ll do it,” she told Kane with an almost desperate look on her face.

  “Just answering my questions will help a lot.” Kathryn gave him a quick nod and unconsciously wrung her hands. “Have you noticed anyone that you don’t know in your vicinity more than once or twice?”

  “You mean, like somebody stalking me?”

  “No, not necessarily even paying any attention to you. Just there.” Kathryn stared at Kane with confused eyes. “For example, you park your car and notice a blonde-haired man sitting in a car across the street, then, later, maybe when you’re having lunch you see the same man at another table.”

  “Oh, no, no,” Kathryn answered, enthusiastically shaking her head.

  “How about seeing the same car more than once? You stop at a light and notice a silver Altima two cars behind you and then the next morning you see the same Altima parked down the street from your house. Anything like that?” Kathryn gave him another bobble-head response.

  And that’s how it went for almost an hour. It was like trying to get answers from a nervous golden retriever that desperately wanted to please you but was clueless about how to do it. If Kane had ever entertained any suspicions that the daughter might cooperate with somebody who was after Hopper he didn’t any longer. Any harm to the justice from her would be either accidental or coerced.

  By now the lasagna had solidified into a solid mass of acid and grease. Kane pushed away the almost empty bottle of beer and abandoned any thoughts of opening another. He lolled his head back and started to let his eyes slide shut when a shriek from his cell phone jerked him upright. The screen said: “Daniel Rosewood.” Kane hovered his finger over the “Accept” button then sighed, dropped the phone on the cushion next to him, and closed his eyes. Whatever Danny wanted would wait until morning, Kane decided, and almost instantly he slipped into a leaden sleep.

  * * *

  Kane recognized the bar, Tommy’s bar, the instant that he opened his eyes – the round tables, the warped plank floor; Sadie, weary, limp hair brushing her shoulders, laying down bottles of Rolling Rock with a clack, clack, clack. Kane looked around. Tommy had to be here. Tommy was always here. This place was his personal limbo between the real world and wherever it was that dead people ended up. Sometimes when Greg was awake he wondered if there really was somewhere else or if the dead just evaporated without a trace, but not here, not in Tommy’s bar. While he was here Greg was sure that this was just a way station, a last-chance rendezvous for the living and a waiting room for the dead.

  Kane rubbed his fingers across the table and drew little figure eights in beer-bottle sweat. Sadie turned around and seemed to look through him until Greg raised his hand, then she nodded and limped over to the bar. A minute later she thumped a Rolling Rock down in front of him and he handed her a five.

  “Is my brother here?” Kane asked.

  “Honey, he’s always here,” Sadie said in her lung-cancer voice.

  Kane looked around. “I don’t see him.”

  “He’ll find you, don’t you worry.” Sadie held up the five and arched her brows.

  “Bring one for Tommy and run a tab,” Kane told her. Sadie shoved the bill into her apron and turned away.

  Greg methodically searched the place starting at the pool table in the back. Tweaker and Fireplug were still playing a game that had neither a beginning nor an end. Beyond that was the hallway to the bathrooms, payphone, condom machine and the back door. At the jukebox, Slut Girl was pouring over the buttons as helplessly as if they were printed in Chinese. Big Jesse, Little Jesse, Denny and Phil surrounded a table full of empty bottles and plastic baskets of nachos and peanuts in the shell. Dapper Dave perched up on the last stool and watched Slut Girl’s ass as she leaned over the Wurlitzer. Kid Billy, Babyface and Dumb Sally lined up along the bar from back to front where Studly the bartender poured a never-ending stream of bourbon and drafts.

  Kane looked behind him toward the front door. A wash of gray light clouded the foot-square window in the top of the panel and he thought, again, about getting out of his chair and putting his face to the glass or maybe even opening the door and stepping outside, but he was overcome by a wave of fear. Somehow Kane knew that doing anything like that would break the spell that admitted him to this neutral ground and that once he tried to leave or even look beyond these walls he would never be allowed to return.

  He heard a hollow thunk and when he turned away from the window he saw Sadie limping toward the gloom sheltering the back table. His brother was now sitting across from him. Tommy raised his beer, smiled and clinked the neck against the green bottle in Greg’s hand.

  “Happy days, little brother,” Tommy said and took a gulp. “Ahhh, that hits the spot. I do miss a good beer.”

  “What do you mean, ‘miss’? You live here. You can have all the beer you want.”

  “Did you ever watch an old movie and see all those beautiful people, smiling and dancing up a storm and wonder what they were thinking, Grego?” Tommy asked.

  “They’re not thinking anything. They’re not really there.”

  “They’re there for you, Greg.”

  “They’re just a recording, a memory.”

  “Me too,” Tommy said, smiling and taking another swallow. “This place,” Tommy waved around the bar, “It’s only here for you. Once you leave we all go back into storage like the refrigerator light going off as soon as you close the door. So, thanks for showing up.” Tommy chugged down the rest of his Rolling Rock and waved the empty bottle at Studly behind the bar. Studly nodded and pulled a fresh one out of the ice.

  “What’s outside that door?” Greg asked, half turning around.

  “Someplace else,” Tommy answered.

  “Can you go there?”

  Tommy laughed. “Go there? I’m barely even here.” Almost invisible, Sadie plunked another bottle on the table and then vanished like a shadow. “So, tell me, Greg,” Tommy said, all humor suddenly gone, “why are you here?”

  “I came to see you.”

  “Are you ready to listen to me this time, little brother, or do you just want to ask more questions that I don’t have the answers to?”

  “I always listened to you, Tommy, always.”

  “Until I died. Then you stopped.”

  “You said that you aren’t real, that you’re just a figment of my imagination.” Greg reached across the table and grabbed Tommy’s hand.

  “I said that I was here for you. Maybe I’m me and maybe I’m just another part of you but I still have things to tell you if you’re willing to listen.”

  Tommy seemed to flicker for an instant then solidify again.

  “Whoa! Almost lost you there. Are you sleeping on the couch again, little brother?”

  Greg found that his fingers were empty. Somehow Tommy’s hands had disappeared into his lap.

  “I’ll listen, Tommy. What do you want to tell me?”

  “What did I
tell you the last time and the time before that?”

  “I did what I was supposed to do. I took the classes. I saw the shrink. I’m under control.”

  “Said the man who swallowed a pill every time his tooth hurt.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Treating the symptom is a fool’s game, Greg. You’ve got to cure the disease. Pull the tooth, little brother.”

  “I– what?”

  “Let it go. You have to let it all go.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ve got this idea that you bought yourself a winning ticket and somebody’s gypped you out of your prize.”

  “Stop speaking in riddles! For once can’t you just say something straight out?”

  “Complaining again. You don’t hear me complaining do you, and I’m dead.”

  “And whose fault is that? I told you not take that call. I told you the roads were a mess. I told you to get yourself a fucking new set of tires! But, no, Mr. Nobody-Can-Tell-Me-Anything does whatever the hell he wants and leaves his son without a father.”

  “You filled in with Jason for me, Grego.”

  “Yeah, I filled in! What a great job I did!” Kane half shouted. “I raised Jason to want to be a cop like us and now he’s dead too.”

  “You think you got Jason killed?” Tommy asked in a soft voice.

  “If you’re going to tell me I didn’t, just forget it. I’m not a fool. I know what I did.”

  “And you think my getting killed, Jason getting killed, that that’s unfair?”

  “Of course it’s unfair. All the bastards who get to live and you, oh, fuck it! What’s the point?”

  “See, that’s your problem right there, Greg, that’s the disease that you’ve got to cut out before it ruins you.”

  “What are you, some kind of shrink or mystic or something spouting all that inscrutable bullshit? Just say it straight out!”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’re in any mood to listen to me, Grego. It sounds like you just want to bitch about how life’s done you wrong. When people think like that it usually means they’re planning on getting even somehow. Are you planning on getting even, Greg?”

  “Tommy, I–” Kane began but then his brother shimmered. A lopsided grin split Tommy’s face and before Greg could do more than shout his name Tommy flickered twice more and Kane’s brother and the bar and everything in it disappeared.

  * * *

  Greg Kane opened his eyes with a start and looked blearily around his empty apartment. His phone displayed the words: “Missed Call – Allison Varner” at the top of the screen. Kane stared at the message but was too sick at heart to do anything but half-stagger from the living room and fall onto his bed. Mercifully, for the rest of the night he did not dream.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Now that they had all the “mine is bigger than yours” nonsense out of the way, Kane accepted the Service’s offer of a briefing. Clark Millingham was nominally in charge but he was there mostly to keep Kane from bullying his people. S.A. Robert Dohenny was the direct supervisor on the Hopper Protection Detail and he ran Kane through the moving parts in textbook fashion.

  Locations: (1) Home; (2) Work; (3) Other Venues; and (4) Transit;

  Threats: (1) Short Range – Knife/Handgun; (2) Long Range – Long Gun; (3) Explosives; (4) Chemical Agents – gas/poison.

  Human Factors: (1) Strangers; (2) Employees/Co-workers; (3) Known Third Parties – service personnel, journalists, attorneys; (4) Friends/Relatives.

  Kane recognized it for what it was, a Dog & Pony Show to keep Senator Denning happy, but he took careful notes anyway, occasionally interrupting to ask a question. By the time the briefing finished at around ten-thirty Kane was convinced that the Secret Service had done a thorough and professional job of providing Hopper with world-class security and it depressed the hell out of him because it left him with a big problem.

  In theory Kane’s job was done. He had checked out Hopper’s security arrangements and found that they were first rate. He could make his report and go back to looking for Mearle Farber, except for one thing – he didn’t believe that Hopper actually was safe. He still thought that Eustace had been killed by a pro. A pro likely meant that serious money was behind the hit. The combination of a professional killer and financial resources meant that the operator wasn’t going to be scared off by a solid protection team. Just the opposite. It meant that the hitter knew what he was up against and thought that he had a way around it. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he would make a mistake and get himself caught or killed. But maybe not.

  So, Kane asked himself what he should do – smile, shake Millingham’s hand, and tell Denning “Mission Accomplished” or should he stick around a little bit longer just in case he thought of something that Dohenny and Company had missed?

  “Agent Dohenny, what’s the latest on Kathryn Hopper?” Kane asked as the supervisor was packing up his reports.

  “We have her covered 24/7,” Dohenny said easily, hoping that Kane would let it go.

  “Covered how?”

  Dohenny took a half breath and looked up from his materials.

  “An agent is stationed overnight in her apartment. She’s relieved in the morning and a fresh agent accompanies Ms. Hopper wherever she needs to go. When she finishes work we lock her and the night-shift agent back inside. The next morning we start all over again. She’s never alone.”

  Dohenny turned away and zipped up his leather case, hoping that Kane was done.

  “A single agent? Do you have a follow car?”

  Frowning, Dohenny put the case down and turned back to Kane.

  “As a precaution we detailed a second team to Ms. Hopper the morning Agent Eustace’s body was found. So far we’ve detected no activity whatsoever in Ms. Hopper’s vicinity. We’re going to keep the second team in place through the end of the week. If nothing turns up between now and then we’re going to reduce her detail to the primary officer starting on Saturday.”

  Kane got a faraway look as plans and schemes ran through his head. If, as he suspected, Kathryn Hopper was the weak link, a single babysitter wasn’t going to be enough. A blitz attack would take out her minder and five seconds later she would be gone, all of which was bad. On the other hand if the Service continued to double-team Kathryn that might force the hitter to go to Plan B which could be much worse. Ten pounds of shaped C4 in a parked vehicle, triggered when the Justice’s car drove past would kill not only Hopper but probably five or ten others as well including the Secret Service agents riding with him.

  “Any other questions, Agent Kane?” Dohenny asked after two seconds of silence.

  “No,” Kane finally answered.”

  “So, you’re ready to write your report?”

  “Uhh, no, not quite.”

  Dohenny struggled not to frown.

  “Is there something I can do to help you finish up?”

  “Yes, I’m sure there is,” Kane said then, again, seemed lost in thought.

  “And what would that be?”

  “As soon as I think of it I’ll let you know.” Kane hesitated, distracted by a trill from his phone. “I’ve got to take this,” he said, tapping the screen. “Danny, what have you got? . . . . Stay where you are. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Kane slid the phone into his jacket and hurried away. Neither man bothered to say ‘goodbye.’

  * * *

  Kane found Danny parked in a four-year-old Mazda 3 on T Street. He had stripped off his tie and shed his coat but he still looked slightly out of place.

  “That’s it,” Danny said when Kane slipped into the passenger seat. Rosewood pointed his chin at the Capitol Mail & Shipping store across the street and four shops down. Danny’s field trip here was wrong in so many ways that Kane didn’t know where to even begin.

  “Technically, you’re not supposed to use a mail box as the address on your driver’s license but if you’re a criminal I guess you don’t care,�
�� Danny said, nervously fingering the camera in his lap.

  “Did you find something that makes you think Farber’s going to show up here today?”

  “No, I–, oh,” he said, raising the camera. “This is just in case. It’s got a 50X zoom so I can get his plate and a good shot of anyone he meets from a long way off.” Danny smiled and turned back toward the mailbox store.

  Greg kept his mouth shut and tried to think. The kid had worked his ass off and done an amazing job, an unbelievable job in tracking down Mearle Farber. For that, Kane could have kissed him. Then he jeopardized it all with this harebrained field trip. If Farber didn’t show up Danny’s coming here was a complete waste of time and if Farber did show and spotted Rosewood all Danny’s work would be for nothing. Farber would instantly dump the Paul Conklin identity and they would be worse off than they had been before.

  Kane knew what Danny was thinking – that he would come out here, get lucky and find Farber without being spotted himself, follow him, again without being noticed, and track Farber to his real address, and then call in the cavalry. Good God, it was like a kid’s fantasy out of some old comic book. Dumb, Dumb, Dumb.

  Ten seconds went by and when Kane didn’t speak Danny turned to look at him. One part of Greg’s brain told him, People will never learn if you don’t point out their mistakes. Another voice wondered, If Jason had been in this situation would he have acted any differently?