I was more interested in catching criminals who ran over honest hard-working geeks than caring if a politician got crucified by the media.
Looking dowdy but semi-respectable, I scanned on-line news articles as I took the train to Bill’s precinct. Carla hadn’t added anything new to her website, but a few of the rowdier independent news sites had some hilarious footage of the melee in front of our house. They particularly liked videos of the national VIP news anchors, trailing wires and mics, awkwardly scrambling to escape crashing vehicles and dodging the excited mob in the street.
Several news websites carried a few paragraphs here and there on Graham’s revelation about Paul Rose and Broderick Media being involved in murder and revolution, but his loudspeaker voices didn’t come equipped with videos of train wrecks. Images painted a thousand words and all that. Voices apparently generated a big yawn. But with a few of their secrets out in the open, the baddies had no reason to burn out Patra anymore.
The more legitimate local news websites were slow to add material, but they had a few headlines about Archie being implicated in a political scandal and possible affiliated crimes, nothing in depth. Yet. They’d screw their rival to the wall as soon as they had enough evidence not to get sued.
I smiled in anticipation. With Patra’s friend Sam downloading BM archives, we were in a lovely position to eventually give them Archie on a skewer.
Of course, the D.C. media stayed far, far away from the favored local presidential candidate. For now. Not my concern. I wanted Bill’s killer.
Sean was pacing the floor and shouting jubilantly into his phone when I arrived at the precinct. He hugged me. He actually hugged me. Usually, he just wanted to hit me.
I left him feeding his latest news scoop to his office and walked up to the officer in charge. Sergeant Duvalle Jones was a burly, unsmiling man who looked as if he’d been at the job for a while, if the size of his belt and the wrinkles around his balding head were indicators.
“I’m here to press charges against Leonard Riley. He shot at me.”
“Miss . . .” He glanced down at his papers. “Miss Devlin?”
Well, I couldn’t lie to a police officer, especially after Sean, the rat, had given my real name. I produced my passport. “Yes, sir. Mr. Riley was stalking my sister, also.”
“That wouldn’t be Miss Patra Llewellyn, the lying, thieving bitch, would it?” he asked with a heavy shade of irony.
“The very one,” I said brightly. “I see you’ve spoken with Mr. Riley.”
“More like he’s shouted loud enough for the heavens to hear him. Come along, Miss Devlin. This could be interesting.” He gestured to a rookie standing nearby and we sauntered into the bowels of American authority.
Guess if I meant to stay in D.C., I’d better start cultivating the natives.
I’d learned the sergeant’s name, marital status, and opinion of the Washington Redskins by the time we reached the back rooms where they were holding Leonard. I offered Jones a tip on how to get good discounted ’Skins tickets — compliments of Nick and Tex — and in return I learned that the police were holding DeLuca’s goons as well, since they had outstanding warrants.
Despite every attempt I made to disguise the fact, I was Magda’s daughter right down to my toenails. I left the sergeant smiling and sat down at a battered metal desk while another officer wrote up the charges. Somewhere in the back, Leonard screamed for his attorney.
“Does he actually have an attorney?” I asked with interest, scanning the documents the printer spewed out before I signed them.
“DeLuca will send someone down here eventually,” Detective Azzini said with a shrug. He was younger than the sergeant, with clipped tight curls, mocha-colored skin, a cleft chin, and high cheekbones. D.C really was starting to feel like the international homes I’d known.
“South African ancestry?” I asked politely as he typed on his keyboard.
He glanced up with narrowed eyes. “Why?”
“We used to live there. I recognize the name and the cheekbones.” My phone rang and I checked the caller ID: Patra. She’d sent a link labeled “archieleaks.” I clicked on it and pages of indexed document files appeared before my wondering eyes. I needed a tablet with a bigger screen. I scrolled down, found a link labeled DeLuca, and smiled.
“I don’t think DeLuca will have time for bottom feeders today,” I said with satisfaction, handing him the signed papers. “Are you interested in DeLuca or would you prefer that he go to a bigger precinct?”
“Interested in DeLuca? What, you’re simply going to hand me a criminal who’s eluded the law for decades? Who the hell do you think you are?” he demanded, finally paying attention to little ol’ me.
“Anastasia Devlin, just as it says on my ID. I come from a rather large, well-traveled family with connections. If you’ll check the local news, you’ll see an article or two about Sir Archibald Broderick. That would be my sister responsible for the possible end of his reign of terror. It seems she’s downloaded a few of Archie’s files and DeLuca’s name is in them. Want to see what they look like?”
“There’s a reason Riley shot at you, isn’t there?” he asked, appraising me.
I smiled briefly at his recognition that I might be more than the dowdy shrimp that I appeared. “There usually is. But shooting unarmed people is never justified. Still, Riley has the answers to a lot of questions more important than he is. I’d be ready to drop charges if he’d implicate the men who set him after us. I think this file link in my hand might aid that cause.”
We negotiated. It seemed the good detective was in line for a promotion, and nailing DeLuca would almost certainly seal it. I gave him the link to the DeLuca file. He gave me permission to wait around while they interviewed Leonard. We both studied the files and came up with lots of questions. Bigwigs were called in who added a few more queries based on years of experience. We invited Sean to join in as a reward for his good deeds and patience.
By the time we were done, we had a super interview prepared for lovely Lennie. The cops thought I was nuts for sitting around while they interrogated him. They obviously hadn’t searched him yet because the listening device I’d planted on him still worked.
Sitting next to Sean in an empty office, we shared my set of earbuds. Listening to Leonard squeal, I wanted a bucket of popcorn. Stereo wasn’t necessary. As loud as Leonard was wailing, the wireless transmitter probably wasn’t necessary.
Given all Riley’s D.C. criminal connections, stalking Patra had fallen way down Detective Azzini’s list of inquiries, but I’d insisted on having Leonard questioned about Patra’s father.
After Riley related his part in that long-ago story, I was sick to my stomach. “They’d better keep Riley locked up until they have Smedbetter behind bars,” I said as the little pig laid the blame for his murderous overseas operations on the general, Broderick, and the victims themselves. Nothing was ever Lennie’s fault.
“Broderick and pals had Llewellyn assassinated because he knew too much about Archie’s involvement in promoting warfare for kickbacks?” Sean asked in disbelief. “Megalomania, much?”
“Assassination is pretty easy over there,” I said reluctantly. Even though I’d suspected this outcome, I was saddened that a good man had been removed from the world by people with too much money. “Leonard didn’t even have to get his hands bloody. All he had to do was give a kid a euro or whatever was in his pocket. Whack, the deed would be done. When you live in war zones, with killing all around, life becomes pretty meaningless. People are just obstacles to be removed.”
I chewed my fingernail and pondered Riley’s answers. “I think Patrick knew more than Leonard does.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sean was jotting notes for his Pulitzer-prize winning article. Or to tell Patra, hard to say.
“Patrick started investigating General Smedbetter after the military blew up a mosque in Iraq. I think Paul Rose’s battalion was involved. I smell cover-up. Leonard wasn’t in Iraq at the height
of the war. He was busy being sent to jail for tapping a vice-president’s telephone. Years later, Smedbetter might have told Leonard a story about Patrick holding info on Archie, but that didn’t really justify assassination.”
I stopped and tried to put all my theories in order. “I think Patra’s dad was sitting on evidence that the general wanted buried — like who ordered the bombing of Kirkuk and why. Ernest Bloom was an embed in Smedbetter’s command at the time Patrick was over there. Bloom may have talked with Patrick or overheard too much or simply started acting too suspicious. He presumably died of a heart attack right after Patrick, but I’m betting he got whacked. Heart attacks are simple to fake when you have no medical facilities for examination.”
I pondered the problem while Sean jotted notes.
“Didn’t you say Bloom was present when Smedbetter, Whitehead, and some possible Rose rep talked about buying media to foment revolution?” Sean asked, following my thoughts pretty accurately. “Bloom could easily have overheard worse.”
“Yep,” I agreed. “Chances are good, if Bloom was any kind of reporter at all, that he’d learned about the cover-up of Rose’s fiasco five years earlier. He sounded pretty cynical on that recording. If he started rocking the boat —” I had no proof of anything.
Sean whistled and tuned in more intently to the interview with Riley. The detective was more interested in a crime boss than in the ancient foreign history I’d asked about, but they’d moved on to Smythe now.
“Smythe is a blackmailer!” Leonard shouted in the other room. “He collects information and uses it to get what he wants.”
“What the Righteous and Proud wants,” I murmured. “That makes sense. Smythe gave Bill Bloom a lot of recordings and had the voices identified so he knew whose arm to twist. He didn’t need Bill’s audio files, but he wanted to know who was interested in them. That’s why he let the files sit around and had you and Patra followed.”
“But you said it was DeLuca’s men — not Smythe — who set fire to the files in my office,” Sean said, tapping his pad with a pen. I should buy him a digital tablet if I ever collected my millions. I should buy myself one.
“Because Archie ordered the audio files burned,” I whispered. “Smythe was probably twisting his arm with the contents of those files.”
“Why Archie?”
I hushed him as the detective apparently produced our print-out from the DeLuca file. Leonard started muttering as he heard the incriminating evidence Patra had sent.
“DeLuca was told to silence Smythe,” Leonard admitted grudgingly. His voice was low enough that Sean and I had to press the ear buds tighter. “And he needed to get rid of Brashton. Made sense to do both at once.”
I gripped Sean’s arm. Here it was, the answers I needed.
“So DeLuca actually killed Brashton?” the detective asked, cluelessly.
Leonard snorted. “Smythe is just this little shit the big guys were using. He ran errands like me, except he got paid better. The R&P nuts actually tried to save DeLuca’s gang by offering them jobs and insurance. DeLuca thought that was hilarious, but the guys kinda liked having the insurance .”
“That’s not answering the question, Riley. This document shows you and DeLuca grew up in the same neighborhood. You were buddies. When you went to jail, DeLuca took care of your family. You get out, and you run errands for him. And he runs them for Archibald Broderick and Broderick Media. Where does Smythe fit in?”
“I don’t know how they got to Smythe, okay? They just do that. I gave Smythe a baggie from DeLuca and told him to take it to that lawyer Brashton with the message that this was the last coke he’d supply, and after that, Brashton was on his own. No one really searches ministers, so Smythe played the church card.”
And so Reggie the Snake had died by innocent minister. I sighed and released Sean’s arm. The picture was almost whole. I was still furious, but there wasn’t much I could do about an organization that had infiltrated every particle of society. Or drug addicts who took drugs in jail from crime bosses. DeLuca had no reason to care if Reggie sang like a canary. I had no doubt that the mysterious “they” Leonard kept referring to was Top Hat, not DeLuca’s gang. Leonard probably didn’t even know Top Hat existed.
“Did you know that the baggie contained cyanide with the drugs?” the detective asked, calmly ticking off another question.
“I did not,” Leonard said indignantly. “All I do is carry out orders. I gave Smitty a bag. He took it to Brashton. Stupid schmo probably thought he was doing the addict a good deed.”
“And how did DeLuca figure poisoning Brashton would eliminate Smythe?”
Nice detective. I hadn’t known enough to ask that earlier, but I listened now.
“He didn’t, for sure. DeLuca knew what was in the baggie, so he just took out a little insurance. If Smythe tried to blackmail him or his pals, DeLuca would just have to mention poison and who’d seen Brashton last. That damned rich chick ruined everything by setting her lawyer loose. DeLuca didn’t want to cut our connection with R&P. That health insurance is nice for guys like us.”
Rich chick! I started to giggle. I covered my mouth but I was practically shaking with near hysteria. Bribery by health insurance. Smythe was one damned smart man.
I almost didn’t mind that Smythe would probably walk if Leonard’s rambling story was confirmed. Brashton was dead, our yacht was gone, and behind it all was the mysterious organization called Top Hat that had ties to Paul Rose — and apparently a gang boss. It all made sense in a convoluted sort of way. Reggie Brashton the Snake had been a loose cannon who needed to be eliminated. They’d probably feared he’d left evidence on the yacht. None of this had anything to do with us, personally, except we got screwed out of half a million dollars.
“We have witnesses that DeLuca arranged for the death of one Bill Bloom,” the detective said a little while later.
That was a bit of a stretch. I’d stuck in that question. The detective had looked up Bill’s file and learned Bill’s apartment was where they’d caught Leonard’s goons. He was willing to put two and two together.
Leonard cursed. “Little creep worked with Smythe for a while. DeLuca got paid to take him out. That’s when word came down to silence Smythe. No idea what that was all about.”
That was all about learning Bill had Patra’s tapes and had turned raging liberal, or at least anti-R&P. And then someone listening to Bill’s audio files — my bet was on one of Archie’s menials like Smedbetter — and realizing Smythe was a perennial blackmailer. Snake’s nest, just as I’d said. So a five-year-old murder to cover up an even older scandal had blossomed into today’s mass havoc. I wanted to believe in karma, but I wasn’t seeing justice yet.
“Do you know if DeLuca spoke with anyone at Broderick Media before or after Mr. Brashton’s demise?” the detective asked smoothly.
“DeLuca got his orders from Smedbetter, just the same as I did. You’ll have to ask him,” Leonard snarled, confirming my suspicion. “Look, I told you everything I know. I didn’t do nothing. When am I gonna get outta here? You said I could walk.”
“For your own safety, it might be better if you stayed in our custody a while longer.” We heard the detective flipping his pages for more questions.
As if on cue, an alarm shrieked through the entire building. A loudspeaker intoned, “Evacuate the premises immediately. I repeat, emergency evacuation, follow procedures.”
I sighed and took Sean’s arm as he hurried for the exit. “Bomb threat,” I warned. “DeLuca has found his loose-lipped little shit.”
Sean snickered as we ran for the door. “He wouldn’t really blow up a police precinct would he?”
“No, but Broderick might if he thought Leonard could nail him, and he was getting darned close by implicating Smedbetter.”
The street rapidly filled with cops and prisoners. The news vans would be here shortly. This routine was getting really old. I knew better than to hang around for the bad guys to find me. I headed for t
he Metro station.
Shots from a rooftop echoed off the old bricks. Shrieks of horror split the crowd as they backed away from the toppling victim.
Bye-bye, Leonard, I whispered as I ran for safety, tugging ever-curious Sean after me.
Thirty-one
“I left my car over at Bill’s apartment,” Sean said when he realized my goal was the Metro. “Let me give you a ride.”
The curls falling over his forehead didn’t conceal the concern in his eyes. I patted his muscled bicep reassuringly. “You are a seriously annoying man, but a good one. If your foot is hurting, you can give me the keys, and I’ll go get the car for you.”
He sighed and glared down at me. He knew me too well, kind of like an older brother. “Turn off Magda and get real again. I will fetch Patra or whoever it is you’re after now. I owe you for this story. It’s huge. It’s ginormous. If it doesn’t win us a Pulitzer, it will be my own fault. So where do you want to go?”
Ambulance sirens screamed down the highway. The police station didn’t blow up. I cast a look over my shoulder to the mob milling in the street. Cops were running for the rooftops, but they wouldn’t find anything. DeLuca’s men would have their exits planned.
Rest in peace, Leonard.
It was late and I needed to go home.
“You need to be at your office more than I need to be anywhere,” I told him. “Go on, fetch your car, call Patra, and the two of you write your prize-winning story. I need time to locate everyone. I can do it easier on the train than clinging to your dashboard. We might make a good team, but you’re a scary driver.”
“We make a lousy team,” he argued. “You’re going to get us all killed one of these days. If we’re safe for now, if you don’t need me to take you anywhere, I need to go back and check what happened at the precinct and verify that it was DeLuca’s thugs who killed Bill.”
“We’re never safe, not as long as megalomaniacs and monsters run loose,” I pointed out. “All we can do is take them down one at a time. I’m sorry Leonard didn’t have time to contemplate changing his ways, but even DeLuca had to know his personal rat would squeal. There wasn’t any way he could let Leonard continue spilling secrets. Without Leonard following me, the train is safe enough, go on.”
Undercover Genius Page 25