by M. K. Gilroy
“For all we knew, he was already dead, Austin. It would be just like Boyarov to kill his best friend so he didn’t have to betray him. In his warped sense of truth and justice he would see that as an honorable thing.”
“You’re getting off topic and not answering my question.”
“Austin, you want the truth?”
“I do.”
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“I like to worry, Robert.”
“That’s a good thing, Austin. It means you care about my favorite detective. Time for you to move on and make a move, Austin. How long have you and Leslie been divorced?”
“I think since the first day of our honeymoon. And I always appreciate your advice into my personal life.”
“You’re like a son to me.”
“Thank you, Dad. Since we’re making this personal, I’m telling you again, you have to squash this Cutter appeal ploy. It’s a bad idea. It’s a joke.”
“You may be right, Austin. It was probably a bad idea. But I wanted to get more out of our investment in him. You have a business degree. You understand we have to justify our budget expenditures on the basis of ROI these days. Return On Investment. That seems to be the first agenda item in every meeting now. We used to talk about putting away bad guys. I told Van Guten yes because we haven’t got enough out of him to keep a high-priced independent contractor like her on it.”
“Convenient for her to come up with an idea that keeps her in Chicago studying a world-renowned sociopath or psychopath or just plain freak while cashing our generous checks. No conflict of interest there.”
“Of course there is, Austin. I understand the irony. But Leslie’s right. We don’t know enough about the mind of serial killers.”
“Even if we did, they compartmentalize and isolate. Almost by definition, we’ll never know they’re coming until they do. It won’t help us in prevention.”
“But it might help interdiction and that might save a few lives.”
“And kill a forest publishing Van Guten’s reports in order to prove how smart we are.”
“Now you’re being cynical, Austin.”
“Bob, the only reason we caught the Cutter Shark was we got a lead on one of his hunting grounds. We followed that up with good old fashioned investigative work.”
“True.”
“So you’ll quash it?”
“I’m not sure you heard me before. I can’t. It’s an organic operation. It’s already in play. I couldn’t stop it if I wanted to. Conner is going to have to stand and deliver in front of a judge.”
Reynolds blew out his breath to vent the anger welling up in him.
“She’s a tough girl, Austin. She’ll be fine. If you two make a go of it, it won’t be because she needs you to protect her. She’s got plenty of fight in her.”
“Don’t I know it,” Reynolds said under his breath, standing to leave.
He had no clue where to head next. His phone buzzed. He saw the number and answered. Willingham already had his head buried in a report anyway.
“What you got?”
Reynolds stopped in the doorway as he listened. He stepped back into Willingham’s makeshift office across the street from where Boyarov was being kept at New York’s Metro Correctional Center in Brooklyn.
“Are you sure?” Reynolds asked.
Willingham looked up, curious. He knew Reynolds. Something big was happening.
“Okay, get the word to the office—this is a red alert,” Reynolds said, ending the call.
He stood speechless in front of Willingham.
“What?”
“Nazar Kublanov is dead. Conner must have got him through the door with one of her rounds.”
“Good. That’s one problem out of the way.”
“But we now have a bigger one. Zheglov definitely flew to Chicago. He used Teplov’s name out of Dulles.”
Vladimir Zheglov took another pass through the neighborhood. Too many cars on the street. Too many stop signs. Not a good place for a shoot and run. Not a good place to watch either. But watching wasn’t necessary. Once she and her police escort turned south on Ashland or Western this is where she always was headed. Her mom’s house.
One patrol car. An agent inside. Her mom. Her. Five people. Four of them with guns. Probably only one with a significant level of combat training—the FBI agent. But none with his level and none with his tactical training for situations like this. When the moment came, that’s what he’d be dealing with. Solving the math wasn’t easy but it wasn’t overwhelming. He had fought through worse. Much worse. He had planned, organized, and led the assault on Genken after all.
Instructions were clear to limit collateral damage. Four others weren’t that many. That should fall within the range of his instructions.
75
“WHAT’S UP BARNES?”
“I’m glad you’ve kept me in your phone directory, Kristen. Call me Tommy.”
If I don’t call him Tommy he will make me play twenty questions to find out what he’s calling for.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this call, Tommy?”
He doesn’t answer as quick as usual. I think he’s disappointed that I’m not fighting.
“You have a sec?”
“I do. But just a sec. We’re a few minutes from interviewing a murder suspect.”
“Got a call from a little birdy today. A couple names came up that might matter to you.”
He’s stopped so I guess I’m supposed to express how impressed and excited I am.
“Tommy, you definitely have the contacts. I’m impressed. So what have you got?”
“First is Nazar Kublanov.”
“I just heard the Bear is dead.”
Not smart showing him up. Now I’ll have to work for the second name.
“News travels fast.”
He’s going to pout.
“But I’ll bet you saved the best for last didn’t you, Tommy?”
Good question.
“As a matter of fact, I did,” he says. “Vladimir Zheglov. Know him?”
“I don’t think so,” I answer. “The Russian names have me confused. Nothing new there. I never had anything to do with the Nelson murder and the Russian mafiya anyway so I’ve let some of this blow past me. Who is he?”
“Zheglov is Pasha Boyarov’s right-hand man. He’s got a bad combination to him.”
“What’s that?”
“He’s smart and he’s dangerous.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Hopefully nothing. But it has been confirmed he flew to Chicago and no one knows exactly why. With Genken dead, the head has been cut off the beast, but the beast is still alive and out of control. So who knows, it might be you he’s after. He might be laying low. He might be there to shoot the Chicago Pakhan, Anasenko Sadowsky. But I got a bad feeling it might be you. I don’t think they every really bought in that you showed up at the Nelson crime scene by accident. I sometimes wonder that myself. I know you aren’t going to admit if you were doing something for the FBI so I won’t ask. Just know, you need to keep your eyes open.”
“I’ve still got a protective detail.”
“Tell them you want more. I’m being serious on this guy. He’s the real deal. He’s a nasty piece of work.”
“I appreciate that, Tommy. I really do. I’ve got to go into the interrogation room so I gotta cut loose.”
“Give me a call if you have any questions.”
“I will. And let me know if you hear anything else. And Tommy?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks again. I appreciate it.”
Dang. I forgot to ask him if there is a prayer in the world that the NYPD will replace my cold weather running gear.
I’m behind the glass today. Squires and Blackshear are the grinders. First up is Leslie Levin. Nancy Keltto is on deck. She’s out of the hospital and for some reason her lawyer insisted she come down for questioning immediately, with him present of course. N
o word on when we can talk to Bradley.
My stomach is roiling. If I send a note to Doyle and Zaworski on the call from Barnes, they’ll pull me from the Keltto case. We’re so close. I want to be part of it, no matter what the outcome.
Fergosi did order me to pass on anything I heard from the FBI. Barnes isn’t FBI. Now I’m nitpicking on the letter of the law. I’ll send an email when the interviews are done. Crud.
I look at my watch. Just a little after one. I should get out of here on time for once. I’ll head to my mom’s house for dinner.
Reynolds looked at the picture closely, studying the eyes, lips, ears, and jawline. Vladimir Zheglov. He needed to memorize every detail—it was too easy to change appearances with simple cosmetic fixes like a new hair color or a pair of glasses.
“Would you like anything else, sir?” the flight attendant asked him.
“Anyway the inflight internet is back up?”
“I’m sorry, sir. It looks like it is down for the duration of the flight.”
Reynolds gave himself another punch inside. I should have called Conner before I took off. The Chicago FBI office will undoubtedly connect with the CPD and give her and everyone else minding her a heads up.
Stop worrying. Nothing is going to happen in the next few hours.
But he was worried. Zheglov was in Chicago.
What a lousy time for the inflight internet service to be out. I can’t send Kristen a message and I can’t get an update from the office.
I’m sure the information has worked its way into the system.
“You guys have ruined my life with this. My wife knows . . . my boss knows . . . even my kids know after hearing their mom scream at me all night.”
I feel bad for the wife and kids. I don’t feel bad for Leslie.
“I should never have been included in this investigation. I told you I was on the West Coast on a business trip. If you had just asked me I could have given you my receipts from the trip. I think I have pictures of a group of us on the golf course.”
“Doesn’t mean you weren’t there when the murder happened,” Don says.
“No way could I have been there and at O’Hare at the same time.”
“That’s true,” Don deadpans. “But your car was there. Interesting you didn’t feel the need to tell us.”
“Says who?” Leslie demands.
“Doesn’t matter,” Blackshear says. “We know your car was in the neighborhood the morning of the murder.”
“You got proof or are you listening to a juvenile delinquent and peeping tom?”
“No one said who told us,” Don says.
“Yeah, but we all know, so you can stop playing games with me,” Levin says. “Why would you even listen to a kid like that? I went straight from my house to the airport.”
“That’s your story?” Don asks.
“Yeah,” he sputters. “That’s my story because it’s true. No judge or jury is going to believe a teenage criminal over a guy with no record. So why don’t you focus on the kid so I can get back to rebuilding my life? I shouldn’t be in here.”
His righteous indignation is breathtaking—and hollow. He has no right to point fingers at anyone.
“I told you I’d make myself available whenever you needed. That was to shield my family. Well it’s obviously too late for that. But I thought I’d try one more time to clear this up directly, man-to-man. But I’m still in jail because you’re obviously not listening, even after Nancy and I gave you everything you need to know on the kid.”
“You signed an agreement with me that you wouldn’t talk to Nancy,” Blackshear says.
“Are you kidding me? She tried to kill herself. I wasn’t supposed to help her?”
“You could have called 911,” Don says.
“You guys won’t give it up, will you? This interview is finished. Next time you want to talk to me, work through my lawyer.”
It’s a good thing I’m not in there with Blackshear and Squires for the interview. I would love to set Mr. Levin straight on who has ruined his life.
I check email between interviews. Got a note from Tom Gray in Internal Affairs. Investigating other cops for criminal activity is not all IA does—but most of it. Their investigators are rarely popular outside IA. But the joke is they don’t have departmental friends either—they’re too busy spying on each other. Gray knows how defensive I can get and makes sure I know I’m not being investigated first thing in the email. He is letting me know he has been assigned my case for the Cutter appeal. He will work with me and legal counsel to prepare for questioning.
Thanks, Tom, I text him.
I feel sick to my stomach again.
Nothing from Reynolds. It’s been three days since he had something he just had to say to me. Maybe we’re too much alike to ever go anywhere in our relationship. Both of us get consumed with the job.
I think about the kiss in the hospital again. Best ever. But is now the time to think about that? That starts me thinking about it even more. I force my mind elsewhere.
I need to call Klarissa tonight. I can do that from Mom’s house. She had to fly back to be on-air the next morning. I know she feels hurt that I suspected her of fooling around with my sort-of boyfriend. But if the roles were reversed and she had seen what I did, she would have thought the same thing.
I replay the scene in my mind. It’s getting fuzzy. I sure seem to remember the two of them being a lot cozier than necessary to talk about me behind my back. My mind is playing tricks on me again.
Who told Levin about Bradley?
76
“YOU HAVE BEEN most helpful.”
“It’s my pleasure. What else can I show you?”
“Nothing right now. This one caught my attention. Now I need to think about it for a day or two.”
“Why don’t we sit down for a cup of coffee and let me work through numbers with you. I have an idea they may accept a little less than they’re asking.”
“That would be good but I need a little more time to think about if I’m really ready to buy a house.”
“Of course there’s not as many offerings on the market in January, so they won’t come down a lot. But I’m just saying.”
Zehglov was getting impatient but trying hard not to show it. He saw a for sale sign on a house a couple blocks from where Conner’s mom lived. They all looked the same to him, but he drove by Conner’s old neighborhood one more time and confirmed that the two row houses had the same number of doors on the front and sides, the same number of windows, and were pretty close on size.
He called the number on the sign to have the realtor show him the house. He studied doors, windows, stairs, and halls. He was surprised that there was a basement too. He asked about the outside entrance, which was a steep flight of concrete steps with a rail on the left and a retaining wall on the right. The stairs dead-ended into a small square slab of concrete that provided just enough room for the basement door to swing open.
He asked about the history of the neighborhood and got the feeling most of the floor plans were pretty similar. Still, there was no way to know with absolute certainty what he’d walked through was the same as Conner’s house. He also couldn’t remember if Conner’s mom had a basement but he didn’t intend to drive by for a fourth time. He should have kept the Malibu. Less conspicuous in a working class neighborhood than the Mercedes.
“You’ve got my number, I’ve got your number,” Zheglov said. “I’ll call you back on Saturday when I’m done with a project. No need to call me because I’ll be too busy to pick up.”
She smiled and nodded and gushed about the solid oak flooring and marble countertop in the refurbished kitchen one more time. If she had kept going I would have to kill her for being obnoxious, he thought to himself. Need to get back to Conner’s workplace. Let’s see where she’s going tonight.
When he got in the car he called the shestyorka who answered on the first ring.
“I need men and guns.”
“Th
at I can help you with.”
77
“I JUST WANT to be clear on this point. I’m not saying Bradley Starks did it. I always liked him. I thought he was a sweet boy until I caught him . . . uh . . . looking at me.”
“You don’t have to defend Bradley Starks,” her lawyer says, interrupting and putting a comforting hand on her arm.
Gag me.
We get to talk to Starks tomorrow morning. We no longer have to worry about the twenty-four-hour rule for holding someone who hasn’t been charged in a crime. Apparently he’s been busy over at the juvenile wing of the Cook County Jail. He’s started a couple fights and about set off a riot in the cafeteria. He may have a number of assault and battery charges to face before he gets home. That will be least of his worries next to murder.
“Tell us again how much time your deceased husband and the boy spent together?” Blackshear asks.
“Eddy used to be his scout leader. But really not much in the last two years. Things change when kids become teenagers. Eddy teaches fifth grade and is very good with children. I’m not sure he relates well to teens. And vice-versa.”
“The two didn’t spend time together even though Mr. Keltto was his court-appointed mentor?”
“Not really. I’m sure Ed tried . . .”
She pauses and lowers her head. She begins to cry.
“We may be done here,” her lawyer says.
“No, that’s alright, I can keep going,” she says through sniffles and tears.
“This is what I didn’t want to say. But about a month ago Ed said something that I didn’t think about at the time.”
She stops to gather her thoughts, taking deep breaths. Blackshear waits. Don is in there with arms folded. He hasn’t said a thing the entire time. I did see him smooth his suit jacket lapels and check for dandruff on his shoulders.
“Ed said that Bradley wasn’t cooperating and had missed almost every weekly meeting they were supposed to have. He said he should contact the caseworker but didn’t want to do anything to send the kid to prison. Then he told me about Bradley pushing him . . . and threatening him.”