Daylight

by David Baldacci

  Pine slowly lowered her hand.

  Puller continued. “And the nursery rhyme he used, presumably to choose between you two? You asked Teddy about that to see whether it was good or bad for your sister, but his answer cut both ways.”

  “Yes, it did.”

  “But that could have been a guy out of his depth who’s stalling for time before he has to do something he doesn’t really want to do.”

  “You’re not just trying to make me feel better?”

  “I would never do that in a situation like this. That would be crueler than anything else I could think of.” He paused and fingered his beer. “The fact is, a guy going there to do what he ultimately did, why choose at all? Why not kill both of you right then and there? He took Mercy when he didn’t have to. Getting out of town with a small child? Then transporting her to some other place? What could be harder than that?”

  Pine shook her head, looking unconvinced. “He wanted to make my father suffer. He got into a fight with him, accused him of attacking his own daughter and killing the other daughter.”

  “But I thought it was presumably your mother Bruno had the beef with, not your father.”

  “My mother was at the hospital with me. Maybe my dad was the only one he could reach at the time.”

  “Maybe.”

  “And then, years later, my father, probably suffering from overwhelming guilt, took his own life, on my birthday.”

  “Damn, I didn’t know that,” said Puller.

  “I haven’t told many people.”

  He took her hand again. “I’m really, really sorry, Atlee.”

  Their salads and pizza came, and they ate in silence for a few minutes.

  They each ordered a second beer and took their time drinking it as the restaurant emptied out of customers.

  “You like it out there in Arizona?” asked Puller.

  “I like it fine.”

  “Only fed for miles around?”

  “No, the DEA has an office in my building. But the closest FBI agents are in Flagstaff. Then we have offices in Tucson, Lake Havasu, and of course Phoenix, among others. But for day-to-day stuff in the Grand Canyon area, it’s just me.”

  “You have any support?”

  “I have the best admin in the Bureau, Carol Blum. She’s traveling with me and helping me on this.” She put down her fork. “So what’s our next move?”

  “I’m running Tony down and I haven’t given up on Teddy yet, either. He obviously knows stuff that’s relevant. And he may know more about Ito and where he might be.”

  “How are you going to take a run at him?”

  “Carefully. Like you said, the DOJ can make my life miserable.”

  “I’d like to know why any other agency even cares about this.”

  “It only takes one bureaucrat, Atlee.”

  They paid their bill, splitting it down the middle despite Puller’s trying to pay for it all.

  “It’s the least I can do, Atlee.”

  “I blew your collar. I should pay for all your meals for the next month.”

  “You’re the real deal, all right,” he said with a smile.

  He couldn’t have paid her a higher compliment, thought Pine.

  They walked outside.

  “Where are you staying?” she asked.

  “Motel a few miles from here. We’re limited on vehicles so Ed McElroy dropped me off and he’s coming to pick me up.”

  “I can drive you back,” said Pine.

  Puller pointed to a green sedan with government plates parked at the curb a few feet away, with McElroy leaning against the front fender.

  “He’s already here.”

  They walked over to McElroy.

  “How was the food?” he asked, pushing off the fender and walking toward them.

  Before Puller could answer, the bullet slammed into McElroy’s back, dropping him right where he had stood alive and well a second before.

  CHAPTER

  11

  PULLER AND PINE CROUCHED DOWN behind the sedan as more rounds sailed past them. A bullet smacked into the window glass of the sedan, shattering it. Another caromed off a metal windshield support, sending bits of shrapnel spinning away.

  Puller and Pine drew their weapons and returned fire at the mouth of the alley from where the shots were coming.

  Terrified people had dropped to the pavement and were screaming.

  When no more shots came their way, Puller quickly checked McElroy’s pulse. There was none. The man’s pupils were fixed and turning glassy. His life was over.

  “Shit,” muttered Puller. He dialed 911 and told the dispatcher what had happened. He put the phone away and said, “You stay here with the body. I’m going after the shooter.”

  “Not alone, you’re not.”

  “Don’t argue. Someone has to stay with the body.” He peered over the hood of the car. “Cover me.”

  He raced across the street while Pine did so, aiming her gun toward the alley.

  When Puller disappeared down it, Pine snagged an older man in a private security uniform who was crouching behind a mailbox, showed him her badge, and told him to stay with the body until the police arrived. Then she raced after Puller.

  She hit the entrance to the alley and peered down it. The space was ill lighted, but she could see about fifty feet ahead where Puller was crouched next to a dumpster. He looked behind him, spotted her, and frowned and pointed for her to go back.

  She waved this look off and pointed ahead of them into the darker recesses of the alley.

  Puller held up one finger and then pointed to her and then at the spot beside him.

  She gave a thumbs-up. The alley was dark and quiet, with numerous places where someone could be waiting to ambush them, which meant they had to tread with care.

  When he beckoned to her, she scurried forward until she was squatting next to Puller.

  He snapped, “I told you to stay with the body. When I give an order I expect it to be followed.”

  She barked right back, “Well, in case you missed it, I’m not under your command, Puller, because I don’t happen to be in the damn Army.”

  He calmed as quickly as he had angered. “Right, sorry.”

  She explained what she had done to protect the crime scene and McElroy’s body.

  “Okay, I heard one set of footsteps,” he said quietly. “About a hundred feet ahead. They’ve stopped. No door opened, no car started.”

  “So he’s still in the alley. It might be a dead end, then.”

  “Funny selection for a shooter,” Puller said ominously.

  “Yeah, it is.”

  Puller eyed the access ladder bolted to the brick wall and then looked up to see where it went.

  “I’m taking the high ground. You stay down here.”

  “I can take care of myself,” she said bluntly.

  “Which is why I’m leaving you alone, down here.”

  “What are you going to do up there?”

  “In a fight or a chase high ground is always better ground.”

  He hustled over to the ladder and quickly started to scale it. Pine watched him go until he reached the roof and slipped over the edge.

  Pine started moving forward, in her mind’s eye trying to parallel Puller’s movements above. As she left one building and moved to the next, she looked up and saw Puller leap effortlessly from that rooftop to the next. There were alleys between the buildings, but two had high chain-link fences with padlocked gates and barbed wire on top. Pine peered down a third one but it was clearly a dead end.

  Three rooftops and blind or gated-off alleys later, she stopped. Her phone buzzed.

  It was a text from Puller.

  Dead end. A set of trash cans. He’s behind them. Flush him.

  Pine edged forward and peered at the line of battered trash cans.

  She looked up and could see a shadow slightly darker than the night around them.

  It was Puller. His gun was aimed downward right at the target.


  Pine knelt down and pointed her pistol at the cans.

  “FBI, throw your weapon down and come out with your hands up, fingers interlocked behind your head. Do it. Now!”

  Pine could see one of the cans shaking and couldn’t think of a reason why that would be. And, like Puller had pointed out before, why had this person shot McElroy from a blind alley where his escape would be cut off?

  “I said to come out now. Do it. This is your last warning before we open fire.”

  She wasn’t going to open fire because she was in no imminent danger, and Bureau rules would forbid her taking life-threatening action in such a situation.

  But the guy they were chasing didn’t know that.

  She aimed her gun as the person slowly rose from behind the cover of the garbage cans.

  He looked like a teenager. He was black, small of frame, and he was shaking, which might explain the vibrating nature of the trash can. In his right hand was a gun. The weapon was Pine’s main focus because it had to be. Once that was neutralized, she could work the situation any number of ways.

  “Put the gun down,” she said. “You’ve got no chance, so you’ve got no choice.”

  The kid looked wildly around, as though he couldn’t believe he was in this situation.

  “Don’t shoot me,” he cried out.

  “No one’s shooting anyone,” said Pine. “If you put the gun down.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Put the gun down and we can talk about it. You can tell me your side of things.”

  He shook his head. “Nobody’s going to believe me.”

  “I can promise to listen, if you put the gun down.”

  “No, lady, I can’t do that. We’re in deep shit.”

  “You’ll be in a lot deeper shit if you don’t put the gun down.”

  The kid seemed to be considering this but was obviously unsure of what to do.

  “What’s your name?” asked Pine. “I like to know who I’m dealing with, that’s all.”

  “My . . . my name’s Jerome. Jerome Blake.”

  “Okay, I’m Agent Pine. That’s a good start, Jerome. Now if you put the gun down I can listen to your side of things.”

  Jerome started to tremble, and tears slid down his face. “You don’t understand, lady.”

  “I’m trying to.”

  He waggled his gun hand. “Please, I—”

  That was when the shot rang out.

  Pine cried out, “No!”

  Jerome looked over at her as though surprised by the hole that had suddenly appeared in his chest. Directly over his heart.

  She looked up at the roof of the building. She couldn’t see Puller up there but there was no way his position would have allowed for a shot like that.

  She looked back at Blake in time to see him topple first into the trash cans and then to the dirty asphalt.

  The next moment a uniformed policeman raced past Pine, his gun drawn. He was in his midforties, tall and broad shouldered, with dark hair and darker eyebrows.

  He knelt next to Jerome and felt for a pulse. He looked at Pine and shook his head.

  “He’s gone. He was going to shoot you, ma’am.”

  “No, at least I didn’t think he was.”

  The cop pointed his gun over at the building as Puller scrambled down a ladder there.

  “Hold it right there,” barked the cop.

  “He’s with me,” cried out Pine. “I’m FBI. He’s Army CID.”

  “Let me see some ID,” said the cop in an edgy tone. “Now.”

  He looked at their creds and badges and then handed them back.

  “We got a 911 about shots fired and somebody being down. Guy back on the street.”

  “That was us,” said Pine.

  “Who’s the dead guy on the street back there?”

  Puller said, “An Army CID agent named Ed McElroy.”

  “Why the hell would a kid be targeting an Army CID guy?” asked the cop.

  “Wish I had the answer to that,” replied Puller grimly. “But I plan to find one.”

  CHAPTER

  12

  WELL, THANK GOD YOU WEREN’T HURT,” said Carol Blum.

  She was sitting in Pine’s room and had just finished listening to her account of the evening’s adventures.

  Pine had taken off her jacket and flung it on her bed. She was sitting next to it, her gaze downcast. “But two people did die tonight, one of them an Army cop. And the other was what looked to be a sixteen-year-old kid.”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call him a kid if he had a gun and shot someone intentionally. But why would he target McElroy?”

  “Or was he actually aiming at me or Puller? Right before he was shot, McElroy stepped forward in front of us.”

  “I suppose that could be possible. You are investigating a case that might make some people nervous. And the shooter might be connected to Tony Vincenzo and his drug ring.”

  “The kid was scared, Carol. And something just felt off about the whole thing.”

  “I suppose the local cops are handling the situation?”

  “Yes, but Puller’s involved, too, because the victim was one of his agents.”

  “What did Blake say to you?”

  “That he was in deep shit. That no one would believe him.”

  “Believe what?”

  “He never got a chance to tell me.” She shook her head. “But there was something, something in his features. I don’t know. It just didn’t fit with the situation. It was like he had no idea why he was even there or how to even hold a gun.”

  “What do you plan to do about it?”

  “Blake probably has family around here somewhere. Maybe we can talk to them.”

  “But I’m sure the locals will be doing that. Won’t you be encroaching on their investigation?”

  “Probably,” conceded Pine.

  “And I can’t see how what took place tonight is connected to our search for what happened to your sister.”

  “I can’t see that it is, either,” admitted Pine, gazing determinedly at her.

  “But I also know that look,” said Blum.

  “That kid died violently right in front of me, Carol. I know stuff like that happens every day pretty much all over this country. And it’s not the first time it’s happened to me. But again, something just feels off and I’d like to know why.”

  “But you let a series of murders in Andersonville interfere with your search for your sister.”

  “And I helped solve them and at the same time learned a helluva lot about what happened to her. I can multitask, Carol. You should know that better than anyone.”

  “But still.”

  “Carol, the only reason I’m an FBI agent is because I want to see people who destroy other people’s lives brought to justice and pay for what they did. I want the families of their victims to have closure. I want . . . ” Pine’s voice trailed off, and she slumped over and stared at the floor.

  Blum said gently, “You mean you want for others what you never got for yourself?”

  Pine let out a long breath and said, “I can’t let this go. I can’t.”

  “Well, as you said, we can find out who his family is and go ask questions.”

  “Dobbs would have a stroke if he knew I was getting involved in another murder case. He wants me back ASAP.”

  “Well, Clint Dobbs will just have to wait.”

  “I don’t like putting you in situations like this, Carol. You work at the Bureau, too.”

  “I chose to come on this . . . mission with you. I put myself into every situation we’ve faced so far. And I’m fully prepared to continue doing so.”

  “You’re going way above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “You’re not just my boss. You’re my friend, Agent Pine.”

  “I wish you’d just call me Atlee.”

  “I’ve been at the Bureau too long. Protocols like that are hammered into me. How will you go about finding any relatives
of Jerome Blake?”

  “Well, I can call Superman.”

  “Superman?”

  “John Puller. Didn’t I tell you? He’s able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.”

  CHAPTER

  13

  THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON THEY set out to visit Jerome Blake’s mother. She lived in an old part of Trenton that was being gentrified. They saw this in numerous homes being remodeled and expensive late-model cars parked in the driveways of some of the newly renovated homes.

  “It’s good to see old neighborhoods getting new life,” said Blum. “But the downside is the people who’ve lived here a long time get pushed out because their taxes go up. Or the home prices get out of control and a working-class family can’t afford to buy.”

  “Nothing fair about that,” said Pine.

  Despite the cold, a group of young men played pickup basketball on a cracked asphalt court, pouring in three-pointers and slamming dunks through a rim with no net. As Pine and Blum passed by, some of the men stopped to watch them, their expressions not exactly friendly.

  Blum said, “It’s the next house on the left.”

  Pine pulled into the driveway of a one-story bungalow with a metal carport, under which was parked a Buick two-door. A pair of flowerpots were on the stoop. In the distance they could hear a dog barking.

  “So how come Superman didn’t come with us?” asked Blum. “I’d like to meet the Man of Steel.”

  “You will, Carol. But the fact is he’s got a ton on his plate right now and superiors to answer to. I can only imagine the debriefings and paperwork John’s having to do right now, what with losing an agent like that. But I told him what I planned to do, and I’ll report back to him what we find.”

  Pine noted that the house had a fresh coat of paint and what looked like a fairly new shingled roof. The colorful curtains in the windows were warm and inviting.

  They got out and walked up the sidewalk to the front stoop. Before they could knock, the door opened and a black woman in her forties stared back at them. She looked over their shoulders and said brusquely, “Come on in.”