A Witness Above

by Andy Straka

  No one said anything. As if to fill the silence the tall man added: “We've tried Interferon and now we're experimenting with a vaccine.”

  “Are you an RN or something?” I asked.

  “Oncologist, actually, among other things.”

  “Only the best for old Boog, ain't that right, Pavlicek?” Morelli managed a weak smile. I hesitated to ask what “other things” meant.

  “So what is this?” Morelli asked. “A Confederate invasion? First this bumfuck sheriff a couple days ago. Now you two.”

  “Sheriff Cowan is dead,” I said. “Found him this morning with most of his face missing.”

  “S'that right?” He stared blankly ahead, trying not to show any reaction, apparently, but one of his arms gave a visible shudder.

  “You know who did it?”

  “You think it was me.”

  “We were thinking maybe you might have ordered it done.”

  He coughed again, hard this time. The young woman rushed forward to put a cloth to his mouth. When she took it away there was a visible bit of blood. Morelli shook his head. “Not me, pal. Don't give a shit about no sheriff.” He coughed some more.

  I waited until he finished. “What about Dewayne Turner?”

  “What about him?”

  “You care anything about him?”

  He snickered, but then he smiled. “He was a good kid.”

  “You know he's dead then too?”

  He nodded. “Your sheriff fella there told me.”

  “You know what happened to him?”

  “If I did, the sons of bitches would be joinin’ him in a hurry.”

  “What was your business with Turner?”

  He adjusted his blanket and sheet for a few moments as if he hadn't heard me. “You know Dewayne, that kid comes up here about a month ago. Sits in the chair right over there and tries to tell me we all gotta die sometime.” He pointed, then wiped the corner of an eye with the back of his hand. “Like I fuckin’ don't know … We had the curtains open to watch the sunset and it was beautiful out over the water and the cliffs, you see what I mean?”

  I nodded.

  “I tried to tell him, there ain't gonna be much hope for an old thug like me, but he wouldn't listen.”

  “He must have thought there was some.”

  Boog Morelli stared at the heavy drapes and gave a raspy chuckle. “Maybe so. Maybe so.”

  The tall man moved to the corner, picked up a clipboard, and began writing notes.

  “You two want some breakfast?” Morelli asked. “I was just about to have some myself.”

  “No thanks.”

  “That's okay. It ain't exactly steak and eggs. …”

  The Asian woman disappeared for the moment into the kitchen.

  “Turner used to work for you?” I asked.

  “Sure, sure. He was a good boy.”

  “What about Smoke and the rest of his gang?”

  Morelli shook his head. “Bunch of punks. None of them's got the brains.” Another coughing spasm shook him. “Listen, I ain't got no time to lie here answering no more questions. I suppose you two come about the money.”

  I glanced at Jake. “Money?”

  “Yeah. You bring me my money?”

  “I don't know what you're talking about, Boog.”

  He looked at Jake then back at me and saw that it was true. “Jeez Louise, you mean I gotta send somebody else special down there to collect?”

  “Collect? Collect what?”

  “The money that's owed me for the kilos, you dipstick, what do you think I'm talkin about?”

  “Who owes you for the kilos?”

  “Who owes me for the kilos?” He shook his head in wonder. “You guys fly all the way up here to talk to me and you don't know your buddy Cahill owes me fourteen grand?”

  Jake's eyes grew wide and mine must have too. “What's Cahill got to do with kilos?” I was suddenly afraid I was already beginning to guess some of the answers.

  He laughed. “What are you guys, some kind of joke? I don't hear nothin’ from the lot of ya for years and then out of the blue Cahill calls me up all hot under the collar about some fuckin’ old weapon. Says one of my boys was supposed to get rid of the thing. Like I'm supposed to fuckin’ remember.”

  “When was all this?”

  “I don't know.” His whisper sounded tired now. “Maybe a month ago. I don't remember exactly.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Hey, what can I say? People screw up. It was still lyin’ around.”

  “Did Cat say what he was going to do about it?”

  “No. But I had an idea. That was right after the boy you was talkin’ about came to see me. So I started thinking maybe, hey, since the kid ain't doin’ business for me no more and I got all these people waitin’ down that way, maybe Cat would be looking to supplement the cop pension again. You know, kind of make it up to him for the screwup with the gun.”

  “Cat used to do business with you?”

  “You people must have stepped off another planet. I thought you two was buddies with the guy. Sure we did business. He and—what was his name?—his old partner before he got wasted by those punk kids over in New Rochelle. You guys were there, weren't ya? Wasn't that what got ya kicked off the force?”

  “This is really important, Boog. What did you tell Cat about doing business again?”

  The girl had returned and Morelli signaled for her to give him another sip from the straw. We waited while he drank.

  “Like I told ya, the kid was just here. So I got ahold of him and had him take the message to Cahill. Told him to tell Cat I could make up for the gun crap with some real business, set him up again and everything.”

  “Then?”

  “Then nothin’. I don't hear nothin’ until a week ago and Cahill calls me and says he wants two kilos fast. I figure, okay, he thought about it and he's taking me up on my offer. So I send down the stuff, but he stiffs my guy who, by the way, ain't ever gonna work for me again, and sends a message he won't have the cash for a few days.

  “So what do I do? I call up one of my legal whores and have him gift wrap the piece for the NYPD. Why not? What's it to me? Next thing I know this bumfuck sheriff comes by asking questions. And now you two idiots show up, so I figure you must be bringing me the dough.”

  Jake was biting a fingernail, listening intently.

  “We haven't got the money, Boog. And I'm afraid I have bad news for you—the cops have your coke,” I said. “I don't think Cat was ever planning to sell it.”

  “He wasn't? When I'm tryin’ to do the guy a favor. What's goin’ on?” There was a seed of dark anger in his eyes, but it seemed incapable now of blooming.

  He looked at Jake who looked at me and said: “The gun thing.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “The gun thing?” Morelli said. He started to cough again. Weak and confused.

  It was all coming together now.

  “Sorry, Boog. Cahill's stolen the money from you, and if I'm right, he murdered Dewayne Turner and Sheriff Cowan. Not to mention his partner, Singer … We've got to go.”

  “Cahill killed Turner?”

  “Yeah. Part of covering up his past. I think Cat must have gotten into some kind of dispute with Singer who was his partner all those years ago. Who knows? Maybe Singer got cold feet.

  “Those kids didn't shoot Cat's partner. Cat did. We must have stumbled in right after it happened, but we never made the connection. Cat must have somehow switched barrels on the docks—he had one and the kids had them too. Maybe he had planned something like that all along. It makes sense. He didn't realize two NYPD detectives were so close, and was going to pin it on one of the kids until we showed up. But he managed to shift the focus to us and cover everything all up. Except that now he knows that the missing weapon can prove he did it.”

  “Christ,” Morelli said, trying to piece it all to together. “So when I sent the Turner kid with the message to give him. … he what …
he offed the kid because he might know about the gun then too?”

  I nodded. A large bit of whatever life remained in Boog Morelli seemed to drain from him then. No doubt he had ordered killings and beatings of various kinds himself, done his share and more of heinous crime. But this was something else.

  “And I was the only other one who could make the connection. The bastard figured I was already good as dead. …”

  “You never knew the truth about what happened in New Rochelle?”

  His face was a blank. “Maybe I had an inkling. But that was a long time ago. I never figured your buddy Cahill for somethin’ like this.”

  His lower lip began to tremble.

  “We need to go, Boog.”

  “So now you guys are gonna take care of Cahill.”

  “We're going to try,” I said.

  A crude but maybe adequate justice. The old murderer slumped down between his pillows. “I need ta rest.” His exhaled words were barely audible.

  “You didn't have to turn that gun in when Cahill stiffed you, did you, Morelli?”

  “You fellas believe in absolution?”

  “Maybe there'll be a nice sunset again tonight, Boog.”

  “I need ta rest.”

  He dismissed us with a birdlike wave of his fingers. The young woman moved in and pulled the sheet higher around his shoulders for him to close his eyes.

  31

  Priscilla Thomasen was already waiting on Jake's deck when our headlights swept across the trailer. It was almost eight P.M. Traffic from Riverdale back to La Guardia had moved like sludge, when it moved at all, and the first flight available back to C'ville had been delayed by more than an hour.

  “The news is not good,” she said as we got out. “I told you we had the hearing, she made bail, and was released into her mother's custody.”

  “Yeah?” I said.

  “I just talked to one of the deputies down at the jail. It turns out Cahill was with Camille when she was bailed out, and the three of them left together.”

  “Just wonderful.” I looked at Jake whose face was cold as stone. “Couldn't they have kept her in jail?”

  “Hey, how was I to know? I didn't talk to you guys until long after they'd gone.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Yeah, well, it gets worse. The deputy also told me they just took a report a little while ago from a hysterical housekeeper out at Sweetwood Farm. The woman lives on the property. Thought she heard a commotion and went to investigate. She found Camille Rhodes unconscious. Looks like some kind of drug overdose.”

  “Where's Ferrier?”

  “From what I understand, he's been fending off reporters half the day. And they're busy chasing down every suspected gang member in the area.”

  “Figures.”

  “I went by the restaurant. No sign of either Cat or his Range Rover.”

  “Was Kerstin there?” I said.

  “The wife? Yes. I saw her go in and out of the kitchen a couple times.”

  “We'll start with her then. She's got to know something.”

  All the way back we had debated whether or not to inform Ferrier of what we had found. We had settled on bringing in only the Commonwealth's attorney. If it came down to some sort of hostage situation, the one advantage we had was Cat's assumption that Jake and I were still mostly in the dark regarding the truth. A huge posse would only tip him off.

  Cat had been good—we had to give him that. Deception, not just once, but over a number of years. Bringing in family. The guy had broken just about every unwritten code there was. And he seemed to be growing more desperate with every killing, every move he made. He had to suspect we were onto something—he just didn't know how far we had come.

  Or how far we were willing to go.

  Priscilla handed Jake a note she had found taped to the door.

  “It's from Hal Stenirude,” he said. The falconer friend. “He just left a couple hours ago. The birds are okay.”

  We had replaced the briefcase where we had picked it up in New York. We couldn't risk trying to check it on the flight. Jake said if we were going to be doing this kind of thing again from time to time, he would have to rent another self-storage space closer to home. We picked up more ammunition for our handguns from the trailer and were all set to go.

  “Jake?” Priscilla said. “If you two are planning something that will in any way affect my prosecution, I need to know about it.”

  Jake paused and took her gently by the arm. She did not resist.

  “Priscilla,” he said, “I respect who you are and that includes what you do. But this isn't about prosecution anymore.”

  “But if you have new witnesses, they need to be—”

  “I know the drill. But right now Frank and I are more worried about his daughter than the chain of evidence.”

  “I understand.”

  Jake nodded slowly. He was checking the load on the .45. “You're coming, aren't you?” he asked.

  “You betcha,” she said.

  Priscilla sat between us in the truck on the way into town. “A couple things I don't get. How did Cahill manage to change the barrels on those guns without Ballistics catching on to him?”

  “Glock barrels from the same model are interchangeable,” I said. “That's why they have their own serial numbers. It's fairly simple to break the piece down too, if you know what you're doing.

  “You remember, don't you, Jake? Cat was the one who went after Balazar when we shot him. You were trying to help Singer while I chased the runner. You and I both know we saw a gun in that kid's hand and we were right. It must have been a Glock, same model as Cahill's. The other kid must have had one too. Cahill admitted he knew the kid we shot. He must have supplied them with the guns, one of which had the barrel from his own Glock in it while his had the barrel from that gun. There might have been four or five different weapons in the mix so Cat could kill Singer and one or both of the kids, then tag Singer's shooting on them.”

  Jake nodded slowly. “But he didn't count on Frank and I being in the neighborhood and showing up so soon after he called in. When we downed the kid, he must've hit on the idea of not just switching the barrels, but taking that weapon out of play altogether and substituting the pipe. Safer. Or so he thought.”

  “It was safer,” I said. “He thought Morelli's people had taken care of the gun for him. But now Fuad writes to say they've got a match on the weapon and the barrel all these years later. If someone's able to tie it to Morelli's organization and starts asking enough questions—you could see how Cat might get concerned.

  “He thinks he's okay when he finds out Morelli's about to kick the bucket, but then the Turner kid comes into the picture, and suddenly he knows about the gun too. Cat goes into panic mode.”

  “Murders Dewayne Turner,” Priscilla said. “Then looks for an easy mark to pin that crime on and Nicky Pavlicek just so happens to fit the bill. He had to know you'd be coming over to look into things though.”

  “Right. Which might have been exactly what he was hoping.”

  “Feel us out. Find out what we know. Use the opportunity to cast suspicion on all of us, then try to eliminate us somehow too before he's through. Probably no one else would ever be in a position to piece the whole thing together,” Jake said.

  “How did Cowan find out about Morelli?” Priscilla said.

  “My guess would be through Camille. He must have had an idea she was using. He said he knew the family well. Dewayne Turner, at one time, was probably her supplier. When that ended she probably got desperate and went to the gang or someone else on the street. In fact, that's probably where Weems came into the picture. And he somehow got mixed up with Cat too, which is why Cat had him following me. Turner himself might have mentioned Morelli to Camille. Remember, he was trying to evangelize a lot of his former contacts. He might have figured he would have a better chance if he kept tabs on who was still in the supply chain.”

  “So Cowan goes to New York. Finds out about the dru
g deal, maybe the gun too. Why not just come back and arrest Cahill?”

  “He needed better evidence to tie Cat to more than just the drugs. Plus, he was still suspicious of Jake and me. He might have figured Cat was working for the two of us. He even went so far as to contact Cat in the hope he could use what he had to get more information. My bet is Cat somehow manipulated Cowan into meeting him again out at the lake.”

  “And now he's got Nicole,” I said.

  “That's a lot of supposition,” she said. “The only way a prosecution can be successful is if the gun in New York can be definitively linked to Cahill along with additional evidence linking him to the current killings.”

  “We know Cat murdered Singer and set us up. Then he murdered Turner and tried to frame Nicole by planting the coke and putting traces of the same material on Turner's body. He murdered Cowan, now maybe Camille Rhodes as well. If I find out he is holding my daughter against her will, please excuse me if I shoot first and ask questions later.”

  “If everything you say is true, we've got to consider the possibility that your daughter may be already dead, Frank,” Priscilla said.

  She was right, but I didn't even want to think about that.

  We reached the outskirts of town. Except for a Roanoke TV station van in the municipal lot, Leonardston looked peaceful enough. You would never guess the local sheriff had been murdered the night before and that a killer was still at large.

  Jake said. “You think Kerstin's in on this thing too?”

  “Hard to say. She may not know anything about it. He fooled us, didn't he?”

  We pulled into Cahill's lot just as another car was pulling out, a green Toyota station wagon with a family inside. There were only two other vehicles outside the restaurant, the same as earlier in the day, with one glaring omission. Cat's Range Rover was still missing.

  I turned off the engine and cut the lights.

  Jake asked: “What now?”

  “We go in and see if we can find Kerstin. I'll do the talking.”

  The three of us entered through the front. The lights were all on but the place was empty, almost eerily quiet. Then Kerstin Cahill came out from the kitchen.

  “Frank, Jake, Miss Thomasen” she said. She nodded at the Commonwealth's attorney. “How nice to see you all. You need menus?”