by Joel Goldman
Hands on hips, she snarled at him. “This morning you were all about how Jimmy has only been charged with theft and contempt, not kidnapping and murdering his kids. So why are you trying so hard all of a sudden to defend him against something he hasn’t been charged with? Did he confess? Are you hiding behind the attorney-client privilege and just using us to build a defense when you know he’s guilty because, so help me God, if I find out you are, I’ll put you in the ground.”
Kate was studying Bonner with freeze-frame eyes, a look that could read bar codes a mile away. I needed time alone with her, to ask her what she saw in Bonner’s expressions. He ignored her, giving Lucy a tight-lipped smile.
“It’s been a while since someone threatened to kill me for doing my job. Bet it happens to you all the time. I bend a lot of rules because I think they’re bullshit, but I won’t breach my client’s confidence because if I do, he’s done and I’m done.”
“Even if it costs Evan and Cara their lives?” Lucy said.
“Let me put it this way. I won’t help Jimmy commit a crime, but I won’t turn him in for one he’s already committed.”
“I couldn’t live in your world,” Lucy said.
“Okay, okay,” I said. “Let’s step down to DEFCON Three. Bonner, I know you can’t tell us if Jimmy confessed. But if there’s a chance that Peggy’s boyfriend had something to do with this, we need to take a look at him, and if you know the boyfriend’s name, now would be a good time to tell us. At least that way, we could try to rule him in or out.”
Bonner pursed his lips, searching for the limits of the attorney-client privilege. “Okay. You don’t think I hadn’t thought of the boyfriend angle? First thing they teach you in criminal defense school is to give the jury any suspect except the defendant, and Peggy’s boyfriend, whoever he is, makes an easy target. I pushed Jimmy to tell me, but all he said was that he’d take care of it himself.”
“The guy has pride,” Simon said, “even if it’s the ugly kind.”
“So, he knows or thinks he knows,” I said. “If Kate’s right about why Peggy is so ashamed, we need to find her boyfriend, and the best place for us to start is with Jimmy’s friends, assuming he has any.”
“There was one person he mentioned several times,” Bonner said, flipping through a legal pad filled with scrawled notes, looking up from the page. “Guy’s name is Nick Staley. That name mean anything to anybody?”
Chapter Thirty-five
Nothing happens in a vacuum. We go through life, content in the belief that our little corner of the world is a gated community, that outside our limited circle of family and friends no one much cares or notices what we do. Politicians and celebrities are criticized for living in a bubble, a closed atmosphere impervious to reality. But the truth is we all live in our own bubbles, ignoring the ripples we create until we bump, trip, or stumble into someone else’s world, the bubbles burst, and the ripples well up, becoming shock waves.
“Nick Staley owns a little grocery store on St. John,” I said.
“You live in Brookside,” Simon said. “Since when do you buy bread on St. John?”
“I don’t. Staley has a son named Brett who works at the grocery. He’s also in love with Roni Chase.”
“Six degrees of separation,” Simon said. “Which one was in a movie with Kevin Bacon?”
Lucy scooted to the edge of her chair. “Jack, you can talk to Roni, find out if her boyfriend knows anything, maybe get her to make an introduction to Nick. That way you can come at him without him being on guard. He might open up or at least let something slip.”
“So now it’s a good thing I’m helping Roni?”
She sat back, arms crossed. “If it’ll help find those kids.”
“It’s worth a try,” Kate said. “If you show up at his grocery store and ask him if he’s sleeping with Peggy and, oh by the way, did he kidnap her kids, he might clam up in spite of your considerable charm.”
“Bonner,” I asked, “have you talked to Nick Staley?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?” Lucy asked. “You said you’d already thought of the boyfriend angle.”
“I left him a couple of messages, but he didn’t call back. I tried catching him at the store, but missed him. The kid I talked to must have been his son.”
“Mid-twenties, blond, chinstrap beard, pierced eyebrow. Spends a lot of time in the gym and wants you to know it,” I said.
“All that and an attitude to match. Asked me for ID, wouldn’t tell me when or if Nick would be back or how I could get ahold of him. When I told him I represented Jimmy Martin, he acted like he’d never heard of him, which didn’t register with me until now. If his father and Jimmy were buddies, you’d think he’d have been more helpful.”
I thought of Roni, how her family’s history connected her to the Staley and Crenshaw families. She was third-generation Northeast. It made sense that her roots were entwined with so many others who lived there, loyalty and suspicion of outsiders strengthening the ties. She’d been reluctant to talk about Frank Crenshaw even after he killed Marie and took a shot at her, asking me if I was a cop and questioning why I was trying to help her.
“If Roni won’t talk about the gun that was used to kill Frank Crenshaw because she’s covering for Brett Staley, there’s not much chance she’ll help me run a scam on her boyfriend’s father. I’d rather Kate and I talk to Nick and leave Roni out of it. Besides, there’s another possibility.”
“What?” Bonner asked.
“You tell him, Kate.”
“Today at the lake, there was another mother, Jeannie Montgomery. She’s been looking for her son, Timmy, for two years. He and the Martin kids lived in the same neighborhood. We have to consider the possibility that their disappearances are connected.”
Bonner straightened, taking a sharp breath. “You’re talking a serial killer that goes after little kids?”
“That’s one theory,” I said. “I asked Adrienne Nardelli if she had any evidence of that, and she ducked the question. That was reason enough to get it on my radar.”
“Great, that makes us worse off than we were,” Bonner said. “We go from a boyfriend suspect with real potential to looking for a creep who snatches kid without leaving a trace. How am I supposed to sell that to a jury?”
I looked at Simon. I’d left him a message asking him to dig up what he could on the Montgomery case. “You make any progress?”
“Let’s start with the big picture,” Simon answered. “According to the Justice Department, in one year they studied, roughly eight hundred thousand kids under the age of eighteen went missing, which worked out to about twenty-one hundred a day or one child every forty seconds. Family members snatched a couple hundred thousand of them and a non-family member but known to the family took another sixty thousand. Classic kidnappings by strangers accounted only for a hundred and fifteen cases.”
“The numbers don’t add up,” Bonner said. “There are over a half million kids left out.”
“That’s because they’re still missing. No one knows what happened to those kids. Even if you extrapolate the statistics to include them, a serial kidnapper killer is way down on the probability scale.”
“What about other kids from the area that have gone missing?” I asked.
“I’m working on that, but the odds are still against a serial killer.”
“Someone once told me,” I said, “not to confuse the improbable with the impossible.”
“And my statistics professor taught me to trust the numbers especially when you are short on time and resources.”
“Tell that to the people who get washed away every spring by the annual hundred-year flood. Bring it down to these two cases. Did you find anything to connect them?”
“The kids went to the same school, and the families belong to the same church.”
“Which means they could have come in contact with some of the same people. Anything else?”
“The public record
on the Montgomery case is thin, a few stories after Timmy went missing, the usual stuff, appeals to the public for help, follow-up stories that are a rehash. What I need is a look at the files the police put together.”
“I don’t think Adrienne Nardelli is going to take us into her inner circle, but I’ve got a call in to Ammara Iverson at the FBI. She might be willing to help.”
Bonner stood. “So it looks like we’ve got a plan. Jack and I will talk to Roni in the morning. Jack will have a go at Nick Staley and, maybe, the feds will throw him a bone. It’s getting late, and I’m getting old. I’m going to go home and go to bed.”
Lucy grabbed her purse. “You coming?” she said to Simon.
“Where?”
“To see if Peggy Martin’s helpful neighbors, Ellen Koch and Adam, are home yet. They can’t stay out all night.”
“It’s almost ten. Can’t this wait until tomorrow?” he asked, regretting the words as soon as they left his lips, Lucy slicing and dicing him with a raised eyebrow and a tight, down-turned mouth, not saying a word. “Forget I said that. I’m right behind you.”
“Well,” Kate said after they left, “I guess it’s down to you and me.”
I was standing in the middle of the room. She rose from the sofa, closing the distance to half an arm’s length, putting herself in easy reach.
“It’s down to you. I’m overdue at home.”
“Let me drive you.”
I shook my head. “Joy left me three voice messages and three texts while I was asleep. I called her back so she knows I’m here, which is bad enough, but having you drop me off is no way to end my day.”
“What about tomorrow? If I’m going with you to see Nick Staley, how will you manage that?”
“I thought you had to get back to San Diego.”
She smiled. “I moved some things around and bought a few days. I hope I made the right decision.”
I got lost in her eyes. “I’ll take the bus to the courthouse and meet you there.”
“Funny, isn’t it? There’s nothing going on between you and me, but the three of us are acting like there is. I lured you to my hotel room. You’re itchy just being here because Joy is jealous, and we’re scheming how we’re going to be together without her knowing about it. The past has a long half life, and we’re living it—again.”
“I’ll tell Joy everything, and you didn’t lure me.”
“Then why not let me drive you home and pick you up in the morning?”
I didn’t answer, not certain what I really would say to Joy, if anything, knowing that she’d react the same to the truth, a lie, or silence.
She studied me, nodding. “It doesn’t matter, does it? I lured you, and I’m not certain why. You hurt me, and I’ve been angry with you for a long time. I tried to stay with the anger all day, but I couldn’t.”
“Well, at least the day wasn’t a total loss. You got me in your bed.”
She smirked, smacking me on the arm. “Smart-ass! All the good it did me. You didn’t even budge when I took your cell phone out of your pocket.”
“Better that I didn’t.”
She dipped her chin, then raised her head, sweeping her hair to one side. “Yeah. I know. It is what it is.”
“Joy is a good…”
She interrupted, putting her palm on my chest. “Person. I know, and so are you and so am I. Good people make life harder. You can’t hate them forever, and you can’t forget why you loved them. You won’t have any trouble getting a cab. They’re always lined up across the street at the Intercontinental Hotel.”
“One question before I go?”
She crossed her arms against her chest. “Of course. I forgot that you’re always on the job.”
“You had Bonner under the microscope tonight. Is he lying about what he knows?”
She shrugged. “What can I say? He’s a lawyer. They all lie.”
Chapter Thirty-six
I entered the code on the garage door keypad when a car came to life across the street, pulling into my driveway as the door rose, high-beam headlights blinding me, a replay of the gun dealer robbery. I pulled my gun from its holster, holding it at my side as I backed into the garage.
“Put your gun away, Jack. It’s me, Ammara. I’m getting out of the car, so don’t shoot me.”
The passenger door opened, and she stepped out, her lean frame familiar but not enough to put me at ease since I didn’t know who was behind the wheel or why she’d shown up like a thief instead of an old friend.
“Kill the lights.”
She motioned to the driver, who cut the engine and the headlights. I blinked, clearing the starbursts from my eyes as the driver’s door opened. The driver, burly and broad shouldered, a ball cap pulled down over his brow, stepped out, using the door as a shield. I guessed he was holding his gun out of sight, waiting to see what I would do.
“Jennings,” Ammara said, “put your fucking gun away before I tell Jack to shoot you. This isn’t a raid. And, Jack, please put your gun away too, before this ATF asshole ruins our friendship.”
I slipped my gun into my jacket pocket. Ammara walked toward me, her arms open, embracing me as a round of shakes rocketed from my belt to my chin, buckling my knees. She leaned into me, bracing her body against mine until the shakes passed. I didn’t know whether to be pissed or embarrassed so I settled for both, pulling away when I could stand on my own.
“Don’t expect me to say I’m glad to see you. Why didn’t you call, give me some notice?”
“Wasn’t up to me. Jennings and I came by a couple of hours ago. Joy told us you were out and she didn’t know when you’d be home. She made it clear she wasn’t in the mood for company. The message you left said you were in a hurry for information and, it turned out, Jennings was in a hurry too, so we decided to wait in the car. While we were waiting, he asked me about the stories he’d heard about you, about what happened at the Bureau and with Wendy. I told him the truth, but I didn’t think he’d pull something like this.”
“Guy’s a jerk, lighting me up like that.”
“Yeah, but now he’s your jerk. He’s running the investigation into the stolen guns you asked me about.”
Ammara was near my height, all lanky muscle from her college days playing volleyball. I looked over her shoulder as Jennings stepped toward us.
I had asked her for help, giving a thumbnail sketch of the two cases I was working and a quick summary of what I needed, some of which I figured she’d have to get from ATF. When she reached out, odds were that Jennings had reached back with his own wish list. Nobody in law enforcement gives anything away for free, pissing matches over pride and turf too often leaving everyone with nothing to show for it except wet shoes. This was shaping up the same way.
I was still twitching, my left shoulder jerking up and down, alternating with my bobbing chin. Jennings watched me with curious eyes as if I were a magician and he was trying to figure out my sleight of hand. Ammara said he’d heard the lingering rumors at the FBI. People from DC to KC still believed that the shakes were a scam I’d used to duck the indictment I deserved for covering up Wendy’s involvement in the drug ring, and that her death was more convenient than tragic. It didn’t matter that Ammara had told him the truth. He came at me the way he did to see how I’d react, testing the rumors against his own eyes before deciding whether to work with me.
“Satisfied?” I asked him.
“Yeah. Sorry about that, but I had to see for myself. Braylon Jennings, ATF,” he said, his hand extended. “Can we go inside and talk?”
I ignored his hand. I didn’t blame him for testing me, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an asshole.
“I don’t want to wake my wife.” Ammara stared at me with raised eyebrows. “Ex-wife. Forget it. It’s complicated, but whatever we’ve got to talk about, we’ll do it right here. You first, Jennings: what do you want from me?”
He tilted his head to one side, weighing the advantages of going first or last, giving in with a sigh.
“Ammara says you’re interested in the robbery of a gun dealer last month?”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
He knew the answer but wanted to hear me say it. I’d passed his first test, and it was time to take another.
“I was having lunch yesterday at LC’s Bar-B-Q when a guy named Frank Crenshaw used one of the stolen guns to kill his wife. A woman named Roni Chase was with Crenshaw and shot him but didn’t kill him. She went to the hospital last night to see how he was doing, but somebody killed him before she could say hello. The cops say Crenshaw was killed with a handgun registered to her. She’s being arraigned in the morning, and I’m helping with her defense.”
“You were there when it happened, when Crenshaw shot her?”
“You know I was, so what’s the bottom line?”
He nodded. “We’re interested in Crenshaw, how he came into possession of that gun.”
“I’ll bet you are. Too bad someone killed him.”
He cocked his head, uncertain whether I was sympathizing with him or yanking his chain.
“What do you know about that, about Crenshaw getting popped in the hospital?”
I shook my head, stuttering as another round of shakes twisted my vocal cords. “Not much. The cop sitting on Crenshaw’s door left his post long enough for the shooter to get it done.”
“Roni Chase, what’s your relationship with her?”
I took a few breaths, enough to stabilize my voice. “I told you. I met her yesterday at LC’s. She’s in trouble, and I’m helping her out. What’s your interest in her?”
“I’m interested in those stolen guns. She did Crenshaw’s books. She was with him when he killed his wife. She shot him and then shows up at the hospital when Crenshaw gets popped. You was me, you’d be interested in her too.”
“What else?”
“What do you mean, what else? The stolen guns, that’s it.”
“Which means we’re back to bullshit. You haven’t asked me one thing you didn’t already know. I assume you were the ATF agent at the hospital last night. Quincy Carter was all over Roni until you showed up. Next thing I know, he’s gone, you’re gone, Brett Staley’s gone, and Roni gets to go home. If you’re so interested in her, how does that happen?”
