by Joel Goldman
If he’d been a dog, he’d have peed on the floor, staking his claim to my territory, and if I’d been a dog, I’d have bit him in the ass.
“Get out.”
He folded the newspaper, sipped his coffee, and leaned back in his chair. “Your ex-wife invited me in. She’s got better manners than you do.”
“He said it couldn’t wait, Jack. I’m sorry.”
I picked up Jennings’s coffee cup, poured it out in the sink, and pointed to the front of the house. “Get out. You want to talk to me, make an appointment.”
“You got a short memory, Jack. Must be all that shaking. Tell you what, I’ll wait in my car while you get dressed.”
I followed him to the door. He glanced at his watch. “Hurry it up,” he said. “I’ve got a full day.”
There were two ways I could deal with Jennings: wait for him to tell me how high to jump, or push back, figuring he needed me enough to take a certain amount of flack until he got what he wanted. If I made it too easy for him, he’d use me till he used me up, and if I busted his chops too hard, he’d make good on his promise to throw Roni Chase back in the soup. It was that prospect that made me shave, dress, strap my gun on my hip, and sneak out the back door, climb over our fence, cut through our neighbor’s backyard, and get on a bus at Sixty-third and Brookside, Joy’s question from the night before rattling around in my head.
Frank Crenshaw and Nick Staley were first cousins. Jimmy Martin and Nick grew up together and were army buddies. Frank was in the scrap business, Nick sold bread and milk, and Jimmy worked construction. Their relationships were typical, friends and family, lifetimes spent in the daily struggle, grateful for the good times and sorry for the bad times, wondering whether they’d be missed or remembered when it was all over. Brett Staley tied his father and cousin to Cesar Mendez, but that left Jimmy Martin as the odd man out, his connection to Mendez the missing piece of the puzzle.
I would make good on my side of the deal with Jennings and give him what I had about the stolen guns, which was more guesswork than fact, but I wasn’t going to do that until I was satisfied that Roni was in the clear. If Frank Crenshaw, the Staleys, and Jimmy Martin were into something with Cesar Mendez, the blowback could easily drown her.
She kept the books for Crenshaw and Nick Staley, and she dated Brett. Those connections would deafen the feds to her denials that she had no idea what they were doing. And she was already working without a net, offering no explanation for how her gun had been used to kill Crenshaw and refusing to talk to me. The only way I could protect her from Jennings and whatever else was happening was to figure out where she fit in.
I got off the bus on Broadway at Thirty-eighth, taking the stairs two at a time to Simon’s office. I hadn’t spoken to him since Lucy gave him the files on the Martin and Montgomery cases. I needed to work the puzzle with him. I breezed through the door, stopping short when I saw Jennings sitting in my chair, Lucy and Simon standing behind Simon’s desk, glaring, Kate along another wall, taking X-rays of Jennings.
He pointed his finger at me. “You got more balls than sense. I give you that. And don’t tell me to get out. I let you get away with that crap in front of your ex-wife, but I’m not taking any more shit off of you unless you want Roni Chase auditioning for penitentiary girlfriend of the week.”
“How’d you know I’d be here?”
“You didn’t come out the front door, so I figured you went out the back. I knew you weren’t going to walk all day, which meant you’d take the bus, just like you did going downtown yesterday. I turned the corner onto Brookside when you were paying your fare. When I saw which bus you were on, I guessed you were coming here, and if you weren’t, I knew these good people would know how to reach you and that they would understand the importance of cooperating with federal law enforcement.”
“You aren’t that fast, and you aren’t that smart.”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Did you get the text message I sent you this morning?” Simon asked.
“No,” I said, looking at the screen on my phone, Simon’s message telling me to come to his office first thing. “I was on the bus and didn’t hear my phone.”
Simon, his jaw clenched, pointed at Jennings. “That’s how he got here. He’s monitoring your phone. He strolled in here, flashed his ATF badge, and made himself at home. You care to tell us what he’s doing here and why this is the first we know about him?”
Simon was angry with both of us. He didn’t like Jennings barging in his office and telling him what to do, and he liked even less that I had left him out of the loop. That was Simon’s problem, but I decided to make it Jennings’s problem.
He had made me take a blood oath to keep our arrangement private. Yet, here he was putting it on the table in front of the people he wanted me to keep in the dark. His tactics of squeezing me, using Roni as bait, and grandstanding in my kitchen and Simon’s office were high-pressure moves, but they put as much pressure on him as on me, each escalation increasing the risks to him that the whole thing would come apart. That’s what happens when a case becomes too personal. The question was why he had crossed that line.
“You tell them, Jennings.”
He rose from the chair, standing behind it, putting distance between us, stalling, his lack of a ready answer more evidence that he was improvising, making it up as he went along.
“A gun dealer was robbed about a month ago. The thieves got away with sixty-three pieces. A man named Frank Crenshaw used one of those guns to kill his wife. Roni Chase shot Crenshaw but didn’t kill him. Someone else finished him off with a gun registered to Roni.”
He paused, took a deep breath, and looked at Simon and Lucy.
“We have reason to believe that Jack has been obstructing justice by interfering with ATF’s investigation of the robbery. Jack agreed to cooperate with ATF’s investigation in return for a favorable recommendation to the U.S. attorney, only he seems to have forgotten what it means to cooperate. I told him I’d keep our deal quiet, but he’s forced my hand.”
Lucy and Simon rolled their eyes. Kate cocked her head to one side, staring at Jennings. None of them said a word. Lucy broke the silence.
“Why bring it here?” she asked Jennings. “Why involve us?”
“Call it professional courtesy,” Jennings said. “No need for any of you to get painted with the same brush if you can persuade Jack to hold up his end of the deal.”
“Meaning,” Lucy said, “you want us to tell Jack we’ll cut him off unless he’s a good boy, and, if we don’t, you’ll gin up a special load of crap for us like the one you just dumped on him.”
“Like I said, call it professional courtesy.”
“So,” Simon said, “what about it, Jack? Are you going to tell the nice man what he wants to know or are you going to let him rain on us?”
“You guys have umbrellas?” I asked.
“Yep,” Lucy said.
“And hip waders if we need them,” Simon added.
“Keep them handy because right now, I’d say there’s a fifty-fifty chance of a shit storm.”
“Don’t push me,” Jennings said.
“Wouldn’t think of it. I’ll give you what I have, but I want something in return.”
Jennings took a step toward me. “You’re in no position to negotiate.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Your obstruction-of-justice fantasy won’t sell. I’m betting that you’re one bad break away from taking a long fall and I’m the only guy who can pull you back or push you off the ledge. So, what’s it going to be?”
The veins in his neck were popping, and the furies were gathering in my belly, both of us fighting to maintain control. He blinked first, letting out a breath and taking a step back.
“One shot. That’s all you get.”
Chapter Fifty-four
My head snapped, but the rest of me held steady. “Let’s talk about Cesar Mendez.”
He nodded, his eyes narrow and wary. “Nues
tra Familia.”
“They’ve got the concession on drugs in Northeast Kansas City and, unless you’ve been drunk on the job, you know that and you know that guns are a growth industry for Mexican gangs.”
“None of which is news,” he said. “Drug cartels are turning parts of Mexico into feudal states. They need guns, and they’re getting a lot of them from this country. They’ve got affiliates in all our major cities. Mendez has ties to NF in Mexico.”
“Which means he’s your number-one suspect in the gun robbery.”
“And I wasn’t drunk on the job.”
“Then you must have been totally in the bag when you came up with that crazy-assed story about me obstructing your investigation. So let’s talk about Brett Staley.”
“You talk. You’re the man with all the answers.”
“Brett’s father, Nick Staley, told me that Mendez was a regular at his grocery, that Brett bought drugs from him. Brett had to know that Mendez was the man to see if you wanted to buy a gun without all the paperwork. Frank Crenshaw was Brett’s cousin. He wanted a gun, but he had a record, which meant that he couldn’t fill out the paperwork, so Brett hooked him up with Mendez. When Crenshaw killed his wife, Mendez got worried that he would cut a deal with the prosecutor, so he gave Brett a choice. Pop his cousin or get popped. Brett asked Mendez for a gun, but Mendez wasn’t that stupid, so Brett stole the only gun he knew about, which happened to be Roni’s gun. How am I doing so far?”
“You’ve got my interest.”
“Here’s where it gets real interesting. Brett shows up at the hospital right after Crenshaw is killed. He says he’s there to meet with Roni, which Roni corroborates. Quincy Carter takes a natural interest in that coincidence, but he loses interest when you show up. Everybody goes home, and Brett drops off the radar. Now I’m just a disabled FBI agent who shakes when he should shoot, but even I can put that together.”
Lucy said to Jennings, “Me too. Brett Staley was your informant. You couldn’t let him be questioned in Crenshaw’s murder without exposing him and losing the chance to take Mendez down.”
“Head of the class, Luce,” I said. “It’s an old problem with no good way out. Your informant commits a crime. Arrest him, and your case falls apart. Cover for him, and your ass belongs to him as long as he lives; he needs money, dope, a woman, or a new address, you can’t turn him down. It’s worse than having a kid that stays in school forever or a wife that thinks shopping is an Olympic sport.”
Jennings’s nostrils flared, and Lucy pricked him with another needle.
“That’s no way to go through life.”
“No, it isn’t. Spend your career going after the bad guys, and some punk tries to take it all away from you. But, if the punk goes away, so does the problem.”
“Enter Mendez,” Kate said. “That’s why he was looking for Brett.”
Jennings swiveled toward Kate, giving her a hard look.
“Sorry, that’s one of those things I probably should have mentioned,” I said to him. “Kate and I stopped by Staley’s grocery yesterday, but it was closed. Mendez dropped by too, and he was looking for Brett. What did you do? Let Mendez know that Brett was working both sides of the street so he’d clean up your mess?”
“You’re full of shit,” Jennings said.
“You don’t believe that,” Kate said. “Your pupils are dilating, and the muscles around your mouth are turned down and are doing rapid-fire twitches. You’re frightened. The truth does that to people with something to hide.”
“And, that’s not the scariest part,” I said. “Turns out you and Mendez can’t find Brett, so you use Roni to draw him out. Get the charges against her dropped, so that he’ll think she made a deal to testify against him.”
“Assuming she’s guilty of anything, which is doubtful,” Lucy said.
“And,” I said to Jennings, “if Brett was willing to kill his cousin, you figure he won’t hesitate to take out his girlfriend, especially after he stole her gun, used it to commit murder, threw it away, and left it where the cops could find it so they’d go after her. Not a bad plan, especially since he figures that he can blackmail his godfather, the ATF agent, into a free pass if the cops get too close to him.”
“Except,” Lucy said, “Brett didn’t count on his godfather going rogue on him. So Jennings makes sure that Mendez keeps an eye on Roni until Brett comes after her, and, when he does, Mendez puts him away. If Roni goes down too, that’s a bonus because she’s the last of the loose ends. Jennings loses this round to Mendez, but at least no one is going to make him turn in his badge. Besides, going after gangs is nothing but a game of Whac-A-Mole. Put Mendez away today, and there’ll be another one just like him running the street corners tomorrow.”
“Okay, Miss Da Vinci Code, I get all that,” Simon said. “But where do you fit in, Jack?”
“I’m Jennings’s insurance policy, another set of eyes and ears looking for Brett Staley. If I find him and tell Jennings, it greases the skids for Mendez.”
Jennings fought his control, jittering like me on a good day. “Are you through?”
“Yeah, except for one question. Why did Mendez put one of his boys in the city jail to go after Jimmy Martin?”
Jennings eyebrows jumped, and his jaw dropped. “Who the hell is Jimmy Martin?”
“You don’t know?”
“I’ve got no fucking clue. Who is he?”
“A friend of Nick Staley’s. They grew up together and served in Iraq together.”
“Why is he at the Farm?”
“Theft of construction materials.”
“Since when is that a municipal offense?”
“It isn’t. The county didn’t have room for him, so they sent him there. He has two kids that are missing, and the judge held him in contempt without bail when he wouldn’t cooperate in the investigation of their disappearance, which makes him a kidnapping suspect and, if the worst happens, a murderer.”
“How does that get him crosswise with Mendez?”
“I was hoping you’d know the answer to that question. A Mexican kid named Ricky Suarez got ten days at the Farm for drunk and disorderly. He started his sentence two days ago. Yesterday, Jimmy carved the handle of a toilet bowl brush into a shiv and tried to escape. I think he was running from Suarez.”
“I talked to Ethan Bonner this morning,” Kate said. “He said that Jimmy has been transferred to the county jail. Adrienne Nardelli briefed Ethan after she questioned Suarez. The kid isn’t in the gang.”
“So that’s a dead end,” Jennings said. “This guy Martin, he must have been trying to escape because he doesn’t want to stand trial for killing his kids.”
“Nardelli isn’t so certain. She says Mendez could have sent Suarez after Jimmy Martin as an initiation into the gang. Kill someone and you’re a member for life. The jail superintendent said that Jimmy and Suarez got into it the day Suarez got to the Farm, but the guards pulled them apart before it got physical.”
“That shit happens every day in every jail in the country. It’s how the pecking order works. Bottom line,” Jennings said, “you don’t know anything that ties Martin to Mendez.”
“I know you’re in a world of hurt if we don’t find Brett Staley before he kills Roni Chase.”
“You think you can make that work, have at it. But I’m going to be on your ass every step of the way.”
Chapter Fifty-five
“Why do people insist they’re innocent when it’s so obvious they aren’t?” Lucy asked after Jennings left. “Jimmy Martin begs Kate to find his kids when we know he was the last one seen with them. And this bozo Jennings says we’re wrong about him when he’s done everything but draw targets on Roni and Jack. I don’t get it. Do they think we are that stupid?”
“Maybe they are innocent,” Kate said.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Hear me out. Jimmy Martin and Agent Jennings share one thing in common. They’re both afraid of something.”
�
�Great, because I’m afraid of spiders and growing old with flabby triceps, but that doesn’t mean I’ve got anything in common with those two.”
“Lucy,” I said, “chill. I think I know what Kate’s getting at, at least as far as Jennings is concerned. He started something dangerous he thought he could control, and now he’s lost the reins. It’s a case of go big or go home, only he can’t go home.”
“That’s right,” Kate said. “Not to beat the gambling metaphor to death, but Jennings is playing high-stakes poker with Mendez. He went all in, thinking he had a nut hand with Brett Staley, but turns out all he had was a bad beat.”
We stared at her, mouths open, waiting for a translation.
“Listen,” she said, “there’s no better place to study facial expressions than at a Texas Hold’em poker tournament. A nut hand is the best hand at any particular moment, and a bad beat is a hand that looked like a winner but was a loser.”
“What’s that make Jimmy Martin?” Simon asked.
“A man who bet his kids on a long shot,” Kate said.
“I don’t buy that,” Lucy said, “unless the long shot was getting away with murder. Don’t over-science this case. Go back to the beginning. The Martins are lousy spouses and worse parents. I’ve got no quarrel with that. But Jimmy took the kids. We know that. He swore he’d never let Peggy have them. We know that. He won’t lift a finger to find them. We know that. So, what else do we need to know?”
“For starters,” I said, “we need to know if Adam Koch is telling the truth about Jimmy taking the kids or whether he’s trying to avoid two more murder charges. We need to know if Jimmy is just a down-on-his-luck blue-collar guy who’s pissed off at his wife or if he’s a psychopath who would murder his kids to keep her from getting custody. Plus, we need to know why Jimmy tried to escape. Let’s start with Adam Koch. Simon, did you find anything else in the police files?”
“Nothing that proves whether Adam is telling the truth. The kid is a pedophile and a confessed child murderer who had easy access to the Martin kids, and, most importantly, the story he tells incriminates him as much as it incriminates Jimmy because it puts him in Peggy’s house with the kids when they disappeared. If he’s lying about Jimmy, that makes him the last person to have seen those kids alive.”
