“She’s been there all week?”
“Of course. She’s Aidan’s wife. She’ll stand by them.”
“Even though Brendan was going to kill you?”
“In spite of it.”
“I think you’re pretty remarkable, to go to the viewing and the funeral of the man who tried to take your life. Not to mention the fact that he murdered Dylan.”
“I’m too close to the family to not go, Evan. We talked about this. If you don’t want to come to the services, you shouldn’t feel you have to.”
“I want to be there with you.” He craned his neck to look out the window at the traffic that still hadn’t moved. “However, at this rate, I’ll be lucky if I’m out of here by noon.”
“Well, since the service here is going to start in about ten minutes, why not just plan on meeting me at the cemetery.” She was walking now. Evan could hear the click of her heels, the change in her breathing. “You have the directions?”
“Yeah. Assuming I ever get off 95 to use them. I’ll catch up with you at the cemetery.”
“Okay. Look, I’m going into the church. I’ll see you later.”
Evan ended the call and tossed the phone onto the front seat, then leaned heavily against the door. The car in front of him moved forward by about a foot, and all the other cars inched up behind one another hopefully.
There was nothing worse than a traffic jam on a major highway on a hot, steamy, humid August morning. Evan felt along the floor for the water bottle that had earlier rolled from the passenger seat and took a long drink once he’d successfully snagged it. The cars began to move, slowly at first, then a little steadier. With all the car windows down, there was a slight bit of breeze. He was debating whether to get off at the next exit and try to find the church, or simply go ahead to the cemetery, as he and Annie had discussed, when the car in front of him came to a halt, and the others stopped behind it. Traffic stalled once again, making the decision for him. He turned up the radio and searched for last night’s baseball scores.
Luther stood alongside his car and watched the faithful flock to the tent that had been erected next to the gaping hole in the earth that would serve as Brendan Shields’s last earthly home. Luther hadn’t gone to the church with the others from his unit that morning-he felt that would have been too much for the family; his presence would have been more noticeable there. But here, under the open sky, where all of the family and those closest to the dearly departed had gathered together under the tent, he could hug the back of the crowd and disappear into it. He wasn’t sure how anyone would feel about having the man who was responsible for the gathering mingling among the mourners, and thought his best bet would be to stay out of sight as much as possible.
But that was fine, as far as Luther was concerned. He’d rather be in a position where he could observe the goings-on. Once everyone arrived and the coffin was in place and the preliminaries dealt with, he’d stroll through the headstones off to his left and find an inconspicuous place for himself amid the crowd that spilled from the rear of the tent.
From his vantage point, he watched the procession of long black limos slowly approach, watched the bereaved family-a huge mass of black hats and black suits-walk together across the grassy expanse. The pallbearers gathered at the back of the hearse to carry the coffin, which the priest followed in the company of Frank Shields and his brother, Thomas, and their children.
Luther knew each of them by name, had worked with several of them over the years. He felt nothing for any of them, not even the beautiful Mia, who, once upon a time, had been the focus of many of Luther’s fondest dreams.
Other cars eased along the drive, looking for places to park and hoping to find a spot under a tree where there might be some bit of shade. It took a full twenty-five minutes for all the cars to empty and the mourners to make their way to the gathering place. From a slight rise back near a line of trees, a lone bagpiper began to play “Amazing Grace,” and even Luther was touched by the poignancy of the moment.
A fitting tribute to one who had fallen from grace, Luther was thinking as he closed the car door and started across the grass, well behind the tent and the overflow of friends and family. Once he reached his destination, he was careful to pick a spot at the very back, where no one he knew stood.
At least, he thought he had.
Then the woman in front of him turned around, and he was face-to-face with Anne Marie McCall.
She smiled, her big blue eyes brimming with tears, and patted his arm, a gesture meant to comfort him, he assumed, to show that she understood why he felt he had to be here. He smiled gently in return, as if silently communicating his thanks.
As if I would have missed this. As if I’d be anywhere else today. Brendan Shields had been a stone around his neck-had been for the past year or so-and had brought all this on himself. He’d screwed up just about everything he’d been asked to do.
It was beyond Luther to understand why any of these people mourned his loss.
Connor scanned the crowd, searching for his father and brother under the tent, but was having a hard time placing them. Finally, he located his dad in the middle of the first row of seats, between his cousin Mia and his brother Aidan. He’d catch up with them later. He knew they’d be happy to see him.
He regretted that he hadn’t arrived early enough to be there with them now, that he hadn’t been there for the past week to share the pain and the grief-and yes, the shame-with the family, especially his uncle Frank. It embarrassed him every time he realized it had taken him way too long to understand the importance of his presence here, both to himself and to his family. He hoped they would forgive him for his shortsightedness.
The crowd was huge, much larger than he would have expected, and he was wondering if the others in the family had been equally surprised at the numbers. He made his way to the back of the tent, where friends and coworkers spilled onto the grass twenty or thirty deep, and was moved by the show of support for his uncle and his cousins. He took a place in the very last row.
He nodded a silent greeting to several people from the Bureau as the priest began to pray, his words echoing through the small speakers on either side of the tent. Connor stood with his hands together, his head bowed, a sign of reverence he’d learned as a small boy in a large Catholic family. The priest finished the prayer, and the piper began to play again, a tune Connor didn’t recognize. He gazed around the mourners in the crowd in front of him and thought he recognized Annie, though in that hat, he couldn’t be certain it was her. She turned and saw him, then smiled and winked. As she turned back toward the front, a man behind her glanced back at him. Connor caught his gaze, and held it.
A shock went through him as he realized where he’d seen that face before.
In the headlights of a truck, in the shadow of abandoned warehouses, in Santa Estela…
The man continued to stare at Connor, at first almost quizzically, then, as if in recognition. He smiled broadly, stepped forward, and whispered something in Annie’s ear before moving to the far side of the crowd with her, one hand on her arm, the other hidden inside his jacket.
Connor moved along with them, keeping thirty feet behind, as they stepped from under the tent and made their way around the headstones and monuments. He heard footfalls behind him and spun around, his gun drawn.
Evan Crosby was moving fast to catch up. They greeted each other silently, and Evan motioned that he’d be following from the tree line. Connor nodded in agreement, and both men took off across the gently rolling terrain in pursuit of Annie and her abductor, the identity of whom was a mystery to both Connor and Evan.
The cemetery ended at a high black iron fence capped with tall spikes. It was too high to vault over, and impossible to climb. Connor approached cautiously, his gun in plain sight, slowing his step.
“So. We meet,” the man holding Annie called to him. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Connor Shields.”
“You have me at a disadvantage,” Connor
replied. “I know what you are, but not who you are.”
“Allow me. Luther Blue.” He pronounced the name defiantly.
“Luther Blue? But you’re the one who…” Confusion crossed Connor’s face for just a second.
“The one who shot Brendan, yes. Yes, I am.”
“I was going to say, the one who saved Annie.” He kept his eyes on Luther, willing himself not to glance at Evan, who approached Luther slowly from behind, as quiet and deliberate as a cat stalking a mouse.
Luther Blue laughed. “So the story goes.”
“What do you mean, so the story goes?” Keep him talking, Connor told himself. Give Evan time to get himself into position.
Luther grinned.
“Brendan didn’t have his gun drawn, did he?”
“Well, he drew on me.”
“But not on Annie.” Connor met her eyes, and silently begged her to be silent, to be still, not to give Luther any reason to react. But she was a pro. She’d know what to do.
“It’s immaterial.” Luther shrugged. “He was planning on killing her, not there and then, but yes, it had already been decided. However, after that was set up, it occurred to me that I could kill two birds with one stone-you’re going to have to forgive that lousy pun-and still come off looking like a hero. You have to give me credit, it was pretty damned slick.”
“About as slick as the back of your head is going to be if you so much as blink.” Evan stood behind Luther, the barrel of his gun flush against Luther’s skull.
“I can still take her out with one shot,” Luther said calmly, as if they were discussing where to have lunch.
“You’ll be dead before your finger twitches.”
“Shall we see?” Luther remained cocky, even as he began to pale.
Evan pushed the barrel into Luther’s head.
“What do you think, Shields? Who’s your money going on?” Evan asked.
Luther’s eyes shifted back to Connor, who had not moved from his spot twenty feet away.
“My money’s always been on you, pal,” Connor said.
“Nice.” Luther smiled, careful not to move his head. “I think you two must be best buds.”
“I’ll tell you what I think,” Evan said. “I think you have two choices here. I think you drop the gun and take your chances with a jury, or I put a bullet through your brain right now.”
“What do you think, Agent Blue?” Connor spoke softly, evenly. “A minute ago, you were bragging about how slick you are. Think you’re slick enough to outwit a jury? Slick enough to make a deal? I’ll bet you know plenty about the kiddie slave trade, plenty the government would love to hear. Who knows, you could trade a little of this for a little of that.”
“Or,” Evan repeated, “I could put a bullet through your brain right now.”
The air was thick and the sun almost directly overhead. The four stood stock-still for a full minute. Three were holding their breaths; the fourth was weighing his options.
Finally-clunk.
The Glock hit the ground, and Luther released his hold on Annie, who stepped away from him and into Connor’s arms. Connor knew she must be aching to go to Evan, but the scene had yet to play out.
Luther held up both hands in a gesture of surrender.
“Crosby, you’ve got cuffs?” Connor asked as he walked toward them.
“No.” Evan shook his head. “You’re going to have to take him in, anyway. I don’t have jurisdiction here.”
“Now he tells me,” Luther muttered.
Connor stood in front of Luther, the gun in his hand pointed straight at Luther’s chest.
“I want to know one thing. Did you kill my brother?”
“Saint Dylan?” Luther asked. “No. No, that was Brendan.”
“Do you know why?” Connor stepped closer.
“Because he thought Dylan was you.” Luther smiled and pointed in the direction of the road. “Shall we go?”
“Why did he want to kill me?”
“Because of what you’d seen in Santa Estela. He was afraid you’d ask too many questions.”
“What about Santa Estela?” Evan frowned.
“Our friend here was running a kiddie shuttle out of the country, sold them off to-where, Luther?” Connor asked.
“To whoever offered the most money, of course.”
Evan stopped and stared at Luther’s back. The man continued to walk as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Who did you sell to in Pennsylvania?” Evan asked. He called to Connor, “Stop for a minute.”
He caught up with Connor and Luther and grabbed Luther by the lapels. “Who did you sell to on the East Coast?”
“I didn’t do the selling, Agent…” Luther paused. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Who did the selling, Blue? Who did you give the kids to?” Evan persisted.
“They were brought to me by a contact in Santa Estela. I moved them out of the country. Where they went to once they left Santa Estela, I have no idea.”
“Who paid you?” Evan was almost in his face.
“I don’t think we’re going to continue this conversation any longer.” Luther turned to Connor. “If you’re taking me in, take me in. Let’s not waste any more time. It’s hot out here…”
They walked between the rows of graves, an odd little parade of four. Luther first in line, Connor directly behind, his gun drawn. Still calm, Annie walked hand in hand with Evan, keeping the pace. They were within thirty feet of the tent when Connor put his hand on Luther, bringing him to a halt.
“Annie, find John Mancini. I don’t want to go into the crowd with a gun drawn,” Connor said.
Evan walked around in front of Luther, his hand on the gun inside his waistband.
“Just in case you’re thinking about taking off into the crowd,” Evan told him, “there’s nothing that would make me happier than putting a bullet in you.”
Annie returned in minutes, John and several other agents in tow. John walked silently around Luther, as if inspecting him.
Finally, he said, simply and without emotion, “Take him in.”
Connor handed Luther over to several of his colleagues, one of whom cuffed him and started to lead him away.
“Luther,” John called out, and Luther turned.
“There was no CI in the McCullum case.”
“What?”
“There was no confidential informant used in the McCullum case.”
“You stay up all night last night, looking for that?” Luther asked.
“Didn’t have to,” John told him. “I was the special agent in charge. And it was Memphis, by the way, not Detroit…”
26
Four nights later, Evan leaned an elbow on the bar at Taps and looked around, still dazed by all the attention he had received after his role in bringing in Luther Blue had been announced by the FBI in a statement crediting him with the apprehension of one of the major players in the international traffic in child slavery.
“Way to show up the feds.” Todd Holiday slapped him on the back for at least the fourth time. “Unbelievable, man. You made us all proud.”
“Hey, I heard the FBI wants to hire you; that true?” Joe Sullivan sidled up behind him.
Evan shrugged. “Hey, you know, rumors are flying around about everything this week.”
It was true-John Mancini had offered Evan an assist in getting into an accelerated program-but Evan didn’t feel like getting into any of that right then and there. Tonight was Disco Night at Taps, and with the Bee Gees playing, Tom singing along in a weak falsetto, and all his old friends there with him, Evan pushed all thoughts of his next career move from his mind. He waved to Sean Mercer, the police chief from Broeder, who was weaving through the crowd with Evan’s sister, Amanda.
“Hey, hero-man.” Amanda hugged her older brother. “I saw you on the news last night. The local stations are really playing you up big-time, aren’t they?”
“There’s so much focus on the arrests of th
e crew who was running those brothels in the county, it’s a good thing. Not the publicity for me, but shining the spotlight on this trafficking in children…”
“I couldn’t believe this was happening, right there in Carleton.” Amanda frowned. “Everyone I’ve spoken with has reacted the same way. No one believes it could happen here.”
“It’s happening in a lot of places. It’s good that the story’s out there. People should be aware that this is going on in their own backyards; it’s way more common than even I ever imagined. And I’m a cop.”
Sean motioned to the bartender, who promptly set up three beers. He handed one to Amanda and one to Evan, who waved it off and pointed to a place on the bar where six or seven beers were already lined up.
“If I drink every beer that’s been bought for me tonight, I’ll have to crawl home. I’ve already had three, not counting this one. I think I’ll just nurse the one I have for a while.”
“I’m really proud of you, Evan,” Amanda whispered.
“Thank you. But it doesn’t take much heroism to save the woman you love when someone is holding a gun to her head.”
“Where is said woman you love?” Amanda looked around the crowded bar.
“She’s still in Virginia. She’ll be here on Friday, though. We have big plans for the weekend.”
“A romantic weekend away? Cape May? New York?” Amanda asked.
“West Broeder. The backyard. Just me, Annie, and a couple of rosebushes.” He grinned. “I already bought ’em. They’re lined up along the back fence, just waiting to be planted.”
“Way to plan a getaway,” Sean deadpanned.
“Hey, that’s what my girl wants, that’s what she gets.”
“Crosby, the boss is here. He’s looking for you.” Johnny Schenk slapped him on the back. “He wants to kiss your butt a little. I say let him.”
Evan laughed and stepped around his sister to greet Chris Malone, who, still in his dark suit and dark tie, looked out of place in the smoky, loud neighborhood bar. He was a sport to stop in, Evan acknowledged as he accepted the congratulations and words of praise Malone had offered.
Dead End Page 21
