by Archer Mayor
Zonay, followed by a herd of gun-toting, shouting colleagues, crossed the room in three paces, crouched beside Walter to move his gun beyond reach, and quickly checked his pulse.
Then, her familiar easy smile replacing the grim expression of moments earlier, she turned to Joe.
“Hey,” she said. “How’re ya doin’?”
“Been better,” he answered truthfully. “But I’m alive, thanks to you.”
“You kidding?” she said. “You not only told us to go underground; you gave us the perfect distraction, coming through the door like Rambo. Saved me trying to figure out how to nail this yo-yo without getting the hostages killed.”
“Great,” he said, laughing tiredly, as she slipped a pair of handcuffs onto the lifeless body, per protocol. “I’ll give myself the duck decoy award after I check out of the hospital.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Joe looked up as Beverly entered the hospital room. “My God. You must’ve driven here at two hundred miles per hour.”
She crossed over to him, her expression clinical, taking in the bandage covering half his head, and his blackened left eye, and kissed him long and hard without comment. He could feel her lips trembling slightly against his own as he reached up to hold her face in his hands.
“You are a sweetheart to come down,” he told her.
“Like I was going to send you flowers and a card,” she said sourly, propping one hip on the edge of his bed. “You are such a turkey.”
“Doctor,” he said, feigning shock, “I’m an injured man.”
She allowed a small smile. “I have no experience with that. My patients never complain.”
He reached up to kiss her in turn, but winced in the process.
She straightened. “What?”
He shook his head and patted his chest. “My vest caught a bullet—left a wicked bruise. One of the reasons they’re keeping me for a few hours.”
She absorbed that before saying, “They didn’t mention that part.”
“I asked them not to,” he confessed. “I thought the phone call would be bad enough, and they wouldn’t let me do it myself.”
Her response surprised him. She took his hand in hers and said, “That’s all right. I appreciated being called at all.”
Despite the pain, he sat up. “Are you kidding? I had them phone you before my family. Of course,” he added with a smile, settling against the pillow, “they’re more used to being contacted by hospitals.”
“It is a habit with you,” she observed, one eyebrow arched. “That much I know.”
“You okay with that?”
She smiled again. “I’m not okay with the reasons, but I’m delighted by your phone tree.”
There was a knock at the door. He expected her to rise and assume a more professional pose, as was her default. Instead, he was touched and pleased when she stayed as she was, still holding his hand.
It was Willy.
“Hey, Doc,” he said in greeting, ignoring the unwritten rule that forbade addressing Beverly as anything other than Doctor Hillstrom.
“Willy,” she said pleasantly, with a nod of the head. Joe wondered if he’d ever heard her speak Kunkle’s first name, and doubted he had. Miracles were occurring right before him.
“Got some updates, boss,” Willy said.
That got Beverly to stand. “Which gives me a chance to find the facilities,” she said.
“Don’t leave on my account,” Willy told her.
“That’ll be the day,” she said, passing by him.
He laughed as she closed the door behind her. He was in a transparently good mood. “You did good, boss. I always liked her.”
“Can’t say she thinks the same about you,” Joe retorted.
Willy waved his large hand dismissively. “She would if she knew me. I’m a really likeable guy.”
“You are many things—,” Joe began, before Willy cut him off.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. My kid thinks I’m the bee’s knees. The rest of you people? Who cares?”
Joe smiled. “Whatcha got?”
“Linda Lucas in one piece, for one thing. Backtracked the rental car’s GPS readings to some woodsy cabin where he stashed her.”
Joe furrowed his brows. Willy cut off his next obvious question. “It was Lucas’s Bourne Identity hideaway,” he explained. “Guns, food, get-outta-town bags. He went there after you spooked him, and it’s where Walter set up shop after he grabbed Linda and got her to spill her guts—including where to find Lucas, and through Lucas, the Kravitzes. We even found the cameras that were probably used to watch the Lucas house from across the street, tucked into a duffel bag.”
Joe let out a sigh. “Very efficient, our friend Walter. What kind of shape was Linda in? Sounds like he worked her over.”
“Safe to say,” Willy agreed seriously. “She’s not giving any details. She’s a tough bird. Just reading the scene when we got there, I’d say he raped her, at least, and maybe pulled a few other stunts. But she’s a sphinx.”
“Why?”
“Maybe worried Walter isn’t the only dog off his leash, maybe about the past catching up if she gets too chatty. Don’t know. We collected DNA, fingerprints, mug shots, and got a warrant to search her house through New Hampshire authorities, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. We already know Dan scoped out the home-sweet-home. I doubt we’ll find much more than he did. We’ll try, though. We got a last name for Walter, by the way: Nesbit. His fingerprints came back via AFIS, no problem.”
“What’s his story?”
“That’s where it ends, pretty much. Old-time crook out of New York, according to NCIC, associated with the so-called Jack Panik family.”
“Mob?” Joe reacted with surprise.
But Willy was shaking his head. “Nonaffiliated. Also old news. I called a pal down there, to see what they might have. Jack died years ago. His daughter, Tina, took over. She’s a spitting image of the old man, according to my source, but more clever and subtle. They got nuthin’ on her that’ll stick. Walter Nesbit may or may not have worked for her, but in what capacity, nobody knows who’ll talk to us. According to NYPD, Walter’s kept his nose clean for decades.”
“What about before?”
Willy snorted. “Suspected of having knocked off a couple of guys, using a garrote.”
“Did you fly this by Linda? To see if she’d open up?” Joe asked, suspecting the answer.
“My guess?” Willy answered indirectly. “Her refusing to cooperate is a dead giveaway she knew what was up. Good luck proving it, though.”
“And the Kravitzes?” Joe asked, admitting to himself that Willy was probably right.
“Walter hadn’t started on them, if that’s what you’re asking. Our arrival was, to use your kind of word, timely.”
“Did he tell them what he wanted?”
Willy gave him an equivocal expression, not willing to admit that he knew the answer. “He asked who they were working for.”
“When they broke into Lucas’s?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh,” Joe grunted. “So, there’s an unknown party besides Walter and the Paniks.”
“Or Walter thought there was a double-cross goin’ on,” Willy pretended to muse before moving to another topic. “Maybe it was whoever whacked BB Barrett. That’s still the missing piece of all this.”
“True,” Joe said thoughtfully.
His colleague studied him. “You’re sittin’ on something, boss. I can tell. My money’s on Greg—the son of a bitch’s been buggin’ me since I met him.”
After a pause, Joe said, “Could be. I been chewing on that since I got here.”
“You feel like sharing? It’s only a class A, top-of-the-list felony.”
“Well, for one thing, unless Greg’s some sort of Mission: Impossible mastermind, you said he had an ironclad alibi.”
Kunkle couldn’t dispute it. “Lester was the one who joked that Greg hired a shooter, but I get what you’re saying. Okay—granted,�
�� he allowed. “Who else, then?”
Joe went on, “Lucas was at Stratton sipping wine and abusing parking attendants. The rest of the old crowd—Carlo, Jimmy, Lacey, and the others, including Sharon Mitchell—have all been checked out by us.”
Willy remained silent, letting his boss lay out the options.
“It started me wondering about the ‘why’ part of BB’s killing,” Joe said. “It could’ve been mechanical, like we were saying at one of the squad meetings—the Paniks cleaning up old garbage.”
“That’s what you were saying,” Willy reminded him. “Basically, that BB was a loose end for a bunch of yuppie crooks who didn’t want the past to bite ’em in the ass. I didn’t argue the point, since—if we’re right about the money laundering—BB still could’ve named names and caused trouble.”
“Which made me suspect that a Walter-type was already in the area,” Joe agreed. “Especially after you ruled out Greg.”
Willy smiled, enjoying this process, despite his reputation—among those who didn’t know him well—as an action-driven, impulsive maverick. “’Cept we’re now pretty sure Walter hadn’t hit town yet—we backtracked his movements using the timing of Linda Lucas’s kidnapping and the motel and rental registrations, not to mention when those cameras magically came and went outside Lucas’s house. And it’s not likely that the Paniks sent two triggermen, and then recalled the first one for no reason.”
“Yeah.” Joe stretched out the word. “Therein lies the dilemma. That’s what got me thinking BB wasn’t the purely mechanical problem we thought he was.”
“Something more personal,” Willy mused. “I can work with that. But again, who?”
Joe gave him a sad and tired smile. “I keep going back in time, trying to connect the Hank and BB killings somehow. We’re trained to see a homicide as an act of impulse—you piss me off; I shoot you. Cause and effect.”
“That’s the way it usually goes.”
“As it probably did this time. Except that the two events were separated by decades because Hank was so well disposed of. Where I’m going is that, instead of BB being knocked off as part of all this recent activity, his sins—as seen by his killer—were born when Hank was thought to have simply disappeared.”
“Which brings us back to Greg,” Willy argued.
“Maybe,” Joe hesitated. “I think you’re on the right track, but not with Greg. He’s the one who—for better or worse—has been wrestling with his demons.”
“Sharon?” Willy asked, surprised. “Little Miss Uptight? Lashing out at BB once Hank’s vanishing act was explained?” He shook his head. “Why? If she’d thought BB had anything to do with Hank leaving her, she wouldn’t’ve stood for Barrett putting the moves on her.”
“Unless she’d always thought Hank was coming back. Remember: We never did nail down if Hank left her or if she threw him out. If it was the second, her guilt might’ve gone through the roof after he resurfaced as a murder victim. People can get pretty tangled in their thinking.”
Willy laughed, rose from the guest chair, and crossed to the door. “Golly gee, boss, I wouldn’t know anything about that. I’m as simple as they come. You wanna give Sharon another go with the rubber hose, though, you know who to call for company. I wouldn’t wanna miss out on that conversation.”
Joe gave him a thumbs-up. “You got it.”
“Don’t strain yourself in the meantime,” Willy continued. “And I’m glad you didn’t get killed, by the way.”
Joe smiled. “Nice of you to say.”
Willy scowled. “It was, wasn’t it? Sorry ’bout that.”
* * *
Kunkle stepped into the hospital’s newly updated lobby and saw Sally Kravitz sitting along one wall, her hands dangling between her knees.
He sat a couple of feet away from her, staring into the same vague middle distance she was. “You okay?”
“I guess.”
“Tough day.”
“No kidding.”
He reached into his coat pocket, took out a roll of Life Savers, expertly pried one partly loose with his thumbnail, and offered it to her, expecting her to pass.
Instead, she plucked it free and slipped it between her lips. “Thanks.”
He worked another one free for himself. “Sure.”
The conversation lapsed. He let it hang there for a while before asking, “You waiting for somebody?”
“You, I guess.”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe,” she said. “Or the other guy. The older one. Joe?”
Willy nodded. “They’re keeping him a little longer.”
He considered what she’d just been through—and thought of his own daughter, who, though just a toddler, had so distracted him when he’d thought she might be under threat.
“This have to do with your dad?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she admitted tiredly.
“You two’re pretty tight.”
“We were. I don’t know now.”
Willy twisted around to face her. “He’ll always be there for you,” he said with conviction. “My bet is you’re the one going through changes—maybe rethinking what you had, or thought you had.”
She seemed to absorb that.
In the silence, he asked, “If you were waiting for me or Joe, what did you want to know?”
She glanced at him. “For one thing, is my dad in any trouble?”
“The short answer is: No,” Willy assured her. “But Dan and I—and Joe—have had this conversation before. There used to be a don’t-ask, don’t-tell thing goin’ on. Your father and I had an agreement, but you know that’s over. That puts him out on his own from now on. Just another citizen. And in case you thought what he was doing was cool, I don’t need to tell you it was illegal as hell.”
“I know. I know.”
“So, to answer your question, that’s official. No more wink and nod. Your old man gets caught creeping around—or you get caught with him—you’re done.”
“I won’t be with him,” she said quietly.
He heard the loss in her voice. “The bloom off the rose?” he asked gently.
She gave him a sad smile. “I was being a kid. I thought it would be fun, hanging out with him. And it was exciting, doing that stuff.”
“Sure it is,” Willy agreed. “And dangerous, and maybe a little creepy. But no way it wasn’t an invasion of privacy, right?”
“Yeah,” she replied. “Turns out privacy is a little selective with my dad. I didn’t know that before.”
Willy guessed there was more to that statement than he knew, but he didn’t press her for details. She’d come to him, after all, which was a novelty in his life. Most people worked to avoid him. He was liking this.
“What’re your plans?” he asked.
“Get a summer job,” she said. “Maybe away from here. Then college. Normal things.”
“Ah,” he responded. “That kind of a letdown?”
“Kind of. It’ll probably be good for me.”
She stood up on that, checking her watch without real purpose—more as an excuse to leave.
Willy remained seated. “Probably,” he agreed with her. “Do me a favor?”
“What?”
“You just graduated from the knife-and-gun club. You’ve been tied up, threatened, scared half to death, and God knows what else. Give it time to sink in. And get to know your father. He’s screwy, and I guess he hurt your feelings. Kids put their parents on a pedestal sometimes, which they don’t ask for. And when that changes, everything collapses, and the parent is left wondering what the hell happened. I’m the first one to call Dan an oddball, but he’s solid people. I just don’t want you to lose out on finding that out for yourself—especially fresh from a string of super traumatic experiences.”
Sally looked at him, her expression soft and accepting. When he’d finished, she stooped and gave him an awkward hug.
“Thank you,” she said, and walked away.
* * *
It was dark when Joe pulled to the curb opposite Sharon Mitchell’s house. The day had been warm, his window was down, and he paused to appreciate the novelty of spring’s tentatively announcing itself—along with the otherworldly white noise that came from the unseen interstate running atop the massive berm in the distance.
He’d brought along Willy, less for backup, and more as a show of thanks for his not challenging Joe’s thinking earlier, in the hospital.
There was symmetry here, being back where this case had begun, that Joe appreciated. It had even played a part in his current theory. As Willy had said at his bedside, there was maybe something personal beneath the money laundering so long ago, Lucas’s early elimination of pesky obstacles, and the subsequent accumulation of cash for a lucky few.
Lost in all the machinations, the passage of time, and the bloody fallout following a chance act of jackhammering was the decades-old tale of a love affair shattered and a family destroyed—a blip on a crowded radar scope that only now had caught Joe’s attention.
“You ready?” he asked Willy.
Kunkle hitched a shoulder. “For what, I’m not sure, but yeah.”
Joe opened his door and got out slowly, nursing his aching body and whispering to himself, “That makes two of us.”
They approached the house, noticing an extra car parked in the driveway. Joe rang the doorbell.
Sharon didn’t appear surprised to see them. “Ah.”
“Mrs. Mitchell,” Joe said as a greeting.
She stepped back slightly. “You want to come in?”
“If you don’t mind.”
She pursed her lips briefly. “I don’t think that’s up to me anymore.”
She opened the door wide and moved aside, revealing a tired-looking, limp-haired blond woman sitting on the living room couch facing them.
“Julie Washburn?” Joe asked, entering the room, working to hide his surprise.
The woman stared at him listlessly, her eyes red-rimmed and moist. Her expression didn’t change, but Joe saw her swallow once, and blink resignedly.
