Ham heard unintelligible sounds emanating from Preston’s phone, saw him nod to himself from time to time and waited for the pronouncement. Curiously, to his mind, anxiety gripped him as the anticipation mounted. Finally, Talbot, even-voiced as always, wrapped up his end of the conversation with, “That’s great, Timmy. Stay in touch and stay in town. I think it’s likely I’m going to need you again before the night is out.”
Preston stored his phone and grinned at those around him. “Jennifer, your husband is safe and in our care. Beyond that, I cannot say. What’s going to happen now is that Mr. McCalister, Ms. Thornton and myself are going to go question him.” As she stood, obviously intending to accompany her godfather and the investigators, he held up a restraining hand. “You, my dear, will wait here.” Before she could object, and the look on her face told Ham she was about to, and loudly at that, Talbot assured her, “We will do nothing with him until I’ve talked with you. You have my word on that.”
“Nothing on Pendleton?” Ham asked.
Preston gave a miniscule, almost imperceptible shake of the head. Ham need not lean on his investigative prowess to catch the meaning of that one. It was obvious in its intent. “Shut up, not now.” Not being preternaturally stupid, he declined to challenge the directive.
Less than a minute later, Jennifer escorted Jesse, Ham’s newfound friend and driver, into the room. He stopped so abruptly that Ham feared he might trip over himself. Clearly, Ham thought, Jennifer had not prepared him for the shock.
Well done, Jennifer. You do your godfather proud.
Jesse smiled at Ham, amusement evident in his eyes. “You do get around. I see you’ve met my compadre. I take it I’m busted.”
Ham nodded, friendly agreement. “Met, talked, learned and busted. You’re quite an interesting enigma, my cab driving, mob-associating, non-talkative friend.”
“Do you have anything?” Preston inquired before any more time could be spent in nonessential banter. “Tell me that you do.”
“Gino Carpenter was the one who tipped off Quentin Wallace that Russ Porter had died. His idea was to deflect the attention from Liam. He thought the investigation would go better if not interfered with by the cops.”
“Yeah, we know that,” Drew snapped. “But so what? So what if he tipped off some reporter about a misleading report? What difference does that make?”
“It makes a difference, Ms. Thornton,” Preston answered for him. “Gino is a confidant of Liam’s, his go to guy.”
“I thought that was you, Preston.”
The shrug was so casual as to look studied, at least to Ham’s eyes. Nevertheless, Talbot answered with aplomb. “I am a decision-maker, Ms. Thornton. I am not a man in the field.”
“Meaning that this Gino Carpenter is? He’s muscle?”
“That is a crude way of putting it but, yes, you could say that is factual.”
“Is that all you got?” Ham inquired. “If so, I’m not real impressed. I would have expected and hoped for more.”
Jesse grinned, almost a savage expression, and nodded agreement. “That’s why you be the man, my man. There is indeed more.”
Ham waited, trying to show more patience than his cabbie, finally lost the battle. Exasperated, he pleaded, “Well? Are you going to tell us? Or just stand there and smirk?”
Looking directly at Preston, and with a quick nod to Jennifer, he dropped his bomb. “Mrs. Liam Waterson arrived at San Francisco International around nine o’clock. She’s booked on the 10:55 flight to Reno, will set down here about midnight. And here’s the kicker. Our escort tells me she’s not exactly the grieving widow.” He paused, obviously for effect, just long enough for Ham’s impatience to begin to boil over.
Microseconds before it did, Jesse announced, “On the contrary, she’s bringing a boyfriend back with her.”
13
NO LAUGHING MATTER
If Preston’s face foretold his mood, Ham pitied poor Mrs. Waterson. Purple cheeks and throbbing veins promised a less than joyful and celebratory welcome home. And, he realized, God help the pitiable boyfriend flying into he knows not what.
Yet when Preston spoke, his voice emerged calm and low. Though Ham did not know him well enough to be certain of anything, he suspected this new temperament was Preston at his most lethal. “Who is this new boyfriend? And, pray tell, exactly how does our escort determine there is more than a professional relationship between them? Or platonic friendship, for that matter.”
“She travelled with him from Tokyo to his hometown of Aomori, in the northern part of Honshu.”
“Sorry,” Drew interrupted, “I’m not overly familiar with Japanese geography. What is Honshu?”
“The main island,” Preston answered, “on which sits Tokyo, and etcetera.” To Jesse, he asked, “Why does that put her in his bed?”
“They shared a room in the hotel in Tokyo and, from what we learned from the help, also a room in his mansion in Aomori.”
“Mansion?” Ham inquired. “I take it he’s got money of his own, then. He’s not after hers?”
Jesse paused just long enough to let the anticipation build, finally blurted out what obviously he’d been eager to spill. “Oh no, he’s not after her money. He may, however, be after Liam Waterson’s business interests.”
Ham noticed an instant change in Preston’s demeanor, the barely squinted eyes that now flashed perilous interest. But Preston didn’t ask. He waited. A rattler considering its prey.
Jesse seemed to recognize the bearing, probably had seen it more than once in their long association. He grinned, an almost evil, lopsided smirk. “Do you wish to know why that may be?”
To Ham’s way of thinking, Jesse might just as well pick up that rattler, the one considering its prey, poke it in the eye and stick his hand in the fanged mouth. The dynamite he juggled was no less dangerous than that.
Yet, to his surprise, Preston merely smiled in reply, albeit a feral one of threat. Fascinated, Ham turned his head back and forth between the two, wondering if this was a dance in which they often engaged, they appeared so well practiced at it.
Jesse did not actually rub his hands in glee, merely did in Ham’s mind. But his voice matched Ham’s mental vision when he finally explained. “Her new fellow is a few years younger than she. But no less connected. In fact, more so. He’s the head of the yakuza in Aomori. And I’m guessing that he’d love to take over Liam Waterson’s interests in Nevada.”
Ham and Drew spoke almost as one as each breathed a muttered, “Oh, shit.”
Jennifer stood, confusion coloring her face. “What’s a yakuza? Is that something that we need to be leery of or worry about, as you seem to imply? And,” waving her hand toward Ham and Drew, “based on their reaction, as these two obviously suppose?”
Preston drew a deep breath, let it out and shook his head. “This is a very bad thing for us, yes. Yakuza is a Japanese crime syndicate. If he’s coming here, on the arm of Liam’s wife, he’s coming for a purpose. And we can all guess what that purpose is.”
“The question is,” Drew pointed out, “did he arrange the hit? I can’t imagine even someone like that would come waltzing into Waterson’s territory and claim the man’s wife were Liam not dead. Dangerous they are, stupid they are not.”
“Or,” Ham suggested, “could they have collaborated? Maybe she decided Waterson had become tiresome and a new man would excite her dreary existence.”
“And who better,” Jesse agreed, “than someone who would not only not be intimidated by her powerful husband, but would actually have the resources to take him on. And win.”
Preston bounced up, began to pace the small confines of the room. With hands clasped behind his back and head bowed to look at the ground, he resembled nothing so much as a latter day Groucho Marx. Which might have caused Ham to laugh at the man’s nicely mimicked performance. Except that he valued his life.
“This is interesting, in a curious sense,” Preston drawled, clearly thinking out loud. “What wou
ld Liam do if Nicole returned from a trip abroad with a boy toy as her souvenir?”
He stopped, rubbed his chin, looking to urge himself to thought before he clasped hands, bowed head and resumed the pace. “I have known Liam for what feels like forever. We’ve been through wars, been through threats, achieved much success. So I will tell you what Liam would do. He would do nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.”
Perhaps, Ham thought, perhaps the news had been more than a rational mind could assimilate for that statement appeared preposterous on the face of it. “That’s a startling claim, Preston. I can’t imagine any man taking it with total aplomb and tolerance. Unless, of course, he had tired of her. Is that what you’re saying? Or trying not to say, maybe.”
Talbot shook his head, emphatic denial. “You misread me, Mr. McCalister, for which I do not blame you in the slightest. It is indeed an incredible claim. Unless, that is, you had been so fortunate as to know Liam on a personal level.” Turning to his goddaughter, he invited, “Jennifer? Would you care to enlighten them?”
“I would,” she affirmed. “I cannot speak to his business interests, that has to come from Preston, but I can speak to his character.” She paused, perhaps considering how best to explain, before she gave an abrupt nod of her head and continued, now more firm in assertion. “My impression is that in terms of his business, if this yakuza guy tried to horn in, Liam would go to war. He was inordinately proud of the empire he put together and led, and I don’t know how far he’d go to protect it. But I do know protect it he would.”
Preston nodded, an indulgent smile playing on his lips, like a proud father reacting to “hey, Dad, watch this, watch me, Dad.” He looked to Ham as though he was about to break into applause but contented himself with a smile and an encouraging, though nearly imperceptible, bow.
She acknowledged his grin with one of her own before expanding on the thought. “But in a personal sense, he was one of the kindest, gentlest people I have ever known, with a heart as wide as his influence. If you needed a shirt, he wouldn’t just take it off his back, he’d drag you into the finest store in town and buy you a truckload of new ones. And a suit and shoes to match.”
“Well put, my dear,” Preston said, and to the others added, “She’s absolutely spot on. Meaning that if his wife announced she was taking up with another man, Liam would be hurt to the point of devastation. He absolutely loved and adored his wife. To him, she was the center of his universe, the air which kept him alive. But still, he would let her go if that was what made her happy. Would even have given his blessing, helped her to make the transition. That,” he declared, “was the type of man our now deceased friend and leader was. A man we all aspired to be.”
Ham let the statement, the claim, fall into and become engulfed by the silence until he sensed that sufficient time had lapsed, that his quarrel with Liam’s and Jennifer’s assessment would not set off a battle he really did not want to start. His voice gentle, attempting to correct without offering offense, he pointed out, “I understand you are both close to him but this is a side to the man that a lot of people couldn’t agree with. I’m not sure I buy it myself, if I may say so.”
“You may,” Preston granted, quite agreeable in tone, clearly not offended. “But you and they are people that do not actually know Liam.” With a despondent sigh, he corrected himself. “I should say it would have been people that did not truly know him during his lifetime. Those who know him as himself—knew him as himself; this new reality is going to be difficult to adjust to—rather than just a caricature of his business, do indeed offer respect as well as friendship.”
“Probably not a lot of people on the force, I’m guessing.”
“You’d be guessing wrong, Mr. McCalister. There are numerous individuals on the force, both regional and national, that offer respect to Liam Waterson. Captain Saul Hanson, for instance.”
Ham shrugged, unconvinced but willing to listen. “I wonder how respectful he’ll be once he finds out that one of his men, Sergeant Larry Pendleton, is on your payroll. Friendship only goes so far.”
Preston sighed softly, even as he shook his head. “You misread many things, Mr. McCalister. So many things that I wonder at your reputation.”
Ham noticed the glint in the man’s eyes, understood the teasing and offered good natured agreement. “My captain would share your wonderment.”
Mirth written all over his face, Preston continued. “Saul will be well and deeply displeased, yes. But not at Liam. At Pendleton. Saul understands loyalty, he understands business. If Liam is able to expand his influence, well hell, that’s only enterprise. But one of his men displaying an unwillingness to express total allegiance to his own business, the business of law enforcement, that is quite another. I think, once he does find out, and of course now he must, he will, along with us, seek the ruination of Mr. Pendleton.” He spread his hands in question. “Now whether that is through the offices of Saul Hanson or whether it be through the offices of our little enterprise, that is of less importance than the fact that it will be done.” He pointed at Ham and reiterated and emphasized, “That. Will. Happen.”
“In the meantime,” Drew interjected, “and back on earth, what or how much do you know about the inner working of the Vicante family? Any chance that Nicole is backed by them and that they’re going into partnership with the yakuza to take over the reins of all your business interests throughout the state? That would make more sense than her doing it on her own, if in fact her intent is to throw a coup.”
Ham eyed his partner with admiration. Her quick mind had always been an asset in their collaboration and once again she’d proved her worth, a brain worth of a mass of gold. He smiled inwardly with the acknowledgement that though he had not yet gotten there, he eventually would have done so, no matter how long it took Drew to lead him to that awareness. He and his brain worth a mass of lead.
“Mr. Spencer, you will have Nicole and her beau brought to me straightaway from the airport. They are not to go anywhere else first. Is that clear?”
Jesse paused, perhaps unwilling to challenge Preston on the point, but eventually he had to point out the flaw. “I find it very doubtful that this man will be travelling without his own protection, and probably heavy at that. He’s not going to put himself in the line of fire without an army of guns at his back.”
“Meaning you don’t think you can get him to me.”
“Not unless he agrees, no.”
“In which case, if he did,” Preston mused, “it would be because he wants to see me.”
“There you go,” Jesse nodded. He didn’t add “bingo”, which Ham thought probably wise, not to mention healthy.
“I want you to snoop around a little. I want to know what rumors might be floating around the Vicante family. I want to know what their plans are, who they are talking to, any inquiries they may have made in the past few months. I want to know everything, and I want to know yesterday.”
Jesse grinned, softly and with humor. “I won’t be getting any sleep tonight. I’m thinking I’ll need a raise.”
Preston didn’t miss a beat. “I’m thinking you’re going to be a very wealthy man, Jesse Spencer. Too rich to sleep. Now get going.”
“What about Nicole? You want me to meet her at the airport when she arrives?”
“No. You go do what I asked. I’ll send a team there, men well able to deflect any refusal by the yakuza to meet me at a time and place of my choosing. And if Vicante people are there, well, they can deal with that, too.”
While Preston busied himself with arrangements, putting together a team of men who refused to take no for an answer, Ham paced the confines within as he listened with half an ear. Talbot fascinated him, the way the man put together such a large force on almost zero notice, an indication to Ham that Liam’s group, or mob, if you will, was larger, more lethal and more flexible and adept than he might have assumed. Well, he would assume that no more.
He glanced over to Drew and saw the lost look in he
r eyes, an appearance indicative of her mindset, Ham supposed. Fixed on the case, fearing for her husband and, despite her apparent calm exterior, mentally biting nails, an anxiety borne of inaction. She hated to sit and wait on others. She had a driving need to be out there, to be doing something, anything, preferably smacking heads but at least engaging in some kind of action, any kind of action. Not this sitting around crap.
Ham almost turned away, himself lost in thought, but as he did she searched out his eyes, a grab for his attention. He answered with a curt nod, a silent “we won’t wait much longer, I promise,” before resuming his own meandering thoughts and strides across the room.
So far, he reflected, they’d cornered themselves into association with the embodied enemy of law and order, at least in the sense of said adversary leading the dance. Ham, despite everything accomplished since the crime, followed Liam’s right hand man like a child on a march. Preston decided whom to recruit and for what, when and why, and where and how the investigation could and would unfold. And apparently, Ham was not the lone follower. Most of the Reno PD stayed close on Preston’s heels as well.
That particular bit of knowledge, which should have and did come as somewhat of a surprise, gnawed at his mind and most especially at his conscious. Too many bed partners, strange ones at that, put the situation outside his comfort level, beyond his otherwise wide and vast experience in just this sort of scrutiny.
Maybe, he scolded himself, the time had come for him and Drew to chart a new path, one that they would lead, they and nobody else. Let Talbot handle Mrs. Waterson and her travelling yakuza companion because, after all, who in the end gave a flying damn? Not he, and certainly not Drew. Who killed Liam and why lay well outside their area of interest and, if they continued on that course, who knew what repercussions there might be for Russ, or for the guys in the band, for that matter. Because what if Liam actually, truly was the decoy, the cover for whatever attack and motive lay behind the conspiracy?
The Biggest Little Crime In The World (A Ham McCalister Mystery Book 3) Page 19
