“Okay, thanks. But how does that figure in with how Derek knew about Quentin’s body in the river?”
“Larry Pendleton, our missing and erstwhile sergeant, texted Fister. Wallace, our dead reporter, traced him, Pendleton, to the Vicante organization, although how he didn’t say. It was only a matter of time before he traced Pendleton back to Fister.”
“And?”
“And nothing. He didn’t reveal much else of importance.”
“Well, dammit, how did he know Wallace would be found in the river?”
“Oh, that, yeah. Pendleton claimed in his text that ‘Quentin Wallace sleeps with the Truckee trout. From that Fister figured the river. We took a chance and found him where we find all bodies disposed in that fashion. Murderers have very little in the way of imagination and originality, know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I hear and I know that one exactly and to a T. Their predictability is a freaking narcotic, it’s so damn blessed boring.”
“Okay, colorful, if somewhat strange. Anyway and moving on, that’s not the point.”
“No? Then what is?”
“Your Derek Fister just called his attorney. Gary Larsen. Ties my hands, you know?”
Ham thought it over, paused before asking. “Is he there?”
“Not yet. He’s expected any time.”
“Okay, sit on Fister. I know you can’t interfere once Gary gets there and claims privilege but stay close. And no bond.”
A snort of amusement greeted that statement. “Aren’t you barking at the wrong squirrel? Those are things you should be telling your private ace in the hole, not me.”
“Oh, I will do that,” Ham replied. “But Gary’s not going to betray the interests of his client, not for me, not for any reason. Still, I’ll give him my twist on things.”
Ham rang off and turned back to the group, a cluster of curiosity. To Drew, now rock steady beside him, he whispered, “Gary’s on his way to the jail. Derek Fister is tied with Larry Pendleton, Gary is representing Derek, and I suspect and fear this will lead to Vicante. In which case, Preston will set the state on fire.” He glanced pointedly at the group and back to Drew. “Entertain them while I talk to Gary.”
He again turned his back on the assembled crowd and punched the number. The attorney answered in the middle of the first ring. “I’m on my way now.”
“I know, I just spoke to Lieutenant Neely. He’s quite cooperative at the moment. I think he’s tired of getting his ass chewed by the governor.”
Gary’s soft chuckle indicated agreement and truth. “You do play foul. Anyway, I’ll keep the lid on if that’s the reason for the call. How long do you need him on ice?”
“At least through the night and probably into noon tomorrow. Can you do that without worrying those blasted inconvenient ethics of yours?”
“Here’s a hint. I cheated on my ethics exam.”
“Good enough,” Ham replied. “It really isn’t anything adverse to Derek’s interests anyway. If he gets released any sooner than that there’s a decent chance he’s going to end up dead before the day is out.”
“Are you going to be there?”
“I can’t,” he stated, and emphasized the statement with an unseen shake of the head. “I’m going to be tied up for the rest of the night at the very least. Sleep is only a nightmare once remembered.”
“How poetic,” Gary replied, “if thoroughly unintelligible. But I get the idea. You and Drew are still my investigative arm, so as soon as you need access say the word. I’ll arrange it.”
“One more thing, Gary, and this is vital. Press him on his relationship with Larry Pendleton. If you have to threaten to get up and leave his ass there, defenseless and jailed, do it. I have a hunch that this could prove to be the key to this case.”
“You’re tutoring me on how to practice law? Shall I give you tips for a stakeout? Or in your case, perhaps a shakedown?”
Ham heard the gentle humor in his friend’s voice and he responded with a soft chuckle of his own. “Touché. Go get him, Mr. Hardass. I’ll give you a call just as soon as—”
Ham almost dropped the phone as gunfire boomed through the whole of the house, bounced off the walls, up the ceiling and back through again. He discerned squawks through the speaker, hurriedly mumbled, “I’ll explain later,” and raced to the landing where the mob had reformed.
“What the hell happened?” he asked Drew.
She stood, peering up the banister to the second floor, waiting, pointing. Ham followed her finger, followed it straight into the eyes of death. For there, as men parted, Fujita dragged a lifeless Barton Bianchi to the top step, whereat he kicked the body down and watched as it tumbled, over and over, until finally it landed with a sickening splat.
17
COPS AND ROBBERS (THEY’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE)
Ham shoved his way past and through the various cliques, even as he ignored the return of same. Though he could not begin to estimate the number of gunshots he’d heard—they’d come far too quick, far too close together, some even on top of each other—he now estimated, based upon the mutilated body, upward of twenty. Probably more, he reasoned, some he couldn’t see, some he didn’t count, some too close to others to distinguish. Whatever, they’d done one hell of a number on Jennifer’s erstwhile lover, were in fact that really the case.
Thinking of which, he turned his attention from the scene of the defaced and disfigured corpse and searched her out. It took a lot, ducking under and jumping over the offending horde, before he located her, standing by and speaking in whispers to Preston and Adam. Genta, he noted, stood by, though on the outside. With, he also noted, an all but imperceptible smile playing on his lips.
Drew pushed him from behind, on and toward that cabal. He stood aside to let her join him and together they pressed up to Talbot and friends. “What the hell happened, Preston? Was this a hit? Did you use us to get to him, to eliminate a witness against you? And you,” she pointed at Adam Vicante, “I doubt you had a problem with it, what with Bianchi being on Preston’s payroll, not yours.” She spread her arms, an inclusive gesture. “I don’t want to leave you out, Akiyama. How does his death benefit you? No doubt it must, you little nit, otherwise you wouldn’t have approved it. And if you had not approved it, there’d be a war going on right in this very living room, right at this very minute. So don’t even,” she spit, “try to worm your way out of it, worm.”
Ham placed an arm around her shoulder, a protective gesture meant more for Adam and Genta than for the rest. He doubted they understood that she represented more danger to them than the other way around and therefore, as a helpful gesture, his arm announced, “Leave it be. She, too, is protected.”
Drew, apparently understanding his action, contented herself with a small grin and a terse, “Well, gentlemen? Let’s have some comments here. Before Mama has to call the big bad cops into this very big, bad thing. Oh, and by the way, you’re all under arrest. Up against the wall, spread ‘em.”
Preston offered a weak grin but little else, while Adam stepped forward prepared, it appeared, to offer response. “Forget it, Adam,” Jennifer instructed him. “I got it from here.” To Drew she tendered explanation. “This wasn’t a hit, it was self-defense. Barton was armed and prepared to use it. I expected something like this when you all arrived.” She pointed up the stairway. “There’s a false closet in the second room on the right. He fled the room and I knew that was where he was headed. Not until I heard the barely audible close of the door did I permit you entry. I had greatly hoped nobody would find it because I fully expected death to follow.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me where he was?” Preston asked. “Surely you could have trusted me to handle it in a less barbarous fashion than occurred this way.”
She shrugged, whether in agreement or implied uncertainty Ham could not tell. “What are we going to do?”
“We are going,” Ham replied as he punched up a number on his cell phone, “to call the cops.”
> Adam stepped forward and tried to grab the phone. One look told him that was a very bad idea. Still, he tried. “Why don’t you let us handle this? Quietly.”
Ham countered with a smile of unfriendly ice. “Karl,” he said once connection had been made, “is Gary there yet? No, I don’t need to talk to him. Get somebody you trust to ride herd on Derek. He’s a vital witness now. You, meanwhile, need to get your ass over here to Derek’s house. We’ve got one hell of a situation.”
After he provided a quick summary of the facts, he severed the connection and turned his attention to Adam. “There’s your answer to that. There is, however, one thing you can do.”
“And that would be?”
“Have Larry Pendleton brought back to Reno.”
Adam’s eyebrows rose and his eyes betrayed wariness. “I’m sure I have no idea what you mean. I know of no one by that name.”
“How strange. We have information that he shot Liam and Russ,” Drew replied, “and that he’s currently in Vegas, under Vicante protection.”
“Let’s not dance,” Preston suggested. “He killed Liam Waterson and he’s got to answer for it. We will do whatever it takes to get to him. Don’t make it needlessly messy.”
Genta added his piece. “As well, Mr. Pendleton has gravely offended me and my associates. He has deprived us of a reliable and profitable business connection. We wish to ask him why.” He held up his hand to forestall immediate comment. “And before you ask, we, too, will do what is necessary to arrange such a face to face discussion.”
“Now, let me be completely and unreservedly understood,” Drew announced. “If my husband dies, Mr. Talbot and Mr. Akiyama will have to stand in line. Behind me. Then they are free to pick up the small pieces left to them. So you see, Adam, if I may call you Adam and if I can’t I will anyway, you either deliver him up or you yourself go down. Your choice.”
Adam spun toward his men, waved them forward and made for the exit. “You people are crazy if you think you can threaten me this way. My men and I are out of here and Jennifer is coming with us.” He waved her over as well. “Come on, Jen, we’ll discuss this later when these clowns have gone back to their circus.”
Drew slipped out of her shoes—the dress shoes she’d worn for the wedding, the ones she still had not had the chance to change—and let fly with a kick to the right side of Adam’s head. She grinned, rewarded as she was by his instant flop to the ground.
His men pushed forward, hands in search of weapons, only to be met by an even more determined group of Talbot and Akiyama men. Deliberately, silently, menace their only weapons, they slowly disarmed the Vicante men. Men who, very obviously, wished to live to fight another day. Or maybe just live.
Ham reached down and lifted Adam to his feet, adding a couple of gentle slaps to encourage consciousness. Satisfied he’d achieved his aim, he walked the man back to a wing chair and shoved him into it. “Don’t move until she says you can.”
The look Adam tossed Drew’s way left no doubt concerning his future intentions. “By the way,” Preston informed him, “she is under my protection. Now and forever.”
“And mine,” Genta offered.
Drew pointed to Ham. “And he’s under my protection. So deal with it.”
Adam blinked acceptance of his new reality. Clearly, Ham thought, the guy was neither suicidal nor stupid. No way would he take on Talbot and the yakuza. “Screw it. You people want Pendleton so bad, take him.” Over his shoulder, he issued the order. “Curtis, have Pendleton brought to me. You have two hours to get him here.”
Jennifer sighed, resignation and a bit of fear evident in the gesture. “Not necessary, Adam. He’s already here.”
Vicante jumped to his feet, bewilderment, more than anger, decorating his features as he shook his head in disbelief. “What are you talking about? Curtis, make that call. Find out just exactly what the hell is going on. And if true, who the hell authorized it.” He turned his attention back to his wife’s friend. “Jen, you’re my wife’s confidant and we both love you, but I hope you have a very good explanation for what you just said.”
She shrugged, a tilt of her head an admission of guilt. “He needed to get to Barton Bianchi before Barton betrayed him. I thought I’d lend a hand, that’s all.”
Adam’s draw dropped and he nearly stuttered his angry response. “That’s all? What the hell is that supposed to mean, ‘that’s all’? Who did you talk to? Who went behind my back and helped you? I want a name.”
Curtis, Vicante’s sidekick, a brave man indeed, Ham acknowledged, a braver man than he, stepped forward in answer and on her behalf. “I’m the one, Adam. Nobody else. The others only followed my orders.”
Vicante’s eyes popped with shock. “Over my orders?”
“No. I told them it was your wish that he be brought here. They had no reason to question me.”
“I see,” he responded as he plopped back into the chair, defeat mixed with anger in the act. “How did you get him here?”
“I had him flown on one of our private planes. It departed shortly after we did.”
Ham watched as Vicante’s face clouded with sorrow, the look of a child lost in the park, a look so pathetic he almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Turning to Jennifer, he asked, “Where is he?”
Jennifer regarded Ham, a bug on her windshield, for mere seconds before addressing Vicante. “I had my reasons, Adam, and they had nothing to do with you.”
“Answer his question,” he ordered as he pointed at Ham.
“We put him up at the Reno Casino House,” Curtis answered for her. “He’s under an assumed name, well-guarded. Nobody is going to get to him, if that’s your worry.”
“No,” he snapped, “that is not my worry. My worry now is my wife’s friend and you, my closest confidant. That and betrayal and devious maneuvering behind my back. Would either of you care to explain why you did this? And how you expect to survive it?” he added, an apparent afterthought.
“Oh, knock it off, Adam, you’re not going to harm me and we both know it. Hell, we’ve been as close as twins for as long as either of us can remember, right from our earliest days. So if you’re trying to scare somebody, try someone else.”
With a weak smile he tried to rebut. “There’s always Jennifer.”
“There is always Jennifer,” Curtis agreed, “but you won’t.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Because I ask you not to.”
“You overestimate yourself. But tell me why.”
Jennifer sighed, obvious resignation, maybe mixed with apology, and answered for Curtis. “Barton was about to betray Pendleton, a way to get himself off the hook. I couldn’t allow that.”
“We’re back to ‘why’.”
“Because Barton has used and abused my husband for as long as he’s been under his ostensible employ. I’m not going to let him use Pendleton and set Derek up for the fall. It occurred to me that we could let Pendleton take care of his own mistake. And owe me in the process.”
“The mistake being Barton Bianchi,” Ham guessed.
With a curt nod, she continued. “It was and still is my expectation that Pendleton can’t afford to allow, and won’t allow, Barton to talk to the police. And there’s only one way to assure that.” She pointed at the dead and unlamented body at the stairwell. “So when Barton called, I knew he was sounding me out, that he searched for word of what Preston and the cops had figured so far, so I played as dumb as he thinks I am and suggested he come on over and we’d try to get to the bottom of all this mess. Proof that he’s an idiot is he took me up on it.”
“Why didn’t you let me in, then?” Preston asked. “You know I could have forced more information from him than he’d be otherwise inclined to provide.”
She shrugged, a half smile on her lips. “Yeah, I know, but Pendleton is on his way. Like I said, I wanted him to take care of it and I therefore needed you gone. I was not,” she sighed softly, “much in favor of getting caught, as I am now, a
nd forced to provide this explanation that I most assuredly did not wish to furnish.”
Sirens ripped the stillness from the night, shattered the starlit wonder above, before the screech of multiple tires overrode even that, before booted feet stomped up and around the front stoop and forced a halt to conversation. Preston’s demeanor indicated a clear desire to continue and add to the discussion but he nevertheless clamped lips shut, though he flashed the disappointment that Ham read in his eyes. At the arrival of the cops, he wondered, or at Jennifer’s duplicity? Though he could not yet know, he figured that truth would out before this night greeted the onrushing, impatient dawn.
Peremptory knuckles echoed from the entryway, which evoked a nod from Preston. “That will be the police. Let them in and let Mr. McCalister and Ms. Thornton take the lead, if they will.”
With a nod, Ham turned to the door just as Jennifer ushered Karl Neely, red and near to wheezing his haste, into their midst. He stopped short, confusion in his eyes, distrust and demand highlighting scarlet cheeks. But much to his credit, Ham mused, he steeled himself and refrained from immediate questions, suppositions or demands. Instead, he offered a casual thought. “Now would be a perfect time to rob a casino. I’ve got half the night shift spread out around this house.”
“Thanks for getting here so fast, Karl.” Ham pointed to a body mostly obscured by the men surrounding it. “There’s the guest of dishonor.”
“That’s Barton Bianchi?”
“The very same.”
“What’s his story?”
Preston stepped forward to supply the response. “He, along with his employee, attempted to set me up for the murder of Liam Waterson.”
“And Russ Porter,” Drew interjected, anger an accompaniment to her glare. “I wish to hell people would remember that. One more mob boss or less holds little meaning to me or to the world. The loss of a legend would and does.” She turned her head and finished with a muttered, “Bunch of freaking morons.”
Having the sense to appear abashed, Preston continued. “She is quite right, of course. However, as to it, I would not have lived long enough to come to your attention had I not been able to demonstrate conclusively to my people that it was a carefully staged and very clever deception.”
The Biggest Little Crime In The World (A Ham McCalister Mystery Book 3) Page 24
