by Chris Culver
“I do talk to people. I talked to you yesterday, and you didn’t share that information with us.”
“I wasn’t sure we had the same objective. I wanted to put Hines in jail. You wanted to quell a controversy before it happened.”
“Is there anything else you’re not sharing with us?”
Ash leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “Like what?”
“Fleischer’s dead. We found his body in an alley in Chicago. He was shot eighteen times.”
Ash shrugged. “Eighteen shots will do it. I wish we brought him in ourselves, but I won’t shed too many tears over his death.”
Havelock stared at him, apparently waiting for him to say something else. Ash crossed his arms. The motion aggravated his shoulder but no more so than leaving his arm hanging against his side.
“We can work together, Detective,” said Havelock. “We don’t have to be adversaries.”
Ash raised his eyebrows. “You took video of an informant visiting my house. Then, instead of asking me about it, you showed it to my commanding officer as evidence of some sort of conspiracy. That sounds adversarial to me.”
“I wanted to know if I could trust you.”
“I’ve spent a long time as a law enforcement officer. I think I’ve earned some trust.”
Havelock broke off eye contact and sighed. “Do you think Bukoholov murdered Fleischer?”
“Yeah, but he wouldn’t see it as murder. He’d see it as justice. Depending on how well his lawyer argued it, a jury might agree.”
“How about you?”
Ash shrugged. “Fleischer trafficked in young women and killed people for a living.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
Ash looked off to the old oak tree that shaded his yard. “Why are you really here, Agent Havelock?”
“Alistair Hines disappeared last night. We found out this morning that he’s on a plane heading to Moscow. We don’t have an extradition treaty with Russia. How does that make you feel?”
Ash chuckled. “How does that make me feel? What, are you a psychiatrist now?”
“I’m just curious to see how you’d react. We’ll try to get him back, but the Russians will want something in return. I don’t know if the Department of State will be willing to pay their price.”
“He murdered three people. They can’t just ignore him.”
“He’s done more than murder three people. We’ve heard from some of our international partners that he and Fleischer might have been partners. Hines acquires and transports the girls, Fleischer exploits them.”
“Okay, problem solved,” said Ash, shrugging. “He’s probably committed crimes in Russia. They’ll pick him up.”
Havelock shook his head. “Wealthy men don’t spend time in Russian prisons unless they’ve pissed off the Kremlin.”
Ash started to sputter that no government could be that obtuse, but then he caught himself. He narrowed his eyebrows. “Why are you telling me this?”
“This is your case, at least in part. I told you that I’d keep you informed, and I am. It’s over. The bad guy got away.”
IMPD had a homicide clearance rate of somewhere between seventy and eighty percent, meaning they managed to arrest a suspect in the vast majority of the cases they investigated. No department got everybody, though. He always wished they could do better, but inevitably, cases went unsolved. That had bothered him at first, but over time he realized he couldn’t do anything about it. Ash took a deep breath.
“What happens now?” he asked.
Havelock shrugged. “We wait and hope for a miracle.”
“And Hines keeps working.”
“Eventually,” said Havelock. He shrugged. “Probably quickly. We’ve disrupted his operations for now, but he’ll pick up the pieces.”
“We’ll send out bulletins to other law enforcement agencies,” said Ash. “IMPD will keep an eye out.”
“I’d rather deal with the disease than treat the symptoms. Unfortunately, I don’t know anybody who has pull with the Russian government. Do you?”
Ash started to shake his head, but then stopped himself. “What are you asking me?”
“Until he’s sitting in an American prison or dead, Alistair Hines is a problem. I’m asking if you know anyone who could take care of that.”
“Are you asking if I know someone who could go there and pick him up?”
Havelock shrugged. “Or do whatever. Hypothetically, if you knew someone like that, we wouldn’t need to know the details. Hell, we wouldn’t want to know the details. We would just want Hines taken off the streets. Permanently.”
“Someone like Konstantin Bukoholov?” Havelock shrugged but didn’t say anything. Ash broke off eye contact and blinked. “What kind of range do the Bureau’s wireless transmitters have?”
Havelock cocked his head to the side. “Why are you asking?”
“I’m wondering where the surveillance van is.”
Havelock shook his head. “There is no surveillance van.”
“You’re too smart to play stupid. You want me to tell Bukoholov that Alistair Hines, the man who murdered his daughter, is sitting in a Russian prison. As soon as Bukoholov gets on a plane, you’ll arrest us both for conspiracy to commit murder.”
“That’s preposterous.”
“It might also be entrapment,” said Ash.
Havelock stood. “I’m going to leave before either of us says something regrettable.”
“You want a tip for the future?” asked Ash. Havelock started toward the gate. “If you really wanted Bukoholov to murder Hines, you would have held a press conference and mentioned that he flew to Moscow. Bukoholov would have taken care of the rest. You came to me for a reason, and it wasn’t very difficult to see through.”
Havelock stopped at the gate before leaving. “Get your affairs in order, Detective.”
“Get out of my yard.”
Havelock turned and left. Ash listened until he heard a car start up before going to his cruiser to get the prepaid cell phone he had used earlier to talk to Bukoholov. He dialed the same number Bukoholov had called him from earlier and waited for the old man to pick up.
“Special Agent Kevin Havelock just told me what you did in Chicago.”
Bukoholov inhaled deeply. “The view from the Skydeck on the Willis Tower is breathtaking.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it is,” said Ash. “He told me about Fleischer. Eighteen shots, huh? That’s overkill, don’t you think?”
Bukoholov coughed. “I heard about his death on the news. I feel for his family. They said it was a mugging that went wrong.”
“Muggers don’t reload when they finish a magazine. Eighteen shots is a message. Who’d you leave it for?”
“I think you’re mistaken about my trip. My daughter and her husband passed away, and I needed a break. I took my brother-in-law and my nephews to Chicago for a Cubs game. We saw the sights, toured the city, ate deep-dish pizza. In fact, we were at the game when the news said Fleischer was shot.”
“Who’d the Cubs play?”
“The Cardinals. I kept the ticket stubs because they had a coupon for a free sandwich on the back.” Bukoholov paused. “Have you checked your mail today? I sent you something.”
“No, I haven’t checked it,” said Ash, standing and walking toward his gate. “I received your last package, though. I think you might have saved some lives. I didn’t know you had that in you.”
“I’m a humanitarian.”
“Sure,” said Ash. He walked out of his yard and to the mailbox at the front of his house. “I’m getting my mail now.” He grabbed that morning’s mail and flipped through catalogs and bills until he came to a stark-white envelope without a return address. He flipped it over and tore it open, exposing a photocopy of a lined piece of paper. Someone had written names, addresses, and phone numbers on it as well as shorthand notes that Ash couldn’t decipher. Most of the names were unfamiliar, but one stood out. Leonard Wilson, the only
man currently in the race for Marion County prosecutor. “What is this?”
“I’ve heard it’s a page from the black book of the young woman who ran the Dandelion Inn.”
“What happened to that young woman? As far as I know, we haven’t found her.”
“Women like that know how to make themselves unavailable quickly,” said Bukoholov.
“What do you expect me to do with this?” asked Ash.
“I don’t expect you to do anything. I simply thought you might like to see it.”
Ash looked at the page again. “What does ‘YTB’ and ‘CGR’ mean? It’s in the notes section beside Leonard Wilson’s name.”
Bukoholov paused. “I’m not an expert, mind you, but I believe that means ‘younger the better’ and ‘can get rough.’”
Ash swore under his breath. “And after the election this fall, this guy’s going to be the top law enforcement official in the county. That’s wonderful. You should be proud.”
“You forget your own part. Without you and your unorthodox investigation into Thomas Rahal, this election would have turned out very differently. He couldn’t have beaten Susan Mercer.”
“I didn’t intend for her to drop out of the race.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” said Bukoholov. “But knowing what you do, would you have acted differently?”
“And allow Thomas Rahal be sent to death row for a crime he didn’t do?”
“Yes.”
Ash took a breath. “That’s beside the point.”
“No, my friend, that is the point. I set you down a path you would have taken anyway. Leonard Wilson’s future position is as much your responsibility as it is mine. You can whine like a petulant child about him, or you can do something. He offered you a position in his administration. I can think of no better way of keeping him in check than to watch him.”
“I can think of at least one better way. Give me the black book you took from the Dandelion Inn, and I’ll send him to jail.”
Bukoholov clicked his tongue. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. I merely have a photocopy of a single page. Someone sent it to me anonymously. You should keep it, though. When you take the job, you can show it to him. It will make him amenable to your needs.”
“I’m not going to become you. I’ll tell you what, though. I bet I can find a judge willing to sign a search warrant for your house based on what you sent me.”
“If you do, can you wait a few days? I’m out of town, and I’d like to be there for the search. I’m very particular about how my possessions are handled.”
“Where are you?” asked Ash.
“Moscow. An old friend of mine left Indianapolis without saying good-bye. I tracked him down so I could wish him well.”
“Is your old friend Alistair Hines?”
“As much as I enjoy talking to you, I really must go,” said Bukoholov. “Consider Leonard Wilson’s job offer. He needs someone to keep his moral compass straight.”
Bukoholov hung up the phone. Ash stared at the swing set he had built for Megan a couple of years ago. As a police officer, he couldn’t condone Alistair Hines’s murder, but as a father, he’d sleep just a little better at night knowing he was dead. Whether that made him a bad person, Ash didn’t know, but if that was the price to keep the people he cared about safe, he’d gladly pay it.
The rest of the day went smoothly and quickly. In between reading stories, playing on the swing set with his kids, and napping, at least one reporter from every major television station and newspaper in town called. Ash spoke to a few of them off the record, but hung up on Kristen Tanaka as soon as he saw her name on the caller ID. At about four, the phone rang once more. Not wanting to wake his kids, he took his cell phone through the house, meeting his wife in the kitchen on the way.
“You’re quite popular today,” she said.
“I’m popular every day,” said Ash. “I try to leave my fans at work, though. I don’t want to get a big head.”
“Right,” said Hannah, putting her hand flat on his chest. “Answer the phone.”
Ash did as she suggested and answered right before the phone would have gone to voice mail. He recognized Mike Bowers’s voice almost immediately.
“Hey, how you feeling?” asked Ash.
“Better now that I’ve slept overnight,” said Bowers quickly. “We should talk. Can you meet me somewhere?”
“I don’t know if I can drive with my shoulder. Can we just talk on the phone?”
Bowers hesitated and took a deep breath. “Sure. I just spoke to Dan Reddington. He said Agent Havelock filed a formal complaint against you this afternoon.”
Ash scoffed. “He filed a complaint because he doesn’t have enough to file charges.”
Bowers paused. “That’s an awfully cavalier attitude.”
Ash looked at Hannah and mouthed that he’d be a minute before slipping through the back door to the yard. “It’s the truth. Havelock came by my place this morning and tried to get me involved in a conspiracy to murder Alistair Hines. Is he telling you that I agreed to it?”
“No,” said Bowers. “He said you gave Frank Hayes drugs so he’d talk to you.”
Ash startled and then closed his eyes. “Well, that’s just complete bull.”
“Frank Hayes mostly backs up the story.”
“He’s lying,” said Ash.
Bowers sighed. “Give it a rest, okay? Hospital surveillance video shows you going into Hayes’s room, so we know you were there. What’s more, there’s now an open IA investigation into your affiliation with a drug dealer operating out of a mailing center in Carmel. If you didn’t give Hayes drugs, how’d you get him to talk?”
“The complaint with IA, that was filed by Tim Smith, right?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“It’s retaliation for turning Eddie Alvarez in.”
“Whatever, Ash. How’d you get Hayes to talk?”
“I didn’t hurt him. I didn’t threaten him. I didn’t give him drugs. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“At least we’ve got agreement about the drugs. Hayes says you took them away before he could use them. You know what he did show me, though? The spoon and syringe you left in the room.”
Ash winced. “I can explain that.”
“I don’t want an explanation. I vouched for you on this case. I put my ass on the line for you when Chief Reddington wanted to pull you off.”
Ash’s legs felt weak, forcing him to sit down. “I showed Hayes dark brown sugar and told him it was heroin. I never gave him drugs.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” asked Bowers. “Jesus, Ash. I don’t even know what to tell you.”
“I got Hayes to talk. What’s more important? Following proper procedures or saving someone’s life?”
Bowers swore under his breath. “Do you have any idea what happens if this story gets out? Every convict you’ve put in jail suddenly has grounds to appeal his sentence.”
“Weighed against the lives of twelve young women, I’d say we still came out on top.”
“How about weighed against your job?”
“I did what was necessary to save people’s lives. If that means losing my job, maybe it’s not a job worth having.”
Bowers didn’t say anything for a long couple of seconds. “I want your letter of resignation.”
Ash closed his eyes and held them shut, sure that he had misheard. “Say that again.”
“I want a letter of resignation on my desk by tomorrow morning.”
“I was speaking rhetorically. My job is worth having.”
“You’ve got two very serious complaints against you, and both of them look like they have merit. You’re a liability our department can’t afford. If you don’t give me a letter of resignation, Chief Reddington will seek to have you fired. Can I count on you to come through with that?”
“No, this is ridiculous. If you think it’s justified, demote me or suspend me. I won’t fight that. But you can’t fire me, n
ot over this.”
“We can fire you. Allowing you to quit is a gift. Take it.”
Ash started to sputter something, but then caught himself. “Neither of those charges have any merit whatsoever.”
“When can I expect your letter of resignation?”
Ash had never thought his life would turn out as it did. As a child, his mother had drilled into his head the importance of education, that he should become a doctor or a professor, a member of the learned, professional class. In the end, he did, becoming an attorney. Before that, though, he took an oath of office and became a police officer. At the time, he saw it simply as a steady job with decent pay and benefits. As the years passed, it became more than that, though; it became who he was. He put the world right, or at least tried his best to do so. As far as Ash was concerned, it was the highest calling a man could have; he refused to turn his back on that.
“You won’t be receiving it.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I’m not going to resign.”
“Before you make this decision, think about your family. You’re a lawyer with extensive law enforcement experience. If you quit now, this will go away quietly and every criminal defense firm in town will pound on your door. When we fire you, your reputation will take a hit you can’t afford. I’m trying to look out for you.”
“I appreciate that, but I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not going to quit and say I did.”
Bowers didn’t respond for a five count. “And you’ve made up your mind?”
“I think so.”
Bowers sighed. “Then effective immediately, I’m putting you on suspension pending formal internal and criminal investigations into your conduct. I’ll get the paperwork in the mail within twenty-four hours.”
“Is that it?”
Bowers paused. “You’re a decent, moral man. Get a lawyer.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Ash hung up the phone and ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t go inside immediately. Instead, he stayed on the porch. Hannah must have seen him put down the phone because she came out a few minutes later.
“Everything okay? You look pale.”
Ash looked at his wife and then at the table before drawing a breath. “I’ve got to go into work.”
