“I believe that, Carlos. These guys have been one step ahead of us from the beginning.”
“Know what else?”
“What’s that?”
“I think someone has bugged our office.”
“Really?”
“Think about it. Wherever we go, these suits show up. They seem to know where we are heading at any given time. If we find Howard Snow, I think they will be right there to kill him.”
“So, let’s flush `em out.”
“Howard?”
“No, whoever bugged our office.”
“How do we do that?”
“We plant a decoy. You know that manikin cop they set up in a patrol car sometimes on the side of the road to make drivers think they are in a radar check zone?”
“Sure, Officer Dummy.”
“Well, let’s dress him up to look like Howard Snow, put him in your Vette and plant him out front of Dwyer’s house. Then we’ll call Spinelli from your cell and tell him we spotted Howard Snow and that we need back up.”
“Oh, I see. And then when the suits arrive, we pop out of hiding and nab them.”
“Exactly. If they are not CID or CICU, we can at least hold them until we figure out who they are.”
“All right. Let’s do it.”
After breakfast, Carlos and I requisitioned Officer Dummy from the equipment room at the precinct. We dressed him in civilian clothes and stuck him behind the wheel of Carlos’ Corvette outside the Dwyer residence. Then Carlos called Spinelli and told him we had Howard Snow under surveillance outside the house.”
“Really?” said Spinelli. We had not clued him in on the plan, as we desired a genuine reaction from him over the phone.
“That’s right,” Carlos answered. “We’re watching him now. Snow is sitting in a red Corvette in front of Dwyer’s house. Looks like he’s waiting for someone, a contact maybe.”
“A red Corvette? But you drive––”
“Dominic. Listen. Please. Just make sure no patrol units run through the neighborhood for the next thirty minutes. We don’t want to spook him. You understand?”
“Sure, but I think you might––”
“No. Nothing. Wait until I call you back for further instructions. Okay?”
Spinelli hesitated, no doubt resisting his police instincts to suggest we set up a perimeter to prevent Snow’s escape.
“Dominic? Did you hear me?”
He came back. “All right. I hear you. I’ll wait for further instructions.”
“Thank you. Good bye.”
Carlos hung up the phone and said to me. “I don’t like lying to him.”
“Ha. Now you know how I feel. Sucks, don’t it?”
He acknowledged that with a nod, and then we both sank low in our seats. We were sitting in an unmarked cruiser parked at the end of the street where we could keep an eye on Carlos’ car and remain inconspicuous. A light sprinkle moments earlier had chased what few neighbors were out and about back into their homes. That proved to be our only lucky break of the day.
Exactly four minutes after Carlos called Spinelli, a black van sporting tinted windows, chrome wheels and a satellite antenna on the roof, tore around the corner in a blur. The side door slid open as it passed our cruiser, and when it stopped in front of Carlos’ car, all hell broke loose. Two men with automatic assault rifles opened fire on the Vette, turning it into Swiss cheese.
“My car!” Carlos cried, pointing out the windshield. “They’re shooting my car!”
After what seemed like a hundred rounds fired, the two men jumped out of the van. One of them reached in the broken-out window, grabbed the dummy by its splintered neck and shouted, “It’s a set-up!”
Carlos and I sprang from the cruiser, drew our weapons, leveled them at the shooters from a crouch behind the doors and ordered them to stand down. The two looked at us, at each other and at us again. The next thing I knew we were ducking a hail of bullets that were punching holes in our car the size of quarters. Carlos and I dove headfirst back into the cruiser, curling up like worms on the seat and floorboards and making ourselves small as possible.
I heard the windshield pop first, the bullet passing through the car and taking out the back window as well. A quick secession of pings and pangs riddled the fender before the front tires blew. Some of the bullets ricocheted off the street, hitting other cars parked nearby. The radiator went next. The hissing from it sounded like an angry snake, though not as angry as Carlos and me.
When the shooting stopped, the squeal of tires on pavement told us the van was peeling out. Carlos and I unfolded ourselves from the wreckage and returned fire, hitting the van, blowing out the back tinted windows and taking out the satellite antenna on the roof. It rounded the far corner and disappeared into the neighborhood.
“You all right?” I asked.
He slammed his gun down on the roof of the car. “Look what they did, Tony. They shot it all up. Why did they have to go and do that?”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “The department is covered for it.”
“Tony.” he pointed at his car with his weapon. “I’m talking about my Corvette. It’s shot to shit. I’m not covered for something like this.”
“What, you can’t say it was vandalism?”
“Vandalism?” He blinked back in dull surprise. “Can I claim that?”
I shook my head. “Call Spinelli. Tell him to put an APB out on that van and to send some units out here. We have a shitload of evidence to collect.”
We didn’t arrive back at the precinct until after 5:00. Spinelli was still angry with me, but he was all business. He told us he had no luck finding the black van, but the initial analyses on the shell casings from the shootout confirmed my suspicions. The assault weapons used by the gunmen were likely AK47s, the international weapon of choice for terrorist, hired commandos and mercenaries.
“So it wasn’t the U.S. government,” said Carlos. “They don’t use AK47s.”
“No,” Spinelli answered, “but a little-known branch of the army’s Special Forces employs a similar weapon using the same 7.62 x 39mm ammo. The idea is to leave behind shell casings designed to look like the AK47 was used, insinuating a non-U.S. entity fired the shots.”
“Do you think that’s the case here?” I asked.
Spinelli did not look at me. “I don’t believe so. The assault you witnessed didn’t follow the typical Special Forces M.O. If it did. Well...neither of you would be standing here now.”
I heard Carlos make an audible gulp. “Wow, hurray for amateurs.”
“Oh, these were not amateurs either. They missed you on propose.”
“All right,” I said. “So who are these guys?”
Spinelli crossed the room, picked a piece of wire up off the desk and held it to the light. On the dangling end, I could see a tiny black spec of plastic the size of a grain of rice.
“Judging from the bug I found on the phone,” he said. “I would say we’re dealing with a non-governmental entity. One with lots of money, resources and inside connections.”
“What makes you say that?”
“For one, this bug is high quality, but not overly sophisticated. The government uses bugs much smaller. Whoever planted this likely spent a small fortune buying access into these offices. I found four more just like it on other phones on this floor. We’re running sweeps on the rest of the equipment now.”
“So we have another player for sure,” said Carlos. “Some big international corporation I suppose.”
“Yes, but that does not mean these are the guys who shot up your car.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean it is possible the bugs were bugged.”
“What?”
He held up the tiny device. “These are wireless. That is, they send out a wireless signal. While player ‘A’ is busy bugging our calls, player ‘B’ could be bugging the bugged calls.”
“Player ‘B’, meaning the government?”
Spinelli gestured amb
iguously. “Just saying.”
“But why?” asked Carlos. “Why would anyone want to shoot up my car?”
“They didn’t. They wanted to kill Howard Snow. Remember, they thought he was behind the wheel.”
“All right, but why kill Snow? If anyone believed the research documents were destroyed in the car bombing in front of Dwyer’s house, wouldn’t they need Snow to reconstitute the project?”
“Maybe the documents weren’t destroyed.”
“I’m confused.”
“I know. Me, too,” I said. I checked my watch. “Look guys. I have to go. Ursula is cooking dinner tonight. I told the girls I wouldn’t be late.”
Spinelli perked up at that. “What is she making?”
“Don’t know. It’s a surprise. That’s why I’m stopping at the McDrive-thu on my way home.”
“Oh.” He seemed disappointed.
I sidestepped Carlos and put my arm around Spinelli’s shoulder. “Dominic, you know Ursula loves you. What happened the other night meant nothing. It is human nature for a body to respond the way mine did in a situation like that.”
“I know. I get it.”
“The point is, I’m sure if the roles were reversed; say if it were you and Lilith, then you would have experienced a similar reaction.”
“Tony, the thing is you saw Ursula naked.”
“Yes, but you saw her naked first, that day in the field when Lilith returned her from a pile of bones.”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“I didn’t get to put my hands on her, to touch her like you did. And she didn’t put her hands on me.”
“Dominic. Ursula is like a child sometimes, a grown child. I assure you she saw the events of that night quite differently from the way other women would have seen them. She was not looking at me like that, the way she will look at you on your wedding night. You will still be her first. Nothing will change that.” I leaned in closer and whispered so that Carlos would not hear what I said next. “And more importantly, she will be your first.”
He looked up at me, assessing my sincerity. His expression softened, and I found myself trying to decipher the new mood he adopted. I palmed both his shoulders and squared him to me. “What is it?”
His eyes fell away. “What if I dont...you know.”
“What?”
“Meet her expectations.”
“How do you mean?”
Carlos said, “He’s worried his needle dick will disappoint her.”
“Carlos.”
“No, Tony.” Spinelli replied. “It’s true. You know it. You set her expectations. How can I––”
Again, Carlos. “Measure up?”
I shot him a look. He gestured a zip across his lips and turned away.
“Dominic, the only thing that matters when two people love each other is how deep their love is, not how deep it goes in when they make love.”
I saw Carlos arch his brow, but he behaved and kept his trap shut.
Dominic returned, “Do you mean that?”
“Of course.” I laid an affectionate slap upon his cheek. “So, what do you say? You and Ursula still getting married this weekend or what?”
He gave me some hesitation. I splayed my palms out open. “What?”
He shrugged. “I’m still not sure about this handfasting thing. I mean, it’s silly, isn’t it?”
“What are you worried about?”
Carlos said, “He’s worried about his small penis.”
“Shut up. I don’t have a small penis.”
“Yeah, let’s see it.”
“No.”
“Carlos.” I pushed him back. “Lay off. Will you?”
“It’s true, Tony. If they’re handfasting, then she is going to want to take a look at what she’s bargaining for when he pees.”
“No one is bargaining for anything,” Spinelli argued. “And don’t you talk about my fiancée that way.”
“Carlos. Dominic. Both of you quit it. Now. Listen, Dominic, I’m sure you’re getting yourself all worked up about nothing. “I’ll talk to Lilith tonight and––”
“No. Don’t you dare.”
“Okay. I won’t say anything about you being worried.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Of course, you’re not. Listen to me. I will simply tell her that you mentioned this handfasting thing, and I will ask her what gives. Maybe it is not an all day thing like you’re worried about.”
“I told you. I’m not worried.”
“He’s worried,” said Carlos.
“I’m not worried.”
“He’s not worried. Nobody is worried. Now, Dominic. Look at me. Straight up. We good?”
He gave me a half-ass nod, but his smile seemed genuine. “Yeah. We’re good.”
“All right then.” We embraced in that awkward guy-hug sort of way. Carlos came over then and joined us in a three-way huddle. For the moment, my conscience was clear. Carlos had not told Spinelli about my dream, the one where Ursula left me sticky, wet and breathless. I prayed he never would, but if he at least waited until after the wedding then maybe, just maybe, I thought, Spinelli would not want to kill me.
THIRTEEN
The next morning, Carlos, Spinelli and I met at the Percolator to discuss the case over breakfast. It was already Thursday, and we had scarcely defined our case, let alone our suspects. We had so many loose ends and red herrings embedded in the details, it proved impossible to pick a grounding point from which to anchor.
“We start at the beginning,” said Carlos, pushing aside his OJ to make room for his plate of sausage, eggs and pancakes. “Lay everything out. See what this case entails. Maybe we are looking at the little pieces so closely that we are missing the big picture.”
“Sure. It’s the forest for the trees,” said Spinelli.
“What forest?”
“That’s the expression. You can’t see the forest because of all the trees.”
“That’s silly. The forest is the trees.”
“I know, but that’s the expression.”
“Who made that up?”
“I don’t know. It’s how it goes.”
“Please,” I said. “Can we move on?”
“Tony, do you hear this? Is that a silly expression or what?”
“Carlos.”
“No, really. It’s like telling someone he can’t see the ocean for the water. Uh-duh.”
“I know, Carlos. It’s crazy. Let it go.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Can we get back to this? You mentioned the big picture. What is the big picture?”
Spinelli said, “The big picture is that people are dying over something called QE647.”
“Yeah, but from the beginning. What do we know for sure?”
Carlos said, “I know my car got all shot up.”
“So you get another one. Back to Monday. Who took the call about the robbery at Biocrynetix Laboratories?”
Spinelli said, “Dispatch took it. Sent it up to me.”
“Did you talk to Ferguson yourself?”
“I did.”
“How did he sound over the phone?”
“Normal, I suppose. He seemed matter-of-fact. Very deliberate. Not panicky if that’s what you mean. Why?”
“I’m trying to understand why Ferguson called us in to begin with. Clearly, he does not really want us digging in to this case too deeply. On the one hand, we have someone in the government, some shadow agency looking for the compound. On the other, we have what appears to be a well-funded, perhaps international entity also looking for it.”
“Maybe a foreign government.”
“Maybe. So why bring us in? Surely Biocrynetix Laboratories must view us as a thorn in its side.”
“A necessary thorn,” said Carlos.
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t think Biocrynetix Laboratories called us in, per se. I think Ferguson called us in to cover his own ass. He figures if
the shit hits the fan he can always say he did the right thing by calling us in.”
“All right, so let’s put it out there. We know someone stole the compound. That seems obvious.”
“And the research documents,” Spinelli added.
“Yes. The research documents and the compound. Now, forget about Williams, Delaney, McSweeney, Gerardi and Brookfield for a moment. I know their deaths were probably related, but I want to concentrate on the events since the disappearance of the compound. What came first?”
Carlos said, “The first thing we did was talk to Ferguson who told us he thought Howard Snow took the compound.”
“That’s right. Then what?”
“Then Snow’s house blew up, making everyone think he was dead. Until we found him and spoke to him. And he told us the government was trying to kill him.”
Spinelli added, “And then they did try to kill him, blowing up his Hummer and killing his roommate instead.”
I said, “Yes, but that agent I clobbered at Dwyer’s house said his agency didn’t do it.”
Spinelli scoffed at that. “Of course he said that. What would you expect?”
“How `bout the commandos that shot up Carlos’ car? You said yourself that points to an outside group and not the U.S. government.”
“Yeah,” said Carlos. “What about my car?”
“I never said they weren’t U.S. agents. I said they probably weren’t.”
Carlos muttered, “They are persistent. Whoever they are.”
I shook my head. “We’re getting nowhere. It’s obvious we have nothing if we don’t have Howard Snow.” I said to Spinelli, “Did you check his records again like I asked? His passport travels and whatnot?”
“I did.”
“And?”
“Nothing. The man has not left the country since he honeymoon in Mexico in 1976. It is probably the reason the government has not found him yet. Even with all their resources, they can’t track a man who leaves no paper trail.”
“I suppose.”
I slipped my spoon into my coffee. It seemed strange, but I thought of Ursula then. I could feel her in my head. In my mind like a ghost, haunting my subconscious. No matter what I did, I could not break free of the feeling she was with me physically. Spiritually. Emotionally. Carlos and Spinelli were talking, maybe about Howard Snow. Maybe not. It didn’t matter. My thoughts were miles away, drifting like vapor in a cloudless sky. I stirred my coffee absentmindedly. Closed my eyes and let the moment take me. Music from the jukebox rolled through the restaurant in silent waves. Muted by Ursula’s soft voice whispering in my ears. Calling me. Beckoning me home.
Kiss the Witch Page 16
