“He’s a gun for hire,” Kane said. “We’ll find out who hired him—if anyone.”
Nate glanced over as he parked. “You think Sean is overreacting.”
“I’ll flush him out,” Kane said in lieu of an answer. “There’s an exit back and front but if he rabbits, he’ll go to his vehicle.”
“I got it.”
Kane walked into the gym while Nate staked out the black Lincoln. It was hot and humid, the swamp cooler doing little to cool the sweltering gym. A dozen men and a few women worked with weights, but most of them stood around sweating.
Manuel Domingo was working with hand weights. He glanced at Kane but didn’t look twice.
A short, muscular guy approached him. “Ten dollars a day, or twenty-five a week.”
“I’m looking for Domingo,” Kane said.
He shrugged. “Can I tell him why?”
“Friend of mine says he does odd jobs. I have an odd job.”
He said it in a low voice, but Domingo was close enough to hear him. The manager glanced over at Domingo, who nodded.
The manager pointed to Domingo, and Kane approached. “You need a job?” Kane asked.
“Depends what.”
“All you need to know is it pays two large to make a delivery.”
“Not just any delivery.”
“Special cargo.”
“Who you get my name from?”
Jimenez had given Kane a list of known associates, and most were in prison. “Garcia. From McClelland.”
“You were in the joint?”
“Short stint.”
Domingo was suspicious. Kane held his ground.
“You want the job or not?”
“I need to make some calls.”
“Or not,” Kane said and walked away. Domingo hesitated, then followed.
Sometimes, it was just too fucking easy.
As soon as they stepped outside, Kane turned, elbowed Domingo in the gut, and flipped him to the ground. The guy was big but slow and Kane had a gun on the back of his head before he knew what happened.
Kane saw Nate approach out of the corner of his eye and he waved him off. Nate slipped back between the cars and watched.
Kane hauled Domingo to his feet and pushed him against the side of the gym. “So you wanted to do this the fun way,” Kane said.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Who hired you to follow the black Wrangler on Wednesday?” Kane asked. He didn’t know how much Domingo knew about Sean—he might not even know his name, and Kane didn’t want to give him any information he didn’t already have.
“What?”
Kane punched him in the kidney. He knew from experience how much it hurt.
Domingo slammed his fist against the wall in pain. “Fuck!”
“Black Wrangler. Wednesday. The Rib House. Who hired you?”
“That? Oh, that was nothing.”
Sean was right. Damn, Kane shouldn’t doubt his brother.
“Why did you follow him?”
“No reason.”
Kane applied pressure on Domingo’s neck. “That’s not an answer.”
“Stop! I don’t know, really—just a guy who paid me a thousand to follow this Rogan guy. That’s it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why. I swear to God, I don’t know!”
“What did you tell this guy?”
“That Rogan made the tail. I asked if he wanted me to tag-team, and no, the gig was over, I got my money, end of story.”
“Who?”
“I. Don’t. Know. A friend of a friend of a friend. Really, it was a handshake deal and I didn’t even meet him!”
Domingo might be a big, burly guy but he was a wimp.
“How did you get him the information?”
“Message. The number’s burned, buddy, you’re not going to trace it or anything.”
“How did you know where to pick him up?”
“Huh?”
Dear Lord, this guy was an idiot. “How did you know Rogan would be at the Rib House?”
“They sent me a text with an address.”
How the hell did anyone know Sean would be at that restaurant at that time? Had to be a tracker of some sort.
“Stay away from Rogan,” Kane said.
“Job’s over. I swear.”
“If you’re lying, I will kill you.”
Kane pushed him down and walked away. By the time he and Nate were in Nate’s truck, Domingo had scurried back into the gym.
“What now?” Nate said.
“We wait and follow him. He was telling part truth, part lie.”
“How can you tell?”
Kane just smiled. “I just know.” He called Sean. “You were right, he was tailing you.”
“I told you.”
“I hate it when you do that.”
“Don’t doubt me.”
“I didn’t.”
Sean snorted.
“We need to follow him, he might make Nate’s truck.”
“I’m at the boys’ home with Jesse.”
“Bring him. Good lesson.”
“No. Lucy’s leaving headquarters soon, I’ll have her pick him up. Where are you?”
Kane told him. “But I don’t know for how long.”
“I’m ten, fifteen minutes away. I’ll head there, let me know if you move.”
* * *
When they first arrived at the boys’ home a few hours ago, Jesse was more than a little nervous. He didn’t know what to expect. When they walked in, several boys ran up to Sean and gave him a hug. They wanted to know where he’d been, if he’d been out of town on business, why he didn’t come to Sunday dinner. Jesse felt both out of place and guilty. Apparently, his dad came here all the time to hang out with the boys, but he hadn’t in weeks—because Jesse was here.
“So,” Sean said to the gathering, “I wanted to introduce you to someone. This is my son, Jesse. He lives in California with his mother, but is staying with me for a few weeks this summer. Hey, Tito, why don’t you and Brian show him around?”
Tito was the smallest kid in the group and walked with a limp. He had a big grin on his thin face. “Hi, Jesse! I’m Tito. Want to see the pool Sean built for us?”
“I didn’t build it,” Sean said.
Tito took Jesse’s hand and pulled him outside. Brian was less friendly but followed them.
Tito continued talking. The kid looked really young, but Jesse learned he was eleven. He’d never gone to school until last year because his mother had been a drug addict and never enrolled him. When he was seven, she OD’d and he went to foster care, where he learned that his dad was in prison. When he was nine, he was sent to work in Mexico for friends of his father’s. “But Michael came back like he promised and brought help.”
“Shush, Tito,” Brian said.
“Oh, you probably already know,” Tito said.
“Know what?” Jesse asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Brian said.
Jesse really wanted to know, but he said, “It’s okay, the pool is really neat. Thanks for the tour.”
“Do you play video games?”
“Sure.”
Tito lit up. “Come to the game room! Sean got us some really cool games.”
For an hour, Jesse played video games with Tito and Brian, then they had a snack in the kitchen and he met Sister Ruth, who took care of the boys and the house. A couple other boys came in and asked Jesse questions, and then it wasn’t weird anymore. Jesse still wanted to know exactly what his dad had done, and why he’d bought a house for these kids, but Sean had gone off with an older kid named Michael. Probably the Michael he’d talked about earlier.
After snacks, they all went swimming—Brian found an extra pair of trunks for Jesse—and that’s when Jesse saw the scars.
There were scars on all the boys. Even little Tito. His leg was really messed up—probably why he limped—but there was a big round, puckered scar that looked like it
was from a gunshot.
“Were you shot?” Jesse asked without thinking.
Tito nodded. “I almost died but Sean saved me. I couldn’t walk and he carried me really far instead of leaving me behind.”
Jesse waited until Brian jumped into the pool. Tito seemed to be the most talkative and forthcoming, and Jesse thought he’d answer anything. “Everyone here has scars. Were you—did someone hurt you?”
Tito nodded. “We were all locked up in a jail in Mexico, except when we were working.” He paused, then lowered his voice. “I don’t mind talking about it, Father Mateo says that it’s good to talk because then the bad stuff doesn’t stay inside. But it’s hard for Brian and some to talk about it, even though we got out a long time ago.”
“How long?”
“Over a year.”
“Got out of where?”
“The jail. Where the general kept us when we weren’t working. He was really bad and now he’s dead.”
Someone locked up little kids in a prison? In Mexico? Jesse didn’t want to believe it … but he did. He’d seen some pretty awful things when Carson took him to Mexico when he worked for the Flores cartel. Jesse hadn’t known it at the time, but then he learned the truth. And these boys were forced to work for a cartel? They were all about his age. Was it the Flores cartel? How could his stepfather have been party to anything like that? Maybe it wasn’t the same criminals, but it was the same type of people—they were violent and they didn’t care who they hurt.
“Hey, Tito!” one of the boys called from the opposite side of the pool. “Watch this!”
He jumped off the diving board and made a huge cannonball splash, soaking everyone within a foot of the pool. When he surfaced, Tito yelled, “Frisco! Do it again!”
Sean came out then. He was with the same boy he’d gone off with more than an hour ago.
“Hold it, Frisco,” Sean said, “wait until I get out of here.”
Sean walked over to them. “You show Jesse everything?” he asked Tito.
“We played video games, we ate, we swam, can you stay for dinner? Please?”
Sean squatted. “I can’t. I have to go. But Jesse can stay for a while. Can I talk to him for a sec?”
“Sure.” Tito limped off.
Sean stood and said, “Jess, this is Michael Rodriguez, a good friend of mine. We were just catching up, I didn’t realize how much time passed.”
“It’s okay, we were having fun out here.”
“Good. I have to go and help Kane with that project we talked about earlier. I called Lucy, and she’ll pick you up on her way home. Can you hang here for another hour or so?”
Jesse looked at Michael. The kid was the oldest in the house, at least fifteen, and he looked like he’d seen everything and didn’t like any of it.
“That’s okay, Michael, right?” Sean continued.
“Sure,” Michael said.
Jesse didn’t believe it. Sean didn’t, either, but he put his arm around Michael’s shoulders and said, “I’m counting on you, okay?”
Michael nodded. “I have meal prep this week. You can help,” he said to Jesse and motioned for him to follow.
Jesse glanced at Sean, who was watching closely. What was he supposed to do? Stay? Beg to go with Sean? He didn’t know if he wanted to stay here, but if he made a scene, Sean would think he was immature.
He followed Michael inside, and changed back into his clothes in the bathroom. Sean was standing outside the door when he was finished.
“Jess, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot outside, but Michael doesn’t trust many people. He’ll come around.”
“What’s his story?” Jesse asked.
“I’ll tell you later. I promise, okay? For now, just cut him a little slack. But not too much. Don’t let him bully you, but realize that he’s protective of the others, and even though you’re my son, he’s cautious.”
“How did Tito get shot?”
His dad’s face hardened. He’d seen this expression before—when they were escaping the Flores compound in Guadalajara. Hard and angry. Like his uncle Kane.
“A bastard shot him and left him. It got infected. He nearly died.”
“He said you saved him.”
“It was a group effort.” Sean put his arm around Jesse and gave him a hug. “You’re a good kid, Jess. So’s Tito. Neither of you should have had to go through any of that bullshit down in Mexico. But it’s over.”
“I know.”
But sometimes Jesse thought it would never be truly over. Just because Sean and Kane stopped the Flores cartel didn’t mean that another group hadn’t started up. It was like a never-ending cycle.
“You’re okay that I’m going, right?”
“Is it about the guy who followed us?”
“Kane found him. We’re going to track him, see what happens. Lucy will be here by six thirty. And Sister Ruth will insist you stay for dinner. But trust me—the food is always great. I’ll be home before you go to bed, okay?”
Jesse was nervous, but he didn’t want his dad to know he was worried. “Okay.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lucy got off the phone with Sean and immediately started writing up her report so she could get out of the office before six and pick up Jesse at St. Catherine’s.
Every investigative road they took was a dead end, and both Lucy and Leo were frustrated. They’d gone over every possible scenario, but realized they didn’t have enough information. If they took what they knew at face value—that Charlie McMahon had a damaged memory; that Paul Grey had committed suicide; that McMahon had likely moved his friend’s body into his house—they still didn’t know why. And they might never know.
However, Cassidy Roth was a very interesting potential witness. Why had she removed evidence from Charlie’s apartment during the police standoff? Was there something incriminating? Why was she avoiding the police? Why hadn’t she come to them now that Charlie was dead? Why had she called in sick, but wasn’t at home?
Both Leo and Lucy believed that Cassidy had at least some of the answers they were looking for, but where was she? A cop was sitting down the street from her house, but considering she had a security system, Lucy was certain she would notice. The car may be unmarked, but anyone competent would know what to look for.
Why was she avoiding the police? Lucy didn’t automatically assume that she was guilty of something. Some people were paranoid; some people had good reasons not to trust law enforcement. A few bad cops damaged the entire law enforcement profession—which unfortunately put innocent people at risk.
Lucy sent her daily report to her boss and was gathering up her things when Leo turned down the aisle and into the Violent Crimes squad room.
“Good, you’re still here.”
“Not for long,” she said.
“I just got a call from Tia Mancini. Evidence is missing.”
“What evidence?”
“The morgue sent three packages of evidence to the SAPD lab: one with McMahon’s clothing, which had been dried and preserved; one with blood and tissue samples; and one with contents from his pockets—wallet, a bottle of aspirin, and his keys. Only his clothing made it.”
“Do they know what happened?”
“No—Julie has samples of blood and tissue at the morgue and she’s going to hand-deliver them tonight to the lab. But the physical evidence hasn’t been processed. The evidence is documented, but that’s it.”
“There has to be some sort of mix-up.”
“Peters has been tracking this all day and the shipping company is jumping through hoops but they can’t find the packages anywhere.”
“Is this an accident or deliberate?” Lucy asked.
“That’s the million-dollar question. Tia Mancini is working on it now and interviewing the driver—maybe he lied through his teeth when he said they weren’t on his truck.”
“Julie has other samples, and wasn’t McMahon’s brain sent to the research lab at the university?”
>
“Yes, and she verified with Dr. Moreno that he implemented additional security measures. Only a handful of people have access to his lab; it’s secure via key card, in a secure building. Good thing because McMahon’s body was sent to the mortuary and was already embalmed.”
“What if someone intentionally stole the samples?” Lucy asked.
“Who? Why?”
“I don’t know,” she said, thinking. “Maybe to destroy them.”
“Which would mean that there was something in his blood that someone didn’t want us to find?” Leo asked, skeptical. “If someone is smart enough to manipulate the system to destroy blood evidence, they’d know that the morgue would keep samples of everything sent to the lab.”
“Not necessarily,” Lucy said. “We know he was acting oddly for the last three months, and seemed to be getting worse. He could have been poisoned. Or maybe it wasn’t the samples but evidence in his wallet.”
“That’s a stretch.”
“Perhaps,” Lucy admitted. “But Cortland Clarke was acting suspicious, and she was less than forthcoming. Clarke-Harrison is a drug research company, maybe there was some sort of accidental exposure.”
“A cover-up?” Leo nodded. “I can see that. But an accident that didn’t affect anyone else?”
She could see his point.
She said, “They specialize in Alzheimer’s research. Memories. And Charlie was losing his memories.”
“No judge will give us a warrant on that theory. We need something solid—like testimony from Cassidy Roth or Vince Paine. One more piece of news—you were right. Roth was at the hostage standoff. She was in the crowd in photos taken at eleven fifteen and eleven forty-five, but not at twelve thirty—which was after SWAT went in. She could have moved to another location and been missed, but Tia thinks she was gone by then.”
“She may have left as soon as she knew he’d been killed,” Lucy said. “No one has been able to find Paine?”
“He moved shortly after he was fired. Left no forwarding address. SAPD is working on locating him.”
“So both Roth and Paine are in the wind.”
“I won’t go that far—yet. But it does seem unusual.”
“One of them may know exactly what Charlie was researching and what was going on at Clarke-Harrison.”
Too Far Gone Page 15
