‘Then let’s get back to the city. The sooner we lay the trap, the sooner we can catch these bastards and get you your life back.’ He turned away before he broke down and begged her to share it with him. He was done. Really, truly done. ‘Be ready to leave in fifteen minutes,’ he said over his shoulder.
Baltimore, Monday, March 17, 4.00 P.M.
Sam Hudson sat on a bench outside the police department, staring at the number he’d dialed on his cell phone, and hit send before he could chicken out.
‘Charm City Insurance. This is Dion Raines. Can I help you?’
I sure hope so. ‘Dion, this is Sam Hudson. We went to high school together.’
There was a short pause then, ‘Sam, sure. Wrestling team. We went to the state finals.’
‘Those were the days,’ Sam said with a weak smile. ‘I hope this isn’t a bad time. I need to ask you a few questions about your bachelor party.’
‘My bachelor party? Why would you want to ask about that?’
‘It’s a long story and I don’t want to bore you with it.’ He’d almost told the lie that Thomas Thorne had suggested – that he was throwing a party for a friend and wanted info on the Rabbit Hole – but he decided he’d had enough lies and half-truths to last him a lifetime. ‘Mainly, can you tell me where you had it?’
‘Sure,’ Dion said uncertainly. ‘We went to a Caps game, then to a bar near the stadium. Seriously, Sam, why do you want to know?’
Sam shuddered in relief. A Caps game. Not the Rabbit Hole. ‘Because I got a phone call a few days before your party from a guy said he was your bride’s brother, inviting everyone who’d been on the wrestling team to your party.’
A very long pause. ‘My wife doesn’t have a brother. Are you in some kind of trouble?’
Another rush of relief, this one followed by a bigger rush of rage. ‘No, but someone else might be.’ Whoever it was who’d set him up. ‘I went to the bar this guy told me to go to, just to give you my best. Something was stolen from me that night.’ A day of his life and his peace of mind. And my father. Sam had hated the bastard and wasn’t sorry he was dead, but he also hated that his mother was grieving. ‘It was returned to me recently, anonymously, and I’m trying to track its whereabouts for the last eight years.’
‘Wow. That’s . . . incredible. I can honestly tell you that I knew nothing about that call. Nobody else told me that they’d gotten a similar call. It’s weird that somebody used my bachelor party to steal from you. But, hey, thanks for being willing to come, man. I appreciate it. Makes me wish I had invited you, but I hadn’t seen you since high school graduation.’
‘It’s okay. Congratulations on your marriage. And thanks. At least I know where to start tracking this thief. Take care.’ Sam hung up and felt the trembles hit.
Why use Dion Raines, of all people? It was a crazy risk to take, luring him to the Rabbit Hole that way. He could just as easily have called Dion to confirm it back then.
No, he remembered. I wouldn’t have. The party was to have been a surprise. The caller had asked him not to call, not to ruin Dion’s surprise.
I was set up. But why? And by whom? His father was dead. Somebody either wanted me to take the blame or . . . what? There were probably lots of drug dealers who his father owed money to. But they wouldn’t have killed him, necessarily. They wouldn’t have gotten their money. And even if they did kill him, why involve me?
That was the key.
‘Hey, Hudson, you okay?’
Sam looked up to find Ruby Gomez standing in front of him, her red nails nowhere to be seen. She was still on the clock. ‘Yeah. I think so,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I had to drop off a report to Lieutenant Hyatt. I saw you sitting here, looking about as pale as the bodies I bring into the morgue. Did you call your pal Dion?’
He’d trusted her with the details last night and when he’d asked her to go with him to the Rabbit Hole, she’d instantly agreed. ‘Yeah. There was no party there that night and his wife doesn’t even have a brother.’
‘That’s good then. My shift is over in an hour. Where do you want me to meet you?’
‘How about my place? I’ll text you the address.’
‘Fine. I’ll meet you there, change into appropriate attire for a visit to the Rabbit Hole.’
Sam winced at the thought of what that attire might be. ‘You don’t have to do that.’
She grinned. ‘I already packed a bag. And yes, I do have to do that if I want them to give me answers they wouldn’t give a cop. You’ll stay in the car. You’re giving off that Jim Friday vibe.’ She walked a few paces with a cardboard gait. ‘“Just the facts, ma’am,”’ she mimicked gruffly.
‘That’s Joe Friday,’ he said with a chuckle and her grin softened. He suspected she’d known that, but wanted to make him smile. ‘Hey, Ruby, why did you hand-deliver the report to Lieutenant Hyatt? Why not email it?’
‘It was the autopsy report on Phil Skinner. The one who committed suicide yesterday. Hyatt’s out of the loop along with all of BPD. The State cops are running the investigation because an IA cop might be involved. But I’ve known Hyatt a long time. He’s kicking himself that he didn’t see that Skinner was an addict. JD is rattled, too – he watched Skinner eat his gun. I wanted to give them a little closure. Skinner’s addiction had been going on for a couple years. There wasn’t anything they could have done differently.’
‘Can’t you get into trouble for going around the State investigation?’
‘If anyone finds out, probably. Thus the personal touch.’
‘You’re a nice woman, Ruby,’ Sam said quietly.
She smiled at him. ‘Thanks. Like I said yesterday, after bringing in dead cops all day, I wanted to help a few live ones. I’ll meet you at your place in an hour.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Baltimore, Maryland, Monday, March 17, 4.05 P.M.
Henderson sat up straighter in Dr Sean’s pickup. Radcliffe, golden boy of the local news, was leaving the TV station and walking with his cameraman to a news van. It was highly unlikely that Radcliffe was going to cover another story. He wouldn’t cut it so close.
That meant the interview with Dr Townsend was elsewhere.
Henderson started the truck and followed at a discreet distance. Fifteen minutes later the van pulled into the parking garage under the Peabody Hotel. Snazzy. But lots of cameras.
Pulling an Orioles cap brim low, Henderson lazily drove the perimeter of the garage while the van parked and Radcliffe and his cameraman hauled their equipment to the elevator. When the doors closed, Henderson stopped the truck close enough to see the number display.
Damn. They only went to the lobby. The Peabody was favored among celebrities because of their privacy. Guests could use their key to go directly from the garage to their rooms, bypassing the lobby. The TV reporter and his cameraman would need to be escorted to Townsend’s room.
Henderson parked the truck, snugged the cap brim lower and took another elevator to the lobby just in time to see Radcliffe and his cameraman escorted into another elevator – by none other than Clay Maynard, Mazzetti’s bodyguard.
Hot damn. Maybe Mazzetti was here, too. Henderson watched the elevator go all the way up until the display read ‘PH’. That made sense. The penthouse offered the tightest security.
Getting into the room would be difficult. Getting Mazzetti out, even harder. But I don’t have a choice. As long as Robinette was calling the shots, Henderson didn’t have a prayer of making it out of the country alive.
I’ll wait until the interview is completed. Then I’ll make my move.
Henderson went to the bar, relieved to find the TV set to the local news. The bartender looked up when Henderson slid onto a barstool.
‘Seltzer water, please.’ It was time for another one of Dr Sean’s painkillers and as much as Henderson wanted a drink, it was true that mixing booze with pills was a very bad plan.
The bartender served the water, while checkin
g the screen. ‘I don’t normally have it on the news,’ he said, ‘but with all the craziness this weekend, it’s a good idea to stay informed.’
‘A very good idea,’ Henderson murmured.
A teaser for the interview came on and the bartender perked up. He turned around to look up at the set over the bar. ‘Dr Townsend’s a guest here in the hotel,’ he said. ‘Real nice lady. She got here earlier with her husband. The restaurant was closed, but they were starving, so I fed them in here. She was still shaken up, poor thing. She was there at Harbor House on Saturday when the sniper hit, you know. She did CPR on one of the victims.’
‘She must be a good person.’ Too bad she’d probably have to die. If Henderson went in to get Mazzetti out, there could be no survivors left to talk to the cops.
The bartender leaned close. ‘Rumor has it that the woman she was sitting with was the real target. The lady detective.’
‘I heard about it. A terrible ordeal for both women. And for the victims, of course.’
‘You got that right,’ the bartender said. ‘’Scuse me. I have another customer.’
Henderson got comfortable, planning to stay a while. The bartender was chatty, which was nice. Chatty people tended to give up security details without even realizing it.
The vibration of the cell phone in Henderson’s pocket was unexpected and unwelcome. Only Fletcher had the number to the new disposable cell, but the caller ID didn’t belong to Robinette’s chemist. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s Westmoreland.’
‘How did you get this number?’ Fletcher, I’m going to eviscerate you.
‘From Fletch. Listen to me. You’re in danger.’
‘Duh.’ Henderson looked around, expecting to see a gun. ‘Where are you?’
‘Somewhere over the Pacific.’
Henderson blinked. ‘Excuse me?’
‘I’m done. I’m out. I’m gone. I wanted you to know you don’t have to worry about me. You deserve better than what he did to you.’
‘And what do I owe for this treasure trove of information?’ Henderson asked sarcastically.
‘An IOU, to be collected later.’
Henderson scoffed. ‘No way. I know you too well.’
‘You don’t know shit,’ he said tightly. ‘My parents’ house in Newport News was torched this morning. He did it.’
‘Oh my God. Were they hurt?’
‘No. They were out of town on vacation.’
‘That’s good. What does it have to do with me?’
‘Nothing. Everything. My mother’s in a wheelchair. If they’d been home, my dad couldn’t have gotten her out.’
‘Why did he do that? Did he know you were out, done, gone?’
‘Yeah. That’s why he did it. I’m texting you an address. There you’ll find a “care package”.’
‘Containing what?’ Henderson asked suspiciously.
‘Everything you need to . . . eliminate his threats.’
Ah. Eliminating Robinette was the IOU. ‘Weapons? Cash? Passport?’
‘Yes to the first two. Enough of the second to buy the third.’
‘Why?’ Henderson asked, even more suspiciously.
‘Because we want the same thing.’
They might now. They hadn’t yesterday when Westmoreland had come to the Key Hotel with an execution in mind. Mine.
Henderson moved to a secluded corner. ‘Forgive me if I don’t believe you, considering you tried to kill me yesterday.’
‘I wasn’t going to . . . you know. I told Robinette I was worried that you were running around pissed off, and that was true. I also told him that if you’d had intel about the bodyguard, you probably would have chosen a different approach. I was going to help you get away.’
‘Then why did you slash my tires?’
‘Because I knew you’d run before I had a chance to talk to you.’
‘And the desk clerk at the Key Hotel? I hear he’s significantly less healthy now.’ He was, in fact, dead, shot to death during the ‘commission of a robbery’.
That tidbit had come from Fletcher, who had completely freaked out over the murder, which was bizarre considering Fletcher’s special formula had the potential to kill a lot more than just one pimply-faced hotel clerk.
‘You gave the clerk my picture,’ Wes said, ‘paid him to warn you if I came close. He could ID me. You, too. What else did you expect would happen to him?’
That, I can buy. Considering Henderson hadn’t intended to leave the young man alive either. ‘Fine, whatever. Even if I believed you, which I don’t, don’t expect me to thank you.’
‘I don’t want your thanks. I want your skill. My folks are safe for now, but . . . Hold on.’ There was a pause. ‘I had to move away from a flight attendant. You want blunt, Henderson, fine. He’s lost his fucking mind. He doesn’t trust any of us and he’s doing risky things.’
‘Like?’
‘Like, did you see that report on the two cops they found dead in Maynard’s house?’
‘Yeah. I saw it on the news.’ The men’s necks had been broken. ‘I figured it was Robbie. That’s his signature move.’
‘He wasn’t supposed to be there. He’d sent me to Maynard’s looking for where he’d stashed Mazzetti, told me to check in with him every hour. I missed a check-in and he came to find me. I’d tripped the alarm in Maynard’s on purpose, intending to wait until the PI came home.’
‘Following him to the cop,’ Henderson murmured. ‘Smart.’
‘But it didn’t work. Robbie showed up after I left, then two cops showed up. He . . .’ He trailed off. ‘I want to avoid the word. You know what he did. Then he called me, pretending like he knew nothing about it. I told him I hadn’t found anything in the PI’s house so I’d try accessing his business servers. I didn’t, though. I went straight to my folks, sent them on vacation. Did you hear about the incident outside the IA cops’ house?’
Henderson had heard about Scott Culp’s murder on the radio. ‘Maynard and Mazzetti were shot at and a police sniper was wounded. That was him, too? He really has lost it.’
‘I know. You may not have family, but he’ll find a way to hurt you. We have to stop him.’
‘Easy for you to say. You’re halfway over the Pacific.’ Henderson huffed a frustrated sigh. ‘I’ll think about it. You’ll hear from me if I decide to accept.’
‘No need to contact me. I’ll know.’
Henderson lowered the phone slowly, stared at the incoming text. It was an address for the ‘care package’, in Towson, about thirty minutes away. Westmoreland was a clever bastard. This could be a trap, meant to lure me out. A quick double-check was in order. Henderson pulled up the phone’s browser, typed Newport News home fire and waited.
Sure enough, the Westmoreland home had been burned to the ground. Neighbors were stunned, but grateful. The couple had left the night before, bags packed for a long trip. ‘And thank God for that,’ a neighbor was quoted as saying. ‘Mrs Westmoreland was wheelchair-bound. She wouldn’t have made it out alive.’
A second text came through. Again from Westmoreland. Hope you’ve checked about the fire. Now you know I’m not lying. He’s got men watching the airports for you. Wherever you run, he’ll find you. You can’t get out. You need to take care of him.
So, no pressure. No pressure at all.
The television set above the bar was suddenly filled with the face of Phin Radcliffe doing a teaser for his five o’clock interview with Emma Townsend.
Mazzetti was close by. Probably right here in the hotel’s penthouse suite. Henderson could feel it. So stick with the plan. Mazzetti is the ticket out. But Westmoreland’s ‘care package’ might help with the plan’s execution.
Monday, March 17, 4.55 P.M.
Brenda Lee closed Robinette’s office door behind her. ‘Robbie, are you fucking insane?’
Robinette picked up the Rubik’s cube from his desk and gave Brenda Lee a mild look as she wheeled her chair toward him. ‘No. I’m perfectly sane. Why?’
>
‘You had dinner with a political star maker last night. You told him you were considering running for office. Why didn’t you ask me first? I had to read about it in this morning’s paper. And then today you just disappeared. All day. Where were you? I called you repeatedly.’
He decided to ignore her demands regarding his whereabouts. Brenda Lee wasn’t the kind to approve of what he’d done to the Westmoreland family home. To the political office question he would reply.
‘Lisa set it up. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.’ He tilted his head. ‘I don’t have to ask your permission. I don’t work for you, Brenda Lee. You work for me. Please remember that. Now if there’s nothing else . . .’
She blinked at him. ‘Don’t let the door hit my ass on the way out? That’s it?’
‘I didn’t say it that way, but yes.’ He had work to do. His morning adventure hadn’t ended as well as he’d hoped. The elder Westmorelands hadn’t been home, having left for a last minute vacation, and the scene was being investigated as an arson. Robinette hadn’t been going for finesse. He’d been aiming to teach Wes a lesson. But Wes had been a step ahead. Still, it served a purpose. Robinette had known Westmoreland long enough to know that he wouldn’t be able to let such an insult to his family stand. He’d come after Robinette for revenge. I can be patient.
Now he had to figure out what to do about Stevie Mazzetti. His path to the Westmorelands had also served the purpose of getting him out of Dodge in the way the cops surrounding Tanner St James’s house had least suspected. They had searched for him on the Bay Bridge going west back into the city.
Instead, Robinette had gone south, crossing over the Chesapeake through the tunnel in Virginia, avoiding detection. There had been the toll camera, true, but he’d hidden his face as he’d gone through. There would be no recognizable photo.
Still, he had to get to Mazzetti soon. If she was still at that beach house, she’d be on high alert. Not to mention that the place was surrounded by cops – Baltimore, island local, and Fed.