"Just answer me this, see if I have this right. This morning Gilbert Spencer and a couple of field agents-I'm guessing they were named Nevins and Uhlig-come out and give you the news that the bullet you sent to Washington matched up with Kenyon. Right?"
"So far, but that's no great-"
"I'm not done. Next, he tells you the bureau would like to look into your case and the LAPD case but that initially there seems to be no likely connection other than the weapon. He says, after all, Kenyon is a professional hit and you guys are working two street robberies. Not only that, his shooter used a Devastator on Kenyon and your guy used something else. Federals. That backs the bureau theory that the professional shooter in the Kenyon case discarded his weapon somewhere and the shooter from your two cases then came along and picked it up. End of connection. How am I doing so far?"
"Dead on."
"Okay, so you asked Spencer for information on the Kenyon killing just so you could do your own cross-checking but that didn't go over so well."
"He said the Kenyon case was at a-quote-sensitive point and that he would rather us peons be on a need-to-know basis."
"And Hitchens agreed to that?"
"He went along for the ride."
"And did anybody serve the cannoli?"
"What?"
McCaleb spent the next five minutes explaining the cannoli connection, reading her the transcript from the bugs in Kenyon's house and the conclusions of the cryptology report. Winston said these were all facts that Gilbert Spencer had not mentioned during the morning meeting. McCaleb knew that he would not have. McCaleb had been in the bureau. He knew how it worked. Given the opportunity, you brush the locals aside and say that the bureau will handle it from here.
"So the cannoli connection makes it clear this wasn't a throw-away gun that our guy happened to pick up," McCaleb said. "It's the same shooter on all three. Kenyon, then Cordell, then Torres. Whether the bureau people knew that going in to your meeting, I don't know. But if you copied them the case file and the tapes, they know it now. The question is, how do these three killings fit together?"
Winston was silent for a moment before finally expressing her confusion.
"Man, I have no-well, maybe they don't connect. Look, if it's a contract killer like the bureau says, maybe they were three separate contracts. You know? Maybe there is no connection other than the same killer did all three on three separate jobs."
McCaleb shook his head and said, "It's possible, I guess, but nothing makes sense. I mean, what did Gloria Torres have that would make her a pro hitter's target? She worked in the print shop at the newspaper."
"It could have been something she saw. Remember what you said Friday about there being some connection between the two, Torres and Cordell? Well, maybe it's still the same, only the connection is something they saw or something they knew."
McCaleb nodded.
"What about the icons, the things taken from Cordell and Torres?" he asked, more to himself than to Winston.
"I don't know," she said. "Maybe it's a hitter who likes to take souvenirs. Maybe he had to prove to his employer that he had hit the right people. Is there anything in the reports about anything being taken from Kenyon?"
"Not that I have seen yet."
His mind was a jumble of possibilities. Winston's question made him realize that in his excitement he had called her too soon. He still had a stack of unread Kenyon files. The connection he was looking for might be there.
"Terry?"
"Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking. Look, let me call you back. I've got some more stuff to go through and I might be able-"
"What stuff do you have?"
"I think I've got everything, or almost everything, that Spencer wasn't telling you."
"I would say that that is going to buy you back into the captain's good graces."
"Well, don't say anything to him yet. Let me figure out a little more about this and I'll call you."
"You promise?"
"Yeah."
"Then say it. I don't want you pulling any bureau bullshit on me."
"Hey, I'm retired, remember? I promise."
An hour and a half later McCaleb finished going through the bureau documents. The adrenaline that had jazzed him before had dissipated. He had learned a lot of new information as he read the reports but nothing that hinted at a connection between Kenyon and Cordell and Torres.
The rest of the bureau documents contained a lengthy printout of the names, addresses and investment histories of the two thousand victims of the savings and loan collapse. And neither Cordell nor Torres had been investors.
The bureau had had to consider every victim of the S&L collapse a suspect in the Kenyon shooting. Each name on the investors list was backgrounded and screened for criminal connections and other flags that might elevate it to viable suspect status. A dozen or so investors were raised to that level but then eventually cleared through full field investigations.
The investigation had then shifted its focus toward theory two, that Kenyon's phantom was real and had ordered the hit on the man who had stolen millions for him.
This theory gathered momentum after it was learned that Kenyon had been about to reveal whom he had turned over the stolen S&L funds to. According to a statement from Kenyon's attorney, Stanley LaGrossa, Kenyon had decided to cooperate with authorities in hopes of getting the U.S. Attorney's office to petition the judge who sentenced him to reduce his penalty. LaGrossa said that on the morning Kenyon was murdered, they had planned to meet to discuss how LaGrossa would go about negotiating his cooperation.
McCaleb flipped back through the reports and reread the short transcript of the phone call Kenyon made to LaGrossa just minutes before the murder. The brief exchange between the lawyer and his client appeared to back up LaGrossa's claim that Kenyon was ready to cooperate.
The bureau theory, outlined in a supplemental report to LaGrossa's statement, was that Kenyon's silent partner either was taking no chances and eliminated Kenyon or he eliminated Kenyon after specifically learning that his partner was planning to cooperate with government investigators. The supplemental report noted that federal agents and prosecutors had not yet been approached by the Kenyon camp with the overture of cooperation. That meant that if there was a leak to the silent partner, it came from Kenyon's people, possibly even LaGrossa himself.
McCaleb got up and poured a glass of orange juice, emptying one of the half-gallon cartons he had bought on Saturday morning. As he drank, he thought about what all of the Kenyon information meant to the investigation. It clouded things for sure. Despite the early jolt of adrenaline, he now realized he was basically back to ground zero, no closer to knowing who killed Gloria Torres and why than he was when he opened the package mailed from Carruthers.
As he rinsed out the glass, he noticed two men coming down the main gangway to the docks. They were dressed in almost matching blue suits. Anybody in a suit stood out on the docks-usually, it was a bank loan officer come to chain down a boat for repossession. But McCaleb knew better this time. He recognized the demeanor. They were coming for him. Vernon Carruthers must have been found out.
Quickly, McCaleb went to the table and gathered up the bureau documents. He then split off the sheaf of pages that listed the names, addresses and other information about the savings and loan collapse. He put that thick packet in one of the overhead cabinets in the kitchen. The rest of the documents he shoved into his leather bag, which he then put into the cabinet under the chart table.
He slid the salon door open and stepped out into the cockpit to greet the two agents. He closed and locked the door behind him.
"Mr. McCaleb?" the younger one said. He had a mustache, daring by bureau standards.
"Let me guess, Nevins and Uhlig."
They didn't look happy about being identified. "Can we come aboard?"
"Sure."
The younger one was introduced as Nevins. Uhlig, the senior agent, did most of the talking.
"If you know who we are, then
you know why we are here. We don't want this to get any messier than it has to be. Especially taking into account your service to the bureau. So if you give us the stolen files, it can all end right here."
"Whoa," McCaleb said, holding his hands up. "Stolen files?"
"Mr. McCaleb," Uhlig said. "It has come to our attention that you are in the possession of confidential FBI files. You are no longer an agent. You should not be in possession of these files. As I just said, if you want to make this a problem for you, we can make it a problem for you. But all we really want is the files back."
McCaleb stepped over and sat on the gunwale. He was trying to think about how they knew and it came back to Carruthers. It was the only way. Vernon must have gotten jammed up in Washington and had to give McCaleb up. But it was unlike his old friend to do that, no matter what pressure they put on him.
He decided to trust his instincts and call the bluff. Nevins and Uhlig knew Carruthers had run the ballistics laser comparison at McCaleb's request. That was no secret. They must have then assumed that Carruthers would have forwarded him copies oaf the computer files.
"Forget it, guys," he finally said. "I don't have any files, stolen or otherwise. You got bad info."
"Then how'd you know who we were?" Nevins asked.
"Easy. I found out today when you guys went to the sheriff's office and told them to keep me out of the case."
McCaleb folded his arms and looked past the two agents to Buddy Lockridge's boat. Buddy was sitting in the cockpit, sipping from a can of beer and watching the scene with the two suits on The Following Sea.
"Well, we're going to have to take a look around, then, to make sure," Uhlig said.
"Not without a warrant and I doubt you've got a warrant."
"We didn't need one after you gave us permission to enter and search."
Nevins stepped over to the salon door and tried to slide it open. He found it was locked. McCaleb smiled.
"Only way you're getting in there is to break it, Nevins. And that won't look much like permission granted, you ask me. Besides, you don't want to do that with an uninvolved witness watching."
Both agents started looking around the marina. Finally, they spotted Lockridge, who held his beer can up as a greeting. McCaleb watched as anger turned Uhlig's jaw rigid.
"Okay, McCaleb," the senior agent said. "Keep the files. But I'm telling you right now, smart guy, don't get in the way. The bureau's in the process of taking over the case and the last thing we need is some tin man amateur without a badge or his own heart fucking things up for us."
McCaleb could feel his own jaw drawing tight.
"Get the fuck off my boat."
"Sure. We're going."
They both climbed back up onto the dock. As they headed to the gangway, Nevins turned around and said, "See you around, Tin Man."
McCaleb watched them all the way through the gate.
"What was that all about?" Lockridge called over.
McCaleb waved him off while still watching the agents.
"Just some old friends come to pay a visit."
It was nearly 8P .M. in the east. McCaleb called Carruthers at his home. His friend said he had already been through the wringer.
"I told them, I said, 'Hey, I turned over my information to Lewin. Yes, I put a push on the package at the request of former agent McCaleb, but I did not furnish a copy of the report or any other reports to him.' Hey, they don't believe me, then they can shove it. I'm fully vested. They want me out, I'm out. Then they can pay me every time I have to come in to testify on one of my cases. And I got voluminous cases, if you know what I mean."
He was speaking as if for a third party listening in. And with the bureau, you never knew if there wasn't. McCaleb followed suit.
"Same thing out here. They came around, tried to act like I had reports I don't have and I told them to get off my damn boat."
"Yeah, you're cool."
"So are you, Vernon. I'm gonna go. Watch the following sea, man."
"What's that?"
"Watch your back."
"Oh, right. You, too."
Winston picked up the call on a half ring.
"Where have you been?"
"Busy. Nevins and Uhlig just paid me a little visit. Did you copy them everything you copied to me last week?"
"The files, tapes, Hitchens gave them everything."
"Yeah, well, they must've made the cannoli connection. They're coming after the case, Jaye. You're going to have to hang on."
"What are you talking about? The bureau can't just take over a murder investigation."
"They'll find a way. They won't take it away but they'll take charge. I think they know there's more than the gun connecting the cases. They're assholes but they're smart assholes. I think they figured out the same thing I did once they looked at the tapes you gave them. They know it's the same shooter and that there is something hooking all three of these hits together. They came by to intimidate me, to get me off it. Next it will be you."
"If they think I'm just going to turn this whole thing over to them and-"
"It's not you. They'll go to Hitchens. And if he doesn't agree to back off, then they go farther up the ladder. I was one of them, remember? I know how it works. The higher you go, the more pressure points."
"Damn!"
"Welcome to the club."
"What are you going to do?"
"Me? Tomorrow I'm going back to work. I don't have to answer to the bureau or Hitchens or anybody else. Just myself on this one."
"Well, you might be the only one with a shot at this. Good luck."
"Thanks. I could use it."
26
McCALEB DIDN'T GET to the notes and financial records he had taken from Amelia Cordell until the end of the day. Tired from all the desk work, he quickly scanned the notes and came across nothing in the widow's recollections that sparked any interest in him. From the bank statements he quickly determined that Cordell was paid every Wednesday by direct deposit. During the three months for which McCaleb had statements, Cordell had made an ATM withdrawal on every payday at the same bank branch at which he was eventually killed. The significance of this was that it confirmed that, like Gloria Torres's nightly stop at the Sherman Market, Cordell had been following a definable pattern when he had been murdered. It gave more credence to the belief that the shooter had watched his victims-in Cordell's case for a minimum of a week, but probably longer.
McCaleb was glancing through the credit card statements when he felt the boat dip and looked out to see Graciela stepping down into the stern. It was a pleasant surprise.
"Graciela," he said as he stepped out to the stern. "What are you doing here?"
"You didn't get my message?"
"No, I-oh, I haven't checked messages."
"Well, I called and said I was coming down. I wrote up some things about Glory. Like you asked."
McCaleb almost groaned. More paperwork. Instead, he told her he appreciated her doing the work so quickly after his request.
He noticed that she carried a duffel bag slung over her arm. He took it from her.
"What's in the bag? You didn't write that much, did you?"
She looked at him and smiled.
"My stuff. I'm thinking about staying over again."
McCaleb felt a little thrill inside, even though he knew that her staying over didn't necessarily mean they would be sleeping together.
"Where's Raymond?"
"With Mrs. Otero. She'll also get him to school tomorrow. I'm taking the day off."
"How come?"
"So I can be your driver."
"I already have somebody to drive me. You don't have to take-"
"I know but I want to. Besides, I made an appointment for you at the Times with Glory's boss. And I want to go with you when you talk to him."
"Okay, you got the job."
She smiled and he led her into the salon.
After McCaleb took her bag down to the stateroom and poured her a gl
ass of wine from a new bottle of red, he sat with her in the stern and began going over the case's new developments. As he told her about Kenyon, her eyes widened as she struggled to accept the idea that there was a connection somewhere between her sister and the murdered criminal.
"Nothing obvious comes to mind, right?" he asked.
"No. I have no idea how they could be . . ."
She didn't finish.