“Where’s Kate?” Jack lay in the back seat, a blanket over him.
“Right now she’s probably being read her rights. Then she’s gonna get booked on a slew of accessory charges for helping you.”
Jack sprung up. “We’ve gotta go back, Seth. I’ll turn myself in. They’ll let her go.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m not kidding, Seth.” Jack was halfway over the front seat.
“I’m not either, Jack. You go back and turn yourself in, that’ll do nothing to help Kate and it’ll snuff out what little shot you’ve got to get your life back to reality.”
“But Kate—”
“I’ll take care of Kate. I’ve already called a buddy at D.C. He’ll be waiting for her. He’s a good guy.”
Jack slumped back down. “Shit.”
Frank opened his window, reached out and flicked the bubble light off and tossed it on the seat beside him.
“What the hell happened?”
Frank looked in his rearview mirror. “I’m not sure. The best I can figure is that Kate picked up a tail somewhere. I was cruising the area. We were going to meet at the Convention Center after she made the drop with you. Heard over my police radio that you had been spotted. I followed the chase over the airwaves, tried to guess where you might go. Got lucky. When I saw you blow out of the alley, I couldn’t believe it. Damn near ran you down. How’s the body by the way?”
“Never better. I ought to do this crap once or twice a year just to keep me limber. Get ready for the Fleeing Felon Olympics.”
Frank chuckled. “You’re still alive and kicking, my friend. Count your blessings. So did you get any nice presents?”
Jack swore under his breath. He had been so busy running from the police that he had never even looked. He took out the packet.
“Got a light?”
Frank flicked on the dome light.
Jack flipped through the photographs.
Frank checked the mirror. “So what do we got?”
“Photos. Of the letter opener, knife, whatever the hell you want to call it.”
“Huh. Not surprising I guess. Can you make out anything?”
Jack looked closely in the poor light. “Not really. You guys must have some gadget that’ll do some good.”
Frank sighed. “I gotta be straight with you, Jack, unless there’s something else we don’t have much of a shot. Even if we can somehow pull something that looks like a print off there who’s to say where it came from? And you can’t do DNA testing on blood from a friggin’ photograph, at least not that I’m aware of.”
“I know that. I didn’t spend four years as a defense counsel picking my ass.”
Seth slowed the car down. They were on Pennsylvania Avenue and the traffic had grown heavier. “So what’s your idea then?”
Jack rubbed back his hair, dug his fingers into his leg until the pain in his knee subsided and then lay down on the seat. “Whoever’s behind all this wanted the letter opener back really bad. Enough to kill you, me, anybody else that got in the way. We’re talking paranoia at its peak.”
“Which fits in with our theory of some big shot with a lot to lose if this comes out. So? They got it back. Where does that leave us, Jack?”
“Luther didn’t make these photos just in case something happened to the original article.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He came back into the country, Seth, remember? We could never figure that one out.”
Frank stopped at a red light. He turned around in his seat.
“Right. He came back. You think you know why?”
Jack carefully sat up in the back seat, keeping his head below the window line. “I think so. Remember I told you that Luther wasn’t the kind of guy to let something like this lie. If he could he’d do something about it.”
“But he did leave the country. At first.”
“I know. Maybe that was his initial plan. Maybe that was his plan all along if the job had gone according to plan. But the fact is he came back. Something made him change his mind and he came back. And he had these photographs.” Jack spread them fanlike.
The light turned green and Frank started up again.
“I’m not getting this, Jack. If he wanted to nail the guy why not just send the stuff in to the police?”
“I think that was his plan, eventually. But he told Edwina Broome that if he told her who he had seen she wouldn’t have believed him. If even she, a close friend, wouldn’t have believed his story, considering he’d have to admit to burglary to convince someone, he probably thought that his credibility was zip.”
“Okay, so he has a credibility problem. Where do the photos come in?”
“Let’s say you’re doing a straight exchange. Cash for a certain item. What’s the hardest part?”
Frank’s reply was immediate. “The payoff. How to get your money without getting killed or caught. You can send instructions later on for the pickup of the item. It’s getting the money that’s tough. That’s why the number of kidnappings have plummeted.”
“So how would you do it?”
Frank thought for a moment. “Since we’re talking about the payoff coming from people who ain’t gonna bring in the police I’d go for speed. Take minimal personal risk, and give yourself time to run.”
“How would you do that?”
“EFT. Electronic fund transfer. A wire. I was involved in a bank embezzlement case when I was in New York. Guy did it all through the wire transfer department at his own bank. You wouldn’t believe the dollars that fly through those places on a daily basis. And you also wouldn’t believe how much stuff gets lost in the shuffle. A smart perp could take a little chunk here and there and by the time they caught it, he’d be long gone. You send your wire instructions. The money is sent out. Only takes a few minutes. Helluva lot better than rummaging through a Dumpster in a park where somebody can take a nice little bead on your head with a cannon.”
“But the sender can presumably trace the wire.”
“Sure. You have to identify the bank it’s going to. ABA routing number, you have to have an account at the bank. All that shit.”
“So, assuming the sender is sophisticated enough, they trace the wire. Then what?”
“Then they can follow the flow of money. They might be able to dig some info on the account. Although no one would be stupid enough to use their own name or Social Security number. Besides, a real smart guy like Whitney would probably have preset instructions in place. Once the funds hit the first bank, bam they get sent out to another place, and then another and another. At some point, the trail probably disappears. It’s instant money after all. Immediately available funds.”
“Fair enough. I’m betting Luther did something just like that.”
Frank carefully scratched around the edges of his bandage. His hat was pulled down tight and the whole thing was greatly uncomfortable. “But what I can’t figure is why do it at all. He didn’t need the money after the Sullivan hit. He could’ve just stayed disappeared. Let the whole thing blow over. After a while they figure he’s permanently retired. You don’t bother me, I don’t bother you.”
“You’re right. He could’ve done that. Retired. Given it up. But he came back, and more than that, he came back and apparently blackmailed whoever he saw kill Christine Sullivan. And if he presumably didn’t do it for money, then why?”
The detective thought for a moment. “To make ’em sweat. To let them know he was out there. With the evidence to destroy them.”
“But evidence he wasn’t sure was enough.”
“Because the perp was so respectable.”
“Right, so what would you do given those facts?”
Frank pulled to the curb and put the car in park. He turned around. “I’d try to get something else on them. That’s what I’d do.”