“Has he given that information to Fredericks?”
Art ground his teeth in irritation with where the facts were pointing and how suspicious his friend’s actions appeared. “He erased it.”
“Why would he destroy the only evidence out there that proves his innocence?”
“How was he supposed to know he’d need it?” Art snapped.
“He’s a cop — it should come with the territory,” Marek shot back.
A moment of tense silence stretched between them. Finally, Marek sighed. “Look, I know you and Ethan are close, so I hate to say this, but he is the only one who has motive. He was the heir to a massive fortune, and he had easy access to Mr. Keane. There were no signs of a break-in or a struggle.”
“He wouldn’t kill his uncle. And why would it be unusual if Ethan’s prints were on the gun? Like you said, he was a cop. They probably went to the shooting range together sometimes.”
“I’m not saying he killed him,” Marek said. “I’m just saying what it looks like. We’ve all heard the word around the station, Art. Ethan’s in the wind now. He took off after that meeting he had this morning with the Captain when the shots were fired. The Captain sent him to call for back up, and Ethan just vanished. Now he isn’t responding to our hails on his radio.”
“I know that already,” Art said impatiently. “Why are you telling me this?
“I’m just saying he disappeared faster than my ex-wife when she found out I had ED,” Marek quipped. “If he wasn’t guilty, he’d march right in here and say it. Some are starting to wonder if the shooting was an attempt on Fredericks’ life.”
“That hasn’t been proven yet. What if the shooting was an attempt on Ethan’s life?”
“I’m not so sure, buddy. Two bodies were found in an apartment building across the street where the shots came from. One was the tenant, the other remains unidentified. I did a rush on the rifle prints. Still haven’t gotten anything on one set, but Tannor’s came up. Again.” He paused a heartbeat before adding, “This is starting to smell a lot like that Martinelli case — I mean, how could you forget that one?”
The inflection in Marek’s voice did not go unnoticed by Art. “And like I said, I think it smells like a set up; Ethan was in the diner with Fredericks. There’s no way he could have fired the shots.”
“That’s not all it takes to get a job done, as you well know. Outsourcing kills — it happens all the time. And with the money he was set to inherit, he could afford any price tag.”
“Why would Ethan kill Tobias if he was already going to inherit? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Perhaps he got greedy, didn’t want to wait for the old bugger to die of natural causes. People are living longer now, you know. Maybe he got into financial trouble, started living beyond his means … just look at that condo he lives in. He can’ afford that on a detective’s salary.”
Art felt his blood pressure rising, but he bit down on the string of profanities he wanted to hurl at his colleague through the receiver. “And Fredericks? Why him?”
“Maybe Fredericks found out something. Maybe he met Ethan this morning to tell him to turn himself in. And maybe the unknown assassin was killed because he missed his target; before disappearing, Ethan had to go clean up loose ends. I don’t know, maybe —”
“Sounds like you’ve got an answer for everything,” Art growled. “Is this the kind of talk going around the department? Way to stab Ethan in the back.” He slammed the phone down. It let out a sharp clang and several heads swiveled in his direction. Art gave them all a thunderous look and they turned away.
Bastard traitors. As long as Ethan’s been one of us and you turn on him at the first sign of trouble, even when those signs make no sense.
He knew Ethan wasn’t guilty, but he couldn’t deny that some of the facts were disturbing. How were Ethan’s fingerprints on the weapon that took Tobias’s life and the sniper rifle? It didn’t add up, so the real question was: who was framing Ethan? And why?
But it was his last thought that nagged him the most. That this was beginning to look like Lewis Martinelli all over again.
57
The Terminal Scan
The beeps and wheezings of mechanical devices gave the room a bizarre ambience. Blake opened his eyes. I’m not dead. Unless Heaven or Hell looked like New York Medical.
“He’s waking up,” a soft voice said from somewhere to his right. A familiar voice.
How did I get here? Then he remembered. Ethan must have brought him.
Two body forms came into his field of vision beside the bed. On his left stood Ethan — his former self in all his glory, and completely whole. To his right was Mary Hansen, dressed in her dark blue scrubs. She reached out and touched his arm. Blake wondered how much Ethan had told her.
“What’s happened to him?” Mary stared down at Blake, but the question was directed at Ethan.
Ethan shrugged. “Like I told the admitting nurse, I don’t know. He started throwing up blood. It wasn’t until I pulled over to help him that I noticed his arm was missing.”
“This is all so strange,” Mary said, worry lines etched on her face. “What happened to you?” This time her question was for Blake.
“Mary,” Blake said, and felt his throat become thick with emotion. She seemed surprised that he knew her name. So it was possible Ethan hadn’t told her everything. “I’m dying.”
“Hold on,” Ethan said quickly, wearing an expression of sudden horror. “How?” Then, “Holy shit — am I going to die too? Is it cancer?”
“No, it’s not cancer. It’s radiation.”
“When?” Ethan’s look of alarm was almost comical. Is that what I really look like with that face?
Blake glanced at Mary. If Ethan hadn’t told her everything, he had to phrase his remarks carefully. “When I went back. I was exposed to a high amount of radiation during the … trip.”
“How do you know it’s radiation poisoning?” Mary asked.
“A Geiger counter told me so. Plus, it all makes sense now. The power source was a nuclear plant.”
“My God. We need to find these people.” Ethan took a step forward.
“They aren’t the enemy, Ethan.”
“From where you’re lying, it looks that way to me!”
“Wallace is a devious bastard. But I can understand why he does what he does. He wants to beat the Russians by any means necessary, and he has good reason.”
Ethan stole a look at Art’s wife, as if gauging her reaction to this conversation, but Blake knew they didn’t have anything to worry about. Mary might not understand what was going on, but she wasn’t the sort of person to erupt in hysterics when a situation went sideways.
“Then why the hell did he send you back?” Ethan asked. “He should have done this himself.”
“He has. Several times, it seems. He’s a dead man walking as we speak.”
“I’m not sure what this is all about, but you’re not in such good shape yourself,” Mary said. “How long ago were you exposed?”
Blake did some mental calculations. “Around ten months. But I was taking some special kind of iodide pills until a few weeks ago.”
Mary gave a nod and moved away from the bed. “If it’s truly radiation sickness, the iodide you took would have already done the most it can. The best that’s left is an injection of DTPA. It won’t cure you if it was a serious exposure, but it might help keep you mobile.” She looked at Ethan and said tentatively, “You know, it sounds like your … friend has gotten himself mixed up in something big. Maybe we should call Art.”