“Sorry, classified,” he said, standing up. “And Ivan’s getting hot to trot. Made his bones back in Chechnya, can’t stand to be sittin’ still in one place. Don’t you worry, once we’re clear, I’ll call the cops, tell ’em where to pick you up.”
I suppose I should have kept my mouth shut, but I couldn’t help myself. “Just like that? You want to help me out, and five minutes ago you wanted to take my head off?”
He grinned again. “That’s the job. Just following orders.”
“Stuff like that would keep me up at night.”
He slung his automatic rifle over his shoulder. “Maybe so, but you know what? I love it. I do what I have to do because of who I am, and I let somebody else worry about right or wrong, east or west, left or right, Muslim or Christian. All above my pay grade, and that’s fine with me.”
He touched his forehead with his forefinger. “Keep cool, bud. Looking forward to never seeing you again.”
Then he turned, said something in Russian again to the gunman called Ivan, and in a matter of seconds they were ghost shadows among the trees.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
A week and a presidential election later, I was standing outside the main entrance to the Grafton County House of Corrections, leaning on a metal cane, wearing donated clothing from the county. It was a cold, crisp day, and I was supposedly a free man. Buildings behind me were surrounded with coils and coils of concertina wire. A black Chevrolet Impala came up to the parking lot and stopped, and Detective Pete Renzi stepped out of the car and walked over to me.
When he stopped, he dug out a pack of Marlboro cigarettes and lit one up, took a deep drag.
“So you’re smoking again.”
“Damn observant,” he said, taking another deep drag. “The past couple of weeks would drive anybody to smoke, thanks to you.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Not here to get your apology.”
I leaned some more on my cane, felt the sharp wind cut through me. I kept quiet. He dropped the cigarette, ground it out with the heel of his shoe.
“Don’t you feel bad, nearly getting two sheriff’s deputies killed?”
“They weren’t killed,” I said. “Banged up a bit, but they weren’t killed.”
“And you can’t say anything about the Suburban that drove you guys off the road, or the two gunmen?”
“I’ve made at least two statements to the county attorney and the state’s attorney general. Don’t feel like saying anything more about that. Go check the interview transcripts if you’re still curious.”
I had a strong feeling he didn’t like what I’d just said, but I didn’t care that much. I was feeling the cold and I just wanted to leave.
Renzi said, suddenly, “I’ve been with the state for quite a few years, and I’ll be damned if I’ve ever seen anything like what happened. All the evidence associated with you and this case — your clothes, your shoes, even your damn socks — disappear from a locked facility at the state’s crime lab. Gone. Which meant a shitstorm came my way and swept up some poor crime techs, barely making enough salary to support a family.”
“Guess you know I had nothing to do with it, being the guest of the county and all that.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, Lewis. For a while, I was sure your pal Felix Tinios had something to do with it, but he had the typical ironclad alibi for the night the theft occurred. The bastard even had the same kind of alibi the night the Osgood house burned down. And here you are, free to go. No evidence, no probable-cause hearing, no trial. Congratulations.”
“Somehow I’m not feeling the sincerity, Detective.”
He took out the pack of cigarettes, looked at it, and then put it back into his coat. “Seems like a long time ago, I warned you off the matter of Curt Chesak. It’s obvious you went ahead and did what you wanted to do. Are you still on the job?”
“I’ve got more important things going on at the moment,” I said, raising up my cane a few inches.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ So let me ask you this. There were three male bodies found in the house after it burned down. Safe to say Curt Chesak was one of them?”
“You being a detective and all, I thought you might already know that.”
“Hah,” Renzi said, his voice flat. “Problem is, no fingerprints. Any recovered DNA hasn’t been matched with anything in any DNA database we’ve been able to access. Plus there’s the matter of the heads.”
“Find them yet?”
“No,” he said. “And no heads means no skulls, no teeth, and no dental records. Unless something turns up shortly, this is going to be one honking big cold case. And I don’t like cold cases, especially when I’m looking at the guy responsible for putting this case in the freezer.”
I shifted my weight on my right leg, pleased that the pain was throbbing at an acceptable level. “Heard any news about Diane Woods?”
“Couple of days ago, heard nothing had changed. Still in a coma.”
“Thanks for the information,” I said. “Wasn’t able to make any calls while I was inside.”
“You’re welcome.”
Dead leaves skittered across the asphalt. Thought for a moment or three. “Tell you this, Detective. If I may, your job is about making sure justice prevails. Trust me when I say this: justice has prevailed.”
“Who made you judge and jury?”
“Me,” I said. “Saw that a real judge and jury wasn’t ever going to decide this, and I wasn’t going to allow that to stand. A decision that I will think about forever, and a decision that I’m glad I made. And if I may, trust me on this, it’s over, it’s done, and the matter is closed.”
“Only if I say so.”
I nodded. “Agreed. Only if you say so.”
We stood there in the cold wind on a fall day, and Renzi said: “Ah, Christ, enough of this. You know what? It kills me to say this, but I think you did a good job. I’ll always deny saying this, but yeah, I’m glad to see that justice prevailed for Diane Woods. It just pisses me off mightily that you did it, that I couldn’t, and that you’re going to get away with it.”
“Not without a few bumps in the road.”
“Yeah. What’s the deal with your leg?”
“Still attached to my hip, but it’s going to hurt for a long time to come.”
“And your house?”
“Last I saw, it was still burning. Not sure what’s going to be left when I get back to Tyler Beach.”
“Hell of a thing.”
“Yeah.”
Another few moments passed, and he said, “Well, I’m heading back to Concord, see if there’s anything new about the crime lab break-in. But I’m not holding my breath.”
“Seems like a wise choice.”
“Give you a ride?”
I spotted a vehicle coming up the paved access road. “No, I’m all set.”
“Good. Hope you have better days.”
“You too.”
As Detective Renzi drove off, a black stretch limousine pulled in, bearing Massachusetts license plates. It made a circuit of the parking lot, like it was trying to show the inmates inside what was waiting for them if they got out, kept their noses clean, and, most important of all, if they made the right friends.
The limousine pulled in front of me, the rear door opened up, and Felix Tinios came out, breath misting some in the cold air. He had on a charcoal gray cloth coat that went down to his knees, red turtleneck shirt, gray slacks, and black shoes. His face was tanned and his black hair was set and perfect, and he came up to me, slid an arm through mine.
“Come along, my friend,” he said. “It’s time for you to go home.”
“Not much of a home left.” I started walking, using the cane, leaning on Felix.
“True enough. Should have thought better before opening my mouth. Hey, I heard there was a fire up here, more than a week ago. Where you were found sitting outside on the front lawn. Hell of a coincidence, eh?”