"Didn't think it would hurt. How're you holding up?"
"Fine. Things haven't really cranked up yet. We got our first shipment. You probably saw that. I'm supposed to be rounding up customers now."
"You're covered," Joe told her. "I have Peter Bullis steering some of his CIs over there to make buys, all claiming you sent them. As for helping you dig up the competition, I think we hit a gold mine with this young B-and-E maverick of Peter's."
"The Schemer?" she asked.
"The one and only. He was as good as advertised." Gunther handed her a sheet of paper, which she could only make out as a pale rectangle.
"It's a list," he explained. "Names and addresses, or at least locations. I wrote it by hand with a pencil to make it look like the kid did it himself. You can claim to Manuel that's how you got it, if he asks, since we're putting George Backer on ice for a while. Peter's checked everything out, of course. He vouches for it all."
She folded the page up and put it in her back pocket. "How many names are there?"
"Eight. Only major players. He has dozens more, all filed in his head. Kid's amazing. He has dates, the ways the houses were laid out, exactly what he stole. Lester said it was like listening to a chess champion of theft. Incredibly engaging, too. Bullis had already warned us-said we'd probably want to take him home after meeting him. Almost right, from what I saw."
Sam was understandably skeptical. "What's Lester's take on him?"
"Told me he feels like the real McCoy. That list is supposedly only those people who actually deal on a significant level, whether they import the stuff themselves or just handle it once it hits town. Spinney and Bullis are still extracting more background information-what Backer can tell them about supply lines, way stations, and anything else." Gunther pointed at her pocket. "The names with an 'H' next to them are people the kid thought had been contacted by or were already working with Hollowell before he was killed."
"Any red flags?"
"Not that we've found so far. You'll have to play it by ear in any case. They aren't all skanky dopers living in dumps. Some of them are businesspeople in town-respectable citizens, so called."
"You have paper on them?" she asked.
"If you want that. I thought ignorance might be bliss in this case, though, since you'll be approaching them as a competitor. Might look suspicious if you knew their rap sheets."
She nodded. "Good point."
"You getting on with Manuel?" Joe asked after a pause.
She looked up at his darkly shadowed face, wishing she could read his expression. This was the second time he'd asked that. "Yeah. He's an interesting guy. Surprising."
Joe nodded, pondering the possible meanings of the word.
Sam then dropped her small bombshell. "Willy came by to tell me to bail out."
"When?"
"Last night. Right after I ditched the phone."
"You think anyone saw him?" Joe was clearly perturbed, and Sam wondered why she'd even brought it up. Willy was going to get a serious thrashing for this one.
"Unlikely. You know how he can come and go when he wants. One moment he was in the back seat of the car, the next he was gone. Joe, do me a favor, will you?"
"What?"
"Don't go after him for this. He's feeling left out is all. He wouldn't blow my cover. You nail him, and it's only going to cause me grief down the road. I only mentioned it because I felt I had to."
Joe was immediately conciliatory. "No, no. I see what you're saying. I'd like to rip his head off, though."
She laughed, grateful for the opportunity. "Yeah, well, join the crowd. Just find another excuse and leave me out of it."
"You got it." He looked around at the distant ring of lights. "I guess we better wrap this up. You sure you're all right?"
"I'm fine, boss."
"Okay, then." He almost sounded disappointed. He quickly looped his arm across her shoulders and gave her a hug. "You better scat."
She smiled at that, as if he were releasing her to the playground. "See ya, Joe."
* * *
Gunther watched her vanish into the surrounding gloom with mixed feelings. If he'd ever had a daughter, he could've done far worse than Sam, which was why his concerns for her played more to his paternalistic side than the supervisory one. She could be impulsive and headstrong, of course, but many good cops were. It was more her emotional welfare that worried him. She'd matured over the years. That was true. And maybe it was just his having known her for so long that made him uncertain now. But he always sensed with her an undercurrent of longing to be someone else, and with it a certain fatalism that she was stuck on a course she could do nothing about.
They'd never discussed this in detail, not along those lines, at least. It had never seemed appropriate.
But it did keep him wondering.
Letting out a small sigh, he turned on his heel and began crossing the ghostly fairgrounds to where he'd parked his car.
He was halfway there when he felt his cell phone vibrate on his belt.
"Hello?"
"Joe? It's me. Gail."
He stopped in his tracks. He could tell from her voice something was wrong. "What happened? You okay?"
"Yeah. . Well, not really. I mean, I'm not hurt or anything. I just had a bad experience."
"Tell me."
"It's stupid. I am such a fool. I almost didn't call you because I didn't want to admit it. Even my sister saw it coming."
He stayed silent, giving her time to get to where she was going. He was happy enough they were finally talking-the topic seemed almost secondary.
"It's Debbie Holton. I caught her and her boyfriend robbing my home. They were wrestling with the big TV set in the living room when I walked in on them, for Christ's sake. It must weigh a ton."
"They broke in?" he asked.
She sounded mournful. "No. She was staying with me. I took her in. It was just a con they cooked up to rip me off. I feel like such a jerk."
"You were hurting. They took advantage. That's not being a jerk."
There was a long silence he let pass before finally saying matter-of-factly, "There's more."
"I used that gun you gave me."
Something in his chest collapsed. "You shot someone?"
"No. Almost. I shoved it up the boyfriend's nose and pushed him off his feet."
He burst out laughing with relief. "Jesus, Gail. Nice job."
But she didn't join him. "He had a knife on me, Joe. I thought it was going to happen all over again. He even touched me with its point, just like before."
He held his other hand up to his forehead. "Ah, shit. I am so sorry. You have anyone to talk to?"
"Yeah. I have friends here right now. I just ducked out 'cause I wanted you to know."
"I'd like to come see you, if that's all right."
"I was hoping you would."
He was relieved by her acceptance. Years back, that hadn't been the case. It had taken a long time for her to take him back into her life.
"I'll be there in a little over an hour."
Chapter 17
Lester Spinney killed the lawn mower motor, wiped his face with a rag from his jeans pocket, and walked to the open door of the garage to admire his handiwork. It wasn't much of a yard but still looked good. He'd taken his time putting in flower beds, pruning the two small trees, and tending to the grass obsessively enough that he could claim in all honesty that it was the most attractive lawn at this end of Summer Street, and maybe for several blocks around. He had to ruefully concede the qualifiers, however. As with most of Springfield, Summer Street was nothing if not inconsistent. To the west, closer to downtown, there was a string of nineteenth-century mansions. There was no competing with their lawns. Immediately around him, however, were blocks where an abandoned car in the front yard fit in like a birdbath would elsewhere. Spinney's pride, therefore, was rightfully constrained to as far as his eye could see.