Ethan had since watched Lopez abandon the moral principles with which she had conducted her work as a detective in favor of bagging the perps by whatever means necessary. Lucas Tyrell had been a liability to the Metro PD, but he’d gotten results, and Lopez was emulating her fallen mentor just as closely as she could.
‘Corruption got Lucas killed,’ she shot back. ‘Justice got him revenge. You gonna get out of my way or do I have to put you on your ass too?’
Reluctantly, Ethan took a step back. Lopez had a reputation as a short fuse, but since losing her partner she seemed to have relinquished whatever remaining grip she had on her temper. The last time he’d seen her lose it was when they hunted down a bail-runner to a shabby roadside diner in Battle Creek, Michigan. Three heavyweight bikers from the local chapter of the Devil’s Disciples had taken a liking to the fugitive and were vaguely amused to see Lopez arrive with her badge, nightstick and bad attitude. It wasn’t their deliberate obstruction that had set her off, just their idle dismissal. Two broken noses, a severed knee tendon and one fractured collarbone later, fugitive James Watson sheepishly surrendered and was dragged by Lopez over the groaning bodies of his would-be protectors. It had been over before Ethan had even got through the door.
‘Just looking out for you,’ he said finally, raising his hands and making for the driver’s door. ‘We’re no good to each other if one of us is in jail.’
‘You’re the one with history,’ Lopez remarked as they climbed into the SUV. ‘My record’s pearly clean.’
‘You’s a jailbird?’ Mickey Ferranto muttered from the back seat, looking at Ethan.
‘Can it, Mickey,’ Ethan snapped as he started the engine and looked at Lopez. ‘I’m a reformed character. You’re the one on the slippery slope into shameful lawlessness.’
Lopez shook her head and laughed as they pulled out into their lane.
‘We set ourselves up to catch bail-jumpers and fugitives. They don’t obey the law, we have to bend the rules to pick them up.’
‘That how it is?’ Ethan asked rhetorically.
‘That’s how it is.’
‘That really how it is?’ Mickey Ferranto complained.
‘Shut up,’ Ethan glared over his shoulder. ‘My point is that there’s plenty of competition out there and we can’t afford to get ourselves busted.’
‘We can’t afford much at all,’ Lopez muttered and jabbed her thumb over her shoulder at Ferranto. ‘We’re not bagging enough of these losers to make ends meet.’
‘I ain’t no loser,’ Mickey complained.
‘No?’ Lopez turned round in her seat to look at him. ‘You’re a twenty-three-year-old who’s just cost his mother a couple of thousand bucks jail bond for nothing more than possession of an illegal substance. You’d turned up in court like you were supposed to, you’d have probably been released because you’re not important enough, Mickey; you’re a nobody. Only a loser like you could turn a nothing into a jail sentence.’
Mickey avoided her gaze and looked sulkily out of the window as Ethan turned toward Cook County Jail.
‘Maybe we should spread out more, cover more area,’ Ethan suggested. ‘Maybe even link up with some of the other bondsmen out there.’
‘Maybe,’ Lopez echoed. ‘Or maybe we just need to stop scraping around in the dirt for nobodies like Mickey here and pick up something more lucrative.’
Ethan began to answer when a black sedan pulled out in front of the SUV, passing within inches of his front fender. He was about to remonstrate when another identical car pulled alongside him, boxing the SUV in.
‘What the hell?’ Lopez muttered, instinctively reaching for her pistol before remembering that she was no longer legally allowed to carry one. Her hand rested on her baton instead.
‘Government plates,’ Ethan said, glancing at the rear of the sedan in front of them as it indicated it was turning off the road.
‘You gonna follow?’ Lopez asked.
Ethan shrugged, then turned to follow the sedan.
5
The sedans guided them north on Harlem Avenue before turning off the highway into Waldheim Cemetery. Lonely ranks of gravestones spread across several acres of carefully manicured lawns shaded by hundreds of trees. Ethan followed the lead car until it pulled into a secluded spot off Greenburg Road in the northwest corner of the cemetery.
Ethan killed the engine and looked in his mirrors suspiciously.
‘What the hell is this shit, man?’ Mickey Ferranto whined. ‘I want to speak to my attorney.’
Lopez shot him a toxic look.
‘See all these gravestones, Mickey? You wanna join them, you just keep talking.’
Ethan climbed out of the SUV and closed the door. Lopez joined him. For a moment, nothing moved. Then two men climbed out of each vehicle, all sporting gray suits, designer shades and earpieces. They moved to guard the SUV, one of them gesturing to the still open doors of the sedan ahead.
‘Great disguise, guys,’ Ethan said as he moved toward the car. ‘We’d never have known.’
The men ignored Ethan, instead standing rigidly to attention as he walked to the sedan and climbed into the rear seat. Lopez joined him from the other side.
‘Very cloak and dagger,’ Ethan said as they closed the doors. ‘Are we off to Tracy Island?’
Douglas Jarvis, an elderly man dressed immaculately in a dark blue suit that contrasted with his neatly parted white hair, turned in the front seat and offered Ethan a grin.
‘I see you’re back to your usual self, Ethan.’ He looked at Lopez. ‘Nicola, how’s things?’
‘Could be busier,’ she replied cautiously. ‘What’s the occasion? And why not call us instead of damn near running us off the road?’
‘Security,’ Jarvis replied calmly. ‘Calls can be monitored, and we want our little accord with you two to remain discreet, remember? The Defense Intelligence Agency has uncovered an anomalous incident that occurred twenty-four hours ago in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The trail’s already gone cold and management aren’t keen to send agency resources in to investigate.’
‘Which is where we come in, right?’ Ethan said.
Douglas Jarvis had once been the captain of a United States Marines rifle platoon, a post he had held when Ethan had served as a lieutenant in the Corps. Their friendship, cemented during the invasion of Iraq, had extended to Jarvis’s current employment with the Defense Intelligence Agency and to their unusual, discreet accord with Warner/Lopez Inc.
‘Command and control won’t throw money at this, and the Pentagon’s certainly not interested,’ Jarvis confirmed. ‘It’s the perfect case, well worth your time.’
‘What’s the story?’ Lopez asked, curious, despite herself.
Jarvis produced a glossy black file and handed it to her.
‘Santa Fe Medical Examiner autopsied the remains of a desert bum by the name of Hiram Conley, found dead after a clash with state troopers. Ten hours after Hiram Conley died his remains were described as mummified. The examiner attempted to extract material from the body and found an intact bullet that fell from the victim’s shoulder, and another, older one lodged in his right femur. They got the older bullet to the state crime laboratory for tests.’
‘So what’s the big deal?’ Ethan asked.
Jarvis gestured to the file that Lopez was holding.
‘The state laboratory ran tests on the bullet, which was found to be a musket ball, and we picked up jurisdiction of the case after they made inquiries to the FBI at Quantico. Carbon dating, along with estimates of bone regrowth around the ball prior to extraction, confirms that the wound was sustained approximately one hundred forty years ago.’