Stopping at a strip mall, he bought some supplies and cleaned up as best he could. There were red smudges ingrained in the leather that he couldn’t get out. No amount of scrubbing seemed to help. After a while he gave up trying and tossed the floor mat and the leftover supplies into a dumpster. He’d wait until the next day to buy a new floor mat and to get the interior cleaned. He felt too tired at that moment to do much of anything but head home.
When Carol saw him, she asked what was wrong.
“Nothing. I’m just beat. Why?”
“You have blood on your shirt.”
He looked down and saw she was right. “I had a nosebleed. Nothing too serious.”
“I can’t remember you ever having one before.”
“What can I tell you. I had one. It happens, okay?”
“Okay,” she said, hurt. “You don’t have to bite my head off.”
“Sorry, I’m just tired. And having a nosebleed kind of threw me. I’m going upstairs to lie down for a few minutes.” As he walked past her, she told him Peyton called. “He’s going to pick us up tomorrow at twelve.”
Puzzled, Dan asked what for.
Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Gordon’s funeral. He said he already talked to you about it. You were planning on us going, weren’t you?”
From the way she was studying him, he knew he had no choice in the matter. Not unless he wanted to bring back her suspicions from the other day. “I guess I’d forgotten about it,” he said.
25
“You sleeping in there? We’ve got laws in this city against public loitering.”
Maguire opened his eyes but didn’t bother looking out his driver’s-side window. It was one of those hot, muggy summer days. Not even ten o’clock yet and over ninety degrees. Maguire looked uncomfortable, his shirt collar soaked through, perspiration beading his neck and face. He said, “I saw you when you pulled up behind Petrenko.”
Resnick stood next to Maguire’s Ford Mustang, holding a cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. “I take it Brown’s inside.”
Maguire nodded. “He’s been in there since the bank opened.” Rolling his eyes, he added, “I never got a chance to thank you for recommending me for this assignment. Nothing I enjoy more during the summer than sitting for hours in a hot, stuffy car. It’s been a thrill a minute.”
Resnick took a sip of his coffee and burned the inside of his mouth. “Not my fault. I recommended someone watch Brown. Putting you on him was Hadley’s idea. He’s trying to keep us busy until the FBI wraps up their deal with Lombardo.”
“He’s got you on Petrenko?”
“Yeah.” Resnick blew on the coffee before taking another sip.
“Viktor had some business in the North End yesterday, probably meeting with one of Lombardo’s bosses.”
“Probably?”
“I lost him for an hour.”
“Tough luck. It would’ve been nice to know who he met with.”
“How about you, anything going on with Brown?”
“Sort of.” Maguire wiped a hand across his forehead, the sweat spiking up his hair. “Thursday night a van slowed down in front of his house and then drove off. The windows were tinted, so I couldn’t see inside, but my gut was they drove off only because they spotted me.”
“Did you get a license plate?”
“Yep. Van’s owned by a dry-cleaner on Forrest Street. The Russian owner looked scared when I talked to him. He claimed the van was stolen.”
Resnick shook his head. “They were going to try to snatch Brown.”
“Probably, but nothing we can prove.” Maguire raised an eyebrow. “Petrenko’s been in there over ten minutes. Do you think one of us should go in and check up on him?”
“Petrenko’s not going to do anything. He knows we’re both out here.” Resnick gave a thoughtful look as he took another sip of his coffee. “Unless he loses his temper.”
Maguire started to look nervous. He wiped his hand across his forehead again and up over his scalp, the sweat now matting down his hair. “I’m going to take a lot of shit if something happens to Brown. I better go in there.”
“Relax. Petrenko’s a bank customer, he’s got every right to be in there. And who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky and be able to bring assault charges against him. Let’s give him another ten minutes.”
Maguire settled back in his seat. “Whatever you say. You’re the senior detective here.”
Resnick finished his coffee, crumpled the Styrofoam cup and slipped it into his pants pocket. “Any idea how long a drive it is to Greenwich, Connecticut?” he asked.
“Over three hours. Why?”
“I’m thinking of going to a funeral.”
Shrini’s foot hurt like hell. He took another codeine tablet – his fourth since he’d woken up, although with the drugs he’d been given he wasn’t so much sleeping as passing out.
As he had suspected, the bullet had broken his ankle and three bones in his foot. The story he gave at the emergency room was that he accidentally shot himself while hunting up in New Hampshire. The doctor seemed skeptical, but didn’t push him or get the police involved. Didn’t even question him as to why he drove back to Massachusetts before seeking medical attention. After cleaning out the wound and setting a cast from his shin to his toe, he was released. The doctor gave Shrini the name of a specialist for him to contact. If the bones weren’t setting right he would need surgery. Also, there was a chance he’d develop arthritis and end up with a limp.
He felt thirsty and wanted a Coke, but that meant he’d have to hobble over to the refrigerator. He had his leg propped up on the sofa, and while he sat staring at the fiberglass cast covering his foot, he thought up ways of getting even with that strutting peacock. One idea in particular struck him. As miserable as he felt, as much as the dull ache from his foot seemed to throb throughout his body, he couldn’t keep from smiling when he thought over that particular idea.
Craig Brown crossed one leg over the other, his face set in a smug frown as he talked in circles about why the bank wasn’t responsible for Petrenko’s losses. Petrenko had already heard one mealy-mouthed excuse after the next about why the security system had failed to work properly, and now this. When he first entered the bank manager’s office there was a small amount of fear in the man’s eyes. But as Brown mistook Petrenko’s seemingly patient, almost passive behavior for acquiescence, the fear dissolved, replaced by an air of superiority. The more he talked the more emboldened he became, thinking that Petrenko was here to play by the rules. This worm of a man actually believed he had the upper hand.
“It’s stated in the contract you signed that we can’t be held responsible for any items lost from a safety deposit box,” Brown explained. He stopped to search through a stack of papers before finding a copy of the contract. He held the paper out to Petrenko, who ignored it.
“The contract states clearly that it is your responsibility to insure the contents of your safety deposit box against theft,” he added.
“My boxes were the only ones broken into, correct?”
“I understand how that may seem-”
“How did they find out which boxes I owned?” Petrenko asked.
“I couldn’t say.”
Petrenko smiled thinly. “If I were you I would figure out a way that I could say.”
Brown frowned, clearing his throat. “I don’t appreciate threats-”
“No, please don’t mistake this for a threat. Somehow these criminals knew which boxes I owned. I would like to know how.”
“Maybe they received the information from you,” Brown answered stiffly.
“That is not possible. Who at this bank would have access to my box numbers?”
Brown’s color paled as he realized the information was stored in a database that almost any of the employees could access. “I don’t know,” he said.
Petrenko nodded to himself, understanding Brown’s reaction. In his pocket he had a hypodermic needle filled with enough digoxin to induce a fatal heart attack. When injected into a person’s gums, it is nearly impossible for a medical examiner to find the puncture mark and rule the death anything other than a heart attack. This was not new to him. He had used digoxin before in the Soviet Union on state prisoners, knew the effect it had on the victim, how much noise would be made and how long it would take before death. Of course, the two cops outside would find this man’s death suspicious, but let them prove otherwise. Petrenko stared at Brown and tried to decide whether to keep playing this game or use the necessary force to make this man talk. After he extracted the information he needed, the digoxin would be used.