“I get it,” Tim said. “Play it both ways.”
The faint beat of a one-note chuckle. “No other way I can help you.”
“So help me.”
A long pause. “Not much in the way of evidence at Rayner’s house. His office had a bunch of surveillance shit on you-as you know-but not much else. Creepy to look at it. Speaking of, I didn’t know you had anxiety attacks after Croatia.”
“They weren’t att-” Tim took a deep breath. “C’mon, Bear. What else?”
“Kindell was safe and sound. He didn’t want to come in-doesn’t trust police custody, imagine that-and we couldn’t really justify it anyway, as he’s not looking like a target. And the big news-Dumone suck-started his revolver this afternoon in his hospital room.”
Though he’d braced himself for the news, it still took Tim a moment to speak again. “Is Tannino taking the case public?”
A long pause. “Tomorrow night.”
“How much of it? Am I gonna make the news?”
“That I will not answer.” Tim heard Bear hawk up some phlegm and spit. “I got work to do.”
“Fine. Do me one more favor.”
“I think we’re well over the limit already.”
“Ananberg had a Rhodesian Ridgeback. Damn fine dog. He’s probably trapped in her apartment right now, starving and full of piss. If the investigators find him, they’ll dump him at the pound. Go pick him up. You need the company anyway.”
Bear grunted and hung up.
Tim tried Robert’s and Mitchell’s Nextels again-immediate voice mail-then called the Stork and got a message saying the number had been disconnected. The Stork was too technologically savvy even to have the old Nextel in service; he’d shitcanned it already and moved on to a new phone.
The freeway was surprisingly empty at 11:30 P.M. Wisps of fog collected around Tim’s headlights. He exited and parked nearly four blocks from Erika Heinrich’s on the off chance someone else-deputy or hit man-was sitting on the house. It took him half an hour, but he cleared the two surrounding blocks, checking out parked cars, roofs, and bushes.
Erika’s bedroom window was not only uncurtained, it was open.
Kids.
Tim crept to the sill, just beneath one of the outswung shutters, and eased up for a look. Erika lay prone on a bright yellow comforter, flipping through a glossy magazine, legs bent up behind her, sandal dangling from a cocked toe. Alone.
Bowrick was a smart kid-he’d disappeared convincingly once before. Maybe he had a second safe house. If so, Tim hoped it was as well hidden as his first.
Watching Erika on her bed flipping pages and humming to herself, Tim vowed to find Bowrick before Mitchell or Robert could put a hole in his head that matched the one they’d left in Rhythm’s. It wasn’t that he had felt a softening of his disdain for Bowrick-though he had-but because he could not watch a seventeen-year-old girl in the safety of her own bedroom and not want the world to adhere to its obligations to her. Admirable piousness from a former deputy-cum-Peeping Tom.
If he talked to her, she’d convey his appearance to Bowrick, who would steer clear of her house. Tim wanted to see Bowrick, to convince him to leave the state or go into police custody. He didn’t want to scare him farther afield in the city, where the Mastersons might flush him out.
On the drive home, Tim listened to the radio to see whether there was any breaking news about the Commission or himself. There was not. The service would guard their information, deploying it when strategic. The command post in the Federal Building would probably go full steam through the night, with everyone from Tannino to the assistant U.S. Attorney to Analytical Support Unit reps lost in a haze of coffee fumes and speculation.
His building was deathly silent. Off the lobby Joshua started humming to himself with vibrato and shuffling through some papers in his ersatz office. Tim paused about ten feet from the door, eyeing the keys on their pegboard hooks behind Joshua’s desk. Most of the apartments had been rented, but Tim took note of the few remaining keys: 401, 402, 213, 109.
Joshua looked up and waved, a simple raise of his hand that Tim returned. He wondered if Bear had told the truth about the press conference or if Tannino was going to leak the news early.
“Any good true-crime stories on TV?”
Joshua shrugged. “They’re regurgitating the same pap about Jedediah Lane.”
On the elevator ride up, Tim mused on the gloom that moved through buildings such as this. People either running from something or on their way down in the world. And Joshua was the gatekeeper; he exhibited not only sadness but the morose authoritativeness derived from extensive exposure to sadness. Like a mortician. Like a cop.
Once upstairs Tim took apart his doorknob and spread the parts on a towel before him. Sitting back on his heels, he dialed yet again and pressed the Nextel to his cheek as he worked.
He got a ring.
“So,” Mitchell said.
“So,” Tim said.
A long pause, broken only by the faint sound of Mitchell’s breathing and the rustle of his mustache against the receiver.
“You’ve been keeping busy,” Tim said.
“We have a plan for this city. Always have. And we’re not letting the Rayners and Ananbergs stand in the way anymore.”
“Clearly.” Tim waited but got no response. “You and Robert cut quite a wake.” Mentioning the Stork would dull a possible tactical advantage. “I saw Rhythm. Or what’s left of him.”
The beat of silence gave away Mitchell’s surprise. “You wouldn’t be coming after us, would you, Rackley? We were gonna cut you a break, leave you be. Part of us figures we owe you.”
“I also saw the three other guys you killed-”
“Crack dealers and gunrunners.”
“-including the kid you shot in the back.”
“Oh, come on. Can you really tell me a kid hanging out in a crack house with Rhythm Jones would ever have been anything but a burden to society?”
“Probably not. But, you see, you can’t punish someone before they commit a crime. The Constitution’s quite specific about that.”
“Don’t wrap yourself in the flag. We’ve seen what you’ve done, you fucking hypocrite.”
“I’ve wised up.”
“Yeah? To what?”
“Punishment is not justice. Vengeance is not a way to grieve. And whatever justice is, it isn’t ours to administer.”
“Maybe not. But I’ll tell you this-something crossed over in me when I saw that girl in Debuffier’s basement. When I held her in my arms, watched her die. Well, we’re done with it. We’re done with school shooters and child molesters and terrorists. There are more people behind bars in this country than who live in the entire state of Hawaii. We’re losing the war, my friend, in case you haven’t noticed, and Robbie and I are gonna launch a counterassault. We’re gonna put the plan into overdrive. And we don’t need votes or case history or any of that bullshit.”
“That was never the deal.”
“Never the deal? You’re the one who broke up our party. You defaulted on your responsibility, your obligation to the Commission. We voted on Bowrick. We found him guilty. The kill clause, Rack, or don’t you remember? It goes into effect the instant a member of the Commission breaks any protocol. Who broke the rules first? Who broke protocol by not executing Bowrick as we’d ruled?”
“I did.”
“You bet your ass you did. So now anything goes. Our agenda moves forward with you dead or alive.”
A jiggle of the screwdriver, and Tim removed the latch bolt from the doorknob assembly. “Anything goes? Including shredding Kindell’s file?”
A chuckle. “Yup. We offered to help you with that motherfucker. We could have found out who was in on it with him and cleaned them both up. You could have been on board with us. But, no, you were too good for us. So it only makes sense you wouldn’t want any part of that case binder now. Hell, you don’t want to dirty your hands with that, Your Honor.”