“No question,” Brandon agreed. “And my office would certainly consider a plea deal in exchange for detailed sworn testimony about the Vargas operation. Depending on how far he’s willing to go, we might be able to reduce the whole package down to involuntary manslaughter.”
“Sure, he thought the professor was a prowler,” the Aardvark said, warming to it. “The man was defending his own home. He’d get, what, five years?”
“And shanked his first night in jail,” Grisky said.
“So promise him witness protection,” the Aardvark fired back. “I say we go right at him. And if he don’t want the deal then maybe Hector will. We can play one of them against the other, like Sergeant Snipes said.”
Cavanaugh stayed strangely silent throughout this back and forth exchange. Just sat there with his hands clasped before him, his eyes cast downward at the table. The supervising agent looked as if he were saying grace. Until he raised his eyes and said, “In principle, I agree with everything you’re saying, Captain. And I appreciate your input. But I’m not ready to make such a move yet. Agent Grisky and I have been dogging these people for a whole lot longer than you folks from the state have. We’ve invested a lot in Operation Burrito King. I am talking months and months of man-hours, millions of taxpayer dollars. We are tasked to go after the really big game here. Not just a couple of petty hoods.”
“You mean murderers, don’t you?” Soave said.
“Nonetheless,” he went on, undeterred, “I’d like to see how the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours play out before we show our hand. We still have our wiretaps and cell phone traces in place. Maybe Mundy will get shook enough to do something dumb-like break silence and reach out to Atlanta. Why not wait and see what he does before we roll up the whole damned operation?”
Des didn’t like what she was hearing. If it were her call to make they’d land on Clay and Hector that very night. Swarm the house and sweat a murder confession out of them. Hell, they had the bastards right where they wanted them. So take them. Because if you didn’t, if you got greedy and held out for more, then things had a not-so-funny way of slipping through your fingers. But it was Cavanaugh’s case, not the Aardvark’s and for sure not hers. And the Feds were always going to have it their way-because they could.
“Besides which,” Cavanaugh added, “we don’t even know where the damned dope is hidden.”
“Actually, we do,” Des said, all eyes turning her way.
“Don’t play cute, master sergeant,” he said, glaring at her. “What do you know that we don’t?”
“That right after he moved in Clay Mundy ordered Molly Procter to stay out of the root cellar. It’s directly under the kitchen, which is where the trapdoor is. It’s a dirt floor crawl space, most likely. That’s how they built the old farmhouses around here. Especially in low-lying areas like Sour Cherry. A full basement would just flood during the rainy season.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this yesterday?”
“Didn’t know it then.”
“It plays,” Grisky said grudgingly. “We’ve never seen them go near the barn or anywhere else. And I’ve heard about dealers burying their crystal under dirt for safekeeping.”
“Which leaves us where?” Soave demanded impatiently. “Last time I looked I still have a homicide investigation to run.”
“So run it,” Cavanaugh said easily. “We’ll stay on the sidelines, watching and listening. Just do us a small favor and stay out of that root cellar for now. We can’t have you stumbling over our evidence.”
“But what if there’s evidence down there that links Mundy to the murder?”
“Actually, you gentlemen are getting a bit ahead of yourselves,” said Brandon. “I seriously doubt that a judge would even grant you a warrant to enter the house. Not based on what I’ve heard so far.”
Soave shook his shiny dome at him. “Why the hell not? We’re looking for the murder weapon and bloody clothing. The stuff’s got to be somewhere.”
“Somewhere doesn’t constitute probable cause for entering a home.”
“Mundy and the professor fought in that very driveway just a few nights ago,” Soave argued, stabbing the table with his index finger.
“Not good enough,” Brandon reasoned. “No one saw the victim entering the home tonight. No one saw Mundy or Villanueva leaving the murder scene and going in the home. The two men claim they were playing cards at the time of the murder. You have no evidence or testimony to the contrary. Neither man has so much as a single prior arrest. Consequently, you have no reason to believe the evidence is in that house. What you have barely even rises to the level of a suspicion.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “Furthermore, Agent Cavanaugh makes an excellent point. You do not want to go anywhere near that meth while in the process of looking for something else. You’d be leaving the door wide open for defense counsel to claim an illegal search and possibly get it thrown out. You haven’t even undertaken your search of the area yet, let alone exhausted it. If I were you, lieutenant, I’d stay out of that house altogether for now. If there’s anything down there, it’s not going anywhere. And neither are Clay Mundy or Hector Villanueva.”
“I’ll have to talk to my C.O. about this,” Soave grumbled.
“Do what you have to do,” Cavanaugh said with cool condescension. “Just touch base with us regularly so there are no communications lapses.” To Des he said, “Yesterday, you had safety concerns regarding the family. The wife has now been hospitalized, correct?”
“Correct. And Molly’s tucked in across the street with the Beckwiths. I’ve made it very clear to them that she’s to stay out of her own house.”
“Are they hip as to why?” Grisky wondered.
“No, they’re simply of the belief that Clay and Hector are too unsavory for the girl to be around.”
“Which, real, they are,” Yolie said.
“Then I think we’re all done here.” A faint smile creased Cavanaugh’s impassive face. “I’d like everyone to know that I’m extremely comfortable with our game plan.” His game plan. “In fact, I have a remarkably good feeling about our chances.” His chances. “Let’s suit up, shall we?”
CHAPTER 10
To: Mitch Berger
From: Bella Tillis
Subject: Unhappy Turn of Events
Dear Mr. Hot Shot New York Movie Critic-I know you told me that you no longer feel “connected” to this place but I have some very sad news to send along concerning little Molly.
Her father, Richard, was murdered last night. Des found him floating in the river at the end of Sour Cherry Lane with his throat cut. Apparently his killer dumped him there thinking he’d drift out to sea. Although chances are he would have washed up right here on our little beach, as you know. Thank God he got snagged on a tree or I probably would have tripped over him on my walk this morning and suffered horrible nightmares for weeks.
They don’t know who did it yet. Poor Molly was up in her tree house when it happened. She actually heard her father’s screams. Such a thing for a child to cope with. Carolyn has been hospitalized, so for now Molly is bunking across the lane with Kimberly and Jen Beckwith. My impression is she’ll soon be relocating to her aunt’s farm in Maine for the summer, if not permanently. My point is, I’m not sure just how much longer Molly is going to be around Dorset. She is very, very fond of you, Mitch. I know you were once fond of her. And even though you no longer feel “connected” to this place if you could phone her or drop her a note at Kimberly’s it would mean a lot to her.
Do you remember Des’s friend Yolie? The one with the cazongas? And Soave, that strutting little weasel with no neck? They’re both on the case, and currently of the opinion that Richard was done in by Carolyn’s boyfriend, Clay Mundy. Possibly assisted by Hector, his hired man. But they haven’t filed charges yet. About fifty men in uniform have spent all day today searching the countryside around Sour Cherry Lane for the murder weapon and other evidence. They’ve uncovered nothing so far, although the crime scene technicians did find some shoeprints near the murder scene that may have belonged to Richard’s killer. They’re from a man’s shoe, a sneaker. The professor was wearing hiking shoes. Scuba divers are scouring the river bottom. Or trying. The bottom is so soft and muddy that anything like a knife would sink out of sight. They have to use a metal detector. The forensics people are searching Richard’s body for any sort of hair or clothing fibers that may point them to whoever did this. All of which is slow, painstaking work that takes a great deal of patience. Certainly more than I possess.