“I demand a lawyer.” Kev yelled it at the top of his lungs, though someone had put the TV on mute and there was no problem hearing.
“Lot of that going around,” the DeLuca guy said. “Jake, if you’d care to explain to Mr. Sessions that we don’t give a crap if he wants a lawyer. He’s not under arrest. We’re executing a search warrant, whether he yells about it or not.”
Search warrant? For what?
“Search warrant for what?” If no one was gonna stand up for them, she’d better. The cute one-Brogan, did he say?-was still holding the paper up for Kev to read.
“At least one of you has a brain,” DeLuca said.
Ha, Kellianne thought.
Then she thought about what was under her bed. On her computer. She remembered the chain with the cross around her neck. Shit. If they found that? But wait. It wasn’t illegal to sell murderabilia. Let these cops look wherever they wanted. She had nothing to hide. Only her brothers did. The old guy and the fire. No way the cops could get her for those things. She’d been forced. Yes. Forced to do what they said.
“‘For what’ is precisely what I’m in the process of explaining to your-brother?” Brogan answered her.
She nodded silently, trying to look like she was scared of her brother. Might as well.
“By the way. Anyone care to tell us where you three were last night?” Brogan said.
“Here,” Kev said.
“Yeah,” Kellianne said. Were the cops on to them? They couldn’t be. This was just fishing.
“We were here the whole time,” Kev said.
“The whole time of what?” DeLuca asked.
“You were all home. Okay.” Brogan was interrupting him. “So let’s have the three of you sit right there on that lovely couch, and Detective DeLuca will stand by while I do some checking. We have backup on the way. It shouldn’t take long.”
72
Why hadn’t Alex called back or e-mailed? Jane checked her watch. Nine A.M. He should be at the Register by now, she thought, stepping inside the black-and-white tiled foyer of Ella’s apartment building. The address had been a cinch to find on Google.
She sniffed, wrinkled her nose. Oatmeal. Coffee. Wet wool. A row of louvered metal mailboxes labeled “G” through “8” lined one wall. “G” had a stick-on label saying Gavin. Okay, then.
Which key for the inner door? Jane guessed right, the door opened easily, and she took a short flight of stairs down to the door marked G. She listened, half-worried it’d be the wrong apartment and she’d get yelled at-or shot-by some trigger-happy terrified resident. Jane smiled, shaking her head. She was tired. She’d finish here, call Alex again, maybe even risk going to the paper.
Wait a minute. What risk?
She paused, holding the key, motionless, in the silence of the hallway. The bad guy was arrested. She stood a little straighter, smiling. No longer anything to be afraid of. Go in, feed the cat, get out. Get back to real life.
The lock clicked open. Jane heard a thump and a rustle, then one inquiring meow. A ball of white fluff padded toward her-stopped-then skittered away, streaking underneath a glass coffee table and flattening itself under a plaid couch.
“I’m okay, cat,” Jane said. “Chill. Ella says hi. She’ll be home soon. I’m just going to feed you.”
The cat did not come out.
Jane headed toward the kitchen, keeping her parka on. An insistent red light flashed on Ella’s phone, but Jane ignored it. In, then out. She’d open cabinets till she found the food. And she’d leave extra water.
Guessing again, Jane pulled the white ceramic knob of the cabinet nearest the refrigerator. A tattered Target bag tumbled to the floor.
Damn. No cat food.
She reached down to stuff the bag back into place. It looked like the one Ella carried at Dunkin’s Monday morning, the one she’d guarded so vigilantly. Jane looked inside. Files.
She dumped the manila folders onto the kitchen table. Beerman. Tuck’s file? She examined the others, fast as she could. Lamonica. Hoffner. DaCosto. Who were those people?
She unsnapped her parka, draped it over the metal chair, and sat. Just for a minute. Opened the Beerman file. A yellow sticky on the inside had a penciled notation: No footprint?
Lamonica. The same notation, the same handwriting. Over and over.
She tried to make herself close the files and leave. This was-private stuff. Another yellow sticky caught her attention.
What was that? A noise.
She jumped up, almost toppling the files. Then burst out laughing. The cat had padded into the kitchen and was now nudging Jane’s leg with her nose.
“I know you’re hungry, cat.” Jane reached to pet her as she sat down at the table again. “But I need to look at one thing.”
Which one of the Sessions was the weak link? They needed only to get one to confess and rat the others out. Jake couldn’t decide which sad sack looked most unhappy. The three lumped on the couch, two of them-the big shot with the muscles and the sidekick with the ratty mustache-staring straight ahead. The sister was intent on her hair, biting off the ends one strand at a time.
“Before I execute the warrant,” Jake said, “let me offer you an option. We’re gonna find something. I have no doubt of that.”
“Pssss,” one of the three muttered.
“Sorry? I missed that,” Jake said.
“Piss off,” DeLuca said.
“Oh, gotcha,” Jake said. “Like I was saying. If any of you would like to simply tell us what’s going on-about Niall Brannigan, and Margolin Street, and whatever you have going with Leonard Perl, who is now in custody, you might like to know-” Jake paused, checking for reactions. Got none. “It’s gonna go a lot easier. First to talk is the first to walk.”
DeLuca nodded. “And the other two are suckers.”
“Any takers?” Jake held up a palm. “You don’t have to say anything now. Just stand up and come with me. Show me where to look.”
“So you’ve got to come, Tuck, soon as you can.” Jane hadn’t budged from Ella’s kitchen table, although the files she’d been reading for the past half hour made no sense at all. The cat was now purring on her lap. “Like I said, Ella gave me a footprint. Now all her other files are marked as ‘no footprints.’ Last Sunday you asked me to help you figure out if you were the wrong girl, and I think the answer’s here. But the only people who can decipher these files are at the Brannigan. I say-get back to Boston, and let’s go. Let’s go ask them.”
As Tuck protested, Jane eased the cat to the floor and filled up an extra bowl of water. What was Tuck’s problem? She thought of Ella. What she’d sacrificed.
“Listen. Tuck. You started it. Come, or don’t. I’m going to the Brannigan. I’m going to find out what’s going on. With you, or without you.”
Jake would have bet on the wiseass sidekick, but Kellianne was his second choice. She stood, slowly, eyeing her brothers, then tossing her unfortunate hair. Jake kept thinking about how she bit off the ends. Why would anyone do that?
“Yes, Kellianne?” Jake said.
“And we have a winner,” DeLuca said.
“Hey, bitch, what do you think you’re doing?” The one called Keefer tried to stand up, but the Kevin guy yanked him back to the couch.