He nodded without looking at me. “It’s all right, Perry. I understand. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t care, because it pissed me off, but I’m also not going to let it get in our way. I want to find Julie Weston, and we’re going to need to work together to get that done.”
“You’re already booked into a hotel?” Joe asked.
“Yeah, I made reservations before I came in today. I was planning on staying in town for a few days.”
“Go get some sleep, then. When you wake up, come down to the office, and we’ll get started. Someone killed Hartwick because they didn’t want him talking to us, and we need to find out who that person is.”
“We’ll hear from Cody tomorrow,” I predicted. “He’ll be full of questions when he finds out about this.”
“I’d imagine,” Joe said.
“We’re stirring things up now. That’s obvious. Someone’s concerned by our investigation.”
“So why didn’t the shooter take you out, too?” Kinkaid said. “Or at least try?”
Joe shook his head. “I don’t know. But let’s not complain.”
Kinkaid took the first cab that arrived, and Joe and I remained on the sidewalk, waiting for another. I watched the taillights of Kinkaid’s cab disappear down the street and then turned away as they grew smaller. I’d seen enough glowing red dots for one day.
When I woke later that morning, the ache that had crept into my neck and shoulders the day before had intensified, and I groaned as soon as I moved. My back muscles felt like guitar strings after a Jimi Hendrix solo. A glance at the clock told me it was almost eleven, which meant I’d had four hours of sleep. I needed a long, hot shower, but I knew Joe would already be at the office, and I didn’t want to delay. I got dressed, splashed some cold water on my face, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, and headed out.
Joe was at the office, of course. He was sitting behind the desk and talking on the phone, dressed in khakis and a shirt and tie, looking like a man who’d just returned to work after a week’s vacation, refreshed and invigorated. I shook my head. Joe was amazing. When I’d worked with him as a narcotics detective, I’d learned just how long he could go without much sleep, or any sleep. And, somehow, he never seemed to lose his mental edge. His ability to avoid—or ignore—physical fatigue was incredible.
I dropped into my own chair beside him and eavesdropped on his conversation. It appeared he was talking to a cop about Hartwick. Eggers, maybe. Scott would still be in bed after pulling the all-nighter. Her work ethic was almost as well known as Joe’s, but for an entirely different reason.
Joe hung up and smiled brightly at me. “Morning, LP. Have a pleasant evening?”
I glared at him. “I hate you and your damned energy.”
“I’m almost twice your age, kid. Don’t give me that crap.”
I grunted and sipped the coffee I’d picked up at the doughnut shop on my way down. “Who were you talking to?”
“Eggers.”
“I knew it. What’d he have to say?”
“He wouldn’t say his partner’s an idiot, although I tried to elicit agreement from him. He did say they found Hartwick’s hotel room.”
“Anything in it?”
“Not really. Nothing that helps explain what he was doing in Cleveland, at least. Eggers said they did find plenty of ammunition, though—along with two extra handguns, and even a grenade. Sounds like Hartwick was ready to go to war.”
I raised my eyebrows. “A grenade? You kidding me?”
“That’s what Eggers said. I’m just glad the guy left it at the hotel room, otherwise maybe it goes off by accident last night and blows up half the avenue, including you and me. Oh, yeah, we’re going to have to go back down this afternoon and chat with Scott and Eggers some more.”
“So they aren’t getting anywhere, eh? If they were, they wouldn’t have more time to waste on us.”
“They’re not getting anywhere. Personally, I assume the shooter was one of the Russians. Don’t you?”
The coffee had cooled enough to drink now, and I took several long swallows before responding.
“I guess it’s safe to say I assume it was one of them. Can’t prove it, obviously, but it makes sense. We know some of them were special ops guys, and whoever made the shot was pretty familiar with a rifle. The scope was high-tech, too.”
“Uh-huh. By the way, Cody’s due down here any minute. I told him to give you until eleven. Kinkaid will be here soon, too.”
“How long have you been here?”
He glanced at the clock. “Oh, maybe three hours.”
“Did you sleep at all, Joe?”
“I’m fine.”
I didn’t push it. “So, here’s a question for you.”
“Yeah?”
“After all the chaos yesterday, our interview with Dan Beckley seems insignificant, but it established some pretty important points about Weston’s professional relationship with Hubbard, I think. Should we pursue that or focus on Hartwick and the Russians?”
Joe pressed his fingertips together and lifted his hands to his chin. It looked like he was praying. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think they’re both important, and I think they might be connected. One thing I don’t want, though, is for us to tell Cody about that.”
“About Dan Beckley?” I said, and he nodded. “Why not?” I asked. “We’ve already given him Hubbard.”
“I know we have, but now that we’ve got a better idea of what was going on between Weston and Hubbard, I want to keep it quiet for a while. Hubbard’s a hell of a powerful guy, LP, maybe the most powerful man in this city. And I don’t completely trust Cody. He’s fed us bad leads before, and I don’t like that.”
“You’re saying Hubbard might be pulling strings with the FBI?” I said. “Now who’s having trust issues, Joseph?”
Someone knocked at the door, and then it opened and Aaron Kinkaid poked his head inside. “Morning,” he said. I was pleased to see that he looked even worse than I did. He came in and sat down.
“Long night,” he said. “I’m exhausted.”
“A guy named Thad Cody’s going to be here soon,” Joe said. “Probably with a couple of Cleveland cops in tow. Cody’s with the FBI, and he’s calling the shots on the Weston investigation. He’s going to have quite a few questions for you.”
As if on cue, the door opened again and Cody entered, with Swanders behind him. Kraus was missing this time. It was a good thing I’d woken up when I had, or I might have been roused from bed by a pissed-off FBI agent.
“Is this Kinkaid?” Cody said, pointing at our redheaded visitor.
“I’m Aaron Kinkaid.”
“Good. Then we’re all here.” Cody pulled up a chair, but Swanders remained on his feet, leaning against the wall. Cody was wearing a suit today, and he had his briefcase with him again. He’d been a little overbearing in our first meeting, but that was nothing compared to the attitude he carried with him today. He was angry now.
“All right, gentlemen,” he said. “Let’s hear what you’ve got to say. And it better be true, and it better be detailed. Because if you’ve compromised my investigation, I’ll spend the rest of my career making you regret it.”
It was a hell of a way to get the ball rolling. We talked. Joe explained Kinkaid’s arrival in our office the day before, as well as how we’d determined Randy Hartwick’s identity. Kinkaid then jumped in to explain what he knew of Hartwick. This time, he didn’t leave out the weapons smuggling. Cody frowned at that and leaned forward, intense.
“Who was he running guns for?”
“I don’t know,” Kinkaid said.