out. But they didn’t do any of that. They just sat still for it.
And their silence kind of pled themselves guilty. That was my
impression. That’s how I took it.’
The too,’ Summer said. ‘Certainly.’
‘So why didn’t they fight?’
She was quiet for a spell.
‘Guilty consciences?’ she said.
I shook my head. ‘Spare me.’
She was quiet a moment longer.
‘Shit,’ she said. ‘Maybe they’re just waiting. Maybe they’re
going to collapse the case in full view of everybody. In D.C.,
tomorrow, when they’ve got their lawyers there. To ruin
our careers. To put us in our place. Maybe it’s a vindictive
thing.’
I shook my head again. ‘What did I charge them with?’
‘Conspiracy to commit homicide.’
I nodded. ‘I think they misunderstood me.’
‘It was plain English.’
‘They understood the words. But not the context. I was
talking about one thing, and they thought I was talking about a
different thing. They thought I was talking about something
else entirely. They pled guilty to the wrong conspiracy,
392
Summer. They pled guilty to something they know can be
proved beyond a reasonable doubt.’
She said nothing.
‘The agenda,’ I said. ‘It’s still out there. They never got it
back. Carbone double-crossed them. They opened the briefcase
up there on 1-95, and the agenda wasn’t in it. It was already
gone.’
‘So where is it?’
‘I’ll show you where,’ I said. ‘That’s why we came back. So
you can use it tomorrow. Up in D.C. Use it to leverage all the
other stuff. The things we’re weak on.’
We slid out of the car into the cold. Walked across the lot to
the cell block door. Stepped inside. I could hear the sounds of
sleeping men. I could taste the sour dormitory air. We walked
through corridors and turned corners in the dark until we came
to Carbone’s billet. It was empty and undisturbed. We stepped
in and I snapped the light on. Stepped over to the bed. Reached
up to the shelf. Ran my fingers along the spines of the books.
Pulled out the tall thin Rolling Stones souvenir. Held it. Shook
it.
A four-page conference agenda fell out on the bed.
We stared at it.
‘Brubaker told him to hide it,’ I said.
I picked it up and handed it to Summer. Turned the light
back off and stepped out into the corridor. Came face to face
with the young Delta sergeant with the beard and the tan. He
was in skivvies and a T-shirt. He was barefoot. He had been
drinking beer about four hours ago, according to the way he
smelled.
‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘Look who we have here.’
I said nothing.
‘You woke me up talking,’ he said. ‘And flashing lights on and
off.’
I said nothing.
He glanced into Carbone’s cell. ‘Revisiting the scene of the
crime?’.
‘This isn’t where he died.’
‘You know what I mean.’
Then he smiled and I saw his hands bunch into fists. I
393
slammed him back against the wall with my left forearm. His
skull hit the concrete and his eyes glazed for a second. I kept
my arm hard and level across his chest. Got the point of my
elbow on his right bicep and spread my open fingers across his
left bicep. Pinned him to the wall. Leaned on him with all my
weight. Kept on leaning until he was having trouble breathing.
‘Do me a favour,’ I said. ‘Read the newspaper every day this
week.’
Then I fumbled in my jacket pocket with my free hand and
found the bullet. The one he had delivered. The one with my
name on it. I held it with my finger and thumb right down at the
base. It shone gold in the faint night light.
‘Watch this,’ I said.
I showed him the bullet. Then I shoved it up his nose.
My sergeant was at her desk. The one with the baby son. She
had coffee going. I poured two mugs and carried them into my
office. Summer carried the agenda, like a trophy. She took the
staple out of the paper and laid the four sheets side by side on
my desk.
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