‘Nothing to worry about.’ Ritter took his left hand and inked the fingertips, rolling them one at a time in the appropriate boxes on one card, then the other. The procedure was duplicated with the other hand. ‘There, that didn’t hurt, did it? You can wash your hands now, better to do it before the ink dries.’ Ritter slid one of the cards into the file, substituting it for the one removed. The other just went on top. He closed the case, then carried the old card to the fireplace, where he ignited it with his cigarette lighter. It burned fast, joining the ash pile from the fires that the custodians liked to have every other night. Grishanov came back with clean hands.
‘I still don’t understand.’
‘It’s really nothing that need concern you. You just helped me out on something, that’s all. What say we have lunch? Then we can meet with a countryman of yours. Please be at ease, Comrade Colonel,’ Ritter said as reassuringly as he could. ‘If your side sticks to the bargain, you’ll be on your way home in about eight hours. Fair enough?’
Mark Charon was uncomfortable coming here again, safe though the location might be this early into its use. Well, this wouldn’t take long. He pulled his unmarked Ford to the front of the building, got out, and walked to the front door. It was locked. He had to knock. Tony Piaggi yanked it open, a gun in his hand. ‘What’s this?’ Charon demanded in alarm.
‘What’s this?’ Kelly asked himself quietly. He hadn’t expected the car to come right up to the building, and had been loading two more rounds into the clip when the man pulled in and got out. The rifle was so stiff that he had trouble getting the clip back in, and by the time he had it up, the figure was moving too rapidly for a shot. Damn. Of course, he didn’t know who it was. He twisted the scope to max-power and examined the car. Cheap body … an extra radio antenna … police car? Reflected light prevented him from seeing the interior. Damn. He’d made a small mistake. He’d expected a down-time after dropping the two on the roof. Never take anything for granted, dummy! The slight error made him grimace.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Charon snapped at them. Then he saw the body on the floor, a small hole slightly above and to the left of the open right eye.
‘It’s him! He’s out there!’ Tucker said.
‘Who?’
‘The one who got Billy and Rick and Burt -‘
‘Kelly!’ Charon exclaimed, turning around to look at the closed door.
‘You know his name?’ Tucker asked.
‘Ryan and Douglas are after him – they want him for a string of killings.’
Piaggi grunted. ‘The string is longer by two. Bobby here, and Fred on the roof.’ He stooped by the window again. He’s got to be right across the road there …
Charon had his gun out now, for no apparent reason. Somehow the bags of heroin seemed unusually heavy now, and he set his service revolver down and unloaded them from his clothing onto the table with the rest of them, along with the mixing bowl, and the envelopes, and the stapler. That activity ended his current ability to do anything but look at the other two. That was when the phone rang. Tucker got it.
‘Having fun, you cocksucker?’
‘Did you have fun with Pam?’ Kelly asked coldly. ‘So,’ he asked more pleasantly, ‘who’s your friend? Is that the cop you have on the payroll?’
‘You think you know it all, don’t you?’
‘No, not all. I don’t know why a man would get his rocks off killing girls, Henry. You want to tell me that?’ Kelly asked.
‘Fuck you, man!’
‘You want to come on out and try? You swing that way too, sweetie-pie?’ Kelly hoped Tucker didn’t break the phone, the way he slammed it down. He just didn’t understand the game, and that was good. If you didn’t know the rules, you couldn’t fight back effectively. There was an edge of fatigue on his voice, and Tony’s also. The one on the roof hadn’t had his shirt buttoned; it was rumpled, Kelly saw, examining the body through his sight. The trousers had creases inside the knees, as though the man had been sitting up all night. Had he merely been a slob? That didn’t seem likely. The shoes he’d left by the opening were quite shiny. Probably up all night, Kelly judged after a few seconds’ reflection. They’re tired, and they’re scared, and they don’t know the game. Fine. He had his water and his candy bars, and all day.
‘If you knew that bastard’s name, how come you – goddamn it!’ Tucker swore. ‘You told me he’s just a rich beach bum, I said I could take him out in the hospital, remember, but no! … you said leave him fuckin’ be!’
‘Settle down. Henry,’ Piaggi said as calmly as he could manage. This is one very serious boy we have out there. He’s done six of my people. Six! Jesus. This is not the time to panic.
‘We have to think this one through, okay?’ Tony rubbed the heavy stubble on his face, collecting himself, thinking it through. ‘He’s got a rifle and he’s in that big white building across the street.’
‘You wanna just walk over there and get him, Tony?’ Tucker pointed to Bobby’s head. ‘Look what he did here!’
‘Ever heard of nightfall, Henry? There’s one light out there, right over the door.’ Piaggi walked over to the fuse box, checked the label inside the door, and unscrewed the proper fuse. ‘There, the light don’t work anymore. We can wait for night and make our move. He can’t get us all. If we move fast enough, he might not get any.’
‘What about the stuff?’
‘We can leave one guy here to guard it. We get muscle in here to go after that bastard, and we finish business, okay?’ It was a viable plan, Piaggi thought. The other guy didn’t hold all the cards. He couldn’t shoot through the walls. They had water, coffee, and time on their side.
The three stories were as close to word-for-word identical as anything he might have hoped for under the circumstances. They’d interviewed them separately, as soon as they’d recovered enough from their pills to speak, and their agitated state only made things better. Names, the place it had happened, how this Tucker bastard was dealing his heroin out-of-town now, something Billy had said about the way the bags stank – confirmed by the ‘lab’ busted on the Eastern Shore. They now had a driver’s license number and possible address on Tucker. The address might be bogus – not an unlikely situation – but they also had a car make, from which they’d gotten a tag number. He had it all, or at least was close enough that he could treat the investigation as something with an end to it. It was a time for him to stand back and let things happen. The all-points was just now going on the air. At the next series of squad-room briefings, the name Henry Tucker, and his car, and his tag number would be made known to the patrol officers who were the real eyes of the police force. They could get very lucky, very fast, bring him in, arraign him, indict him, try him, and put his ass away forever even if the Supreme Court had the bad grace to deny him the end his life had earned. Ryan was going to bag that inhuman bastard.
And yet.
And yet Ryan knew he was one step behind someone else. The Invisible Man was using a .45 now – not his silencer; he had changed tactics, was going for quick, sure kills … didn’t care about noise anymore … and he’d talked to others before killing them, and probably knew even more than he did. That dangerous cat Farber had described to him was out on the street, hunting in the light now, probably, and Ryan didn’t know where.
John T. Kelly, Chief Boatswain’s Mate, US Navy SEALs. Where the hell are you? If I were you … where would I be? Where would I go?
‘Still there?’ Kelly asked when Piaggi lifted the phone.
‘Yeah, man, we’re having a late lunch. Wanna come over and join us?’
‘I had calamari at your place the other night. Not bad. Your mother cook it up?’ Kelly inquired softly, wondering about the reply he’d get.
‘That’s right,’ Tony replied pleasantly. ‘Old family recipe, my great-grandmother brought it over from the Old Country, y’know?’
‘You know, you surprise me.’
‘How’s that, Mr Kelly?’ the man asked politely, his voice more relaxed now. He was wondering what effect it would have on the other end of the phone line.
‘I expected you to try and cut a deal. Your people did, but I wasn’t buying,’ Kelly told him, allowing irritation to show in his voice.