A Dead Issue (33 page)

I did and indicated that with a nod. Horace Stem sends Stomp to make Jonah an offer he can't refuse. Stomp pushes Jonah down the stairs when Dusty and I show up. Then he sneaks back to Easton with Jonah's gun.

“Then there is the magic bullet,” Devereaux continued. “It shows up in the grass next to Dusty's teeth at the scene of your accident. A brand new bullet—a Remington just like the casings found at the Britz.”

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. If Stomp took the gun and reloaded it with new cartridges, he also must have planted it in my car—probably when he stopped in for a visit with his dead rat. He knew I was at the scene, and that bit of evidence would shift suspicion away from him and place it squarely on someone who did not have an alibi.

Devereaux unfolded his hands and dropped them into his lap. “That brings us to why I am here.” He paused and changed directions. “Do you have a gun?”

“Do you have a search warrant?”

I gave Devereaux a friendly smile to show that I was kidding. He stared at me until my smile faded.

“I couldn't get one. The judge said my probable cause was weak. You know what I think? I think Judge Woodson was more concerned with pissing off William J. Cameron.”

I said nothing for a moment and dug deep for another smile. “You're probably right. What is it you wanted to see?”

Devereaux looked perplexed—like he didn't know if my question was an invitation to search anyway, or idle curiosity after the door closed on his investigation. He shifted in his chair.

“I'd like to see Jonah's gun. I'd like to see a forty-five that matches the casings found at Eric Stem's murder.”

I did not want Devereaux to find Cash and Dusty upstairs, but it was time to be cooperative, to dispel any doubts that grew out of my stupid search warrant comment. Besides, they were probably in a closet or under a bed.

“I can show you what I have.” I rose from the chair. “My father has a small arsenal up stairs. He's a collector.”

“Any forty-fives?”

“I wouldn't know, but probably.”

“Any ammunition?”

“Boxes and boxes.”

Now I knew where this was going and I relaxed a little. The cartridge Lenny DiNuccio found was a Remington. The ammunition boxes in the vault were all Federal. Both forty-fives could be at the bottom of the Delaware for all Devereaux knew. He wasn't interested in the guns. What he really wanted was to link any ammunition up stairs with the casings found at the Britz parking lot—or the shell found near Dusty's teeth. I was safe.

CHAPTER 61

On the way to the vault I started to worry—not about Dusty and Cash keeping out of sight, but the money. Devereaux was bound to stumble on the money drawers, one of which was now empty. He'd be sure to notice the backpack leaning against the back wall. One look inside would tell him worlds, but in the end—it wouldn't matter.

Devereaux lumbered up the stairs behind me, and as we walked down the hallway, I caught him leaning into open rooms, absorbing everything he could.

“This is my father's home office,” I explained as I opened the door and allowed Devereaux to enter ahead of me. “Looks like something out of an old bank.”

He stared at the vault door with its chrome spinner wheel. “I see what you mean.”

“He keeps his guns and valuables in here,” I explained. “He's not going to be too happy if he finds out I let someone in.”

“He doesn't have to know.”

I dialed in the combination, and spun the wheel, retracting the twelve locking bolts.

Devereaux stepped into the vault and looked around. I was right to worry about the backpack. His eyes picked it up immediately as something extremely out of place—a cow at a dinner party. He studied it for longer than necessary and scanned the rest of the room, finally settling on the gun cabinet.

“The ammunition is in the first drawer of the gun case.” I looked at the wall of drawers and thought, what the hell.

“The other drawers are full of money.” I said it in a casual way—as if having that much money on hand was normal.

My phone rang, something that wouldn't have happened if I were standing deeper in the vault. I had a feeling it was Tony and I was torn between leaving
Devereaux unsupervised in the vault and having a guarded
conversation about Liza's kidnapping in his presence.

“I got to take this outside,” I waved a finger in a circle about the room. “Reception.”

Devereaux reached for the handle of the top drawer. Then I stepped out of the vault and into my father's office, jumping when Cash strolled to the desk. He gave me a moment to compose myself and then frantically tried to mouth a desperate message as the phone continued to ring. He made a steering gesture with his two fists and released the invisible wheel to point toward the door—to the outside world. His mouth exaggerated one word—cab.

I flipped open my cell phone and touched my lip with my index finger. Then I used it to point to the vault where Devereaux was probably staring wide-eyed at stacks of cash.

“Yes?”

The high whispery voice asked, “You have the money?”

I cupped the phone and turned away from the vault. “Where's Liza?”

“Still tied up. Can't come to the phone.” There was a pause and I looked up at Cash. He was jittery and kept looking at the vault door.

“I need some reassurance,” I said. “Send me her picture.”

Cash sidled nearer to the vault like he was trying to spy on whatever Devereaux was doing in there.

“You already got a picture—with the newspaper.”

Cash was at the door, almost leaning in now.

“I need an updated picture. Send me one with Liza giving you the finger . . .”

Cash reached for the door and pushed it closed in a slow motion slam. There might have been a thump as Devereaux threw his body against the weight of the closing door, or it might have been the door seating itself firmly in place. Cash gave the wheel a spin.

Tony ignored my comment. “I'm coming over—to your place—up on the hill.” He hung up.

My head was ready to explode as I tried to sort things out. What the fuck had just happened? Tony was on his way over to pick up the ransom, Cash had locked Devereaux in the vault with the money, and a cab had pulled up to the Crow's Nest. What else could go wrong?

Dusty skittered into the office. “Holy fuck! Stomp is here! He just got out of a cab!”

CHAPTER 62

“I want my money,” Dusty demanded, his eyes wild with fear. “The shit has definitely hit the fan.”

“The shit will hit the fan when Devereaux gets out of the vault,” I said and looked at Cash. “What did you do that for?”

“I don't need him getting between me and my fee.”

“What are we gonna do?” Dusty asked on the edge of panic. “Stomp's gonna kill us!”

“So he came in a fuckin' cab?” Cash said, his voice rising to an incredulous squeal.

“Cash, here's where you earn your fee. Go let him in.”

Cash shook his head, “Not without a gun, I won't.”

I understood and looked over at Dusty holding both guns—his Beretta and Jonah's .45 picked up from the stairs. “Give him the .45.”

Dusty held out the gun.

“We'll be in the observatory.” I said. “Tell him you're the butler. Bring him upstairs.”

“How ‘bout I just shoot his ass—then come back and tidy up, do a little dusting, make tea?”

“Just get him upstairs,” I said. “And don't shoot anybody—not yet.”

Cash checked out the pistol, racked open the slide, and marched out of the office. As soon as he was gone, I went to the vault door to free Devereaux. I dialed in the first two numbers and stopped. There was nothing to be gained by letting him out. It would only complicate things. I grabbed the backpack by my father's desk—the one filled with Georgia-Pacific Soft White copy paper—and scampered up the stairs to the observatory with Dusty close behind.

At the top, I ran to the window and looked down. The cab was leaving.

A further look at the world below showed that Stomp was already in the house.

“Was anybody with him?” I asked.

Dusty looked at me blankly.

“You didn't see Liza?”

“Liza?” Dusty looked confused. “Why would he be with Liza?”

Stomp wouldn't call a cab. Liza had to be with him—otherwise there'd be an International Harvester parked next to the Crown Vic.

“What's going on?” Dusty asked.

“Stomp found Liza tied up at Jonah's.” I paused, trying to bring Dusty up to speed. “She has a new pet. Beauty and the beast. Now he's her watchdog.”

“Why?”

“For the money he tried to beat out of us.”

Dusty paused in thought, piecing something together he didn't like. His face clouded.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “He's on the payroll?”

I said nothing, hunching my shoulders in a gesture of resignation.

“How much?”

“Ten,” I said.

“Ten thousand? Ten thousand fucking bucks! For what?”

“For protecting her from Tony.”

“Jesus H. Christ. Shitbird! Tony—a quarter million. Cash—a hundred fifty thousand. Stomp—ten thousand. Dusty, your own brother—seven thousand and get the hell out of town! What the fuck!”

“Dusty, it's not like that. I didn't come up with those figures—they did.”

Dusty was breathing hard. “You want me to come up with a figure. A half million. There—that's my figure.”

“You going to kill me if you don't get it?”

Dusty paused. “I'm thinking about it,” he finally said.

“Look,” I said. “I know how you feel. But you have to understand. Cash, Stomp, Tony—they're stealing from my father. I intend to pay your seven thousand out of my pocket.”

Dusty and I stared at each other until he grinned and shook his head. “Shitbird.”

Footsteps mounted the stairs and I tensed, waiting for Liza to appear. She came into view followed by Cash,
gripping the fingers of his right hand and wincing in pain. Then Stomp's shaved head appeared out of the stairwell followed by a vapor trail of sweat and stale cigarettes. I slid my finger against the trigger of the .357 when I saw Jonah's .45 held loosely at his side.

“Liza!” I ran to her and pulled her away from Stomp and Cash.“What happened?”

Dusty maneuvered himself behind Cash, trying to keep himself out of Stomp's reach. Liza squeezed my arm as we moved farther away. Stomp stood silently, watching.

“He never showed,” she said. “The bastard was going to leave me tied up like that. I couldn't stand it any more.”

This threw a new complication into an already tangled mess. It was comforting to know Stomp was protecting Liza at Jonah's, but now he was here—in the thick of things. He was big, but I sensed that he was no dummy. He knew money was about to change hands and was now in competition with Cash to see who walked away with it.

“He called,” I said. “He's on his way to pick up the ransom . . .” I didn't finish and the room became silent.

“Ransom?” Cash blew out his breath. “Shit, man. If he left her there, this isn't a kidnapping. He's just going to shoot your ass and take the money.” He moved over to the broken window, and looked down. “Too many cars,” he said. “Looks like you have company.”

I had a flash of inspiration.

“You're right,” I said. “Where are your keys?”

“In the ignition . . .”

I turned to Stomp before Cash could finish. “You've earned your pay,” I said, “Liza's safe with me.” I reached into my back pocket for the envelope fat with fifties. “Here.” I held it out to him. “Take the GTO. Leave it in Easton at the bus terminal.”

Stomp tucked the .45 in his waistband and took the envelope.

“Bullshit . . . he's not using my car!”

“That's ten thousand dollars,” Dusty said. The information was for Stomp. The attitude was for me.

Stomp opened the envelope and riffled through the bills.

“It's all here—in fifties,” I added

I glanced over at Cash and gave him a look. He stepped forward instantly.

“Let me see one of those,” he said and moved closer to Stomp. “You have to be careful.”

Stomp slipped a bill out of the wrapper and gave it to Cash.

“It's fuckin' Al-Qaeda,” Cash continued. “They're flooding the world with phony fifties, trying to ruin our economy.”

Stomp's left eye slid into place and locked onto me, and for a second or two we shared a moment of silent communication. My lips twitched with a smile.

“They look good—got those anti-forgery threads, special paper, holograms—you have to be an expert to tell the difference.”

Cash was right next to Stomp now, holding the bill up at eye level. “But they had to get in our face. They put Osama bin Laden in the clouds behind the Capitol Building. Hold it up to the light you can see him.” Cash held the bill up to the window. “Son-of-a-bitch. There he is, plain as day. Take a look.”

And that's when Stomp threw him out the broken window. It is a scene I can replay in my head anytime I wish—Cash offers Stomp the fifty-dollar bill while his right hand reaches for Jonah's pistol. Stomp, with linebacker speed, grabs a fistful of shirt, hooks his fingers under Cash's belt, and launches him into space as the gun tumbles to the floor. Cash falls silently—the impact like someone slamming the trunk of a car.

No one moved for a long time. Only Stomp yielded to curiosity and leaned out to see what had become of Cash. The rest of us simply stood there, stunned. As much as we may have wanted to look, we were frozen by the presence of Stomp. I had a sudden thought that Stomp might connect Cash's fall with his own plunge from my balcony and figure this was a good time for revenge. Dusty took several backward steps, putting as much distance between him and Stomp as possible.