“We need to go, Boog.”
“So now you guys are gonna take care of Cahill.”
“We're going to try,” I said.
A crude but maybe adequate justice. The old murderer slumped down between his pillows. “I need ta rest.” His exhaled words were barely audible.
“You didn't have to turn that gun in when Cahill stiffed you, did you, Morelli?”
“You fellas believe in absolution?”
“Maybe there'll be a nice sunset again tonight, Boog.”
“I need ta rest.”
He dismissed us with a birdlike wave of his fingers. The young woman moved in and pulled the sheet higher around his shoulders for him to close his eyes.
31
Priscilla Thomasen was already waiting on Jake's deck when our headlights swept across the trailer. It was almost eight
P.M.
Traffic from Riverdale back to La Guardia had moved like sludge, when it moved at all, and the first flight available back to C'ville had been delayed by more than an hour.
“The news is not good,” she said as we got out. “I told you we had the hearing, she made bail, and was released into her mother's custody.”
“Yeah?” I said.
“I just talked to one of the deputies down at the jail. It turns out Cahill was with Camille when she was bailed out, and the three of them left together.”
“Just wonderful.” I looked at Jake whose face was cold as stone. “Couldn't they have kept her in jail?”
“Hey, how was I to know? I didn't talk to you guys until long after they'd gone.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, well, it gets worse. The deputy also told me they just took a report a little while ago from a hysterical housekeeper out at Sweetwood Farm. The woman lives on the property. Thought she heard a commotion and went to investigate. She found Camille Rhodes unconscious. Looks like some kind of drug overdose.”
“Where's Ferrier?”
“From what I understand, he's been fending off reporters half the day. And they're busy chasing down every suspected gang member in the area.”
“Figures.”
“I went by the restaurant. No sign of either Cat or his Range Rover.”
“Was Kerstin there?” I said.
“The wife? Yes. I saw her go in and out of the kitchen a couple times.”
“We'll start with her then. She's got to know something.”
All the way back we had debated whether or not to inform Ferrier of what we had found. We had settled on bringing in only the Commonwealth's attorney. If it came down to some sort of hostage situation, the one advantage we had was Cat's assumption that Jake and I were still mostly in the dark regarding the truth. A huge posse would only tip him off.
Cat had been good—we had to give him that. Deception, not just once, but over a number of years. Bringing in family. The guy had broken just about every unwritten code there was. And he seemed to be growing more desperate with every killing, every move he made. He had to suspect we were onto something—he just didn't know how far we had come.
Or how far we were willing to go.
Priscilla handed Jake a note she had found taped to the door.
“It's from Hal Stenirude,” he said. The falconer friend. “He just left a couple hours ago. The birds are okay.”
We had replaced the briefcase where we had picked it up in New York. We couldn't risk trying to check it on the flight. Jake said if we were going to be doing this kind of thing again from time to time, he would have to rent another self-storage space closer to home. We picked up more ammunition for our handguns from the trailer and were all set to go.
“Jake?” Priscilla said. “If you two are planning something that will in any way affect my prosecution, I need to know about it.”
Jake paused and took her gently by the arm. She did not resist.
“Priscilla,” he said, “I respect who you are and that includes what you do. But this isn't about prosecution anymore.”
“But if you have new witnesses, they need to be—”
“I know the drill. But right now Frank and I are more worried about his daughter than the chain of evidence.”
“I understand.”
Jake nodded slowly. He was checking the load on the .45. “You're coming, aren't you?” he asked.
“You betcha,” she said.
Priscilla sat between us in the truck on the way into town. “A couple things I don't get. How did Cahill manage to change the barrels on those guns without Ballistics catching on to him?”
“Glock barrels from the same model are interchangeable,” I said. “That's why they have their own serial numbers. It's fairly simple to break the piece down too, if you know what you're doing.
“You remember, don't you, Jake? Cat was the one who went after Balazar when we shot him. You were trying to help Singer while I chased the runner. You and I both know we saw a gun in that kid's hand and we were right. It must have been a Glock, same model as Cahill's. The other kid must have had one too. Cahill admitted he knew the kid we shot. He must have supplied them with the guns, one of which had the barrel from his own Glock in it while his had the barrel from that gun. There might have been four or five different weapons in the mix so Cat could kill Singer and one or both of the kids, then tag Singer's shooting on them.”
Jake nodded slowly. “But he didn't count on Frank and I being in the neighborhood and showing up so soon after he called in. When we downed the kid, he must've hit on the idea of not just switching the barrels, but taking that weapon out of play altogether and substituting the pipe. Safer. Or so he thought.”
“It
was
safer,” I said. “He thought Morelli's people had taken care of the gun for him. But now Fuad writes to say they've got a match on the weapon and the barrel all these years later. If someone's able to tie it to Morelli's organization and starts asking enough questions—you could see how Cat might get concerned.
“He thinks he's okay when he finds out Morelli's about to kick the bucket, but then the Turner kid comes into the picture, and suddenly he knows about the gun too. Cat goes into panic mode.”
“Murders Dewayne Turner,” Priscilla said. “Then looks for an easy mark to pin that crime on and Nicky Pavlicek just so happens to fit the bill. He had to know you'd be coming over to look into things though.”
“Right. Which might have been exactly what he was hoping.”
“Feel us out. Find out what we know. Use the opportunity to cast suspicion on all of us, then try to eliminate us somehow too before he's through. Probably no one else would ever be in a position to piece the whole thing together,” Jake said.
“How did Cowan find out about Morelli?” Priscilla said.
“My guess would be through Camille. He must have had an idea she was using. He said he knew the family well. Dewayne Turner, at one time, was probably her supplier. When that ended she probably got desperate and went to the gang or someone else on the street. In fact, that's probably where Weems came into the picture. And he somehow got mixed up with Cat too, which is why Cat had him following me. Turner himself might have mentioned Morelli to Camille. Remember, he was trying to evangelize a lot of his former contacts. He might have figured he would have a better chance if he kept tabs on who was still in the supply chain.”
“So Cowan goes to New York. Finds out about the drug deal, maybe the gun too. Why not just come back and arrest Cahill?”
“He needed better evidence to tie Cat to more than just the drugs. Plus, he was still suspicious of Jake and me. He might have figured Cat was working for the two of us. He even went so far as to contact Cat in the hope he could use what he had to get more information. My bet is Cat somehow manipulated Cowan into meeting him again out at the lake.”
“And now he's got Nicole,” I said.
“That's a lot of supposition,” she said. “The only way a prosecution can be successful is if the gun in New York can be definitively linked to Cahill along with additional evidence linking him to the current killings.”
“We know Cat murdered Singer and set us up. Then he murdered Turner and tried to frame Nicole by planting the coke and putting traces of the same material on Turner's body. He murdered Cowan, now maybe Camille Rhodes as well. If I find out he is holding my daughter against her will, please excuse me if I shoot first and ask questions later.”
“If everything you say is true, we've got to consider the possibility that your daughter may be already dead, Frank,” Priscilla said.
She was right, but I didn't even want to think about that.
We reached the outskirts of town. Except for a Roanoke TV station van in the municipal lot, Leonardston looked peaceful enough. You would never guess the local sheriff had been murdered the night before and that a killer was still at large.
Jake said. “You think Kerstin's in on this thing too?”
“Hard to say. She may not know anything about it. He fooled us, didn't he?”
We pulled into Cahill's lot just as another car was pulling out, a green Toyota station wagon with a family inside. There were only two other vehicles outside the restaurant, the same as earlier in the day, with one glaring omission. Cat's Range Rover was still missing.
I turned off the engine and cut the lights.
Jake asked: “What now?”
“We go in and see if we can find Kerstin. I'll do the talking.”
The three of us entered through the front. The lights were all on but the place was empty, almost eerily quiet. Then Kerstin Cahill came out from the kitchen.
“Frank, Jake, Miss Thomasen” she said. She nodded at the Commonwealth's attorney. “How nice to see you all. You need menus?”
“No, thanks. Actually, we were wondering if you could spare us a few minutes,” I said. “Is Cat around?”
“No. He's off hunting. Called me a little while ago from a pay phone.”
I glanced at Jake who showed no reaction.
“Would you folks like some coffee? Just put on a fresh pot of decaf.”
“Thanks,” I said. “That'd be great.”
“Just help yourselves to a seat. I'll get us some mugs and be right back,” she said.
She disappeared into the back again. We picked out chairs around a table in the middle of the room and all sat down. Kerstin came bustling back from the kitchen carrying a tray with the coffee. She set a full cup of the steaming liquid in front of each of us and put the pot, creamer, and a glass dish filled with sugar packets in the middle of the table. Then she picked out her own chair and sat down.
“So. What can I do for you people this evening?” she said.
“Do you happen to know where he's gone hunting?” I asked.
“Of course. He's gone up to the cabin that we own near Totter Creek. You know the place. … Why? Is something wrong?”
“We're not sure yet. He seem okay to you when you last saw him?”
“This morning? I suppose so. He looked tired.” The big woman looked at Jake and me with searching eyes and I realized then that she was in the same position we had been: she didn't know.
“If you don't mind my asking, Kerstin, how's business?”
“Business. Well, I… I don't know really. We've been busy off and on. But Cat handles anything to do with money. We've never had any problem, if that's what you mean.” She twirled a strand of hair through her fingers. Nervous. Maybe she had begun to suspect the truth by then. Maybe our being there was beginning to confirm it.
“Just looking for information,” I said. “You said he called from a pay phone. Is there a phone up there at the cabin?”
“No. The place has electricity and running water, but no phone.”
“How about Cat's cell phone? Could we contact him on that?”
“Sorry. He never takes it up there. It's outside the coverage area and besides, he says sometimes he just likes to get away from everything.”
I tried to smile. “Sure. You don't think he'd mind if we went up there to visit him, do you?”
“I don't see why he would,” she said. “But if you can wait until tomorrow, I'm sure he'll be back by lunchtime. We have a new cook starting then.”
“That's okay. If it's all the same to you, we really would like to talk to him before then.”
“Are you sure everything's all right?”
I would not be the one to tell her of his deception. Not yet at least.
“Let's hope so,” I said.
Outside in the parking lot Priscilla was the first to speak.
“You two aren't planning to go up there after him in the dark, are you?”
I thought it over.
“What do you think, Jake?” I said.
“Seems like too much of a risk if he's got Nicky.
Assuming he didn't kill her right away, a few more hours won't make any difference. Plus I've got an idea that can get us in there without Cat suspecting a thing.”
I nodded. “We'll go at dawn then.”
32
The plan was simple enough. The Cahills’ cabin balanced on a steep hillside high above the creek that flowed through a gap in the mountains. A dirt road that had been cut along the power line provided the only motorized way in. Toronto and I would approach from above where, a hundred yards into the woods, the slope leveled to a long plateau. It wasn't the best place for a red-tail to hunt, but hopefully Cat wouldn't know that—Armistead would ride on my gloved left hand.
Priscilla would remain concealed on our flank with a handgun for protection. If something went awry, she was to get out and bring help, but if everything went according to schedule she had a more important job. Jake and I would try to get Cat away from the building. Priscilla would move in to look for Nicole and hopefully take her out of the equation, assuming she were there and still alive, before the big guy realized what was going on. I prayed he hadn't killed her yet; he could use her if it came down to bargaining with Jake and me.
My .357 was in its holster concealed beneath my thick, unbuttoned jacket. Jake had his big rig strapped to his boot just above the cuff of his trousers. How he walked without a limp, especially on the hill carrying that thing, I never knew, but somehow he managed.
Much of the forest's color had dropped to the ground by now. A breeze gusted from time to time, spinning the remaining leaves through branches like paper from a ticker tape parade in the gray first light.