He stayed low, out of sight of the front window, and frog-walked across the kitchen to the back door. Slipping on a pair of Vans, he eased it open as quietly as possible, just wide enough to slip through. He left it ajar and turned, ready to hop the fence to the neighbor’s backyard, when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He struggled and tried to jerk away, but the hand ground in further, pinching his flesh, and he let out a yelp.
“Easy there, boy. Keep your mouth shut,” a low, menacing voice said in his ear. “You and me got some talking to do.”
Kelly rapped again, then frowned. She’d sent Monica around back in case the kid tried to bolt through another exit. Maybe he was just hunkered down inside, waiting for them to go away. According to Tony, the bartender at Club Metro, Danny was currently without a sugar daddy, so he should be home. And what a home it was, she thought, cupping a hand around her eyes to peer in the front window. She’d seen crack houses that looked more inviting. The building itself was ramshackle. She hovered carefully on the only two porch floorboards that weren’t on the verge of succumbing to termites. Inside, the place was a mess, the only furniture visible a cot mattress and an oily-looking couch that drooped to one side. A small TV console perched on an overturned milk crate in the corner, a wire hanger serving as its antenna. The interior walls were punctured with holes, and piles of trash were dispersed throughout the room like offerings.
Kelly bit her lower lip and debated. This was her last solid lead. If she couldn’t track down someone who’d known Jim, she might as well disassemble the task force and head home. Maybe she’d get a chance to enjoy the long weekend after all. Glancing both ways down the street, she leaned in and tried the knob. Locked. “Damn,” she muttered. She turned and picked her way to the edge of the porch, hands on her hips.
Monica reappeared and carefully hopped up the stairs. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” she said, stepping carefully past the rotting floorboards.
Kelly nodded but didn’t answer. Her eyes were following a kid who had just turned the corner onto the street. His steps slowed when he saw them. With exaggerated nonchalance, he kept going, speeding up as he passed the house. He was good-looking but meth-head skinny, wearing a white tank top and torn khaki shorts. Kelly jerked a head in his direction and Monica nodded.
Kelly started walking briskly toward their car, parked down the street from the house. She saw him glance back over his shoulder as he heard their steps behind them. She kept her eyes down, making a show of sorting through her purse for car keys. When he was about ten feet away, almost at the corner, she broke into a run. “FBI! Stay where you are!” she shouted. Monica matched her step for step.
The kid tried to bolt, but in flip-flops he was no match for them. He got twenty feet before Monica took him down with a flying tackle. He landed with a grunt, rolled over and kicked at her. Monica flipped him facedown and expertly pinned his hands behind him. “Je-sus!” she said, panting a little. “Would you relax, boy? Give an old lady a break.”
“The fuck do you want?” he snarled at them.
“We just want to talk to you.” Kelly said.
“I don’t know nothing,” he said sullenly.
“Are you going to behave yourself if I let you up?” Monica asked, “Because honestly, I don’t think I have another run in me today. You take off again, I’m just going to have to shoot you, understand?”
He nodded, and she slowly released him. He rolled to a sitting position and rubbed his wrists. “That hurt, yo. I’m calling my lawyer, suing for po-lice bru-tality.”
Monica rolled her eyes. “God, am I tired of white kids talking like they grew up in the ’hood.”
Kelly knelt down next to him. “Just relax. What’s your name?”
He ignored her, picking at a scab on his leg.
She lowered her voice a register as she said, “Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me. If you think I can’t haul you in for assaulting a police officer, not to mention a federal agent, you are sorely mistaken. And once I get your prints I’m willing to bet I find out everything about you. So why don’t you save me the time and trouble.”
A corner of the scab came off and a thread of blood trailed down his leg. He rubbed it in with his palm, avoiding her eyes as he said, “Jordan Davenport.”
“All right, Jordan. Were you at the house a few nights ago when Jim showed up?”
He shrugged.
“Might as well book him, it’s the only way he’ll talk,” Monica sighed. “C’mon, kid,” she said, grabbing one of his arms. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone to bail you out, right?”
He yanked his arm back. “I wasn’t there.”
“Yeah? And why should we believe you?” Monica said.
“I got an alibi, guy named Steve. I can take you to his place if you want. I was with him all night.”
“You met him at Club Metro?” Kelly asked.
The kid nodded.
“Did you see Jim there?”
The kid shook his head. “Nah, he didn’t show.”
“This is useless,” Monica said. “And he looks like a minor. I say we take him in.”
“Whatever.” The kid sank lower into the sidewalk. “You won’t find out what happened to the crap Jim stole, then.”
Monica and Kelly exchanged a look. “You give us a name and an address, I’ll not only let you off now, I’ll give you a get-out-of-jail-free card for next time,” Kelly said.
“Yeah? You can do that?” The kid looked up at her.
“Sure,” she said. It was a lie, but she was desperate for information. And who knew, if they got something good here, maybe Doyle could be persuaded to hold up the deal in the future. It was doubtful, but maybe.
“Jim had a guy, someone he dated on and off. Lives over in Williamstown, on Cold Spring Road. Big fuckin’ white house, you can’t miss it.”
“What’s his name?” Monica asked.
“Sterling.”
“Is that his first or last name?” Kelly asked.
Jordan shrugged. “Dunno. That’s all Jim ever called him.”
“How do you know that’s who Jim sold the art to?” Kelly pressed.
“Danny said so. He was there that night when they met at the house. Said Jim got a shitload of drugs from this guy, and some cash, too.” He scratched at his forearm. Raw red track marks dotted his arm from elbow to wrist.
“Where’d Jim go after that?” Kelly asked.
“Danny said he just took off. Figured he didn’t want to share. Selfish bastard,” Jordan muttered.
“And where’s Danny now?” Monica asked.
“What, he wasn’t at the house?” He looked puzzled when they shook their heads. “Well shit, I don’t know. Maybe he got a date.”
A woman approached wheeling a baby buggy down the sidewalk. She took in the scrawny kid on the ground and the two women standing over him, veered down the next driveway and crossed the street. Kelly examined Jordan; he didn’t seem to be holding anything back. She debated arresting him just in case it turned out he was bullshitting her. But if she did, they’d have to drop him off at holding before they went to interview this Sterling character, and the paperwork alone would take an hour. “All right, Jordan.” She held out a hand to help him up. He took it reluctantly and stood. “We’re going to check this out. But if what you’re saying turns out to be wrong, or if I find out you tipped this guy off, I’m coming back for you, understood?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, sure.” He turned and trotted back in the direction of the house.
Monica shook her head. “Think we should have held on to him?”
“I don’t think he’ll be that hard to track down. Seems like these kids only have a few places to go,” Kelly said. “Let’s head over to Williamstown, grab some lunch on the way.”
As they strolled back to the car, neither of them noticed a truck parked farther down the street in the shade of an elm tree. The driver sat low behind the wheel. He watched through a miniature pair of binoculars as Jordan entered the house, slamming the door behind him. The two women spoke for a minute, looking back toward the house, then got in their car and drove away. His fingers tapped along the steering wheel. He checked his watch, waited five minutes, then got out of the car, slinging a duffel bag over his shoulder as he approached the house.
Sixteen
Danny came to slowly. He was stiff, bleary-eyed, dizzy. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. In the dim lighting, all he could make out was a sea of brown. He realized he was surrounded by pallets of cardboard boxes.
Danny heard a low chuckling and whipped his head around. Seated on a low stack of boxes a few feet away from him, eyes shielded by the bill of a baseball cap, was the creep who had nabbed him. He’d changed out of his uniform. Danny was still pissed at himself, if he’d looked closely he would’ve realized right away the guy was just a lousy rent-a-cop.
“Damn, you were out cold,” the baseball-cap guy said, his voice low and conversational. “Gotta work on that dosage. I didn’t figure on knocking you out for so long.” He turned his wrist over, examining an enormous watch. “Still got plenty of time, though. Long weekend, so no one’ll be here till Tuesday morning.”
“Yeah?” Danny carefully eased to a sitting position. Whatever the guy had given him, it dosed him good, he still felt hazy. His throat was parched, tongue enormous and swollen in his dry mouth. He forced a swallow, deliberating. “I don’t do freebies,” he said, trying to force some bravado into his voice.
The guy chuckled again, dipped his head lower so his whole face was in shadow. “You got me all wrong, boy.”
“So what do you want?” Danny asked. He pulled himself up to a squat, stretching as though he was just trying to get comfortable. He glanced up, trying to gauge where the exit might be, but the whole ceiling was bathed in the same low light.
“Revenge.” Baseball Cap said the word slowly, tasting it. Danny repressed a shudder.
“Dude, I’ve never even, like, seen you before.” Danny coughed. “You got the wrong guy.”
Baseball Cap shook his head. “I’m not getting revenge on you. You’re just part of it. Understand?” He licked his lips. “Well, don’t worry. It doesn’t really matter either way.”
“Yeah, right,” Danny said, tensing his muscles in preparation. “Not to you, maybe.” He drew in a deep breath and pushed himself off the ground, faking right and veering to the left, aiming for the narrow corridor by the guy’s right side. He’d only got a few feet when an indescribable pain shot through him and he dropped to the ground, alternately going rigid and twitching uncontrollably.
Baseball Cap let out a holler. “Hot damn! That worked even better’n I thought it would.” He held up an electronic apparatus in one hand. “Taser, police-issue. Just got it in the mail the other day. Damn! You should’ve seen your face.” He laughed, left hand on his hip. “That was a hell of a lot more fun than the raccoon.”
“You’re not the guy,” Danny gasped. “They arrested that guy, he’s in jail.”
“You’re part right.” The brim bobbed up and down as he nodded. “The guy they arrested—gotta be honest, I didn’t see that coming. I shoved so much dope in him, I’m kind of surprised he survived it.” He cocked his head to the side. “Guess since he was knocked out, they figured he done it. Pretty good setup, actually. See, I do that sort of thing without even thinking about it.”
He sounded pleased with himself. Danny decided to press the advantage. “But with him in jail, if something happens to me, they’ll know he didn’t kill anyone.”
“Nope, that’s true, you got a point there. But I’m not after him. Sick son of a bitch deserves to rot, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not the big fish. Oh, no.” He approached Danny, stopping at his shoulder. With a swift motion he yanked the taser up. Danny yelped as the barbs tore out of his flesh with a wet, ripping sound. He gasped for air, curling into a tight ball. “No, I got me bigger fish to fry.”
“So what, you kill me?” Danny said with as much defiance as he could muster. “Go ahead. My life sucks anyway.”
“That’s ’cause you’re queer,” Baseball Cap said thoughtfully. “Ain’t natural, you know.”
“Fuck you,” Danny said, kicking out at him.
The guy hopped away, agilely avoiding the blow. “You’re a feisty one, ain’t you? Not like that other kid, he was hardly any fun at all, too drugged up to feel a thing. Now.” He settled down on his haunches and clasped his hands, meeting Danny’s eyes. “You’re going to help me figure something out.”
“Yeah? What?”
“What he gets out of it.” The guy picked up a length of cord from on top of the nearest stack of boxes. Danny twisted his head away and closed his eyes in resignation.
“One ‘Mighty Mathias’ and one…what do you want, Kelly?”
“The ‘Richard Chamberlain,’” Kelly said, after perusing the menu.
“Good choice, I usually get that one myself. This is on me,” Monica said, flipping open her wallet.
“Thanks.” They were in a quaint deli in Williamstown named Pappa Charlie’s. It was a student hangout, outdated posters by the door still announced games and dances from the previous semester. Stark wooden booths lined one wall, while opposite an enormous board listed dozens of sandwiches named for celebrities. The heat pressed in on the large plate-glass windows, engaged in a losing battle against the air-conditioning. Kelly ran a hand through her hair and closed her eyes, enjoying the flow of coolness on her skin. It was roasting hot outside. She had her doubts they’d be able to track down this Sterling character; anyone with common sense would be sitting in a pool or by a lake, waiting out the worst of it.
There was a whoosh of hot air as the door swung open. Monica glanced up from her wallet and broke into a wide grin. “Well, as I live and breathe, it’s Sam Morgan. How the hell are you, Sam?”
“Hanging in there. How about this heat though, huh?” He smiled at Kelly. She felt herself flushing. “I thought it was supposed to be cooler up here in the hills.”
“That’s global warming for you.” Monica shook her head. “Just gets worse every year.”
“I suppose. How’s the investigation going?” Sam asked. “I hear through the grapevine you’ve got someone in custody?”
Monica started to answer, but Kelly discreetly grabbed her elbow. “Sorry, we can’t really say either way.”
“Sure, I understand.” He smiled at the girl behind the counter and said, “I’ll have the ‘Paltrow.’”