A Garden of Vipers

CHAPTER 32

Harry and I went to the office in the morning and caught up on every bit of paperwork the case had generated. We had the feeling that something was due to break. We wanted to be caught up if the shit got delivered to the fan.

The Crandell character had come to light and we were using it to leverage Barlow. A four-year-old murder appeared to have been done by Taneesha Franklin’s killer. I suspected Dr. Bernard Rudolnick had treated-or at least observed-the perpetrator. The man who killed Rudolnick had been poisoned after being interviewed by our primary victim, Taneesha. It was a rat’s-nest of tangles, but we were picking it apart a twig at a time. Something was going to bust loose on one of the angles.

At ten forty-five we headed to Harry’s house, where we’d arranged to meet Margolin. The day had turned too hot for sitting outside, so we paced in the living room, Harry north to south while I went east to west. After a few crossings we got the rhythm right. At eleven-thirty we heard a car door slam and Harry went to the window.

“He’s here.”

Margolin strode into the living room with a black leather bag over his shoulder. He was a small, fit guy in a blue seersucker suit and white shirt, no tie. His eyes were dark and electric, his steel-gray hair buzzed short. He moved like a Jack Russell terrier, fast and choppy. The guy looked closer to fifty than sixty; investigative journalism must have agreed with him.

We did introductions. Margolin took the couch, Harry and I pulled our chairs close.

“What you got?” I asked.

Margolin reached into the bag, dug out a folder, set it on his lap.

“First off, don’t get the idea I jump like this for anyone. Cops especially. I’m doing this because DeeDee told me to. I do mean told, like an order. I owed her one for a tip she passed on last year. This is me paying back.”

“Understood,” I said.

Margolin snapped open the folder, put on reading glasses.

“Pettigrew, Benjamin Thomas. Started with the Montgomery force four years back. Patrolman second grade, the rank owing to three years’ experience as a county cop. Made detective one year later. Nicknamed ‘Bulldog’ because of his investigative tenacity. A perp once found out Pettigrew was on his case, came in and surrendered. Actually, I think that’s happened twice.”

“Pettigrew’s not a guy to give up,” Harry said. “And known for it.”

Margolin looked over his glasses. “If you’re looking for a downside to Pettigrew, I never found one. This boy’s all silver and no tarnish.”

“Actually, we’re more interested in how he was selected,” Harry said.

Margolin shuffled through his papers, reviewed one for a few seconds.

“Pettigrew got lucky, actually.”

“Lucky how?”

“The city got a special grant to add cops that year. I mean, like the week before. Over a half million bucks in money drops in from a KEI grant-”

Like touching me with a live wire. I jerked forward, waving my hands in the time-out motion. “Wait a minute, Ted. KEI?”

“Kincannon Enterprises, International.” Margolin’s reporter sense kicked on. “I say something interesting, guys?”

Harry said, “Keep going, Ted.”

“KEI tossed big money on the table, special one-time grant-use it or lose it. It was a little out of KEI’s range to provide funds for direct hiring, but welcomed by the city, of course.”

Harry said, “Would folks at KEI have any sway over who was chosen?”

“If the Kincannons had a candidate for a cop position, the candidate would get heavy consideration. No, he’d flat-out get hired.”

Harry said, “What if the Kincannons wanted a guy out of their hair? They’d do the same, right? Have him plucked away by Montgomery?”

Margolin started to reply, but his eyes turned cautious. He looked between Harry and me.

“I’m late for an appointment. That’s all I know about Pettigrew. I do know the Kincannons are rumored to have inroads into law enforcement.” Defiance in his voice, and veiled anger.

Harry held up his hands. “Wait a minute. You think we got you here under false pretenses? Maybe dope out your view of the Kincannons?”

Margolin picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder, stood. “Nice talking to you fellows.”

Harry reached out and snatched the bag from Margolin’s shoulders.

“Hey!” Margolin snapped.

Harry slid the bag over a cannonball shoulder. Margolin looked between his bag, Harry’s shoulder, and Harry’s face.

“Have a seat, Ted,” Harry said. “Please,” he added.

The reporter sat warily.

“You need a quick history lesson,” Harry said. “Buck Kincannon helped me create an inner-city baseball team. A year later, when the team’s mentors wouldn’t play dirty political ball with family interests, Kincannon deep-sixed the dreams of about fifty kids I cared about. I’d personally like to rip Kincannon’s face off and shit in it.”

Margolin studied on that for a moment, then looked my way.

“I have my own story,” I said. “It isn’t his face I want.”

Harry said, “Someone we know described the Kincannons as using one hand to give while the other takes. Everything’s quid pro quo. Fit anything you know, Ted?”

“The old Kincannon quid pro quo…I got one: the Montgomery Chamber Orchestra. The Kincannons were trying to schmooze their way into Montgomery society, wanted to impress the social register types. They approached the symphony and donated money to create a chamber orchestra. Three months later, music.”

“And?” I said.

“You can’t wash stripes off a skunk. The Kincannons can’t bear giving without getting. Every time the family had a bash for their political ass-kissers up in Montgomery-and they have a lot of ’em, bashes and asskissers both-the MCO was expected to perform gratis. After a year of freebies, the musicians rebelled. The funds quietly dried up over the next year.”

Margolin shifted his gaze between Harry and me. “That’s a funny story and no one was hurt. I’ve heard other stories, never verified, that weren’t funny, you get my drift. I’ve always wanted to put a tight lens on the Kincannons. Maybe it’s time.”

Harry slipped the bag from his shoulder, handed it back to the reporter.

“Watch your back,” Harry said.

Margolin winked, said, “One of the things I do best.” He skittered out the door, all sauce and energy.

I turned to Harry. “Pettigrew is checking into the killing of Ms. Holtkamp. He’s got a rep as a guy who finds things out. Suddenly the KEI dumps a shitload of the big green jizzle into the kitty in Montgomery, says hire some cops. And by the way, there’s this guy in Mobile County…”

Harry nodded. “Pettigrew is called to the big city. Barlow slides into place and becomes a wrecking ball.”

“Crandell arrives on the scene and works some kind of magic,” I added. “Problem solved.”

“Four dead bodies, a funky Wookiee, and a high-level fixer. What the hell have we stepped into?”

Harry’s cell went off in his pocket. He fumbled it free, looked at the screen for the incoming number, didn’t seem to recognize it. He put the phone to his face, brightened.

“Hi, Arn, what’s up?”

Harry paused. Leaned forward. “What? When?”

He listened with his hand on his forehead. Grunted a few times. Hung up. Turned to me.

“Cade Barlow was found in his garage this morning. He shut the door, cut the gas line to his water heater in the garage. Then he sat on his shiny Harley and rode into the sunset. Or wherever.”

I slammed my fist on my thigh. “He leave a suicide note?”

“Nothing but a body on a bike, the asshole.”

I thought for a few moments.

“He was already dead, Harry.”

“What do you mean?”

“Arn Norlin said Barlow was a decent cop until four years back. That’s when he got odd. Arn described it as Barlow seeming like he’d lost someone he loved. Maybe he traded his integrity for thirty pieces of silver. Or chrome, in this case.”

“Barlow lost himself when he sold his honor? That’s what you’re saying?”

I shrugged. “It fits.”

Harry leaned back in his chair with his mouth open and tapped a yellow pencil against his cheek. It made a hollow sound.

“Wonder who bought it?” he said. “Barlow’s honor.”