Love me to death

NINETEEN

Andrew “Ace” Shuman was a foul-mouthed ex-con and there was nothing Noah would have liked more than to find a reason to arrest him.

“Fucking Feds,” Ace said when he opened the door and saw Noah and Abigail standing on the stoop of his beat-up post-World War II cinderblock house. Noah hadn’t pulled out his badge yet. “My parole was up eighteen months ago, I don’t got to talk to you.” He leered at Abigail as his eyes skirted up and down her body.

Noah showed his badge. “Special Agent Armstrong, my partner Special Agent Resnick. We’re here to ask you questions about the murder of Roger Morton.”

Telling him right off the bat that this was serious-a capital offense.

Shuman scowled. “Roger Morton?” He leaned against the doorjamb. He didn’t invite them in, and Noah wasn’t sure he wanted to step into this pigsty. He’d spent a winter at Fort Dix in New Jersey, and this cold sunny day didn’t bother him, but Abigail was trying to stop herself from shivering, so Noah got down to business.

“When was the last time you had any contact with Morton? In person, email, phone?”

“That motherfucker’s dead?” Ace sounded skeptical.

Noah nodded curtly and waited for an answer. When Ace wasn’t forthcoming, he added, “You’re an ex-con. You have a history with Morton. Don’t make me come back with an arrest warrant.”

“Bullshit, you can’t arrest me for squat.”

“I can and will compel you to answer my questions. As I stand here, the FBI is reading every email sent to and from Morton in the last six months. We know you and Morton corresponded.”

“Then read them and get back to me,” Shuman said and started to close the door.

Noah put his foot forward to prevent the door from closing. “I’ve had a long week, and you’re making it longer. Deputy Chief of Police Richard Blakesly is a personal friend of mine. One call and he’ll make your life miserable. You won’t be able to step out without a patrol car on your ass. You won’t be able to go to a bar, the grocery store, or walk to the corner without a Baltimore P.D. officer asking you what time it is.

“Morton had child pornography on his computer. You emailed him something. And if there is any hint that you sent him illegal porn, we’ll raid this place top to bottom. One stray picture, and you’re back in prison. And everyone there will know you get off on naked kids.”

Ace stepped forward, his face dark and dangerous. “Fucking prick, I don’t go for kids.”

“Please hit me,” Noah said, not moving.

Ace wrestled with his anger.

Noah pushed. “I know you talked to Morton; I want to know what it was about. Why was he in D.C. last week?”

Ace spewed a chain of profanity that would have had the most foul-mouthed Marine blush, but Noah kept a straight face.

At the end of the rant, Ace said, “I didn’t know Roger was dead, but I thought something was up because he never came by when he said he would.”

“When was that?”

“He said he had a business proposition. He was supposed to come over last Saturday.”

“What did he say about the business proposition?”

“Okay, this is the God’s honest truth. After he got out of the pen, he contacted me, said he had to watch his ass, but he had a plan and might need me to head up security. Asked if I was interested. I was. Didn’t hear squat from him for months. Then out of the blue he said he was coming to D.C. and would see me on Saturday. If things worked out, he’d have startup capital and would need my help.”

“Startup capital for what?”

“He didn’t say, but I heard around that someone was putting together a new online sex club. Live webcams, quality videos, chats. Sounded promising.”

“And that someone was Roger Morton?”

“Don’t know. That was just the grapevine, a friend of mine talking big. But when I heard from Roger, I thought about that.”

“Who is this friend?”

“Now that, I ain’t saying.”

Noah took a risk. “Robbie Ralston?”

Shuman shrugged.

“Ralston is dead, too.”

Shuman couldn’t hide his reaction. “Robbie’s dead?”

“Was he the big talker?”

“Might be. But he wasn’t smart enough to do it on his own.” Shuman paused, then added, “I’d rather take my chances in prison than fuck with certain vodka-swilling shits, if you get my drift.”

Noah got it, all right.

“Thank you, Mr. Shuman.”

Ace laughed. “ ‘Thank you Mr. Shuman’? That’s a fucking hoot.” He winked at Abigail.

In the car, Abigail said, “You have friends in high places.”

Noah blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The deputy chief of police? What are the chances?”

Noah shrugged and turned the ignition. “I don’t know. Richard Blakesly was my first lieutenant when I joined the Air Force. He’s still there.”

“You bullshitted him?” Abigail grinned. “Pulling one over on a con like Shuman, I’m impressed.”

“I didn’t have time for his games, and I had no cause to haul his ass in. Nor did I want to spend an hour in the car with him.” Noah turned onto the main road and headed back toward D.C. “Morton and Ralston were playing a dangerous game.”

“Of course. They’re dead.”

“I was thinking of the vodka-swilling shits Ace Shuman alluded to.”

“You’ll have to clue me in.”

“Sergey Yuran is a Russian trafficker. If it’s in Russia-drugs, people, weapons-he can get it.”

“Yuran?”

Noah nodded. “He’s the only Russian who’s on Morton’s associate list. According to Kate Donovan’s notes, he supplied Trask Enterprises with a steady stream of prostitutes for their sex tapes. If Morton crossed him?”

He stopped. Something didn’t feel right about this.

“What?” Abigail pressed a moment later.

“I don’t know. I don’t know Yuran well, but Morton’s murder seems sloppy to me.”

“Sloppy? One bullet and he’s dead.”

“Yeah-but Yuran is better than that. Still,” Noah said, turning onto the freeway, “Morton was into something that got him killed, and that means someone even more dangerous is involved in whatever plan Morton had up his sleeve.”

“Where to now?”

“Yuran. I have to call it in, I’m sure one of our people is watching him closely. I don’t want to risk any existing undercover op, but he knows something or Shuman wouldn’t have seemed so nervous.”

Driving back to D.C., Noah called Hans Vigo to learn the status of any investigation involving Sergey Yuran. By the time Hans returned his call, he was pulling into FBI headquarters.

“You were right to call,” Hans said. “Immigration has had him under surveillance for months, and they don’t want us involved at this point. I did, however, get some information out of them. Good news, bad news. Or good news, neutral news, depending on your point of view.”

“Give it to me.”

“Yuran and his key men are all alibied for last weekend-they were in New York City.”

“Doing what? A human trafficking convention?” Noah added sarcastically.

“They didn’t say, I didn’t ask. Immigration is touchy these days.”

Noah said, “He could have put a hit out on Morton.”

“True, but there’s no whisper of that. According to my source, Morton and Ralston aren’t even on their radar. There are no signs that Yuran is even looking into the online sex trade; he prefers to deal with live people.”

Noah didn’t think that Shuman was blowing smoke up his ass. “My source says Yuran was a possible source of capital to launch the venture.”

“That may be possible, but only from a money perspective. Yuran has been known to loan money, at huge cost. You think that’s why Morton and Ralston were killed? They didn’t pay up?”

“No,” Noah admitted. “That doesn’t feel right-there’s no sign that either of them had any cash, even for a short time. Yuran isn’t an idiot; he wouldn’t kill them without a reason.”

“I agree. I think Yuran is a dead end, but I did ask my ICE contact to research the matter. How many emails were exchanged between Yuran and Morton?”

“One.”

“Doesn’t seem like a good bet. Does Kate have the content yet?”

“No. Anything else?”

“Yeah, the neutral-to-bad news.”

“I thought you gave me the bad news.”

“Because you didn’t close your case? That’d be too easy. But you should know that Sean Rogan paid a visit to Sergey Yuran yesterday.”

Noah tensed. “Rogan?”

“Stayed for twenty-seven minutes. Went to his bar before it opened. The timing suggests it was right before he found Ralston’s body.”

“Yuran sent him there?”

“Doubtful-Ralston was an associate of Morton’s, Sean was working the case like you were.”

“Obstructing justice.”

“I’m saying, you might want to use Sean and RCK where you can. They have a little more freedom than we do.”

Hans wasn’t explicitly giving him an order, but it felt like one. Noah didn’t want to cross that line. Bringing in a private consultant was one thing, but a gray-area firm like Rogan-Caruso-Kincaid? “I think I’ll just ask Rogan what he and Yuran talked about, and then tell him to stay the hell out of my case.”

“I understand; I’m just giving options,” Hans said.

It wasn’t an option Noah cared to exercise-except as a last resort.