Shakedown

Chapter Twenty-eight

“I’m betting against natural causes.”

“Preliminary indications are that he died of brain in?ammation,” Grisnik said.

“Brain in?ammation? What causes that?”

“Lot of things can do it: high fever, brain tumor, meningitis. But, in Javy’s case, it was a bullet.”

“Any chance he put it there?”

“Not unless he was a hell of a shot. The entry wound was in the back of his skull.”

“Any witnesses?”

“Don’t know yet. Garbageman found him when he was emptying a Dumpster.”

“Makes sense. Garbage in, garbage out. Where did he find the body?”

“Down in Argentine. On the northern edge of the rail yard. There are some storage buildings that back up to a stretch of woods. The Dumpster was out back behind one of the buildings. Javy’s car was parked next to it.”

“Argentine is his neighborhood,” I said.

“That’s where he grew up, but it’s not the only place he does business. Mexican Americans have lived in Argentine ever since the 1920s when a lot of them came here to work for the railroad. In those days it was the Atchison, Topeka amp; Santa Fe. Burlington Northern bought them out in 1995.”

“You’re a railroad expert too?”

“I’m a cop and this is my town. It’s my business to know. The federal government moved the Shawnee Indians here in the early 1800s. Toward the end of the century, a silver smelter was built on the reservation. Don’t ask me what happened to the Indians. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.”

“It usually wasn’t.”

“Anyway, the smelter kept growing and hiring people and the next thing you know, they had the town of Argentine. Lots of mining, too. Then the railroad saw a good thing and built a terminal here. The smelter went bust around 1900 and, not long after, Argentine became part of Kansas City, Kansas. The mines lasted a little longer, and then steel fabrication kept everyone employed who didn’t work for the railroad like my old man did. If I hadn’t become a cop, that’s where I’d have ended up.”

“Well, at least Javy died in his own backyard.”

“Doesn’t sound like it was his idea.”

“You think his death is connected to Marcellus, Oleta, and the rest?” I asked.

“Shit happens. Sometimes it’s the same shit. Some time’s it’s just a coincidence.”

“If there is a connection, it could mean that someone is consolidating market share. We started the week with Marcellus Pearson butting heads with Javy Ordonez and Bodie Grant. Two out of those three are dead and it isn’t Friday yet.”

“Bodie could be trying to become the next Head Fred or avoiding becoming the next victim,” Grisnik said.

“More likely the next victim. How far is a white boy from Raytown going to get moving in on black and Hispanic gangs in Kansas City, Kansas?”

“Not very damn far. Seems more likely that someone is getting even.”

“Or cleaning house,” I said. “Like your mother beating her dirty rugs.”

“Only we’re the ones get to clean up the mess. I can drop you at your car or you can go along for the ride. Your call.”

“Whose case is it?”

“Mine, at least so far. None of your people have showed up yet. Could be they’re too busy buying cars and houses or they might just have their police scanner tuned to sports talk. You want to tag along, that’s fine with me. Troy Clark shows up, he’s likely to take a dim view of your secret identity as Detective Funkhouser.”

“You’re right about that. I don’t suppose you could deputize me?”

“We quit doing that right after Wyatt Earp cleaned up Dodge City.”

The smart choice was to let Grisnik drop me off and tell me what happened later. Troy would be on the scene before the body was removed, claiming that it was the Bureau’s case, that it was related to their ongoing investigation of Marcellus Pearson’s murder. It was the same argument I would have made.

He wouldn’t be happy to see me there. It wouldn’t matter that I wasn’t breaking any laws. It was possible I wouldn’t even be breaking any Bureau regulations. Grisnik had invited me and I had accepted his invitation. It was simple. Troy wouldn’t see it that way. Neither would Ben Yates when Troy told him. Both Troy and Yates would see it as one more reason I shouldn’t come back any time soon, if ever.

If I stayed away, the crime scene would be picked over, rolled over, and swept up by the time I got there on my own. I wouldn’t learn anything from the one source I trusted more than any other.

I liked unified theories of crimes, ones that captured a single perpetrator responsible for multiple crimes. But crime was rarely that neat. More often crimes and criminals overlapped, an investigation of one unintentionally leading to the resolution of another.

Javy’s death could be part of a turf war that included the five drug house murders, the shooting of Tony Phillips, and the disappearance of his mother, Oleta, all the victims linked by drugs. Colby Hudson had said that Javy ordered the hit on Tony Phillips, making it tempting to tie Javy to the drug house, with Oleta somehow caught in the crossfire.

But the victims in Marcellus’s house, Oleta Phillips, and Javy Ordonez had a different link-Latrell Kelly. He lived behind where the drug house victims died and where Oleta’s money was found and he worked at the Argentine rail yard where Javy’s body was found. Tony Phillips could have been a one-off, unrelated to the rest.

“I’ll go along for the ride,” I told Grisnik. “Troy Clark has a problem with that, I’ll tell him you kidnapped me.”

Grisnik laughed. “Kidnapping is a federal offense.”

“Maybe Troy will arrest you instead of me.”

He pulled away from Pete’s Other Place, not bothering to turn on the red?ashing light mounted in the driver’s corner of the windshield or his siren. We weren’t in that big of a hurry since there was nothing we could do to change what had happened.