The Dead Man

Chapter Forty-one

Lucy had parked my car in the circle drive, the passenger window down. She waved as I passed through the doors of the institute, the last of the low-angled sun slicing through the trees, disappearing at my feet. The day, though at its end, had warmed, as winter days in Kansas City will do, turning snow to slush and stoking frozen bones with the promise that spring was around the corner no matter how far the bend in the road.

Gone were the squad cars, fire trucks, ambulances, news crews, and gawkers. Gone too were the frightened and anxious people who worked here, the loss of two of their own seeding their nightmares, leaving them rattled and relieved that they had survived the day. In their place was an empty after-hours quiet. The hum of homebound traffic hung in the air, a white noise reminder that loved ones will be home for dinner, the sun will set and rise, and we will begin again.

That faith in normalcy, that bedrock certainty that there are more good guys than bad, that hard-eyed survivor's optimism, gets us through the night and emboldens us to take on the day. It will allow Carlos Morales to one day go searching for tools in the sub-basement closet where Anne Kendall was murdered without imagining her violated body pressed against the wall and allow Connie Nichols to drive through the intersection where Leonard Nagel died without muttering under her breath that he got what he deserved and not caring whether he did.

Underlying all of that is our shared faith in justice- that whoever takes a life will be called to account by those who have sworn to take up that burden. I took that oath when I joined the FBI and though my badge had been taken from me, I couldn't set that burden down.

A black sedan cruised into the circle drive, stopping between Lucy and me, Ammara Iverson at the wheel, Dolan in the passenger seat, and Kent in the back. Dolan stepped out, opened the rear door, and thumb-jerked an invitation. Lucy jumped out of my car, stopping when I waved her off.

"It's okay," I told her as I unzipped my jacket and cradled my satchel under my arm.

I slid into the backseat, Dolan slamming the door like he wanted to throw away the key.

"We're double-dating? No wonder Dolan's so testy. He's jealous that you're in the back with me," I said to Kent.

"Do me a favor, don't start," Kent said. "I don't need you jamming him every time you open your mouth."

"And I don't need you guys popping up like the Pills-bury doughboy every time I turn around and riding my ass."

Kent let out a sigh. "Maybe we can work it out so we don't have to."

"Right. Next thing, Dolan will tell me he'll respect me in the morning and it's only a cold sore."

Dolan cursed and pivoted in his seat, ready to climb into the back. Ammara grabbed his arm before he could finish the turn and backed me off with a hot look.

"Let's take a walk, just you and me," Kent said, throwing his door open, climbing out of the car and cinching the belt on his trench coat.

We took it slow, following the circle drive toward the street. He rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck, getting loose, making it easier to say what he had to say, the words sticking.

"I'm not going to apologize for how we came at you," Kent said. "Take yourself and your daughter out of it, look at it the way you would have if you'd been us, and you would have done it the same way."

"I don't need an apology but I'd like to think I would have done it different."

"Oh, yeah. What would you have done?"

"Let it go. Wendy is dead and the rest of them are dead or in jail. I lost my daughter and my job. I don't give a crap about the money. Finding it won't change a damn thing for the Bureau or me. You want to work a cold case, find one that matters."

"Brass in DC doesn't see it that way, especially after this whole thing with the mailman. The way that touches you, forces our hand. We got no choice now and you know that."

I stopped and turned toward him. "Look, I don't know what was in the envelope Wendy sent me. I don't know where the money is and I didn't kill Walter Enoch. You tried bracing me downtown with the worst good cop, bad cop duet I've ever seen, though I got to admit that Dolan is born to the asshole role. Then you tried the soft soap with Ammara and now this, a mix of the high-low. What's next?"

Kent gave me a weak smile and gestured toward the street, keeping us moving. "Coroner makes Enoch's time of death sometime between ten o'clock Wednesday night and two o'clock Thursday morning. You got an alibi for that window?"

"I was fast asleep. Alone. Like everyone else whose mail Enoch either stole or delivered. You need more than that. Can you put me at the scene? Can you put me with Enoch? Can you tie me to the money?"

"Wendy contacted you twice we know of before she died. Stands to reason she told you what happened to the money and stands to reason you'd try to protect her memory, maybe even keep the money for your golden years. The letter she sent you ties you to Enoch. And it doesn't matter that the rest of the people on Enoch's mail route don't have an alibi. You're the only one whose stolen mail was opened."

"If it was me, don't you think I'd have taken the envelope too? And what about Corliss? You must have watched the video that he took at Enoch's house on my laptop. Hell, he talked Enoch into participating in the dream project and into letting him in his house with all that stolen mail. There were no signs of forcible entry. Corliss is a lot better choice than me. Ask him if he's got an alibi and ask him to take a polygraph."

"We did. He says he was asleep, just like you. He turned us down on the poly, says they're unreliable. You and I know better even if the courts won't let the results into evidence. Why don't you take a polygraph? Maybe put this whole thing to bed."

"Last time I offered, they turned me down. The examiner says I shake so much the results wouldn't mean a thing."

We made it to the street. A silver Lexus was parked on the curb, a vanity plate on the front bumper reading Bolt, jagged lines of yellow on either side of the name. The driver was short, his head clearing the steering wheel by inches. He raised one hand, giving me a wan salute. I gave him my back, wondering who or what he was waiting for.

"We did watch the video and Corliss told us all about it," Kent said. "Question is what was it doing on your laptop?"

"That guy in the Lexus," I said, tilting my head in Bolt's direction. "He's a lawyer named Jason Bolt. He's making noise about suing the institute for the wrongful death of two other volunteers. Milo Harper hired me to take a look at those cases, help put together a defense. When I found out Enoch was also a volunteer, I got curious."

"When did you find out Enoch was a volunteer?"

I thought of Lucy waiting for me in the circle drive, realizing that Ammara and Dolan were quizzing her. They had worked us, bringing Ammara to lower my guard, separating Lucy and me so they could question us at the same time before we could get our stories straight.

"Yesterday morning."

"So how come you got pictures of Enoch's body on your laptop? Those had to have been taken Friday night when Ammara called you out to the scene only she says you didn't take them. That leaves your landlady, Lucy Trent, who, and I got to confess, this is the part I really like, is another ex-cop that can't resist temptation. You living with a thief that takes pictures of the murder victim on the sly don't exactly help your credibility."

"She's got nothing to do with this."

"Then why was she taking pictures of the dead man?"

There was no answer I could give that wouldn't dig a deeper hole for her or me. "She was playing games. Thought she was being cute."

"That the best you can do?"

"She made a mistake. Let it go."

"That's the kind of mistake connects you and her to Enoch."

"You want a connection, try one between Enoch, the two wrongful death cases, and the woman who was found dead here this morning."

"You telling me all four are connected? What? You want us to go chasing a serial killer so we'll forget about you?"

"It's not as much of a stretch as you trying to make me for Enoch and the missing money."

"That explains why the chief of police reached out to the SAC. There's talk about a joint task force."

"That will tie you and Dolan up for a while."

"Not likely. We'll let the locals have Enoch, probably toss in a profiler and a few forensic people to back them up, if we can get some resolution with you on the drug money."

"What do you want from me?"

"Wrong question. The right question is what am I giving to you?"

"Don't make me wait until Christmas."

"Wise ass. Put this in your stand-up act. You've got forty-eight hours to come up with the money and the letter Wendy sent you. If her letter told you where the money is, we'll give you the benefit of the doubt that you haven't had it all along and you walk. After that, we do things Dolan's way."

"Why the free pass?"

"It's not free. It costs five million and you can thank Ammara for talking the SAC into it. She says you deserve one last chance to do the right thing."

"The Bureau is that hung up on the drug money?"

"You don't get it, do you, Davis. It's never been about the money. It's always been about you. You're the one who isn't dead and isn't in jail. You're the one that got away. That's what the Bureau can't stand. Neither can I."

"I know why you think Wendy told me about the money. I can't help that. But nobody can think I was part of what went down with my squad."

Kent's good guy facade vanished, his eyes hard, his lips pulled back. "It was an agent on your team that went bad, it was your daughter that helped him, and it was you who couldn't hack it anymore and wouldn't own up to it. Anybody else would have been transferred to Sitka or shit-canned. But you shimmy shake your ass into a cushy retirement on a bullshit disability that ain't so bad you can't collect a fat check from Milo Fucking Harper. And nobody, I mean nobody from DC to KC, can stomach that. So you want to buy peace with us, it's gonna cost you five million dollars."