Tonight I Said Goodbye

CHAPTER 12

IT TOOK Scott ten hours to turn us loose. She held us at the scene for a while, and then she had some of the uniforms take us to the station to wait for questioning. We were there the rest of the night. Scott pressed us for details about Hartwick, but we didn’t have much to provide. Kinkaid told her he knew Hartwick only as Wayne Weston’s friend, and he didn’t mention Hartwick’s involvement with weapons smuggling. Joe and I admitted we’d come across Hartwick while working on the Weston matter. Scott’s eyes lit up at that news, and I knew she was dreaming of the headlines and prestige that would come with the case. I also knew she wasn’t going to see any of it. The FBI was calling the shots on it now. Even though the Hartwick murder was under CPD jurisdiction, they’d keep Scott out of the loop and away from the Weston case, no matter how intertwined the two seemed.

For a while Scott tried to bluff as if we were suspects in the murder. Probably she thought she could scare us into giving up more details about Hartwick. It was a stupid ploy, considering Hartwick had been taken out at long range with a rifle. They questioned us separately and then brought us together for more rehashing. After that session, Kinkaid left to go to the restroom, and Scott left to make a phone call, leaving Joe and me alone with Eggers.

“Hey, Tim,” I said, “you might want to check out Kinkaid.”

He frowned. “You think he shot the guy?”

Joe looked at me, too, eyebrows raised. I shook my head. “I don’t think he shot Hartwick, but I do think it would be worth taking a look at him. Kinkaid was in position for the shot, and we don’t really know much about him yet. He lied to Joe originally, or he says he did, then showed up in our office offering to help. It was a nice gesture, but we haven’t had time to check him out yet. For all we know, he could have been scared of what Hartwick was going to tell us. Maybe scared enough to kill him.”

“Why does he care what Hartwick tells us?” Joe asked. “The guy hasn’t worked with Weston in years. Hell, he hasn’t even been in the city in years.”

“I’m not saying it’s likely, I’m just saying he deserves a careful look.”

Eggers shook his head. “I’m sure we’re going to find the dead guy was killed by a rifle bullet. Kinkaid’s carrying a Colt Python revolver. It’s a damn big gun, but it’s not going to be the gun used in this killing.”

“He’s carrying a Colt Python,” I said. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t have another gun with him.”

“You’re saying he might have used a rifle from the cemetery, dumped it back in his car, and then ran out to meet you?” He shrugged. “We’re going to check all the cars, don’t worry, but I doubt that’s possible. It’s a hell of a run across that cemetery.”

Joe nodded. “Kinkaid didn’t do it,” he said. “To make that run and show up right after the shooting would have been impressive, and he wasn’t even out of breath. Besides, if he dumped the rifle anywhere in the cemetery, they’ll find it.”

Kinkaid stepped back into the room, his face clouded with anger. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Pritchard,” he said, then pointed at me. “And, you, Perry, are an asshole.”

I felt a flush creep into my neck and face. “I’m sorry, Kinkaid. I’m not saying I think you killed him, okay? But the fact is, we don’t know much about you, and you were in a position to make the shot.”

He shook his head at me, his lip curled up in distaste. “Whatever, Perry.” He turned to Eggers. “Where’s the men’s room? I couldn’t find it the first time. Good thing, too, or I might have missed out on that conversation.”

They finally cut us loose around five in the morning. By then we were all exhausted, and we had to call a cab because the police had impounded Joe’s Taurus and Kinkaid’s car.

“Look, Aaron, I apologize,” I said as we stood outside waiting on the cab. “It wasn’t anything personal. It’s just an old detective’s reaction of trying to consider who might have been in position to do the crime.”

He nodded without looking at me. “It’s all right, Perry. I understand. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t care, because it pissed me off, but I’m also not going to let it get in our way. I want to find Julie Weston, and we’re going to need to work together to get that done.”

“You’re already booked into a hotel?” Joe asked.

“Yeah, I made reservations before I came in today. I was planning on staying in town for a few days.”

“Go get some sleep, then. When you wake up, come down to the office, and we’ll get started. Someone killed Hartwick because they didn’t want him talking to us, and we need to find out who that person is.”

“We’ll hear from Cody tomorrow,” I predicted. “He’ll be full of questions when he finds out about this.”

“I’d imagine,” Joe said.

“We’re stirring things up now. That’s obvious. Someone’s concerned by our investigation.”

“So why didn’t the shooter take you out, too?” Kinkaid said. “Or at least try?”

Joe shook his head. “I don’t know. But let’s not complain.”

Kinkaid took the first cab that arrived, and Joe and I remained on the sidewalk, waiting for another. I watched the taillights of Kinkaid’s cab disappear down the street and then turned away as they grew smaller. I’d seen enough glowing red dots for one day.

When I woke later that morning, the ache that had crept into my neck and shoulders the day before had intensified, and I groaned as soon as I moved. My back muscles felt like guitar strings after a Jimi Hendrix solo. A glance at the clock told me it was almost eleven, which meant I’d had four hours of sleep. I needed a long, hot shower, but I knew Joe would already be at the office, and I didn’t want to delay. I got dressed, splashed some cold water on my face, brushed my teeth, combed my hair, and headed out.

Joe was at the office, of course. He was sitting behind the desk and talking on the phone, dressed in khakis and a shirt and tie, looking like a man who’d just returned to work after a week’s vacation, refreshed and invigorated. I shook my head. Joe was amazing. When I’d worked with him as a narcotics detective, I’d learned just how long he could go without much sleep, or any sleep. And, somehow, he never seemed to lose his mental edge. His ability to avoid—or ignore—physical fatigue was incredible.

I dropped into my own chair beside him and eavesdropped on his conversation. It appeared he was talking to a cop about Hartwick. Eggers, maybe. Scott would still be in bed after pulling the all-nighter. Her work ethic was almost as well known as Joe’s, but for an entirely different reason.

Joe hung up and smiled brightly at me. “Morning, LP. Have a pleasant evening?”

I glared at him. “I hate you and your damned energy.”

“I’m almost twice your age, kid. Don’t give me that crap.”

I grunted and sipped the coffee I’d picked up at the doughnut shop on my way down. “Who were you talking to?”

“Eggers.”

“I knew it. What’d he have to say?”

“He wouldn’t say his partner’s an idiot, although I tried to elicit agreement from him. He did say they found Hartwick’s hotel room.”

“Anything in it?”

“Not really. Nothing that helps explain what he was doing in Cleveland, at least. Eggers said they did find plenty of ammunition, though—along with two extra handguns, and even a grenade. Sounds like Hartwick was ready to go to war.”

I raised my eyebrows. “A grenade? You kidding me?”

“That’s what Eggers said. I’m just glad the guy left it at the hotel room, otherwise maybe it goes off by accident last night and blows up half the avenue, including you and me. Oh, yeah, we’re going to have to go back down this afternoon and chat with Scott and Eggers some more.”

“So they aren’t getting anywhere, eh? If they were, they wouldn’t have more time to waste on us.”

“They’re not getting anywhere. Personally, I assume the shooter was one of the Russians. Don’t you?”

The coffee had cooled enough to drink now, and I took several long swallows before responding.

“I guess it’s safe to say I assume it was one of them. Can’t prove it, obviously, but it makes sense. We know some of them were special ops guys, and whoever made the shot was pretty familiar with a rifle. The scope was high-tech, too.”

“Uh-huh. By the way, Cody’s due down here any minute. I told him to give you until eleven. Kinkaid will be here soon, too.”

“How long have you been here?”

He glanced at the clock. “Oh, maybe three hours.”

“Did you sleep at all, Joe?”

“I’m fine.”

I didn’t push it. “So, here’s a question for you.”

“Yeah?”

“After all the chaos yesterday, our interview with Dan Beckley seems insignificant, but it established some pretty important points about Weston’s professional relationship with Hubbard, I think. Should we pursue that or focus on Hartwick and the Russians?”

Joe pressed his fingertips together and lifted his hands to his chin. It looked like he was praying. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think they’re both important, and I think they might be connected. One thing I don’t want, though, is for us to tell Cody about that.”

“About Dan Beckley?” I said, and he nodded. “Why not?” I asked. “We’ve already given him Hubbard.”

“I know we have, but now that we’ve got a better idea of what was going on between Weston and Hubbard, I want to keep it quiet for a while. Hubbard’s a hell of a powerful guy, LP, maybe the most powerful man in this city. And I don’t completely trust Cody. He’s fed us bad leads before, and I don’t like that.”

“You’re saying Hubbard might be pulling strings with the FBI?” I said. “Now who’s having trust issues, Joseph?”

Someone knocked at the door, and then it opened and Aaron Kinkaid poked his head inside. “Morning,” he said. I was pleased to see that he looked even worse than I did. He came in and sat down.

“Long night,” he said. “I’m exhausted.”

“A guy named Thad Cody’s going to be here soon,” Joe said. “Probably with a couple of Cleveland cops in tow. Cody’s with the FBI, and he’s calling the shots on the Weston investigation. He’s going to have quite a few questions for you.”

As if on cue, the door opened again and Cody entered, with Swanders behind him. Kraus was missing this time. It was a good thing I’d woken up when I had, or I might have been roused from bed by a pissed-off FBI agent.

“Is this Kinkaid?” Cody said, pointing at our redheaded visitor.

“I’m Aaron Kinkaid.”

“Good. Then we’re all here.” Cody pulled up a chair, but Swanders remained on his feet, leaning against the wall. Cody was wearing a suit today, and he had his briefcase with him again. He’d been a little overbearing in our first meeting, but that was nothing compared to the attitude he carried with him today. He was angry now.

“All right, gentlemen,” he said. “Let’s hear what you’ve got to say. And it better be true, and it better be detailed. Because if you’ve compromised my investigation, I’ll spend the rest of my career making you regret it.”

It was a hell of a way to get the ball rolling. We talked. Joe explained Kinkaid’s arrival in our office the day before, as well as how we’d determined Randy Hartwick’s identity. Kinkaid then jumped in to explain what he knew of Hartwick. This time, he didn’t leave out the weapons smuggling. Cody frowned at that and leaned forward, intense.

“Who was he running guns for?”

“I don’t know,” Kinkaid said.

“No ideas? You never heard any names? Do you know what kind of weapons he was involved with? Anything?”

Kinkaid shook his head. “I don’t. All I know is what Wayne Weston told me. He didn’t offer any details, and I didn’t ask.”

“I see. So, what brought you here in the first place, Mr. Kinkaid?”

Kinkaid looked at his shoes again, as he had when he’d talked to Joe and me the day before. “I, uh, well, I care about Julie Weston,” he said. “I was pretty close to her, you know? And, well, I’d like to do what I can to help.”

We talked for more than an hour. Swanders jumped in occasionally with questions, but it was clear that Cody was in charge. No one offered an explanation of where Kraus was or why he was missing.

“I’ve got to hand it to you assholes,” Cody said. “You really know how to make things more difficult. This Hartwick guy could have been just who we needed to break this case open. But do you call me, give me a heads-up? No, you don’t. Instead you try to play the game your own way, and then you get burned. And, in the process, I get burned, because now a guy I need to talk to is dead.” He shook his head with disgust. “I told you I wanted to work with you on this. But now you’ve made it clear you aren’t willing to work with us.”

I felt like a schoolboy being chastised by the principal—aware of the consequences of my actions, but at the same time somewhat amused with the whole scenario. Cody had never wanted to work with us. He’d made that clear when he had Swanders and Kraus feed us the bogus gambling tip. And he could have had the first crack at Hartwick if he’d been sharper. If he had found Hartwick first, I was sure he wouldn’t have bothered to notify Joe and me. Now he was griping at us, but his own investigation seemed to have stagnated. He didn’t want to work with us, but he saw we were making more progress than he was, and it was pissing him off.

“We’ve tried to work with you,” Joe objected. “We told you to check out Hubbard. Have you done that?”

“Yeah, we’re working on that, Pritchard. But it’s going to take more than a day, all right?”

“We found Hartwick in one day,” I said.

“And you got him killed in that same day, you jackass.” Cody sighed and tugged at his tie. “I’m furious with you for the way that turned out, but there’s no use crying about it now. He’s dead, and he can’t tell us anything. We need to find someone who can help us, though. You have any idea who might be associated with Hartwick?”

Joe and I shook our heads, and Cody looked at Kinkaid.

“I don’t know,” Kinkaid said. “Like I said, he was just a guy from out of state I met a few times. That’s all. If you ask me, you’re wasting time focusing on Jeremiah Hubbard, though. The Russians are clearly involved with this thing. What Weston was doing for Hubbard isn’t necessarily related. In fact, it’s more likely his connection to them came from Hartwick, not Hubbard.”

Cody seemed to like that suggestion. “You’re right. Hubbard’s a businessman. Hartwick was a professional thug.”

It seemed that Wayne Weston had been one, too. Or at least a professional extortionist. I looked at Joe, thinking about Dan Beckley, and he gave me an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

“Here’s the deal,” Cody said. “I’m going to see what we can find out about this Hartwick guy. In the meantime, you are going to sit on your hands, got me? I was content to let you stay on the case when I thought you’d cooperate, but, obviously, that’s not how it worked. You jeopardize my investigation again, and I’ll see that your licenses are revoked. Understand?”

“That’s the deal?” I said. “Hell of a deal, Cody.”

He smiled coldly. “Okay, it’s not a deal. It’s a command, Perry. An order. And you’d be wise not to test me on it.” He got to his feet. “I’ll be in touch.”

After Cody and Swanders were gone, Kinkaid looked at us. “That’s bullshit,” he said. “You two run a legitimate business. He can’t tell you what cases you can and can’t take, not unless he’s got something to charge you with.”

“No, he can’t,” Joe said. “But he can make it damn difficult for us.”

“Surely you’re not telling me you’re going to listen to him? Dammit, Pritchard, you can’t quit on this.”

Joe stared at him with surprise and distaste, as if Kinkaid had suggested Joe give up the PI trade and become a figure skater. “I’m not going to quit on this,” he said condescendingly. “I’m just saying it will be more difficult now. We’re going to have to keep something of a low profile.”

“So, what now?” Kinkaid said. “How do we move forward?”

“The way I see it, we’ve got to do two things,” Joe said. “We’ve got to find out much, much more about the Russians. We need to find out who they deal with, what type of scams they’re running—absolutely anything that might connect them to Weston or Hartwick. Or Hubbard. And we’ve got to do the same thing with Hartwick. Basically, we’ve got to perform some thorough background investigations on everyone we’ve connected with this case.”

“It’s going to be hard to do that with Hartwick,” I said. “He’s based in South Carolina, not Cleveland. As far as we know, he was just a visitor here.”

“Well, then,” Joe said, “it seems to me one of us should go to South Carolina.”

Kinkaid frowned. “Split up? I don’t like that.”

“You didn’t like it last night, either, Kinkaid, but we ignored your advice then and we’ll ignore it now,” Joe said, making the remark lighthearted enough to avoid riling Kinkaid again. “If we all go trooping down to South Carolina, Cody will throw a fit. And we’ll be losing time up here.”

“Cody’s going to shit a brick, regardless,” I said, “If we all go down, or just one of us.”

“I’m assuming a few days down there should be sufficient for you,” Joe said. “Until then, I’ll try to keep your absence from attracting Cody’s attention. If he does find out, I’ll tell him you’re out of state on another case, something unrelated to Wayne Weston. He can’t prevent us from working altogether, although he’d surely like to try.”

“You’re assuming a few days will be sufficient for me? I gather I’ve been nominated as our South Carolina man?”

Joe nodded. “Yeah, you have been. Scott and Eggers will more likely want to keep on eye on Kinkaid than on you or me, so I figure he and I should stay in the city and see what we can do with the Russians. Besides, the Russians present the greatest threat, so it would be best to keep two men here.”

“Scott and Eggers,” I said. “Shit, I forgot about them. They’ll never let me leave the city a day after witnessing a murder.”

“Gee,” Joe deadpanned, his eyes wide and innocent, “maybe we shouldn’t tell them you’re leaving.”