One Day to the Grand Jury
The following morning Beth left Jack at the crime lab to analyze his evidence with Ben and Nelda. She was convinced a weakness in Courtney’s plan lay in the two men he employed to fly the drones. The feds were positive they were dupes, but she had adopted Jack’s theory that there was a reason for everything the Sandman did. And those reasons usually defied an obvious explanation.
At eight o’clock the previous evening, Dan Pappas had called to let her know the body of Peter Shackleford had been recovered from a dumpster in Sandy Springs. At first, the name meant nothing to her until Jack identified him as one of the two drone operators. There was no way she could write this off to coincidence. If Leonard Walpole wasn’t dead already, he soon would be.
*
According to T. J. Cameron, a Narcotics detective, Eddie Marks controlled a good portion of the drug traffic in Atlanta along with its prostitutes, protection rackets, and a loan sharking operation. He also had a tenuous truce in place with the Russian mob. An area of Atlanta had been carved out for them. Marks’s operation, Cameron said, was larger and better organized and could have wiped them out, but he’d taken the position avoiding an ongoing bloodbath was preferable to giving up a little control. In return, the Russians paid him a handsome royalty for the privilege.
As Beth drove to meet him, she reasoned that Marks probably bore no great love for the Russians, of which Sergei Borov was one. Cameron agreed and told her Borov was widely thought to be their primary source when it came to supplying weapons, a fact that she felt could be used to her advantage.
Janel’s was named after Eddie Marks’s daughter and had gone through several phases as a restaurant before settling into its present incarnation on Peachtree Road. Outside, the architecture was modern, upscale, and matched an interior filled with black leather booths, white tablecloths, granite floors, and a long, mirrored bar that ran the length of the establishment. The name “Janel” appeared across the entrance in glittering silver letters. Their food was distinctly Cajun. T. J. Cameron had arranged the meeting.
Marks was in his early fifties and dressed in a burgundy suit with a yellow silk shirt. His receding hair was sprinkled with gray at the temples. He was heavyset with a neck that appeared soft but wasn’t. When Beth came in, he was sitting at a table near the back of the restaurant having breakfast. He saw her but displayed no reaction to her presence. Marks fit Cameron’s description. She started for his table, but only got a few steps before a tall black man stepped in front of her.
“Hep you, Miss?”
Beth showed her badge and said she was there to speak with Eddie Marks.
“Whatchu want to talk to the boss about?”
“That’s between Mr. Marks and me. Step aside, please.”
“You real polite. I like that in a woman,” he said, looking her up and down. “Why a fine looking girl like you become a police officer?”
“Because I love being around big, strong men. Now move aside.”
The bodyguard was about two inches taller than her and at least fifty pounds heavier. Around his neck was a heavy gold chain. He was dressed completely in black. The aftershave he was wearing hung in the air like a cloud, reaching her from three feet away. He remained standing in front of Beth until Marks said, “Willis.”
The smile never left Willis’s face, though he did step aside. Marks watched Beth come down the aisle and motioned for her to sit when she reached his table.
“Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Marks.”
“Get you something to eat, Detective?”
“A cup of coffee’d be nice and maybe a Danish if you have one. I skipped breakfast earlier.”
“Most important meal of the day.” Marks raised his hand to a waitress who was standing near the kitchen doors. “Would you bring Detective Sturgis a cup of coffee and one of them pastries we got in this morning?”
“Anything else?” she asked.
“No, thank you,” Beth said.
The waitress left.
“I used to have a Danish every morning. The kind with cherry in them. But the doctor told me I need to watch my cholesterol.”
Beth glanced at the plate of bacon and eggs in front of him and said, “That won’t help.”
“I’m starting small and working my way up. What can I do for you today?”
“I’m looking for a junkie named Leonard Walpole. From what I’m told, he used to panhandle around Little Five Points. Sometimes he sleeps at the Salvation Army Shelter in East Point.”
“Always glad to be involved with helping our police. Why do you want this man?”
“Do you remember that fuss we had downtown the other day?”
Marks nodded. A ray of sunlight streaming through the window caught his diamond tie pin. He laced his hands together and rested them on the table. Like the diamond, his fingernails were smooth and polished.
“Walpole was one of two men operating the model aircraft,” Beth said.
“Y’all looked pretty foolish rushing people out of those buildings.”
“Better than not getting them out if we guessed wrong.”
Marks considered that for a moment then asked, “Y’all plan to give this man a ticket for disturbing the peace?”
“It’s a bit more complicated,” Beth said. “We think Walpole’s a shill for a button man named Thomas Courtney, who was hired by Sergei Borov.”
At the mention of Borov’s name, Marks’s eyebrows lifted slightly. Beyond that, his reaction was silence.
“Courtney’s target is a doctor named Rachel Lawrence, who’s supposed to testify in front of a grand jury the day after tomorrow.”
“Like I said, I have a deep commitment to lending a hand to the cops when I can, but I’m wondering how this is my problem.”
“Involved or committed?” Beth asked.
“Say what?”
“A moment ago, you said involved. Now you say committed.”
“What’s the difference?”
“You’re eating bacon and eggs. The chicken was involved. The pig is committed.”
Eddie Marks stared at Beth for a moment before he started chuckling. “Good one, Detective. You got a mouth on you, I’ll say that.”
“Gets me in trouble sometimes.”
Marks leaned back. “No way.”
“I’m afraid so. Didn’t mean any offense by my remark.”
“Didn’t take any.”
“So, will you help?”
“Here’s my problem. My business thrives ’cause I don’t give people up. The folks I deal with know I protect them regardless of the heat. That means not broadcasting their names around.”
“There’s a good chance if Courtney succeeds, Sergei Borov will become stronger than ever. I don’t think that’s in your best interest.”
“No, it isn’t,” Marks agreed. “It’s not like I’m in contact with any street junkies, but say I knew someone who was. It wouldn’t do for this person’s name to be mentioned around the police station, if you get my meaning.”
“Anything you say will stay between us.”
Marks considered Beth for a long moment. “T. J. Cameron says your word is good.”
“I like to think so.”
He nodded. “You and the Georgia Tech professor were the ones who caught that crazy man a few months ago. The one who killed all them people at Underground Atlanta.”
Beth nodded but didn’t reply.
Marks took a moment to arrange his knife and fork on the table. “One of them was a nineteen-year-old girl named Rochelle. She was in the, ah . . . business, if you know what I mean. I got a daughter who’s eighteen. Rochelle reminded me of her. She was sweet and well mannered, but the girl never had any luck. Daddy left when she was eight years old and her mama ran off with some no-account. I set her up in school and gave her a little money. But she went back to doing what came easy.” Marks shrugged. “Some folks you can save; some you can’t.”
“You’re a good man, Eddie.”
“No, I’m not. In about an hour, if you was to be at the Central City Fountain, there might be a man there that can help you. Large fella named Ramone.”
“I owe you one,” Beth said.
Marks smiled. “Yes, you do, Detective.”
The waitress arrived with Beth’s coffee and Danish. They ate in silence for a few minutes before she commented on how attractive the restaurant was.
“Town needs a place where people of color can get dressed up and enjoy good ol’ fashioned cookin’ without being embarrassed ordering it.” He pointed to Beth’s engagement ring. “Next time you come back, bring your significant whatever with you.”
Beth thanked him and stood. She was nearly at the front door when Willis stepped in front of her again. The man had a mean, arrogant face.
“Got everything you need, missy?”
“And more. If you’ll excuse me,” Beth said and waited for him to move.
Willis’s eyes roamed up and down her body with a look that was hardly less than obvious. “Them high heels sure do lift you up, don’t they?”
Beth said nothing.
Willis brought his face inches from hers. “Why’nt you sit and rest for a bit. Maybe we can get acquainted.”
“Maybe another time.”
“Got to be hard walking around in them shoes. Don’t they hurt?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?” Beth said, bringing her heel down on his instep.
Willis gasped and let out a curse and drew his arm back to hit her. The blow never arrived, because he found himself staring at a 9 mm Beretta pointing directly between his eyes.
Marks observed the exchange as he brought a forkful of eggs up to his mouth.