Kelson sat with Venus Johnson at a metal table in a homicide unit interview room. After a while, FBI Special Agent David Jenkins joined them. His partner Cynthia Poole came in a minute later.
‘Tell them,’ Johnson said.
‘First,’ Kelson said, ‘Harold Crane and his daughter Sylvia – who run an investment company called G&G – are tied to the Rogers Park Library blast.’
Cynthia Poole looked skeptical. ‘An investment company blew up a library?’
David Jenkins sounded like he knew he was wasting time but was used to it. ‘Mr Kelson called and threw that at me before. He has this theory—’
Kelson said, ‘They make people disappear.’
‘Disappear?’ Poole exchanged a look with Jenkins. ‘Like who?’
Kelson was prepared for that one. ‘Emma Almonte.’
The FBI agents exchanged another look. Poole nodded at Jenkins. He said, ‘We have Emma Almonte.’
‘You have her? How so?’
‘We took her into custody again,’ Jenkins said. ‘For further questioning.’
‘But when I called you – after she walked out of her house – you said—’
‘We don’t reveal everything to private citizens,’ Jenkins said. ‘That would defeat the purpose.’
‘But—’
‘But nothing,’ Poole said. ‘We asked you before to stop interfering. Every minute we spend with you takes a minute away from the work we need to do.’
Venus Johnson said, ‘He knew about the cell phone trigger.’
Jenkins pressed his lips together. ‘Backpack bombs come with detonators of three kinds. Timer, manual trigger, or cell phone. Suicide backpacks almost always use manual triggers or cell phones, because why bother with a timer? So, now you’re fifty-fifty. It takes more than a coin flip to impress us.’
‘Who do you think called the cell phone?’ Kelson said.
Poole said, ‘We have Emma Almonte in custody.’
Kelson laughed. ‘You think she—’
‘We think she can help us determine who did call,’ Poole said.
‘Neto LeCoeur,’ Kelson said.
‘The kid playing Grand Theft Auto on the computer two seats from Victor Almonte?’ she said.
‘The twenty-three-year-old man who dug into the G&G books and transferred its funds – and who has a hacking background.’
‘Our digital forensics people—’
‘Your digital forensics people suck. Tell them to look closer at the library rubble. They’ll find the phone that set off the trigger. Neto texted from it.’
Jenkins suppressed a smile. ‘Unless Neto LeCoeur was a computer genius, he couldn’t do this.’
‘I don’t know about a genius,’ Kelson said, ‘but he was damn good.’
Cynthia Poole smiled outright. ‘So this was – what, a double suicide bombing?’
‘It was a robbery,’ Kelson said. ‘Neto transferred the G&G money into his own account. G&G wanted him to text them when he finished their job – which he finished, but by ripping off their money. He set them up. But they set him up too. The text went to the phone in Victor Almonte’s backpack. Boom.’
‘That’s it?’ Jenkins said.
‘That’s a big part of it,’ Kelson said.
‘Keep the rest to yourself, OK?’ Jenkins pushed his chair from the table and stood. ‘You lost me the moment you opened your mouth.’
Kelson spoke to Poole. ‘G&G hired one of Victor Almonte’s army friends to work security. A guy named Ramsey Garner. Strong-arm stuff. He told me this.’
‘All of it?’ Poole said.
‘Enough of it.’
She still smiled. ‘Where is he now? If he’s talking to you, why isn’t he talking to us?’
Venus Johnson said, ‘He’s dead.’
Poole pushed her chair from the table too. She said to Johnson, ‘You called us based on a dead witness and the word of a brain-damaged ex-cop?’
Johnson said, ‘I called based on information I thought you should have.’
Kelson said, ‘She’s got a mute guy in lockup too.’
When the FBI agents left the room, Johnson gave Kelson a look as if she would tear him apart. But she said, ‘Jagoffs.’
‘They’re looking at Emma Almonte?’
Johnson shook her head. ‘They’re looking at Tom Runeski.’
‘The other victim’s husband? A guy who cuddles his baby girl on the news? That’s harder to fit than Neto.’
‘Runeski does web design. He did a site for a business Emma Almonte’s company worked with, like, three years ago – before Emma Almonte even took her job at the company, but still.’
‘These FBI people are as bad as the Cranes. Do they have Runeski in custody too?’
‘That’s what I hear.’
‘They’re wrong,’ Kelson said.
‘But they’re the FBI. They get to be.’
‘You can fix this,’ Kelson said. ‘Are you going to talk to the man who threw Ramsey Garner out of the car?’
‘Right after you called, two lawyers showed up for him. Then a third lawyer.’
‘Sent by the Cranes?’
‘No one’s saying – at least the lawyers aren’t. I don’t know how they learned we had their man here.’
‘Money talks,’ Kelson said. ‘Any chance I can see him?’
‘Why do you ask dumb questions?’ she said. ‘It gives people a bad impression of you. What would you even ask him?’
‘I’d tell him,’ Kelson said. ‘I’d say he’s next on the Cranes’ list. They can’t risk having him reveal their secrets. He’s got to disappear. And in jail there’s only one way to disappear – unless they can get him out on bail, and then there’s still only one way, though maybe then his body’s never found. I figure he knows all this already, but I want to tell him anyway. Maybe then he’ll mumble his story to someone with good enough ears to hear it before he gets a shank or a bedsheet around his neck.’
‘I knew you could think a thought or two,’ she said. ‘I’ll get him moved where he’s safe.’
‘Make sure you know the guards who bring him dinner.’
‘You’ve got a bad attitude about cops,’ she said.
‘I used to be one,’ he said.
‘You must’ve hated yourself.’