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Dan saw Garrett in the kitchen noodling on his keyboard. Meditating? Contemplating? Free associating? Brainstorming? Organizing his mental Kanban board?
He wasn’t sure what to call it. But he knew whenever Garrett had a particularly sticky problem to work out, he’d wander downstairs to his Casio keyboard and play one of those shapeless jazz tunes only he enjoyed. Shouldn’t a song have a beginning, middle, and end? And sound more or less the same each time you play it? What was the point of hearing your favorite song if it was constantly changing?
He tried not to be distracted, though between Maria’s Top-40 pop songs and Garrett’s jazz, he sometimes thought the office should be soundproofed. But at the moment, he was concerned that his top researcher had a problem so intense it drove him into the throes of Dave Brubeck. This was basically the same as Sherlock Holmes turning to cocaine. Except noisier.
He liked Garrett, but in some respects he was the most inscrutable member of the team. Arch-conservative and typically devil’s advocate, he was the one most likely to oppose anything Dan proposed. That made Garrett far more valuable than a think-alike yes man. He wasn’t bothered by the fact that Garrett had worked for the government and been a prosecutor. But he always had the sense that Garrett was holding something back, that he didn’t totally understand what was going on in the man’s brain. With Maria, everything was right up front, and with Jimmy, it was TMI—more up front than you wanted. Garrett tended to keep his thoughts ot himself.
He decided to venture conversation. “How’s the research going?”
“It’s going.”
“Meaning?”
“It’s a process. Like all things in life.”
Much more philosophical than his norm. “Anything new come in?”
Garrett stopped playing. Had he come to the end of the song? It was so hard to tell with jazz. “Got a prelim tox report from the coroner’s office.”
He was surprised they could even perform a tox screen, given how little was left of the body. “Anything of interest?”
“A few anomalies. It’s hard to draw conclusions.”
“And yet, they will.” Because the prosecution couldn’t possibly convince a jury to convict unless they had some theory of how the murder was committed. Bad enough to not have a body. Impossible without an MO.
“There seems to be a strong feeling that Harrison Coleman was poisoned—but again, difficult to prove, given the scanty remains.”
“Maybe that was the whole point of the bio-cremation.”
“Or perhaps the police are just pursuing what they want to be the answers. Trying to make that syringe they found in the trash bin significant.”
“That could have come from anyone. Or anywhere.”
“But when all you’ve got to work with are crumbs, you make the most of the crumbs.”
“Can you get me an interview with the guy who allegedly found the syringe?
“Can and did. But let me warn you—this guy is not your average prosecution witness.”
“You think they used him to plant evidence?”
“You tell me. After you’ve chatted with him.”
“Got it.” He noticed Garrett’s fingers inching slowly back to the keyboard. “Anything else going on? Anything...I should know about?”
“Not particularly.”
“Which generally means yes.”
Garrett craned his neck, then shrugged slightly. “I just...can’t help but wonder if we’re taking the correct approach here.”
“You think representing Ossie is a mistake.”
“You can’t always pick your client, right? Mr. K wanted us to represent the kid and we accepted the case. Whatever reservations I might have had are no longer relevant. Once I’m in, I’m all in.”
“I appreciate that.”
“But. I am concerned about the ramifications of getting on the wrong side of Conrad Sweeney.”
“He’s vile, Garrett. Manipulative. Evil.”
“I don’t know that. What I do know is that he’s a respected citizen and has probably done more for this city than any other single individual.”
“Every charitable act gets him something in return.”
“The same could be said for any philanthropist. We all have private motivations that drive us to do what we do.”
“This is different. Sweeney has no moral compass. He doesn’t mind committing crimes—and letting others take the fall. He manipulates the legal system.”
“You have no proof of that. There are no charges pending against him.”
“Because he does everything through minions. Makes sure nothing can be traced back to him.”
“The fact that nothing can be traced to him could suggest that he hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“I know better. He’s destroyed evidence. Bribed witnesses. Set people up for—”
“Is this about your father?”
That stopped him short. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you, though? You have some seriously unfinished business going on with respect to your family history, and one of the figures in this case, Bradley Ellison, was involved in it. I can’t help but wonder if you’re demonizing Sweeney to mentally exonerate your father.”
“My father was completely innocent.”
“I know you believe that, Dan. But he was convicted by a jury. It was a tragedy for you and your mother. But you can’t go on acting as if everyone who played any role—including the entire criminal justice system—is evil and corrupt because your family suffered.”
His teeth tightened. “The people who put away my father were corrupt. To the core.”
Garrett slowly exhaled. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Of course I’m listening. Just because I don't agree doesn’t mean I’m not listening.” He wrapped his arms around his chest. “Sounds like you want out of this case.”
“No. But I am wondering if you can be completely objective. Maybe this is one you should let someone else handle.”
“You don’t think I can cut it?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Maybe you want me to throw the case.”
“Of course not. I would never.”
“Maybe you’re on Sweeney’s payroll!”
Garrett straightened, silent. They both stared at each other for a long moment.
He knew he shouldn’t have said that. “Look—”
“If you seriously believed that, even for a moment, we can’t work together.”
“I’m sorry. I just—I don’t get where you’re coming from. This case—”
“You need to get a grip, Dan. Figure out what’s going on in your head and deal with it. This is a bad case and it’s only going to get worse. Your blind spots will end up losing it. You’re no good to Ossie like this. You’re no good to anyone.”
Garrett switched off the keyboard and walked away.
Well. Damn everything to hell. This was turning into a terrific day, wasn’t it? The only thing that could possibly be worse than an impossible case would be an impossible case when one of your partners is seriously pissed off.
He pressed a hand against his throbbing forehead. He’d have to figure all this out later. He had to get ready for the next interview and—
The doorbell rang. Were they expecting someone? Seemed unlikely that Garrett would come out of his office to answer after that big conflagration. He’d better get it himself.
He opened the door. The man on the other side wore a UPS uniform and carried a package.
“Daniel Pike?”
“That’s me.”
“Need you to sign.”
“Okay.” Seemed odd, but whatever. “Where?”
“Just a moment.” The man fumbled with a scanner clipped to his belt, lost his footing, and in the process of recovering managed to drop the package.
It fell to the porch with a thud. “Damn! I’m so sorry.”
“Let’s hope it wasn’t Waterford crystal.”
“It wasn’t.” The man bent down to pick it up, then lurched forward suddenly...
The blow pounded into his stomach with such swift ferocity that Dan had no chance to react. He felt the pain, and then the pain became all he could think about. He was thrown sideways against the door. His head slammed back with a sickening thud.
“Wha—” He felt breathless, unable to speak. He should do something. But—
Too late. The next blow arrived with the force of a pile driver, hammering home to the same spot.
His eyes bulged. He didn’t want to cry out, but he couldn’t help himself. His legs weakened and he tumbled downward.
Get up! He told himself. Defend yourself!
But he couldn’t find the strength. The next blow pounded him on the side of the head. A sudden shockwave of pain rippled through his body. A mix of drool and blood trickled from his lips.
“Garrett,” he mumbled, but so weakly he knew there was no way anyone could possibly hear. “Jimmy...”
This time the man’s fist blew the air out of his lungs. He rolled over and started coughing uncontrollably, spitting up blood. In seconds, the man had reduced him to a puddle on the floor. And there was nothing he could do to stop him from doing more.
The man grabbed him by the collar and jerked his head up. “This time I hit you where it won’t show. This time I let you off easy. That won’t happen again.”
He released him, letting his head smash against the porch. Lights erupted before his eyes. Consciousness waned.
“This is a warning. You won’t get another one. Drop the case.”
The man left him lying on the porch, barely able to move, barely able to think.
What was it Garrett had said? This case was only going to get worse.
It just did.