FIFTY-ONE
We loaded Boris Petrov into the backseat of my squad car. I climbed in beside him. He was still demanding to see a dentist.
Dave Balding drove us to Victory, a small town in the northernmost tip of San Remo County, where members of the local police force met us and helped settle Mr. Petrov into one of the station’s four tiny cells.
When he realized he was being held prisoner, Petrov again started yelling for his lawyer. “You can’t hold me like this.”
“I can’t?”
“I need a dentist.”
“A lawyer. A dentist. Is there anything else you need?”
“My implants. What did you do with my implants?”
“They’ve been entered into evidence.”
“Evidence? What evidence? I need them for my dentist.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Boris.”
“You know something, Steel? You have no humanity. You’re a deplorable excuse for a human being.”
“Deplorable? This from the purveyor of deadly opioids? Deplorable is your middle name, Boris. And you can rest assured your deplorable days here in America are numbered.”
He was shouting obscenities at me as I left the area.
“Skip Wilder on line two,” Wilma Hansen said when I responded to her buzz. “He appears to be experiencing an elevated level of ‘need to talk immediately.’”
“How do you know?”
“He was yelling.”
“Thanks.” I picked up the call.
“Another raid?” he asked.
“Successful, too.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We accessed the hidden rooms and found the lab equipment, computers with all kinds of Petrov-related business activity on them, plus two giant safes filled with what appear to be boxes of synthetic opioids.”
“And that proves what exactly?”
“Too soon to say.”
“And if it turns out they prove nothing?”
“Ye of little faith.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Buddy. Lytell’s already had a call from the Governor.”
“Was it a nice call?”
“Craig Leonard is hopping up and down. Claims he hasn’t heard from his client, despite any number of attempts to reach him.”
“And that’s of interest because?”
“He says you kidnapped him.”
“Who, me?”
“Yes, you. Where is he?”
“I have no idea.”
“You best not be lying to me, Buddy. You better not be performing your Jail House Shuffle routine.”
“Was there anything else, Skip?”
“Not yet. But I’m sure there will be.”
“Then I’ll look forward to hearing your dulcet tones again,” I said and hung up.
“To what do I deserve this pleasure?” Jordyn Yates asked when she picked up my call.
“I have him.”
“And who might him be?”
“One guess.”
“Boris Petrov?”
“The brass ring is yours.”
“Define exactly what I have him means.”
“I’ve got him stashed in one of the county jails.”
“You’re holding him without charges?”
“For the moment, yes.”
“Because?”
“We raided his mansion and located several hidden rooms. One of which contained all kinds of laboratory equipment. Another appeared to be Petrov’s office which housed a bevy of computers, file cabinets, and a pair of oversized safes filled with synthetic opioids.”
“Can you prove it?”
“A forensics team is poring over it all now, and it appears as if we have more than enough to nail him.”
“And if you don’t?”
“That’s what the Assistant District Attorney asked.”
“Of course it is. And I’ll bet the estimable firm of Leonard, Howard and Arthur is already burning up the phone lines trying to find their client.”
“Good bet.”
She was quiet for several moments. Then she said, “Judge Lemieux.”
“What about her?”
“If you’re right, this matter is headed for her courtroom.”
“So?”
“I think this might be an excellent time to give her a heads-up.”
“Because?”
“Because if you’re wrong, you’re toast. If you’re right, it’s going to become a circus.”
“So?”
“Before the dam bursts, it might be nice to give the judge a heads-up.”
“Which you’re prepared to do?”
“The minute I’m off the phone with you.”