‘If you really weren’t in on Torquil Eisenberg’s murder,’ I said, ‘the only way you’re going to prove it is to help lead us to the people who were.’
‘Jesus, man, I only followed you today because I wanted you to know I didn’t kill the Eisenberg kid, but what you’re asking …’
Ross sat for a long time with his head down, staring at a puddle of condensation that had formed around the edge of the bottle, drawing his finger through it so it spread and dried to his design.
Eventually, he turned and looked right at me, defeat in his eyes. ‘OK, yeah,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it.’ And shook his head afterwards like he couldn’t believe the scope of his own treachery.
I nodded carefully, not wanting to spook him into changing his mind. I closed my mind to the fact I was probably committing all kinds of offences to do with not handing him straight over to the Feds. He might have acted dumb, but he wasn’t stupid, and if he’d any sense he’d lawyer up so fast they’d get nothing useful out of him for weeks. By which time, who knew where Lennon and his new playmate might be?
‘Where’s the place you were using to hold the others?’ It seemed best to start with something easy.
‘Over in Elizabeth,’ he mumbled, and I realised he’d been foolish enough – or Lennon had been cunning enough – to use Ross’s own house for this. Maybe Lennon had him pegged as a scapegoat from the outset. Even so, Ross still clung to the thought of his mate’s comparative innocence. ‘Lennon can’t have had the Eisenberg kid, though, man. Not there, anyways, ’cause I hardly left the place myself the last few days, y’know?’
Damn! Still, worth a try …
‘When you last saw Lennon – just before he went out – who called him?’ I asked. ‘You ever see the guy?’
He shook his head. ‘No, man. I picked up the phone, that’s all. He asked for Lennon and I don’t ask no questions.’
‘What did he sound like?’
He shrugged. ‘Just … ordinary, y’know?’
This was heading nowhere. I tried a different tack. ‘And you haven’t heard from Lennon since?’ I asked, and saw the quick but honest denial in his face. ‘How does he normally get in touch?’
Ross shrugged. ‘He calls me, but he changes his cell, like, every week. The last number I have for him is dead. I have to wait for him to call me.’
I paused, considering. For what it was worth, I believed him, and I’d become pretty good at spotting when people’s body language was not aligned with what came out of their mouths. My instincts told me Ross was scared enough to grasp at the possible way out I was offering, but not so scared he’d promise anything, just to get rid of me.
That part, if necessary, would come later.
The hard part now was that, to make best use of him, I was going to have to turn him loose. That rankled. For all his apparent innocence when it came to Torquil’s death, he’d still attacked Dina at the riding club. He’d been the one who’d swung the bat that had broken Raleigh’s arm. And if it had connected with the man’s head, as had clearly been intended, it could easily have broken his skull.
My fingers itched to dial 911 and have done with it. I remembered the carcass of the Buell being dragged onto a breaker’s yard truck. I remembered opening the makeshift coffin and finding Torquil already dead inside.
‘Give me your cellphone.’
He frowned, as if I wasn’t intending to give it back. The phone he handed over was old and scratched to the point where it didn’t look worth stealing. All I did was punch in my own cell number and dial just long enough for the number to register on my device. An easier, and safer, way to make sure he could get in touch with me and – more importantly – I could get in touch with him.
‘OK,’ I said as I handed it back. ‘I think we can help you, if you help us. When Lennon next gets in touch, you need to stay calm, arrange a meet, and call me, yeah?’
I saw the compulsive swallow as he nodded. ‘OK, man,’ he said, almost eager. ‘I can do that.’
‘You better.’ I slid off my bar stool, leaving half my beer untouched on the sticky counter, and straightened my jacket over the SIG, making sure Ross knew the gesture for what it was. His eyes, a blue-grey with pale lashes, were wary, but I read no deceit in them. I leant in, saw his gaze flick to my mouth, as if I were about to kiss him.
‘I know who you are, and where you live, Ross,’ I promised in a husky murmur. ‘You try to screw me, and it won’t just be your car that gets crushed. I will find you, and I will hurt you in ways you cannot imagine. Just remember that I keep my promises, good and bad. Yeah?’
‘Yeah, sure,’ he gabbled. ‘I hear you, man.’
‘One last thing, Ross,’ I said. ‘Don’t call me “man”, OK?’
I walked out of the bar, across the dirty sidewalk, and popped the locks on the Navigator. Before I pulled out into traffic, I glanced back, expecting to see Ross still sitting on his stool. The window of the little bar was empty.
I checked the street, but it looked like Ross had taken the back way out. A bar like that, in an area like this, it must have been a pretty well-worn route. I was aware of another twinge of guilt that I’d let him go, and hoped to hell that his rapid disappearance now was not an indicator of things to come.
My cellphone started to buzz in my pocket. I fished it out, half expecting it might be Ross, but Parker’s number came up.
‘Hi, boss,’ I said. ‘That’s good timing. I’ve just had a long chat with one of the guys who tried for Dina, and I—’
‘Charlie.’ Parker’s voice cut raw through my explanation.
‘What?’ I demanded, drenched with a sudden cold fear. ‘What’s happened? Is it Sean?’
‘No,’ Parker said. I heard him take a breath. ‘It’s Dina. She’s been snatched.’
‘We got that she’d called the whole thing off …’
Lying bastard!
‘No … no,’ I muttered. ‘I left McGregor looking after her. He should … What the fuck happened?’
‘He did his best, Charlie. They shot him.’