Iago narrowed his eyes as he caught sight of his target in the dim light of a near-dead street lamp. He’d tailed him for blocks, through some of the back alleyways of Logan Circle. He thought he’d lost the guy until the other man ducked down a half-flight of stairs, disappearing into a basement garage. Perfect. Iago followed him into the space.
Ulysses Porro was not a particularly well-suited name for a bookie. As far as Iago knew, the only heroic act this Ulysses had taken was beating the spread on a longshot NFL team. The man didn’t even look the part dressed in a pair of brown polyester pants and a tan shirt from Discount Whatever that sported a mustard stain on the pocket.
Ulysses’ eye twitch went into overdrive when he spied Iago. “I’d remember your face if I’d seed it afore, and I ain’t, that’s a fact. If it’s money you be after, you got the wrong guy. Must be some other poor schlub. You can scuttle right back out the way you come.”
Iago stepped closer. Twitch-twitch-twitch-twitch. It was like watching a pair of caution flags flapping in the breeze. “Not here about any bets.”
“There, ya see? Wrong place, wrong guy.”
“Right place, right guy. Or so says a good source who pegged you at the Glencroft Shores condos in Arlington. Night of February thirteenth.”
“Glencroft Shores? Arlington? Not my usual stomping grounds. I got no reason to be there, then or now.”
“My source says you were. And that you saw something and phoned it into the police. In disguise.”
“Police? Now, why would I do that?”
“Maybe because you knew the guy who’d just been whacked. Jerold Zamorra. Name ring a bell?” Iago took a step closer, within inches of Ulysses.
The guy didn’t back up, to his credit. But Iago was pretty certain from the smell coming from those brown polyester pants that Ulysses wasn’t as tough as he wanted Iago to think. “Zamorra? I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Let me give you a refresher. You handled some bets for Jerold Zamorra. Several bets, as a matter of fact. Dating back a year or two.”
Ulysses licked his lips. “Now you mention it. Yeah. Guess I might’ve. The guy was a true addict, you know? The kind that’s easy to suck dry. But I don’t know nothing about no murder.”
“Funny, that. Because my source swears he saw you in that area that night.”
“So what if I was? I’m a businessman. And it’s a free country.” Ulysses uttered a horsey laugh. Iago didn’t join in.
With one swipe of his big paw, Iago grabbed the other man by the throat and lifted him high into the air. Ulysses gurgled and coughed, the spittle dribbling down his jaw. After thirty seconds, Iago let him go, and the man sagged against the concrete wall behind him.
“One more time. You sure you didn’t call the police that night? You sure you didn’t see who killed Jerold Zamorra as they left his condo?”
Ulysses’ hoarse voice replied, “I didn’t see nobody. Honest.”
Iago frowned. His source was usually correct. But if Ulysses was seen near the area of Jerold’s condo, then the source hadn’t been entirely wrong. “Were you there taking bets with Jerold earlier that night? Is that why you were there?”
Ulysses nodded and croaked out, “An addict, I tell you.”
“And you didn’t see anyone else there? Before or after?”
Ulysses shook his head.
Well, that was that. Another dead end. Time to give his new “friend” a little extra incentive not to mention Iago’s visit to anyone. “Okay, then. Just remember one thing—I was never here.” Iago whipped behind Ulysses, circled his arms around the man’s trachea, and squeezed both sides of his neck.
Ulysses did his impression of mercury on a cold day and dropped, all the way to the ground. Iago took the opportunity to stroll out of the basement, back up to the alleyway above. The guy would only be out for maybe thirty seconds, sixty tops. No need to hang around any longer than necessary.
It took a bit over twenty minutes to walk back to his car, and once inside, Iago dialed up his employer. “It was a bust. The so-called witness didn’t see anything. He just happened to be there earlier handling some bets for Jerold, but that was the extent of his involvement in the murder.”
The baritone voice on the other end said, “You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“When was the last time I did that? Besides, you said to keep a low profile.”
“And I trust you will take that command to heart. Making yourself a target of the police won’t help Maura. You would do well to remember that.”
“You wound me. You know no one wants her freed more than I do.”
There was a long pause on the other end. “We all want this nonsense behind us.”
“And Drayco?”
“Which one?”
“The younger.”
“Keep a close eye on him, as usual. If my instincts are correct, he’ll be our best hope of success.”
“You that sure he won’t spend all his time trying to nail Maura?”
“His father might. But our young detective, I believe, is on our side.”
“And if it turns out he isn’t?”
Another long pause. “We’ll deal with that if and when it happens. Keep me posted.”
After they had hung up, Iago pulled a photo out of his wallet and rubbed his finger over the picture of the woman with the graying red hair. He didn’t relish the idea of harming her son. Still, if it came down to a choice ... He replaced the photo and drove off.