Nathan dialed continuously for over an hour before the phone line finally rang. Billy caught the change in the rhythm of dial-hang-up, dial-hang-up, and instantly shifted his attention from The Price Is Right.
After thirty rings, a familiar voice answered.
“You’ve reached The Bitch line,” Enrique said. “What do you want to talk about?”
“Hi, it’s me,” Nathan said simply. “I need to talk to Denise.”
Enrique recognized the voice right away. “Hold on, Nathan, I’m sure she’ll put you right on. Callers have been pretty tough on you today.”
“I bet,” Nathan said dejectedly. “Been a tough day all around.”
“Did you do any of what they’re now saying?” Enrique probed gently. It wasn’t his place to ask such a question, but he couldn’t help it. He had to know.
“I didn’t kill those cops, if that’s what you mean.”
“Glad to hear it,” Enrique said, meaning every word. No doubt about it, he was a believer. “I’ll put you through now.”
While on hold, Nathan could hear the end of the last conversation. Some lady was calling him a “bad seed,” whatever that meant. Denise hung up on her abruptly, and his line went live.
“Nathan Bailey, are you there?”
“I didn’t do it!” Nathan blurted out.
Denise read the panic in his voice and fought away tears. “Okay, honey, I believe you,” she soothed. “Tell us what happened.”
He did. When he was done, The Bitch was fifteen commercials behind. The list would grow considerably longer before it began to shrink.
Harry Thompkins couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “You mean he named me specifically? I thought he was pissed.”
Jed laughed. “I’ve known Lieutenant Michaels a long time, kid. Trust me, if you leave the meeting able to stand, he’s not pissed.”
Thompkins was overcome with a sense of respect and warmth that he had never before felt on the job. Michaels could have had his ass fired, and no one would have said a thing. Instead, he ordered him by name to be put on the most visible case of the year—hell, of the decade.
Jed laughed again. “Don’t look so stunned. He was a rookie once. A pretty stupid one, at that.”
Harry smiled. “The mirror?”
“Yep, the mirror.”
“So that actually happened?”
“Sure did. Took him years to recover the ground he lost that day.”
Harry couldn’t shake his feeling of incredulity. “I guess I owe him one.”
Jed clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “Yes, you do,” he said jovially. His mood turned suddenly serious. “Now to the business at hand,” he said. “The lieutenant wants us to swim upstream on this case. Wants us to prove that somebody has a contract out on the Bailey kid; that that’s the reason Harris tried to kill him. We’ve got bank records on Ricky that show a twenty-thousand-dollar deposit three weeks ago and then a total withdrawal of all funds the morning he was killed. When we’re done there, he wants us to show that the cops in New York were killed by a hit man, not by Nathan. We’re both convinced that Nathan was the intended target.”
“A hit man?”
Jed nodded. “Makes sense, really, if…”
“Holy shit, that’s it!” Harry proclaimed, cutting Jed off in mid sentence.
“What’s what?”
Harry didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up Jed’s phone and dialed information.
“Braddock Hospital, please,” he said after a short pause. “Emergency Department.”
Tad Baker hadn’t given the Bailey matter much thought since he had last spoken with Harry Thompkins. When he heard that the police officer was holding for him, it took Tad a minute to piece together their last conversation.
“Hi, Harry,” he said cheerfully as he snatched up the hand set.
Harry was all business. “Tad, you remember our little talk the other day?”
Tad shrugged. “Uh-huh.”
“You remember our rules of engagement? Say nothing if you agree and…”
“Yeah, I remember,” he interrupted, none too comfortable about walking the ethical tightrope on an open phone line.
“Okay, I’ve got one more theory for you. You ready?”
Tad looked around casually. No one was within earshot. “I suppose.”
Harry took a deep breath. “Okay, here goes. I think that Mark Bailey’s fingers were broken intentionally, by someone intending to do him harm.”
There was a pause. Tad said nothing.
“And I think that to do that, the perpetrator would have to be one sick individual.”
Another pause. More silence.
“Like maybe a hit man.”
Tad didn’t say a word.
“Are you there, Doc?” Harry asked at last.
“Yeah, I’m here, but I’ve really got to go,” Tad said hurriedly.
“Thanks a million, Tad,” Harry said, genuine affection in his voice.
“Yeah, right. We’re not doing this ever again.”
The line went dead, and Harry placed the receiver on the cradle.
Jed was getting tired of feeling like he had entered this show in the middle of the third act. “What was that all about?”
“Come on,” Harry said, heading for the door. “I’ll explain it in the car.”
Jed followed without thinking. “You think the kid’s uncle did all this?”
“No. But I’ll bet you a hundred bucks he knows who did.”