“Good morning, brother,” Lucas said into the phone. “Did you get my fax? My equations? Did you have a professional read it?”
Lucas listened for a minute, shook his head.
“You showed it to who, Buck? Of course he didn’t know what it was, he’s a pissant banker, a schmoozer. It’s the Black-Scholes equation for modeling stock-option prices. Economics 101, for crying out loud. I simply took the ’76 Ingerson adjustment regarding assumption of zero taxes and transaction fees, removed CIRs per Merton, then added my own twist regarding …”
Shit. It was like talking business to a fish. Lucas shook his head, then relaxed. Remembered his mission.
“Forget the fax, Buck. Listen, in the long run …does it matter?”
Lucas watched a dark-haired young woman walk past the phone booth, tight pink jeans, her hips moving like a polka, one-two, one-two. He’d be there soon enough, he thought, a bed full of metronomic buttocks he would pluck like fruit from a yard-high tree.
“What do I want to do, Buck?” Lucas said. “Shit, you know that. It all comes down to what your gut instinct tells you is the profitable course.”
A smile crossed Lucas’s face, but he didn’t allow it to enter his voice, his business voice.
“That’s what I thought you’d say, Buck.”
Lucas hung up and returned to his insecurities firm – never more aptly named than today. He ran up the stairs, arriving in his office panting, part from exertion, part from the rush of adrenaline. Lucas swiveled the spotter scope to the KEI offices. Buck Kincannon was in his office, door closed, feet on desk, thumbs twirling around one another as he mulled over the phone conversation.
He hadn’t shared the call with the others. Buck was sitting there thinking I, Me, Mine.
Every brother was thinking I, Me, Mine.
Perfect.
Nautilus watched Shuttles walk out, a uniformed cop on each side. In his first burst of fear, Shuttles had answered questions, but once he realized how deep the water was getting, he’d started mewling about a lawyer. Shuttles even had the temerity to ask if he could make his exit without the bracelets. Nautilus told the little shit to be happy he wasn’t cuffed to a kayak and floated in front of a supertanker.
Nautilus headed to Forensics, stopping at the morgue first. He’d debated whether to tell Clair Peltier anything at this stage, but she’d been in since the beginning and deserved to know.
He stepped into her office, closed the door. The woman looked used up, eyes red, face drawn and sleepless. The fresh flowers normally changed every third day were limp as dead birds. A tear rolled down her cheek and she blotted it with the back of her hand.
“I left Carson’s. I didn’t want to, but I had work to finish.”
“Listen, Doc,” Harry said. “Some things have come to light. There’s a chance – slim – that Carson might be alive.”
Her mouth dropped. Nautilus held his hands up, cautionary.
“I have no idea where he is if he’s being held. If I make noise, get cops running everywhere, I think he’ll fall down a hole forever.”
“Oh Jesus …”
“I just uncovered a rotten-apple cop owned by the Kincannons, except the family will never be implicated. They’ve got too many layers between them and the act, especially one named Crandell. I’d love a search warrant for the Kincannons’ homes, offices. But that takes probable cause. I have nothing but circumstances and hearsay.”
“How about Carson’s old girlfriend, Harry? She’s going with Buck Kincannon now, correct? Do you think she could help with anything?”
Nautilus felt guilt sweep through his gut. Danbury had called him a dozen times, left distraught and tearful messages, begging him to call her back, help her understand.
It had bothered Nautilus that his partner had gone through such bullshit with Danbury. She’d behaved poorly. But people stumble, make bad decisions. Get conned by professional liars.
He recalled a call Danbury had left on his phone after Carson had been reported missing:
“I convinced myself that I was so important I deserved the kind of man who was followed by cameras and reporters and had politicians hanging on his every word. I betrayed myself by betraying Carson. I screwed up, Harry, and I lost something I can never get back. “
She wasn’t talking about Carson, Nautilus knew. He pulled his cellphone from his jacket and called the station first. The operator said Danbury wasn’t scheduled for work for four days. He tried her home, got the answering machine.
“I’m out for a few days,” Danbury said, “but will answer your call when I return.”
Her voice was flat and abrupt. Used to be Danbury’s messages sounded chirpy as a bird, all how-de-do, and call you right back, and always a funny little joke.
Strange. Like maybe life wasn’t all she’d been expecting.
“Danbury’s not around,” Nautilus said.
He told Dr Peltier to cross her fingers, pray, and burn candles, incense, whatever it took. He headed to Forensics wondering if Claypool knew anything about e-mail?
Thaddeus Claypool looked up from a keyboard, a glass of orange juice at his elbow. He wore a white shirt with twin banjos on the front, the instruments made of sequins.
Nautilus said, “We nailed the son of a bitch, Thad. But I need a touch more magic. Know anything about tracing e-mail?”
Claypool blew out a long breath. “Depends on how much misdirection the sender put into staying hidden. It’s not like following a thread to someone’s house.”
Nautilus set the computer retrieved from Shuttles’s apartment on the counter in front of Claypool. The tech had it running in under thirty seconds, the e-mail program open.
“Start about month back,” Nautilus said. “A few days before Taneesha Franklin was killed.”
Claypool popped the e-mails on the screen in chronological progression. The sender –Crandell? – was not given to excess verbiage.
Phone call coming to location C (5-7pm on 20) re patrol Monday. Note this a special activity, a 50G ME.
Nautilus noted the message jibed with what Shuttles had told him about the night of Taneesha’s death. He was to find the knife at the scene, making sure the fingerprints remained intact. The “50G ME” Nautilus figured was a “Fifty Grand Merit Endowment”. Also noted: the main details would come via phone. Shuttles had a list of six pay-phone locations, A–F. That night’s calls would be at location C from five to seven p.m., the calls repeated every twenty minutes if Shuttles had a problem getting to the phone. Everything seemed to be considered. The next in the series was self-explanatory:
Need all reports concerning Franklin. Scan and e-mail ASAP.
Keeping tabs, Nautilus thought. Whatever was going on, the folks behind it wanted to see how the investigation was progressing.
Need reports on the suspect in TF case. Understand a drawing is on streets. Need drawing immediately. Talk location B, (2-4 pm on 15)
Basically an update and street contacts talking about the drawing. Verbal orders would follow via phone.
Need all reports of stolen cars activity from 4.21-4.23.
Nautilus noted it approximated the time of the activity with Vince Raines at Vehicle Theft, probably a checkup to assure the phony story about the cars having been sold was believed, no further action taken.
Need official photo(s) of knife from Franklin incident, accompanying paperwork, proof fingerprint(s) recovered. Scan and e-mail ASAP.
If a photo of the murder weapon was needed, why wasn’t one taken before it was planted? Unless a police version was preferred. That fit with the request for official reports on the case.
Nautilus opened the most recent e-mail, sent last Sunday just past noon.
Ryder kayaking 2 of last 4 nights late, try tonight. Boat leaves at 6p.m. Be there. If Ryder not on water, we grab at home. Pln on 7hrs to get job done. This is additional 50G ME …
They’d been lying in wait for Carson since a bit after six. If he hadn’t kayaked, they were going to abduct him from home. Another fifty grand for Shuttles; the scumball business was booming. Nautilus read to the last line, and his heart jammed in his throat.
Plan on being seen by target – don’t worry.
There was only one reason for that line: Carson would never get the opportunity to make an identification.
“How’s the tracing possibility look, Thad?” Nautilus asked, his voice quiet.
“Not good,” Claypool said, shaking his head at the routing codes. “There’s more misdirection than at a magicians’ convention. Maybe if I had a Cray I could brute-force the phony information, but …”
“It’s OK,” Nautilus said. “I got a backup plan. Is the machine hooked up? Like to the Internet?”
Claypool nodded. “It thinks it’s at Shuttles’s apartment.”
Nautilus perched his hands over the keys.
“What are you going to say, Detective?” Claypool asked, holding his breath.
“When in doubt, tell the truth,” Nautilus said. “Parts of it, anyhow.”
He started typing.
TROUBLE! MY PARTNER LOGAN SAW THINGS. KNOWS I BROUGHT THE KNIFE TO THE SCENE. HE WANTS 50G TO STAY QUIET. HE’S PUSHING HARD. HELP! WHAT DO I DO?
Nautilus hit Send.
He studied the message, realized he’d put Logan in Crandell’s sights, picked up his phone. Ten rings later, Logan answered.
“Pace, this is Harry Nautilus. You were right about Shuttles. He’s rotten. I got him to admit he planted the knife.”
“Son of a bitch,” Logan grunted.
“But Shuttles got a shyster and clammed up tight. Listen, Pace, I’m trying to work a scam on the guy pulling Shuttles’s strings, goes by the name of Crandell, a big hard guy, square built, curly blond hair. You ever see him, like Shuttles was driving, maybe stopped to talk to a man like that, said he was a friend?”
“I’m sorry, Harry.”
Nautilus pulled his handkerchief, patted sweat from his forehead.
“Why I’m calling, Pace. I just sent a fake message from Shuttles telling this guy you dug up all the ugliness, are pressing for a cut.”
“You knew where to send the message?”
“E-mail, Pace.”
“Oh shit, of course. Listen, Harry, it makes me feel stupid that all this went down and I never saw anything.”
“You saw the bag floating in the gutter. That opened the door. But Crandell thinks you’re messing with his plans. He may want to take you off the board, and he can do it. You’re at home, right?”
“Watching the tube.”
“Get out now. Go somewhere. A motel, Pace. I’ll pay. Go there and hang out until tomorrow.”
“Harry, what can I do to help? I’ll do anything. Tell me how to help you track down this Cran—”
“There’s nothing to do but get out of there, Pace. Now.”
“What are you trying to accomplish, Harry? Clue me in.”
Nautilus sighed, time wasting.
“Someone’s life may depend on me finding Crandell. I figure he’s got a place away from things. But close enough to town to keep his hand in the action. Pace, get off the phone and git-”
“What are you going to do, Harry?”
“I don’t know, Pace. Listen, I got to hang up.”
“Shuttles is slick, Harry, the little bastard is one –”
“Get out!” Nautilus yelled and slammed down the phone.