To Hauck, the drive back felt like days. He felt an urge building inside him, like he was going to explode.
From the realization he had cost a man his life—watched him die in his arms. From the silent, stewing rage he could not contain, his fingers gripping the wheel like a gun handle, to get his hands around Raines’s neck. Turn him upside down. Until the truth came out.
Wipers flashing, he crossed back into Massachusetts.
The boat had turned up. It had been stolen from a local marina and ditched at a dock at someone’s summerhouse that had been closed up for the season. No bullet casings or prints were found on it. A team from Portland was coming in to check it out the next day.
The local head of detectives in Maine showed up at the scene, an easygoing white-haired guy named Hazens—who hadn’t handled a murder case since he’d moved up to Lewiston. Together they went through Pacello’s cell phone. Calls from his kids, a son in Tucson, but the recent numbers that might lead somewhere were untraceable. Disposable cell phones.
Hauck had told Hazens as much as he could. Why he was up there—part of a murder case connected to a gambling scam back home. That Pacello was a potential witness. He even mentioned the Pequot Woods and Raines. Pacello’s grieving wife certainly would. But what could the guy do? Hauck asked him for a few days to let him take the lead. They struck a deal. Hazens would go over the boat and the marina, look for anything up there.
Hauck would go after Raines.
He hadn’t learned much more than when he’d driven up that very morning, which now seemed like days ago. Only that Sanger and Kramer hadn’t been killed as part of any gambling scam. That had been another smoke screen. Just like Josephina Ruiz had been a smoke screen. What was the Pequot Woods hiding? Who else was involved?
What had Fitz said? Every politician in the state has his hands in the Pequot Woods pockets.
How high did that go?
He had called Fitz from the scene, informed him what had taken place. This thing would have to be expanded, the chief said glumly. It had crossed states. The FBI would have to be more deeply involved.
“Come on home,” he told Hauck. “We’ll start to put it all together tomorrow.”
All those new state roads, Ty, those fancy stadiums, you have any idea where the money for those comes from?
Hauck had asked Raines, referring to Sanger, what kind of man would risk it all like that—his job, his family, his reputation, everything—over some kind of compulsion. A few hundred thousand dollars.
What kind of man are you, Lieutenant…? Raines had just smiled back.
Now he knew.
One day you could be chief, Vern had said. You could build a nice life here, Ty…
His cell phone rang, cutting his thoughts. Hauck picked up and it was Warren. He didn’t want to go into things now.
“Hey, guy, just checking in,” his brother said. “You give any more thought to that job?”
“The job’s off for a while, Warren,” Hauck replied.
“Off?”
“I can’t go into it. It’s just off.”
“Ty,” Warren objected, “that’s not making sense…”
“Who does the Pequot Woods have in its pocket, Warren?”
That seemed to take him by surprise. “Huh?”
“C’mon, Warren, you know about these things. Who do they own? Who’s on their payroll?”
“Ty, I really think you’re making a huge mistake here…”
“You remember that game we used to play when we were kids? Goal-line Stand?”
Warren hesitated. “Yeah, I remember, Ty, but—”
“I was always John Riggins. You were LT. I’d barrel into you and try to move the pile. You’d try to force me back.”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything, Ty?”
“Who always won?”
“God damn it, Ty, I’m trying to talk a little sense into you…”
Hauck pressed. “Who always won? In the end. What was it you always said about me? You remember…”
His brother let out a frustrated breath, giving in. “We used to say God gave you a whole lot more balls than he did sense, because you’d never stop until your face was bloody. You realize it wasn’t exactly meant as a compliment, Ty…”
“Maybe, but as to why the job’s on hold…that’s why.”
They hung up. Warren seemed disappointed, even a little pissed. Hauck was coming up on Hartford now. The skyline came into view. It was almost nine. He grabbed his phone again and called Munoz.
The detective’s eight-year-old, Anthony, picked up. The one Hauck had gotten the signed David Wright baseball for. “Uncle Ty…!”
“Hey, bruiser, what are you still doing up? Your dad at home?”
“He’s at home.” Hauck heard the sound of the TV in the background. “We’re watching 24. He’s right here.”
“Caught me,” Munoz said guiltily as he took the line. “I’ll let him stay up and we watch 24 together. Our Tuesday-night ritual. I heard what happened, LT. I’m sorry about that. It’s bad.”
“How’s your DVR working?” Hauck asked.
“It’s working fine, Lieutenant,” Munoz said. “Tell me what you need.”
“I’m just passing Hartford. I want you to meet me at my house—in an hour. That okay? I’m sorry to interrupt things, Freddy, but the shit’s going to hit the fan tomorrow, and I want to map out some things before we get in.”
“Key in the same place?” Munoz asked unhesitatingly. He had once had to pick up some files Hauck had there. Hauck kept a key in a fake rock along the side.
“Same place,” Hauck said. “And, Freddy…thanks.”
“I’ll see you there, Lieutenant.”
What kind of person are you? Raines had asked.
He didn’t fully know until that moment.
I’m the guy who’s gonna bring you down.