Mike considered the question, “A possibility. Given this chump’s occupation. But there’s nothing about this murder that screams out gangland execution.”
“What about the four shots to the head? Surely one would have been sufficient for any normal murderer.”
“Well…” Mike said hesitantly. “Of course, that factor doesn’t make the killing resemble a mob execution. That factor makes the killing resemble the murder your client is going on trial for Tuesday.”
Ben’s face and neck muscles tightened. “What are you saying, Mike?”
“Where was Christina twenty, thirty minutes ago, Ben?”
“How should I know?”
“I think you’d better find out.”
“Are you telling me she needs an alibi?”
“You’re the one who told me Lennie was snitching to the FBI. That he might have been planning to testify against her.” He fumbled through his coat pockets for his pipe. “You could hardly blame her for becoming desperate, under the circumstances.”
“Just spit it out, Mike. What’s your goddamn point?”
Mike matched his volume. “I’m saying your case just got about one hundred thousand times worse, Ben. And it wasn’t great in the first place.”
“I can’t believe you would even consider bringing charges against Christina for this weasel’s murder!”
“I’m a cop, Ben! I catch bad guys; I don’t bring charges. But I can sure as hell tell you what’s going to happen. Moltke and his buddies will view this development as proof of the pudding.”
“And let me guess,” Ben said bitterly. “There’s nothing you can do to help.”
Mike jammed the pipe stem between his teeth and turned away.
“As I suspected. Thanks for nothing.”
Ben stormed out of the room. The blood was racing to his head. And the words, the words kept racing through his brain, filling him with dread.
Your case just got about one hundred thousand times worse, said Mike, a man in a position to know.
And it wasn’t great in the first place.
32
BEN DREW IN THE sweet smell of damp pine needles. It felt good coursing through his lungs, but it didn’t dispel his intuitive feeling that he shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have brought Christina, should’ve stayed home and locked the doors. We’re all in danger, Lennie had said. We’re all dead men.
The night wind whistled through the trees, bringing a sharp chill. Ben watched Christina draw her arms tighter around herself. “Told you to bring a coat.”
“All my coats are neon colors,” Christina replied. “Not really appropriate for this line of work.”
“That’s true.” He glanced at his watch. Almost two in the morning. According to Wolf, the plane was overdue. Was it coming? Or had he been totally mistaken? The only way to find out was to wait and watch and listen. All night, if necessary.
Wolf began pacing in a small circle. He’d been antsy all night, not that Ben could blame him. It had been a long stakeout, and so far, entirely unproductive. Ben had been trying to get him to go home for hours; this was much too dangerous for a boy his age. And what did Wolf’s parents think about him being out all hours of the night? Wolf refused to leave; and he wouldn’t discuss the subject of parents at all.
“I gotta take care of something,” Wolf said abruptly.
Ben nodded. “Don’t be gone long.”
“I won’t. If I see anything, I’ll call for you. Like this.” Wolf placed both hands over his mouth and released a long, eerie hooting noise. It was some kind of bird call—an owl, perhaps? It sounded authentic, whatever it was.
“Nothing in this forest makes that noise,” Wolf explained. “So if you hear it, you’ll know it’s me.”
“All right,” Ben said. “I’ll be listening.”
“And if something happens, or you need me in a hurry, you make the same call.”
“Me? I couldn’t make that noise if I practiced a million years. I can’t even whistle.”
“What noises can you make?”
“I can do excellent armpit-farts.” He cupped his hand under his armpit and brought his arm down over it. “I learned that in college.”
Wolf wasn’t impressed. “What about you?” he asked Christina.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t go to college.”
“Maybe you should just yell, ‘Hey Wolf.’ ”
“That I can handle,” Ben said. “And when I do, what course of action does a twelve-year-old boy plan with regard to these professional criminals?”
“I can handle myself.” Wolf reached into his jacket and withdrew a small wooden slingshot. “I’m a crack shot.”
Ben smiled. “Just stay out of trouble. Hurry back.”
Wolf plunged into the dark thicket and within seconds Ben couldn’t see him at all. He couldn’t hear any movement, either. The boy was almost as much a part of the forest as the trees.
A few moments later, Ben’s ears pricked up. “Did you hear something?”
“Oh God, it’s Mr. Paranoid again—”
“This is serious, Christina. I heard some leaves crunching.”
“It must’ve been Wolf.”
“No, it was over there. The other direction.”
“Ben, if you see something, fine—let me know. Until then, stop giving me the creeps.”
“Have it your way.” He crouched down beside her. “You never actually told me what you were doing this afternoon.”
“What does it matter? I can’t believe anyone would suggest I killed this Lennie creep. I didn’t even know him.”
“He knew you. And unfortunately, he may have been planning to testify against you.”
“How could he know anything about me?”
“Who says he did? He was in trouble, and he was planning to turn informant to get out of that trouble. He wouldn’t be the first crook who invented some testimony to buy himself immunity.”
“That really stinks.”
“I agree, but nevertheless, having a witness for the prosecution offed on the eve of trial doesn’t augur well. So where were you this afternoon?”
“I was at home. Alone. Watching television.”
No chance of an alibi, then. Nothing to protect her from another murder charge but her word—the word of the accused. Ben heard a low rumbling noise on the opposite side of the clearing. The noise grew stronger, and a few seconds later, Ben could see the outline of a small plane flying low, just above the treetops. It was painted black; but for the noise, it would be almost invisible. He watched the plane circle the clearing a few times, then approach.
“Stay low,” Ben whispered. “Don’t let him see you.”
Christina obeyed.
The plane swept in for a perfect landing. Shortly after the engines died, a man in a dark leather jacket and blue jeans crawled out of the cockpit. He looked like the pilot Wolf had described before. Instead of waiting by the plane, he walked briskly across the clearing. He entered the forest about a hundred feet north of Ben and Christina.
After Ben was certain the man was far enough ahead, they started after him. They couldn’t see the pilot, but they could hear him—the soft, steady sound of his boots bearing down on branches and leaves.
They followed him for almost ten minutes. At last, the pilot arrived at the wooden shack Ben and Christina had discovered during their previous visit—Wolf’s animal sanctuary. The pilot paused, apparently trying to read the notice on the door. Then he examined the lock; it was already open. He stepped inside.
Ben heard a sudden commotion—some scuffling, a muffled yell. Could Wolf be in there?