Both agents started looking around the marina. Finally, they spotted Lockridge, who held his beer can up as a greeting. McCaleb watched as anger turned Uhlig’s jaw rigid.
“Okay, McCaleb,” the senior agent said. “Keep the files. But I’m telling you right now, smart guy, don’t get in the way. The bureau’s in the process of taking over the case and the last thing we need is some tin man amateur without a badge or his own heart fucking things up for us.”
McCaleb could feel his own jaw drawing tight.
“Get the fuck off my boat.”
“Sure. We’re going.”
They both climbed back up onto the dock. As they headed to the gangway, Nevins turned around and said, “See you around, Tin Man.”
McCaleb watched them all the way through the gate.
“What was that all about?” Lockridge called over.
McCaleb waved him off while still watching the agents.
“Just some old friends come to pay a visit.”
It was nearly 8P.M. in the east. McCaleb called Carruthers at his home. His friend said he had already been through the wringer.
“I told them, I said, ‘Hey, I turned over my information to Lewin. Yes, I put a push on the package at the request of former agent McCaleb, but I did not furnish a copy of the report or any other reports to him.’ Hey, they don’t believe me, then they can shove it. I’m fully vested. They want me out, I’m out. Then they can pay me every time I have to come in to testify on one of my cases. And I got voluminous cases, if you know what I mean.”
He was speaking as if for a third party listening in. And with the bureau, you never knew if there wasn’t. McCaleb followed suit.
“Same thing out here. They came around, tried to act like I had reports I don’t have and I told them to get off my damn boat.”
“Yeah, you’re cool.”
“So are you, Vernon. I’m gonna go. Watch the following sea, man.”
“What’s that?”
“Watch your back.”
“Oh, right. You, too.”
Winston picked up the call on a half ring.
“Where have you been?”
“Busy. Nevins and Uhlig just paid me a little visit. Did you copy them everything you copied to me last week?”
“The files, tapes, Hitchens gave them everything.”
“Yeah, well, they must’ve made the cannoli connection. They’re coming after the case, Jaye. You’re going to have to hang on.”
“What are you talking about? The bureau can’t just take over a murder investigation.”
“They’ll find a way. They won’t take it away but they’ll take charge. I think they know there’s more than the gun connecting the cases. They’re assholes but they’re smart assholes. I think they figured out the same thing I did once they looked at the tapes you gave them. They know it’s the same shooter and that there is something hooking all three of these hits together. They came by to intimidate me, to get me off it. Next it will be you.”
“If they think I’m just going to turn this whole thing over to them and-”
“It’s not you. They’ll go to Hitchens. And if he doesn’t agree to back off, then they go farther up the ladder. I was one of them, remember? I know how it works. The higher you go, the more pressure points.”
“Damn!”
“Welcome to the club.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Me? Tomorrow I’m going back to work. I don’t have to answer to the bureau or Hitchens or anybody else. Just myself on this one.”
“Well, you might be the only one with a shot at this. Good luck.”
“Thanks. I could use it.”
McCALEB DIDN’T GET to the notes and financial records he had taken from Amelia Cordell until the end of the day. Tired from all the desk work, he quickly scanned the notes and came across nothing in the widow’s recollections that sparked any interest in him. From the bank statements he quickly determined that Cordell was paid every Wednesday by direct deposit. During the three months for which McCaleb had statements, Cordell had made an ATM withdrawal on every payday at the same bank branch at which he was eventually killed. The significance of this was that it confirmed that, like Gloria Torres’s nightly stop at the Sherman Market, Cordell had been following a definable pattern when he had been murdered. It gave more credence to the belief that the shooter had watched his victims-in Cordell’s case for a minimum of a week, but probably longer.
McCaleb was glancing through the credit card statements when he felt the boat dip and looked out to see Graciela stepping down into the stern. It was a pleasant surprise.
“Graciela,” he said as he stepped out to the stern. “What are you doing here?”
“You didn’t get my message?”
“No, I-oh, I haven’t checked messages.”
“Well, I called and said I was coming down. I wrote up some things about Glory. Like you asked.”
McCaleb almost groaned. More paperwork. Instead, he told her he appreciated her doing the work so quickly after his request.
He noticed that she carried a duffel bag slung over her arm. He took it from her.
“What’s in the bag? You didn’t write that much, did you?”
She looked at him and smiled.
“My stuff. I’m thinking about staying over again.”
McCaleb felt a little thrill inside, even though he knew that her staying over didn’t necessarily mean they would be sleeping together.
“Where’s Raymond?”
“With Mrs. Otero. She’ll also get him to school tomorrow. I’m taking the day off.”
“How come?”
“So I can be your driver.”
“I already have somebody to drive me. You don’t have to take-”
“I know but I want to. Besides, I made an appointment for you at the Times with Glory’s boss. And I want to go with you when you talk to him.”
“Okay, you got the job.”
She smiled and he led her into the salon.
After McCaleb took her bag down to the stateroom and poured her a glass of wine from a new bottle of red, he sat with her in the stern and began going over the case’s new developments. As he told her about Kenyon, her eyes widened as she struggled to accept the idea that there was a connection somewhere between her sister and the murdered criminal.
“Nothing obvious comes to mind, right?” he asked.
“No. I have no idea how they could be…”
She didn’t finish.
McCaleb shook his head and slouched in his deck chair. She opened her purse and took out the notebook in which she had written down her sister’s activities. They went over it. Nothing she had written jumped out at McCaleb as being significant. But he told her the information could still be useful as the case continued to evolve.
“It’s amazing how much everything has changed,” he said. “A week ago this was a basic holdup. Now we have possibilities of the motivation being pathological or even being some kind of contract hit. The random possibility is now third.”
Graciela sipped her wine before speaking.
“It makes it harder, doesn’t it?” she asked in a soft voice.
“No,” he said. “It just means we’re getting close. You have to open up and let all of the possibilities in. Then sift it out… All of this just means we’re getting close.”
After they watched the sunset, Graciela drove them to a small Italian restaurant in the Belmont Shores section of Long Beach. McCaleb liked the food and they had the privacy of one of the restaurant’s three round booths. During dinner McCaleb had tried to change the subject, sensing that Graciela was still depressed by the turns of the investigation. He told her some lame jokes he remembered from his bureau days but they barely brought a smile.
“It must have been hard when this was your full-time job,” she said as she pushed her half-finished plate of gnocchi aside. “I mean, just dealing with these kinds of people all the time. It must have been…”