“That’s how I’d play it,” Jablonski said. “But Hickman doesn’t want to spook them. He says Hardin takes his diamonds and runs, we might never find them. Say he’s worried Al Qaeda will get their hands on them again, which would give the bad guys better than a hundred mil in operating capital. We leave Hardin and Wilson some room, maybe they make a play on Hernandez, maybe we find this al Din, maybe they try to make another sale we can track. If you push him on it, he starts making national security noises, playing the need to know card.”
“So now he’s worried about what the terrorists might be up to?” Starshak said. “Yesterday he couldn’t shut me up on that fast enough.”
“Hickman’s got some kind of angle he’s not telling us,” said Lynch. “Cause he’s not stupid and that doesn’t make sense.”
“What I figured,” said Jablonski.
After Jablonski left, Starshak, Lynch and Bernstein talked things over.
“Can’t just sit on our fucking hands,” Lynch said. “What about Corsco? He’s tied in here somewhere, and he’s still ducking us. I say it’s time to sit his ass down.”
Starshak nodded, reached for the phone, called Ringwald, told him to have Corsco in for an interview today or Starshak would get a subpoena and serve it on the mother fucker in his box at the opera. He hung up.
“What else?” he asked.
“With these need-to-know fed types in this, they’re gonna freeze us out,” said Lynch. “This crap from Hickman on the BOLOs, that’s just the start.”
“Agreed,” said Bernstein.
A pause in the conversation. “So what’s our move?” Starshak asked.
“So we focus on Saturday,” said Lynch.
“Why the African?” asked Starshak.
“This al Din fuck, he’s the one leaving bodies behind. And Saturday, that’s the one move he couldn’t have planned in advance. If he fucked up, he fucked up there. I’m going to go talk to Magnus again, see if I can shake something loose.”
CHAPTER 54
Kate Magnus was out front, working in the flower garden along the fence with a few of the residents when Lynch got to the shelter. As he pulled up, he saw a young black kid on the other side of the street wave back between a couple of the three-flats up that way and then turn and jog away from the street, cutting back between the buildings. Lookout, probably. Running a street market.
Magnus was wearing jeans today, what looked like a long-sleeve T-shirt of some kind under a cheap nylon windbreaker. Lynch didn’t think she spent much on clothes. Lynch didn’t think she gave a shit about that either. She stood up when she saw him, took off her work gloves, said something to one of the men working near her and walked over to meet Lynch at the gate.
“Detective,” she said. Neutral at least this time.
“Sister,” said Lynch, then, “Sorry, force of habit. Ms Magnus. You’ve got no idea what twelve years of Catholic school can do to you.”
He wasn’t sure, but that might have got him a little smile. “Sure I do,” she said. “Perhaps it will make things easier for everyone if you just call me Kate. What can I do for you?”
“Something’s come up with Membe’s case. I’ve got a picture of a man that might be connected. If he is, it would be from overseas. I’d like you to look at it, maybe show it to your residents.”
Magnus was quiet for a moment, looking at Lynch. “I thought Membe was just an innocent bystander. You said he was likely shot because he might have seen the man who killed Stein.”
Lynch nodded. “That’s what I thought. Might still be what I think. But diamonds tie into this somehow, West African diamonds. And the man in the picture might work for the people who control those.”
“You mean Hezbollah.”
Lynch’s eyebrows went up, she saw that.
“It’s not a secret, Detective, not if you’ve lived over there.”
“Yeah,” Lynch said. “Hezbollah or maybe friends of theirs.”
“So Stein’s murder was political.”
“I don’t know,” said Lynch.
She was quiet again, the gate in the fence between them still closed.
“If this is something from Africa, are my other residents safe here?” she asked.
“I think so,” Lynch said. “It bothered me a little when I thought about it, Membe getting shot like that. Even if he saw the guy, so what? Just another guy getting into a car. But if he knew him, recognized him for some reason, then it makes sense. So I still think it was just bad luck, bad timing. No reason for the guy to come back after anyone else. Just bad luck, but bad luck that goes back to Africa.”
“That’s the worst kind of luck,” Magnus said. She opened the gate, let Lynch in, said something in a language Lynch didn’t know, called the men over.
“What do you want to know?” she asked Lynch.
He took the picture from his jacket pocket, unfolded it and handed it to her. “Just if they know this man, and, if so, from where.”
She looked at the picture a moment, then turned it so the men could see, translating, probably a couple of times, Lynch figured, because it seemed like she stopped, then started again in what sounded like another language. None of the men said anything, but one of them, the big man Magnus had to stand down last time Lynch was here, knew. Lynch could tell. He saw the man’s eyes widen for just a blink, and then the man looked away, looking at anything but Lynch. The men all muttered, some shaking their heads.
Magnus said something else to them and they returned to the garden, the big man moving as far from Lynch as he could get.
“They all say no,” she said.
“But the big one knows him,” Lynch said.
“Probably.”
“Is he from the same area as Membe?”
“Yes.”
“OK,” Lynch said. “I’m not going to push him on it now. For now, it confirms what I figured. The shooter recognized Membe. But talk to the big guy. See what he knows. If you can get something from him, let me know. I don’t want to jam him up. But I need what he knows.”
“Momolu,” Magnus said, some edge behind that. “The big guy has a name. His name is Momolu.”
Lynch paused, took that in. “Look, I know you think nobody gives a shit, and you probably got good reason. You can believe this or not, but Membe and Stein, they’re the same in my book. You kill somebody in my town, if I can make you answer for it, then I do.”
Both of them quiet for a minute, Lynch looking up the street. The kid who’d run between the buildings when Lynch pulled up was back, sitting on a stoop now. Waiting for Lynch to leave so he could give his crew the all clear.
“Alright,” Magnus said. “I didn’t mean to be rude. But yes. I have reason.”
Lynch nodded. “How long you had the drug market going on up the street?”
“A few months. Used to be over on Monroe, but they’ve moved it a block north.”
“Last thing you need,” Lynch said. “Weather’s getting nice, your guys are going to want to get outside some, aren’t going to know the neighborhood, know the code. Somebody flashes a sign at them and they wave back wrong, things could get bad. Don’t need some drive-by bullshit or anything.”
“Are you going to clean up the drug trade detective, so we can do our gardening?”
“Can’t clean it up,” Lynch said. “But I bet I can move it a couple of blocks.”
“And the people on the block you move it to, do they deserve it any more than we do?”
Lynch let out a long exhale. “Look, I do what I can where I can, OK?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “And thank you.”
Lynch nodded. She went to hand the photo back to him.
“Keep it,” he said. “Might help when you talk to Mobulo.”
“Momolu,” Magnus said, but at least she was smiling a little this time.