“Not too long.”
“The slug from the shooting matched the slugs taken out of Olivia Elliot. A Taurus thirty-eight. It wasn’t just the same model of gun. The markings made it as the same exact piece.”
“Keep talking,” said Strange.
“Two of the victims of the shooting were known employees of Dewayne Durham. Jerome Long and Allante Jones. Allante. Christ, someone named their kid after a Cadillac, you believe it? And not even one of the good Caddies.”
“And?”
“One of them used the Taurus before he died.”
“Who’d he use it on?” said Quinn.
“Jeremy Coates. He and his cousin James worked for a rival dealer, this fat cat named Horace McKinley.”
McKinley. Strange’s blood ticked through his veins. James and Jeremy Coates owned the beige Nissan that had been tailing him the past two days; Janine had gotten him the information from her MVA contact after Quinn had taken their plate numbers off the 240.
“Funny,” said Grady. “Right?”
“If all else fails,” said Strange, “I guess you can follow the gun.”
“Oh, we’re already on that. We did a trace, the ATF again, God love ’em. The serial number was still on there, which tells us the gun came from a pro middleman. It was purchased in a gun store down in Virginia, way down off Route 1, called Commonwealth Guns. It’ll be a straw buy, we’re pretty sure. Probably went to an intermediary dealer who works the District. Anyway, we’re looking into it.”
“So the gun sale was legit,” said Quinn.
“Most likely. Purchased at an FFL – that’s federal firearms licensee to you, Quinn. Since you been away so long.”
“And that makes it legal?”
“Legal, not moral. But so what? Legal’s enough. Hard to stop straw buys, anyway, even if you wanted to. Sixty percent of the crime guns recovered in D.C. come from legitimate stores in Maryland and Virginia. In Virginia you can buy a gun, do an instant background check, and walk out of the store, that day, with the gun in your hand. Nice, huh?”
“If you’re buying a gun for protection or sport, then it makes sense,” said Quinn. “So I guess it depends on how you look at it.”
“Maybe you ought to ask Olivia Elliot’s son,” said Grady. “How he looks at it, I mean.”
“Anything else?” said Lydell Blue, cutting the tension that had come to the room.
“Yeah,” said Grady. “Anything else you two can tell me?”
“I’ve given you everything, I think,” said Strange.
But he hadn’t mentioned Donut, Mario’s friend. He and Quinn had agreed: They were saving that bit of information for themselves.
“You think of anything else, let me know,” said Grady, pushing two business cards across the table. “I’ve got to get down to the substation in Six D. They just brought Dewayne in for another go-round. I wanna see his face when we tell him about the gun.”
“If I run into Mario,” said Strange, sliding his own card in front of Grady, “I’ll mention you’re looking for him.”
“Oh, I’ll probably run into him first.”
The two men smiled cordially and shook hands at they stood.
“Where you off to?” said Blue.
“Running down to check on the Granville Oliver trial,” said Strange.
“Another solid citizen,” said Grady. Strange didn’t respond.
“I talk to you a minute?” said Blue.
Strange nodded as Quinn and Grady left the room.
“Anything more on that break-in last night?” said Blue.
“I don’t expect I’ll be hearing anything,” said Strange. “It was a professional burglary. I’m not gonna let it interfere with what I’m doin’.”
Blue stroked his thick gray mustache. “You mean you’re not going to take the warning.”
“I’ve pretty much decided I’m just gonna keep doing my job.”
“You can’t fight the government, if that’s who it is.”
“True,” said Strange. “But I don’t know what else to do.”
Strange and Blue, friends for thirty-some-odd years, shook hands.
Quinn was waiting for Strange out in the hall. They took the stairwell down to the first floor.
“Interesting meeting,” said Quinn.
“I’m thinking about it,” said Strange.
Strange’s Caprice was beside Quinn’s Chevelle in the lot behind the station. Strange motioned for Quinn to come with him.
“Where we headed?” said Quinn.
“Gotta get myself lookin’ right first. Then the office, then downtown.”
“We’re gonna need two cars today. You and me got different things planned.”
“We’ll pick yours up later. We’re swinging back up here for our lunch appointment anyway.”
They settled onto the front bench of the Caprice.
“That Grady guy,” said Quinn, “he’s the one keeps death photos, like art or something, hanging in his crib.”
Strange turned the ignition. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“Man looks like that actor played in Walking Tall. Not Joe Don Baker. Parts two and three, I mean. The ones that sucked.”
“Bo something or other,” said Strange.
“Derek?”
“Funny.”
“It’s Svenson, dude.”
“That’s it. Damn.” Strange pulled out of the lot. “Was killing me, looking at Grady across that table. I just could not remember that cat’s name.”
STRANGE had his hair cut and his beard trimmed at Hawk’s, then walked to the office, where he met Quinn, who had been making some calls and gathering equipment and files. Greco greeted Strange as he entered the storefront, settling back onto his red cushion after receiving a rub on the head. Lamar Williams was up on a ladder, changing a fluorescent bulb, and Janine was seated behind her desk, tapping the keyboard of her computer.
“Good morning,” said Janine. “You look nice.”
“My neck itches,” said Strange, picking up his messages off Janine’s desk. “I’ll be right back out.”
In his office, Strange looped his belt through the sheath of his Buck knife and retrieved a sand-filled sap from his top desk drawer. He slipped the sap into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled his shirttail out to cover it. He made a phone call, then grabbed some files and other items, and went back out to the front of the shop.