Buried (Detective Ellie MacIntosh) (27 page)

Still a little mystified, she said, “Okay. What do you think we will accomplish, sir?”

“Let me put it this way: I have gone over the past very eventful week or two, and have determined one thing. I have not left my phone anywhere unless I have a very bad memory and I have a very good memory. The only other person I know who has touched it is Joanne Fielding, who asked me if she could borrow it at her husband’s funeral. That she had left hers in the car didn’t surprise me under the circumstances because one would expect her to be distracted, so I of course said yes, and she wandered away to ostensibly call her uncle who had gotten lost twice on the way to the funeral home. Now that I look back on it, Ms. Fielding had it out of my sight for about three to five minutes. I’ll grant you that I don’t have one bit of evidence, nor do I quite understand her motivation, but maybe you can find out for me if she put a device in it and why.”

That was how Ellie found herself walking into an interview room, notebook in hand, with a cup of coffee—she needed it—to sit down opposite Joanne Fielding just before two o’clock in the afternoon.

The woman sitting at the table was very pretty, or would be if her eyes weren’t ringed by shadows and her eyelids puffy as if she’d been crying. Long dark hair, pink silk blouse, minimum makeup, and white capri pants. She looked, and probably was, travel-worn.

They already had something in common.

Ellie offered her hand. “Hi. I’m Ellie.”

The other woman took it, her fingers cold and light. “Can you explain to me why it seems like I’m being questioned when just last night I was told I was in danger?”

Ellie sat down across the generic table. “It has come to our attention our communications could have been compromised and you had talked to Detective Grasso, who in turn talked to Chief Metzger. Considering there was a murder attempt—and this would have made the fourth killing of a police officer—last evening up in northern Wisconsin, we thought it best to remove you from harm’s way. Luckily, the detective was only shot, and will recover.”

“Oh God.” Joanne Fielding sank back and rubbed her forehead with her palm.

“Yes, I’m with you there. Tell me about Garrison Henley.” Ellie gave her most sympathetic smile.

“Why?”

“Because this all comes back time and again to that family. Now we are getting tips from someone close to them.” That was a stretch, but maybe worth it. Ellie set aside her pen since suspects found it disconcerting when she wrote down what they said, but it wasn’t her purpose here to intimidate. So, no notes. “Do you know Angelo Terrance?”

“I don’t really know him, but
of
him. He works for Henley Enterprises. He was hired after I had already quit. He handles some of the finances of the company but also Mr. Henley’s personal schedule.”

“One of our detectives received information that he was under investigation by the DEA. Did your husband know something that might help their case and that is why he tried to contact them?”

Joanne looked genuinely bewildered. Glossy dark hair brushed her shoulders as she shook her head and her thin hands trembled on the table. “My husband contacted the DEA? I didn’t know that. My husband’s concerns with the Henley family were purely personal, Detective.”

“He thought your son was really Garrison Henley’s child, correct?”

Joanne looked as if Ellie had just struck her. Her answer was barely audible. “He accused me of that, yes.”

“That must have been difficult.”

“Would you have enjoyed that particular conversation?” A ghost of a smile touched the other woman’s mouth.

“No.” It was easy for Ellie to be truthful on that score. “Why did he suddenly decide, when your son is almost two years old, that there is a question about the paternity?”

“We were having some marital troubles.” The admission came out reluctantly. Joanne looked at the table. “He swore he wasn’t going to pay support for a child that wasn’t his. I loved him but he could be very self-righteous sometimes.”

Well, at least that cleared up one point Ellie had never quite understood. “Okay, I get that. I am sure Garrison Henley could afford it much more than your husband could on a cop’s salary. Do you think he obtained information that could implicate the business, given we think Mr. Terrance, who works for the company, might be under investigation? Did David call the DEA to put pressure on the Henley family to just agree to the paternity test?”

“Like I said, I had no idea he ever called the DEA.”

“Do you know anyone named Lieman?”

“No.”

Ellie blew out a breath. The answer was there … somewhere. She said as neutrally as possible, trying to ignore that the room smelled like a thousand cups of stale coffee. “Let’s go back. So your husband asks for a paternity test and Garrison is decent about it and agrees and admits it could be his.”

“This is extremely embarrassing for me, Detective.”

“I am not here to judge you, Joanne. I’m here to try and find out what is going on so you and your son can be safe. Just last night someone shot at me. I assume you remember that is not the most pleasant experience in the world. They hit my partner, and he isn’t peaches and cream on a good day, so just imagine his mood right now. Help me sort this out and we both win. I think you are in this, and in deep. All roads lead back to your involvement with Garrison. So he says he’ll take responsibility but then his father lawyers up and tells him absolutely not, don’t do it. Do I have all this correct so far?”

“Maybe I should have a lawyer myself.”

That made Ellie sit back with a flicker of hope they were finally getting somewhere. “Mrs. Fielding, we are trying to stop a runaway train here. What makes you think you need a lawyer?”

The other woman looked pale now. “I … I … don’t know. This feels like an interrogation. And you don’t know Ely Henley. He is an extremely determined man. Garrison did what his father wanted because he’s young, but he isn’t stupid.”

“I should think, considering the brutality of your husband’s murder, you might just want to help us. We flew you back from Florida under police escort in case there was any danger to your life and that of your child. I hope you remember we are the good guys. Do we agree on that point?”

“I agree you’ll try and help me, but I am not sure you can protect me.”

Fair enough. “Why is that?”

“Detective, I don’t know about the drugs, and I don’t know about the DEA, but I do know that Ely Henley has a lot of people in his back pocket. He is charismatic, wealthy, and ambitious. If he is tied to any of this, you are going to have to dig deep and step around land mines. I worked for him for two years and he is a force to be reckoned with. Garrison said yes to the test, Ely told him no. That was the end of it. As I didn’t want the test in the first place, it didn’t break my heart. Quite frankly, that is all I have to say.”

Ellie felt brutal, but there was very little choice. “Let me ask you one more question because I think if you answered it honestly this could break our case. If you don’t I am going to be forced to hold you, and I think the charge would be conspiracy to murder. Is there any chance you tampered with Chief Metzger’s phone?”

Any hint of remaining color drained from Joanne’s face. Even her lips went white. Her voice wavered. “I definitely want a lawyer.”

*   *   *

Jason wasn’t all
that big on libraries. He liked to read well enough, though normally he kept it to humorous and political books—he absolutely shunned big, complicated literary novels, no doubt of the kind Grantham was writing. He saw enough angst and betrayal as it was just in the course of his daily life.

But here he was, in a small soundproof room with Grasso, a little high on those damn painkillers again, though this experience with being shot was hell-and-gone better than the last one.

Sort of laughable to be able to make the comparison, but truthful enough.

Grasso checked his watch. “We only have the room reserved for an hour and I had to be very persuasive to get that. I hope he shows soon.”

“Persuasive. You wordsmith, you.”

“Wordsmith? And
you
are making fun of me?”

“I heard it on late-night television and have been dying to use it in a sentence.” Jason sat at the table, picking up a pen and sliding it through the fingers of the hand he could still use. The other one was fairly numb, his arm in a sling. He quit kidding. “I hope he shows soon too. Metzger has pull—I should think so—but these undercover guys aren’t necessarily accessible.”

“The field supervisor named the place. I just made the arrangements.” As usual Grasso was stylish in his suit and tie, his hair perfectly combed. In contrast, Jason was fairly sure he looked like crap warmed over, because that was essentially how he felt.

Just as he opened his mouth to reply, someone rapped on the door and opened it. “I’m sorry … I’m looking for the Marquette study group.”

Code for: This is Lieman.

Grasso said, “You’ve found it. Come in and shut the door.”

The undercover thing always felt stupid, Jason thought, but these guys did a unique job that required certain skills he did not possess. He was about as subtle as a tsunami but apologizing for it seemed redundant. Agent Lieman—they had never even been told his first name and it didn’t seem like that was going to happen—was midthirties, wiry but not tall, with a pleasant-looking but unmemorable face, brown hair, and he was dressed like Grasso in a suit, tie, and polished shoes, though he didn’t carry it off nearly as well.

He looked like an accountant, and in fact, Jason learned in the next minute or so, he actually was one.

“Forensic accounting,” Lieman said pleasantly as he took a seat at the table. “I worked for the FBI for a couple of years but then was offered the job with the DEA. Look, guys, I know your chief was adamant I come in for this, but I am going to tell you now, if you compromise my investment in a case that has taken me almost two years to get to a point where we are about to arrest out some serious criminals, then the government of the United States will be very unhappy and I might wind up dead. I just want to make that pretty clear up front.”

Jason’s feelings on the subject were that they had some pretty serious criminals they were trying to apprehend as well. “How the hell can we possibly compromise your case? We don’t even know what it is.”

“Then why did Fielding call me?”

Grasso said, “You know, that is why
we
wanted to talk to
you
. We were hoping you could tell us.”

The three of them stared at one another for a long, excruciating minute. Jason was the one who broke the silence. “I think maybe we are at cross-purposes in some way. Let me clear up our angle. One of our officers called you. We only know that because you came in and told the chief after he was killed. After that, two more officers were killed, and we have two suspects in custody that could be professionals, except they aren’t talking. We think maybe it is linked back to the Henley family and a possible drug connection. Joanne Fielding isn’t really cooperating either, by the way, but we are fairly sure she had some part in making the line of communication from the Milwaukee Police Department accessible to whoever is hitting cops left and right. Our case in a nutshell. I just gave it all to you.” He smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Your turn to give something back.”

“My turn? All I know is that Fielding called and left a message on my phone that could have gotten me garroted in my office if anyone else had heard it.” Lieman was testy, his eyes hard.

Jason might be a little high, but he was not an idiot. Comprehension came in like a welcome guest with a warm handshake. “You are working for Henley Enterprises inside?”

“Yes. I can divulge that much, but I had to clear it.”

Still, the whole thing was crystal as mud. “You won’t tell
us
without thumbscrews but Fielding knew this? He was a patrol officer.”

“I have no idea what he knew.” Lieman ran his hands through his hair. “Do you see why his call made me nervous?”

“How did he have your number?”

“You tell me.”

“What was the exact message?” Grasso’s tone was sharp.

Lieman gave it up with obvious reluctance. “All he said was:
I know Henley’s dirty little secret
. He left his number and asked for me to call him back. I couldn’t for a day or two, and by then he was dead.”

“That’s helpful.” Grasso turned, his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored slacks. “Do you think this is about the drug angle?”

“I hope not, but those are dangerous people. You have three dead police officers, and I am just as concerned as you are, but you do realize hundreds of people are dying in drug-related activities, right? With what I am doing … three is nothing. Every single life is important, but only three? I’m trying to save a lot more than that.”

“Well, fuck,” Jason said with heartfelt frustration. “So none of us know. You don’t happen to know Angelo Terrance, do you? We had a tip the DEA is on him, and—”

“And?” Lieman put his elbows on the table, his gaze intent.

“Oh shit.” Jason’s throbbing arm faded into the background as everything else zeroed into focus. “
You
are Angelo Terrance. Ah, man, Fielding wasn’t calling the DEA, he was calling someone close to Henley. Don’t you guys get this? We aren’t looking at this the right way. Let’s go over it again.”

*   *   *

Ellie was at
her desk when Santiago came and planted himself in a chair. He didn’t look too good, but then again, maybe he should have looked worse, considering the previous night. It did look like he’d showered, since his normally tousled blond hair seemed relatively tidy.

The report she was working on was certainly an interesting one. Lake resorts and midnight gunfire and spooked, helpful deer …

“What would you do,” he said with his usual careless drawl, “if you were rich, pretty influential, knee-deep in some iffy business ventures with people who can be fairly dangerous, fucking around on your wife, and someone threatened you?”

“Now there’s an interesting question.” It certainly caught her attention.