Dead End (20 page)

“Who paid you?” Evan was almost in his face.

“I don’t think we’re going to continue this conversation any longer.” Luther turned to Connor. “If you’re taking me in, take me in. Let’s not waste any more time. It’s hot out here . . .”

They walked between the rows of graves, an odd little parade of four. Luther first in line, Connor directly behind, his gun drawn. Still calm, Annie walked hand in hand with Evan, keeping the pace. They were within thirty feet of the tent when Connor put his hand on Luther, bringing him to a halt.

“Annie, find John Mancini. I don’t want to go into the crowd with a gun drawn,” Connor said.

Evan walked around in front of Luther, his hand on the gun inside his waistband.

“Just in case you’re thinking about taking off into the crowd,” Evan told him, “there’s nothing that would make me happier than putting a bullet in you.”

Annie returned in minutes, John and several other agents in tow. John walked silently around Luther, as if inspecting him.

Finally, he said, simply and without emotion, “Take him in.”

Connor handed Luther over to several of his colleagues, one of whom cuffed him and started to lead him away.

“Luther,” John called out, and Luther turned.

“There was no CI in the McCullum case.”

“What?”

“There was no confidential informant used in the McCullum case.”

“You stay up all night last night, looking for that?” Luther asked.

“Didn’t have to,” John told him. “I was the special agent in charge. And it was Memphis, by the way, not Detroit . . .”

26

Four nights later, Evan leaned an elbow on the bar at Taps and looked around, still dazed by all the attention he had received after his role in bringing in Luther Blue had been announced by the FBI in a statement crediting him with the apprehension of one of the major players in the international traffic in child slavery.

“Way to show up the feds.” Todd Holiday slapped him on the back for at least the fourth time. “Unbelievable, man. You made us all proud.”

“Hey, I heard the FBI wants to hire you; that true?” Joe Sullivan sidled up behind him.

Evan shrugged. “Hey, you know, rumors are flying around about everything this week.”

It was true—John Mancini had offered Evan an assist in getting into an accelerated program—but Evan didn’t feel like getting into any of that right then and there. Tonight was Disco Night at Taps, and with the Bee Gees playing, Tom singing along in a weak falsetto, and all his old friends there with him, Evan pushed all thoughts of his next career move from his mind. He waved to Sean Mercer, the police chief from Broeder, who was weaving through the crowd with Evan’s sister, Amanda.

“Hey, hero-man.” Amanda hugged her older brother. “I saw you on the news last night. The local stations are really playing you up big-time, aren’t they?”

“There’s so much focus on the arrests of the crew who was running those brothels in the county, it’s a good thing. Not the publicity for me, but shining the spotlight on this trafficking in children . . .”

“I couldn’t believe this was happening, right there in Carleton.” Amanda frowned. “Everyone I’ve spoken with has reacted the same way. No one believes it could happen here.”

“It’s happening in a lot of places. It’s good that the story’s out there. People should be aware that this is going on in their own backyards; it’s way more common than even I ever imagined. And I’m a cop.”

Sean motioned to the bartender, who promptly set up three beers. He handed one to Amanda and one to Evan, who waved it off and pointed to a place on the bar where six or seven beers were already lined up.

“If I drink every beer that’s been bought for me tonight, I’ll have to crawl home. I’ve already had three, not counting this one. I think I’ll just nurse the one I have for a while.”

“I’m really proud of you, Evan,” Amanda whispered.

“Thank you. But it doesn’t take much heroism to save the woman you love when someone is holding a gun to her head.”

“Where is said woman you love?” Amanda looked around the crowded bar.

“She’s still in Virginia. She’ll be here on Friday, though. We have big plans for the weekend.”

“A romantic weekend away? Cape May? New York?” Amanda asked.

“West Broeder. The backyard. Just me, Annie, and a couple of rosebushes.” He grinned. “I already bought ’em. They’re lined up along the back fence, just waiting to be planted.”

“Way to plan a getaway,” Sean deadpanned.

“Hey, that’s what my girl wants, that’s what she gets.”

“Crosby, the boss is here. He’s looking for you.” Johnny Schenk slapped him on the back. “He wants to kiss your butt a little. I say let him.”

Evan laughed and stepped around his sister to greet Chris Malone, who, still in his dark suit and dark tie, looked out of place in the smoky, loud neighborhood bar. He was a sport to stop in, Evan acknowledged as he accepted the congratulations and words of praise Malone had offered.

An hour later, his ears ringing from too many repetitions of “I Love the Nightlife” and Blondie’s “Heart of Glass,” Evan slumped into a booth opposite Joe and leaned against the hard wooden back. They had a basket of chips and a bowl of peanuts between them, and a couple of beers. Just like a hundred other nights they’d shared in this booth, in this bar, after their shift together as detectives in the Broeder Police Department. Those were the good old days, Evan was thinking as he grabbed a handful of peanuts.

“Getting too old for this kind of partying, Sullivan,” Evan told Joe.

“Hey, I know what you mean. Nights when I’m not working, I’m asleep by now.” He glanced at his watch. “I should probably get going soon. Rosemary and Joey are leaving early in the morning, and all the commotion always wakes me up.”

“All what commotion?”

“Oh, you know, getting everything out into the car, the dog starts barking . . . though I have to say, they’re getting better at it. It doesn’t take ’em as long to get on the road as it did when they first started.”

“Started what? I’m confused. What are they doing?”

“Didn’t I tell you? We’ve been looking for something for Joey to get into, something he could do, so on a whim back in November, we took him to this dog show down near Philly, the big one, at the big expo center. Honest to God, Evan, you never saw so damned many dogs in your life. And all of them just groomed so nice, better than a lot of the guys in here tonight, I gotta tell ya.”

Joe took a sip of his beer.

“Anyway, this show is what they call benched, which means that the dogs are all up on these tables for most of the day, and you can walk back there, see them, ask questions, and learn about the different breeds. It was interesting, I gotta admit, but Joey, he was just beside himself. They have these kids, they call them junior handlers, who compete in the rings with their dogs. He started talking to a couple of them, got interested, and next thing we know, he’s asking if he can do it, too. How do you like that? We spent years shuttling him to soccer, baseball, football—all that stuff he hated and didn’t do well at. And here he gets all psyched up about showing dogs.”

“So what did you do? How does a kid get started in that?”

“While we were there, he talked to someone in one of the local kennel clubs, who took a shine to him. This woman, she’s a breeder out near Reading, she invited him over, taught him the ropes, worked with him all winter. She’s a terrific lady; she and Rosie have gotten to be good friends. Anyway, she offers to let Joey show one of her dogs in one of these junior handling competitions back in the spring. He doesn’t win, but he does okay. Next thing I know, it’s every weekend.” Joe rested his arms on the table and laughed. “It’s a pain in the ass, vacuuming all that damned dog hair out of the back of the car—I had to buy Rosie one of those big SUVs to carry around the dog and the equipment, you wouldn’t believe all the crap you have to cart around—but it’s been worth it. The kid is happier than I’ve ever seen him. Doing better in school, too. It’s like a miracle has occurred.”

Evan felt a twitch start somewhere low in his gut, the twitch that was the equivalent of a light going on or a distant bell starting to ring. He stared at his beer, not wanting to analyze the twitch, or look into the light, or hear the bell.

“So did you buy him a dog?” Evan didn’t want to look at Joe, didn’t want to let his imagination take him further than he wanted to go.

“Naw, didn’t have to. The breeder has an older dog she lets him show. Dog stays in our house, sleeps in his bed. This big, hairy thing. Clumber spaniel, you ever seen one of them? Rare, this breeder is the only one in this part of the state. Great dog, though, gentle as a lamb. Loves Joey, Joey loves him. It’s been great for the kid.”

“That’s great, Joe, that you found something for your son to enjoy.” Evan couldn’t even raise his eyes to look at Joe. If he was wrong . . .

Evan prayed he was wrong.

He’d known Joe for fifteen years. He’d danced at his wedding, he’d held his son in his arms at the hospital on the day he was born. For years, he’d watched Joe’s back, and Joe had watched his.

“Yeah, it’s been real good for him.” Joe nodded and popped a few more peanuts into his mouth.

“Hey, I’m going to hit the men’s room,” Evan told him. The gnawing at his insides was unbearable. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back. I might ask you for a ride home. I’m feeling a little woozy after all those beers. I’m not used to drinking so much anymore.”

“I hear you, buddy.” Joe nodded again. “I’ll be here.”

Evan walked to the back of the bar and down the short hall that led to the restrooms.

It could be coincidence, he told himself with every step. It probably doesn’t mean a thing, and I’m blowing this whole conversation out of proportion because I want so badly to solve the case. The thought of Joe being involved was ludicrous, wasn’t it?

Evan could think of only one way to find out.

At the very end of the hall was a door that opened to the parking lot. Evan pushed the door open and stepped outside; at the same time he was taking his phone out of his pocket and speed-dialing Annie’s home phone.

“Annie,” he said when she picked up, “did the full lab reports ever come back on the trace from my girls?”

“I miss you, too, sweetie,” she said, yawning, her voice groggy from sleep.

“Sorry, babe, I’m in a hurry”—he tried to disguise his impatience—“and this is important.”

“The trace from the FBI lab on the girls?” she asked.

“Yes. You were going to have them run a full analysis on some dog hairs that were found on the bodies.”

“Oh. The dog hairs. Yeah.” She yawned again. “I saw that.”

“Annie, it’s important. Where’s the report now, do you know?”

“Probably in my briefcase. What is it you needed to know at one thirty in the morning?”

“I need to know what kind of dog the hair came from. I hate to ask you to get out of bed to look for the report, but I really need to know.”

“That’s all you need? The breed of dog the hair was from?”

“Yes. And I need it now. So could you please go get the report and look it up?”

“I don’t need to, I remember. It was a dog I never heard of, and I actually called the lab back to double-check because I thought maybe there was a typo or something,” she told him. “It was hair from a Clumber spaniel. You ever hear of that breed?”

“Yeah. Unfortunately, I just did. Thanks, babe. I’ll call you in the morning.”

Evan went back into the bar and slid into his seat. Joe was on his cell, explaining to his wife that he might be a little late.

He looked up when Evan sat and told him, “Rosie said to tell you hi, and that she’s proud of you.”

“Thanks, Rosie.” Evan’s throat was tight, and he wondered how in the name of God he was going to be able to do what he was about to do.

He stared at his beer while Joe completed his call, then, when he’d hung up and put the phone back into his jacket pocket, Evan asked quietly, “Why’d you do it, Joe?”

“Why’d I do what?” Joe frowned.

“The girls. Why’d you get involved in that whole thing?”

Joe’s face froze for several long minutes, then he said, “What girls are you talking about, Evan?”

“Joe, for the love of God, don’t.” Evan closed his eyes, squeezed them tightly shut. He couldn’t bear to look at his former partner, even as he accused him. “Don’t even try to talk around it, okay? I know you were part of it. I need to know what part, and I need to know who else.”

“Jesus, Evan, how could you even think I’d . . .” Joe tried to stand, but Evan’s arm shot out and grabbed him by the throat.

“Talk to me, Joe. Talk to me now.”

“I got nothing to say. Let go of me.”

Evan tightened his grip.

“You raped and murdered three little girls, Joe. You—”

“No, no.” Joe went white and shook his head vehemently. “No, I didn’t have a hand in none of that. I would never . . . no, God no, I never touched those girls, Evan. You have to believe me.”

“How did the hair from a Clumber spaniel get on their bodies, Joe? You just told me how rare the breed is, how there’s only one breeder in this part of the state.” Evan’s voice rose to a near shout. “How did the dog hair get on their bodies?”

The music had been lowered as the crowd had thinned, and those standing close to the booth turned, wide-eyed, as even-tempered Evan Crosby pulled his former partner out of his seat and slammed him against the bar.

“How did the dog hair get on their bodies?” Evan repeated.

“I didn’t kill them, I swear to you.” Joe was beginning to shake. “I only moved them.”

“Moved them from where to where?” Evan demanded.

“From the place where they were . . . from where I was told to pick them up, to where I left them.”

“Jesus God, Joe, how could you?”

The two men began to struggle, and the startled bystanders intervened to subdue Evan and to surround Joe with questioning eyes.

“I didn’t kill them, I didn’t rape them. I never harmed those girls,” Joe said, looking from one man to the next, wanting them to understand that his role had been limited to taking care of the girls after the fact. “I tried to help them, see? I left them where they’d be found right away, I made them look like that other guy had done them, so they’d get some press, maybe someone would recognize them and they’d go back to their families. I tried to do the best I could for them . . .”

He turned to Evan, tears running down his face.

“I tried to do the best I could so they’d be found, so they wouldn’t be lying out in the rain. I couldn’t stand to think of them lying out in the rain, all alone like that . . .”