Denouement (3 page)

Brumfeld squinted. “What… What do you want?”

“We’ll get to that. So I’m right in assuming that your title is
Agent,
correct?”

Brumfeld said nothing.

“That’s what I thought. Do you want to know what gave you guys away?”

Brumfeld didn’t respond. He looked down.

“First, it was your partner’s fake Rolex. Anyone offering up a million dollars doesn’t wear fake shit. And then we have this,” Ray reached out, grabbed Agent Brumfeld’s hand, and turned it, “the reaper tattoo on your hand. You’re kind of a legend. Lots of guys have been busted shortly after meeting with the long-haired biker with the reaper tattoo on his hand.”

Brumfeld looked up at Ray.

“Yeah, we criminals are a tight bunch. We talk. We share information,” Ray said.

Agent Brumfeld faced Ray. He flicked his head up and to the side to get his long hair from his face. “What the hell do you want? How the hell did you find me?” Brumfeld asked.

“I followed you the other night. You’d think you guys would be a little smarter in that regard. You leave from a meeting with me and go straight home? I check your mail the next day, and the name Brumfeld is on everything, though you said your name was Cole. The reaper tattoo and long hair, a different name, the little family in a nice part of town. Stinks like a fed to me.”

“You won’t get away with this. I’m supposed to be in the office any time now. When I don’t show, someone will come looking for me.”

“Sure,” Ray said. “That’s why you’re still in your bathrobe. Save the bullshit for someone who will buy it.” Ray curled his finger under his chin in thought. “Tell me, do you know who I am?”

Brumfeld didn’t respond.

“Come on,” Ray said. “I know who you are. Do you know who I am?”

“We know who you are.”

“You know who I told you I was, or who I really am?”

“Andrei Azarov. You’re wanted for multiple counts of murder on top of a pile of other things. You were thought dead.”

Ray nodded. “Okay, there we go. Honesty. Since we are being honest, how many other people know that I’m alive?”

“Enough.”

Ray smirked. “You want to play hard ass, huh? I’m telling you, this gets a lot worse if you take that route. Who is your boss?”

Brumfeld said nothing.

In an instant, Ray threw a left jab into Brumfeld’s nose, breaking it. The fed’s head snapped back. Blood spilled from his nostrils. His eyes welled up with tears.

“Boss?” Ray asked again.

“If you’re going to kill me, get on with it. I’m not giving you any names.”

“Sure you will. I figure I’ll keep beating on you until you do. After that, I’ll start breaking bones and then start cutting things off. Who knows? If it takes all day, maybe we can get your wife and daughter in on it.”

“If you touch them—”

Ray laughed, cutting off the agent’s cliché threat. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll be dead long before they get home. Now, who is your boss?”

“No,” Brumfeld said.

Ray stood and tagged Brumfeld with two quick lefts and a right cross that sent him and the chair careening to the ground. Ray grabbed Brumfeld by the hair and pulled him and the chair back up. Brumfeld screamed the words: Jack Faust.

“Okay. Jack Faust.” Ray closed his eyes, trying to commit the name to memory. “Who is the guy that was with you when you met with me? The one going by Hoyer?”

Brumfeld shook his head.

“You’re not understanding how this works yet, apparently.” Ray delivered two right hooks to the agent’s left kidney. Then he took a palm and pressed it hard against the agent’s broken nose. He grabbed the nose with his fingers and pulled it to one side.

Brumfeld wailed in pain but didn’t give up a name.

“You’re just making this harder on yourself,” Ray said. “Give me the damn name. We both know you’re going to.” Ray grabbed Brumfeld by the back of the hair and brought his face down into the kitchen table. “Name!” Ray shouted. He grabbed Brumfeld by the hair and punched him in the gut. Brumfeld’s midsection sank under Ray’s massive fist.

The agent coughed and tried to get his breath. “Dupold. Agent Brian Dupold.”

“Geez.” Ray shook his head. “They must not teach you guys to keep your mouth shut over at the FBI. I’ve had women that held out longer.”

The agent didn’t respond to Ray’s comment.

“Okay, so now we know that you’re a squealer. Let’s make this easy from here on out. Does Dupold have the money he was going to give me?”

“There was never any money. We were going to take you into custody before you ever got paid.”

“You’re going to give me whatever money you have in the house.”

“I don’t have any money.”

“You’re not a quick learner are you?” Ray pulled his fist back and planted it into the side of Brumfeld’s jaw.

Teeth and blood fell from his mouth.

“I’m going to put the brass knuckles back on soon, and then we’ll see how many more bullshit responses you can muster before I beat you to death. Now, where’s the money?” Ray grabbed him by the front of his bathrobe and cocked his fist again.

“Wait,” Brumfeld said.

Ray relaxed his fist.

“In the master bedroom. There’s a safe in the closet. I have a couple grand inside.”

Ray shrugged. “Look, we’ve already established that you’re a talker. It’s not that I mind beating on you—I mean, I do actually kind of enjoy it—but geez, save yourself the agony and just answer my questions,” Ray said. “Combination or key?”

“Combination. Ten, twelve, twenty-four.”

“Let’s go have a look.” He picked up the agent, still bound to the chair, and muscled him from the kitchen, down the hall, and into the master bedroom. He sat him back down inside the bedroom and walked to the open closet, where he spotted the safe.

“Ten, twelve, twenty-four?” Ray asked.

“Yeah,” Brumfeld said through a mouthful of blood.

Ray knelt, spun the dial, and opened the door. He reached in and grabbed the stack of money from inside. Ray fanned it out before his eyes. “Looks like about three grand. Thanks.” Ray’s eyes went back to the interior of the safe. “Ah, you have a little pea-shooter in here as well.” Ray pulled the revolver from inside the safe and tucked it into his back waistline. “Now, your other fed buddy, Dupold. Where does he live?”

“You’re going to kill me anyway. I’m not giving you his address.”

Ray smiled and looked him in the eyes. He shook his head. “It’s almost like you enjoy getting the shit beat out of you. Let’s try a different approach. I’m going to give you ten seconds to answer me.” Ray took the agent’s revolver from his waistline and pressed it against Brumfeld’s forehead. “If you don’t, I’m putting a bullet in your brain and waiting for your family to return. I’ll spend some quality time with them before I kill them. Understand what I’m saying?”

Brumfeld rattled off the address before Ray could even begin counting.

“Good,” Ray said. “Now does he live alone or have a family there?”

“Alone.”

Ray squeezed the trigger, brought the barrel of the gun down and squeezed again. He kicked Brumfeld’s body over, still bound to the chair. Brumfeld fell to the floor at the foot of the bed, dead.

We dumped Iler in interview box one and went to find the captain. He was sitting at his office desk, plugging away at something on his computer. I gave his door a knock, and Hank and I entered.

“We have Iler in the box,” I said.

“How did it go?”

“I rang the bell, and he ran. Hank caught him out back, trying to get away.”

“Runner, huh? So it’s pretty safe to assume he’s guilty. Has he said anything yet?” Bostok asked.

“Nothing of any importance yet,” I said. The thought of him putting me and my family in direct danger was eating at me more with each passing second. “I’m going to make him talk, though.”

Bostok held up his hand. “We’ll deal with it, Kane. The right way. Don’t go off the deep end.” He pointed at his computer screen. “I need to wrap up what I’m working on here. Sam wanted me to give him a bunch of bullet points on the whole Carmen Simms and Angel White mess. He’s putting together something for me to read to the media at our press conference later.”

“What are you going to say that the media doesn’t already know? She didn’t give Hank and I anything when we went to talk to her. Unless you call laughing and generally acting like a crazy person something,” I said.

“Yeah, her one-sided conversation with her dead parents was interesting, to say the least,” Hank said.

“We’re just going to give them an official overview of the events that transpired and that we’re working in conjunction with other departments to put the whole thing to bed.”

I nodded. “How much longer do you have?” I asked.

“Um, it should be about ten minutes or so until I’m finished. Let Iler sit in there and stare at the wall for a bit. I want to be in there when we start talking to him.”

I didn’t respond. I knew the captain only wanted to be in on the interview to make sure I didn’t beat Iler to a pulp.

“Yeah, let’s let him simmer for a bit. Maybe the gravity of the situation will get him talking,” Hank said. He looked at me. “Come on, let’s grab a coffee.”

I clenched my jaw.

We walked from Bostok’s office to the lunch room. I jammed a single-serve coffee in one of the machines and slapped the button to make it start. Hank did the same although with less violent movements.

“So what’s up with the house?” Hank asked.

I assumed he was trying to get my mind off of the piece of garbage sitting in our interview room. I pulled my coffee from the machine and yanked the refrigerator door open, looking for some creamer—the condiments in the door rattled on the shelves. “We have an inspector going out with the realtor tomorrow.”

Hank grabbed his coffee, blew across the top of the cup, and took a sip. “And if that goes well?” he asked.

I let out a breath, tried to calm myself, and sat at one of the lunchroom tables. “Put in an offer, I guess.”

“That’s cool. Are you going to hit them below the belt on the price?”

I pulled in a mouthful of coffee and swallowed. “Callie and I have a number in mind that’s fair. It’s not too far off from the asking price. Everything I looked at already showed that their asking price is under market.”

“You did your due diligence,” Hank said.

I nodded and sat quietly for a moment. Hank sat across from me and stared at me, seemingly waiting for more conversation.

“How’s the pregnancy thing going?” I asked.

“We’re still trying.” Hank sipped his coffee. “Which isn’t the worst thing, if you know what I’m saying.”

I smirked.

“Yeah, I’m starting to have mixed feelings on the whole parenting thing though. I just don’t know if I can handle it. The damn puppy keeps us up at all hours of the night as it is. Last night, he slept between us. He threw up, covering us both. So we get up, clean up the mess, shower, and change the sheets. He immediately pukes again as soon as we lie down, this time everywhere. Headboard, bed, nightstand, pillows. I was actually amazed at how such a small animal could cause that much destruction. So we get up and do the whole cleaning process over again. I lie back down and feel something warm on my backside just as I’m fading off to sleep. Yeah, he’s peeing on me. I yank him out of bed and try running him to the tile in the bathroom. The whole time, there’s a stream making a little path across the carpet. By the time I set him down, he was finished. He just sat there and stared at me with those little puppy-dog eyes.”

Smirking at the thought of Hank dealing with the dog, I let out a chuckle. “Why don’t you guys just get him a crate?”

“We tried that. He just cries all night. It’s the saddest thing you’ve ever heard,” Hank said. “I don’t know, I’m sure things will settle down when he gets out of the puppy stage.”

“I hope not,” I said. “The stories are priceless.”

Bostok poked his head into the doorway of the lunchroom. “Are you guys ready?”

Hank and I downed the rest of our coffees and followed the captain over to the interview rooms. We stood outside the door.

“Rawlings, go get the recording equipment turned on,” Bostok said.

“Yeah, Cap.” Hank walked into the observation room to flip everything on.

“Are you going to be all right in there?” Bostok asked.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m serious, Kane. No bullshit. You need to keep your cool. No flying off the handle.”

“I’ll be fine, Cap.”

“Okay.”

Hank walked back out to us. “We’re set,” he said.

I twisted the interview room’s doorknob, and we entered.

Hank and I took chairs across from Iler. Bostok leaned against the wall in the corner.

I stared Iler in the face, my blood boiling. The captain’s words about keeping my cool kept playing through my head. I tried to listen to them. I mustered one word. “Talk.”

Iler stared down at his feet. He said nothing.

“You know how this goes,” Hank said. “You know why you’re here. Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

Iler looked up at me. “I’m sorry, Kane. I made a mistake.”

I dug my fingers into my eyes, hard. Then I ran one hand over my forehead. “Talk,” I said.

Iler shook his head. “I’m so stupid. I should have just turned the damn boat around.”

He sealed his guilt with that sentence. I wanted to jump over the table and strangle him. Bostok walked over and stood behind me. He pressed down on my shoulders so I couldn’t leave my seat. I looked back at him. “I’m fine,” I said.

I looked back at Iler. “I assume you’re talking about the
Illusion
, the day we were searching the water.”

Iler let out a breath as he continued shaking his head. “Azarov was on the damn boat. I found him back at the marina, half dead. He was filled with bullet holes. He could barely speak. He offered me a hundred grand to help him get out of there.”

I shook my head. “So you aided and abetted a wanted murderer?” I asked.

Iler didn’t respond. He looked down.

“How bad of shape was he in?” I asked. “I shot him point blank with a fifty-cal Desert Eagle.”

“Yeah, I remember hearing that that day. You must have missed or something. His face was messed up, his hand, his shirt was soaked with blood. That’s all I could tell. The guy was still functioning, though.”