Kiss The Witch Part 22

"That's murder."

"Yup. Call Spinelli. Have him get forensics back here to collect what evidence they can."

ELEVEN.

Carlos and I arrived back at the office around ten o'clock. Spinelli caught up with us shortly after. He said he called the impound lot to have the sedan towed in, but when the truck arrived at the docks, agents from Homeland Security showed up and confiscated the vehicle.

"That's bulls.h.i.+t," Carlos complained. "What right do they have to take our car?"

"Every right," said Dominic. "Homeland Security trumps NCPD every time."

"You sure it was Homeland Security?" I asked.

He offered up a pa.s.sive shrug. "They had guns, badges, IDs and wireless headsets. You tell me."

"It's a shadow operation," said Carlos. "This case makes no sense."

Spinelli agreed, adding, "If Howard Snow is dead, why are these guys still s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with us? What do they want?"

I kicked back in my chair, propping my feet up on the desk. "Maybe Snow isn't dead."

"He is," said Carlos. "We saw him get blown up in his Hummer."

"Did you, or did someone else get blown up?"

"Who?"

"I don't know, the ex-roommate, maybe."

"No, I don't see how."

"You said you took video of your surveillance. Where is it?"

"Still in my camera. I'll get it."

After Spinelli retrieved his camera, we hooked it up to my computer and uploaded segments of video from before and after the blast. One segment in particular caught my eye.

"There," I said, pointing at the screen. "Is that supposed to be Snow running out to his car?"

"Spinelli answered, "Yeah, just before it blew up."

"Looks like it was raining."

"It was."

I shook my head. "That's not him."

"Sure it is," Carlos offered. "He's wearing the same raincoat he wore when we talked to him."

"Same raincoat, maybe. Not the same man. Look. Snow has fifty pounds and six inches over this guy. You should know that, Carlos. You stood right next to him. He's as tall as you are. This guy's no bigger than Dominic."

"Tony, it all happened so fast."

"I understand that."

Spinelli said, "He sent the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d out to start his car. He must have known it was b.o.o.by trapped."

"Is anyone checking dental records to verify the charred body in the Hummer was Snow's?"

"Negative," said Spinelli. "The Feds swooped in right after you left and took everything. I mean they even swept the ashes off the street and took that."

"No. This ain't right," I said. "If this was a Federal case, then someone from the Bureau would have come and told us to back off. Why is it no one from the U.S. government has done that?"

"I think they have," said Carlos. "You didn't get the message after that helicopter guns.h.i.+p nearly blasted us off the docks?"

I got up from my desk and started across the room. Carlos called out, "Where you going?"

"Back to Leonard Dwyer's house."

"The roommate? What do you think you'll find there?"

"Don't know. I just want to look around some. Maybe there's something we're missing."

"What about me?"

"You stay here with Dominic. See what you two can find on Howard Snow that we missed. Check everything this time, past known addresses, former employers, everything. Maybe somebody is helping him. And check his pa.s.sport records. If he has been out of the country lately, find out where he went, and then check flight departures to those places."

I knew Carlos would not be a big help to Spinelli in finding more on Snow. But I wanted some alone time to think about my home situation the last few days. I know nothing in the past could ever compare to the enrichment Lilith brings to my life. Sure, I often complain to Carlos and Spinelli about her, how aggravated I get with her sometimes. I imagine they must think she makes my life miserable beyond tolerance. The reality, of course, is that nothing could be further from the truth. I love Lilith. She completes me. Life with her is a never-ending amus.e.m.e.nt ride filled with excitement. And in her weird, noncommittal way, I know she loves me, too. Yet, for the life of me, I cannot understand why these curious feelings for Ursula remain.

Carlos once suggested Ursula represents the side of Lilith I rarely see, but know is there. He explained it as the sweet and sour theory, the hot and cold, yin and yang effect. 'The dualistic cosmology completes the balance you seek in a woman,' he told me. Where he comes up with this s.h.i.+t, I will never know. But I suspect he is right. If Lilith is fire, Ursula is ice. Together they comprise a temperate ease suitable for existential harmony. I want them both, but can have just one. Something I need to accept.

As I drove down Monroe Street, I noticed a suspicious vehicle in my rearview mirror. It was not the sedan from earlier, but it did have similar tinting on the windows and displayed a conspicuous manner of evasive maneuvers designed to blend in with traffic. It looked like just the driver this time, perhaps having split with his partner to watch both Carlos and me. I imagined he probably followed me since leaving the precinct, but I was too wrapped up in thought to notice. By then it was too late to call for backup. I proceeded as if I didn't suspect a thing, pulling to the curb in front of Leonard Dwyer's home and getting out without looking at him.

He stopped at the corner, tucking the front of his car in behind a white van and leaving the back end sticking halfway out into the street. Clearly, he did not expect me to pull over, making me wonder if he even knew whose house I had stopped at.

I shoved my keys into my pocket and started up the walkway to the house. Next door, a neighbor watering her flowerbed followed me with a watchful eye. I waved to her, smiling. She turned abruptly, pretending not to notice. I stopped.

"Excuse me. Ma'am?"

She stepped away from the property line and began spraying the rose bushes along the side of the house. I tried again, this time presenting my badge.

"h.e.l.lo, ma'am. Excuse me."

She looked over at me, squinting for the sun in her eyes. I held up my badge. "I'm Detective Marcella from the Second Precinct downtown. Do you have a moment?"

She shook her head. "I already told the man everything I know."

I walked to the edge of the property. "What man was that, ma'am?"

"I don't know. Some cop." She gestured at my appearance. "Plain clothes. Like you."

"Did he say who he was with?"

"What, don't you people talk to each other? How should I know who he was with?"

"Did he show you a badge? Like this?" I held mine up again.

She dismissed it. "I don't remember. Doesn't matter. Told him I didn't know anything. Same thing I'm telling you."

"Ma'am. Can you tell me about Mr. Dwyer? When was the last time you saw him?"

"The last time I saw him?" She sighed. "Poor Mister Dwyer. The last time I saw him is when he ran out to that car right before it blew up. Now if you'll excuse me." She turned the garden hose off and pitched it to the ground. "I have something cooking on the stove."

I watched her hurry away. Frightened, I thought, but I suppose I could not blame her.

I turned back and headed toward the house. The car that tailed me was still semi-hidden behind the white van. Its driver now standing outside, leaning against the rear quarter panel. If he thought I would not notice him, he had another thing coming. I have seen late-day shadows follow less conspicuously.

The front door to Dwyer's house was unlocked, so after knocking a few times for the neighbor's benefit, I let myself in. My friend, the tail, made his move the moment the screen door hit my heels. I peeled the curtains back from the window just enough to spy him hurrying up the walkway. He started up the steps, reached into his jacket and pulled a Glock 9 from his shoulder holster. I faded back behind the door and drew my .38.

The screen door opened, its rusted spring croaking against the pull. He planted his foot at the bottom of the door to keep it from slamming shut. My thumb dropped, disengaging the safety on my piece. The k.n.o.b turned. He pushed. The door moaned in protest, but opened a full ninety degrees.

I saw the Glock come in first. He followed. One arm rigid, the other bent at the elbow, left hand supporting his right. The screen door came to rest on the jamb. He had pa.s.sed the threshold. I crossed my arms at my chest and pressed my back to the wall, making myself as skinny as possible. He pushed again on the door. It swung back under similar protest, coming to rest against the tips of my shoes. Across the room, a grandfather clock chimed the eleven o'clock hour. He waited until it fell silent before continuing, his footfall m.u.f.fled by the welcome mat. Beyond the entry, varnished wooden floorboards awaited. They would tell me when he was all the way in.

He cleared his throat. Swallowed. Another m.u.f.fled footstep followed. The next step sounded like hard rubber on wood. I thought of Lilith's shadow spell and what a good diversion it might make. I remembered how she did it. Made it look easy. Told me I could do it, too. I just needed to try. In my mind, I pictured what it should look like. The bigger the better. Give him something to think about. I turned my wrist and flicked my fingers, concentrating on the phantom I wanted to conjure. Across the room, a dark silhouette appeared on the wall. It looked like grizzly bear wearing a top hat. Funny for me, but I know it scared the bejesus out of him, especially when it scattered like splinters across the wall. I could not hold it together. But I did not have to. The intruder let out an audible gasp, swung his Glock around and fired. The bullet shattered a lamp and lodged in the head cus.h.i.+on of an easy chair. I took my cue from that and pushed on the front door. It slammed shut like another gunshot. He whirled about on his heels, his weapon lagging the twist of his body. I reeled back and cracked him on the face with the b.u.t.t of my gun, sending him to the floor in a spiral of spitting blood. Once down, I kicked the Glock from his hand and drew my weapon on him.

"Freeze. NCPD."

I love saying that.

He rolled onto his knees and attempted to stand. I placed my foot against his ribcage and shoved him back down. "I said freeze, maggot. Now who are you?"

He held his hands to his jaw and nose. Blood oozed through the spread in his fingers. His eyes blinked in tight exaggeration for the sting, but he did his best to keep them open.

"Don't shoot. I'm a government agent."

"F.B.I?"

"CICU."

"CICU. What's that?"

"Criminal Investigation Command Underground. We're a sub-branch of CID under the Department of Defense."

"Never heard of it."

He laughed at that, forcing a squirt of blood past the web of his thumb and up the side of his cheek. "Of course you never heard of it. That's the whole idea, a.s.shole. We're underground."

"Why are you following me?"

He reached for my hand. "Help me up."

I grabbed a pillow off the couch and offered him a corner. He took a seat on the couch and wiped his b.l.o.o.d.y nose on the pillow.

"I'll ask you again. Why are you following me?"

"We're looking for Snow. I know you're looking for him, too. I was hoping you might lead me to him."

"Snow is dead."

He shook his head. "Not yet."

"What do you mean? Are you trying to kill him?"

"No. We want him alive."

"Is that why you tried to blow him up in his car?"

Again, he shook his head, this time sending drops of blood in a splatter pattern against the back of the couch. "That wasn't us. We don't kill Americans."

"Who was it then?"

"n.o.body. That bomb was Howard Snow's doing."

I gave him a disbelieving scowl. "Why would Snow kill his best friend?"

The agent scoffed at my naivete. "He's covering his tracks. The explosion was a diversion. He wants us to think he's dead. We found evidence of the stolen doc.u.ments among the ashes. He destroyed everything."

"The QE647 doc.u.ments?"

"The doc.u.ments. The flash drives. Everything. He wants us to believe that he and all the research materials were lost in the blast."

"So you would stop looking for him."

"Exactly. The man is a genius. He does not need those doc.u.ments. He has everything he needs in his head. He can replicate the entire project anytime."

"But why? What has he to gain?"

"Are you kidding? Do you know what QE647 is?"

"I know it's not a corn syrup subst.i.tute."

"Then you should know there are governments out there willing to pay millions for what he knows, perhaps billions."