Her mouth dropped. Nautilus held his hands up, cautionary.
“I have no idea where he is if he’s being held. If I make noise, get cops running everywhere, I think he’ll fall down a hole forever.”
“Oh Jesus…”
“I just uncovered a rotten apple cop owned by the Kincannons, except the family will never be implicated. They’ve got too many layers between them and the act, especially one named Crandell. I’d love a search warrant for the Kincannons’ homes, offices. But that takes probable cause. I have nothing but circumstances and hearsay.”
“How about Carson’s old girlfriend, Harry? She’s going with Buck Kincannon now, correct? Do you think she could help with anything?”
Nautilus felt guilt sweep through his gut. After Carson’s disappearance, Danbury had called him a dozen times, left distraught and tearful messages, begging him to call her back, help her understand.
It had bothered Nautilus that his partner had gone through such bullshit with Danbury. She’d behaved poorly. But people stumble, make bad decisions. Get conned by professional liars.
He recalled a call Danbury had left on his phone:
“I convinced myself that I was so important I deserved the kind of man who was followed by cameras and reporters and had politicians hanging on his every word. I betrayed myself by betraying Carson, and I lost something I can never get back.”
She wasn’t talking about Carson, Nautilus knew.
He pulled his cell phone from his jacket and called the station first. The operator said Danbury wasn’t scheduled for work for four days. He tried her home, got the answering machine.
“I’m out for a few days,” Danbury said, “but will answer your call when I return.”
Her voice was flat and abrupt. Used to be Danbury’s messages sounded chirpy as a bird, all how-de-do, and call you right back, and always a funny little joke.
Strange. Like maybe life wasn’t all she’d been expecting.
“Danbury’s not around,” Nautilus said. He told Dr. Peltier to cross her fingers, pray, and burn candles, incense, whatever it took. He headed to Forensics wondering if Claypool knew anything about e-mail.
Thaddeus Claypool looked up from a keyboard, a glass of orange juice at his elbow. He wore a white shirt with twin banjos on the front, the instruments made of sequins.
Nautilus said, “We nailed the son of a bitch, Thad. But I need a touch more magic. Know anything about tracing e-mail?”
Claypool blew out a long breath. “Depends on how much misdirection the sender put into staying hidden. It’s not like following a thread to someone’s house.”
Nautilus set the computer retrieved from Shuttles’s apartment on the counter in front of Claypool. He had it running in under thirty seconds, the e-mail program open.
“Start about a month back,” Nautilus said. “A few days before Taneesha Franklin was killed.”
Claypool popped the e-mails on the screen in chronological progression. The sender-Crandell? — was not given to excess verbiage.
Phone call coming to location C (5–7 pm on 20) re patrol Monday. Note this a special activity, a 50G ME.
Nautilus noted the message jibed with what Shuttles had told him about the night of Taneesha’s death. He was to take the prepared knife to the scene, making sure Lucas’s prints remained intact. Once there, he was to “discover” the supposedly cast-off weapon in the shadows. It was a brilliant, double-duty action: assuring that the knife wouldn’t be found by any of the hookers normally cruising the area, and tying Shuttles to a murder scene- giving Crandell future leverage over his mole in the department.
The “50G ME,” Nautilus figured, was a “Fifty-Grand Merit Endowment.” Also noted: The main details would come via phone. Shuttles had a list of six pay-phone locations, A-F. That night’s calls would be at location C from five to seven p.m., the calls repeated every twenty minutes if Shuttles had a problem getting to the phone. Everything seemed to be considered. The next in the series was self-explanatory:
Need all reports concerning Franklin. Scan and e-mail ASAP.
Keeping tabs, Nautilus thought. Whatever was going on, the folks behind it wanted to see how the investigation was progressing.
Need reports on the suspect in Franklin case. Understand a drawing is on streets. Need drawing immediately. Talk location B, 2–4 pm on 15.
Basically an update and street contacts talking about the drawing. Verbal orders would follow via phone.
Need all reports of stolen cars activity from 4.21-4.23.
Nautilus noted it approximated the time of the activity with Vince Raines at Vehicle Theft, probably a checkup to assure the phony story about the cars having been sold was believed, no further action taken.
Need official photo(s) of knife from Franklin incident, accompanying paperwork, proof fingerprint(s) recovered. Scan and e-mail ASAP.
If a photo of the murder weapon was needed, why wasn’t one taken before it was planted? Unless a police version was preferred. That fit with the request for official reports on the case.
Nautilus opened the most recent e-mail, sent last Sunday just past noon.
Ryder kayaking 2 of last 4 nights late, try tonight. Boat leaves at 6 pm. Be there. If Ryder not on water, we grab at home. Pln on 7hrs to get job done. This is additional 50G ME…
They’d been lying in wait for Carson since a bit after six. If he hadn’t kayaked, they were going to abduct him from home. Another fifty grand for Shuttles; the scum-ball business was booming. Nautilus read to the last line, and his heart jammed in his throat.
Plan on being seen by target-don’t worry.
There was only one reason for that line: Carson would never get the opportunity to make an identification.
“How’s the tracing possibility look, Thad?” Nautilus asked, his voice quiet.
“Not good,” Claypool said, shaking his head at the routing codes. “There’s more misdirection than at a magicians’ convention. Maybe if I had a Cray I could brute-force the phony information, but…”
“It’s OK,” Nautilus said. “I got a backup plan. Is the machine hooked up? Like to the Internet?”
Claypool nodded. “It thinks it’s at Shuttles’s apartment.”
Nautilus perched his hands over the keys.
“What are you going to say, Detective?” Claypool asked, holding his breath.
“When in doubt, tell the truth,” Nautilus said. “Parts of it, anyhow.”
He started typing.
TROUBLE! MY PARTNER LOGAN SAW THINGS.KNOWS I BROUGHT THE THE KNIFE TO THE SCENE.HE WANTS $50,000 TO STAY
QUIET.HE'S PUSHING HARD.HELP! WHAT DO I DO?
Nautilus hit send.
He studied the message, realized he’d put Logan in Crandell’s sights, picked up his phone. Ten rings later, Logan answered.
“Pace, this is Harry Nautilus. You were right about Shuttles. He’s rotten. I got him to admit he planted the knife.”
“Son of a bitch,” Logan grunted.
“But Shuttles got a shyster and clammed up tight. Listen, Pace, I’m trying to work a scam on the guy pulling Shuttles’s strings, a guy goes by the name of Crandell, big hard guy, square built, curly blond hair. You ever see him, like Shuttles was driving, maybe stopped to talk to a guy like that, said he was a friend?”
“I’m sorry, Harry.”
Nautilus pulled his handkerchief, patted sweat from his forehead.
“Why I’m calling, Pace. I just sent a fake message from Shuttles telling this guy you dug up all the ugliness, are pressing for a cut.”
“You knew where to send the message?”
“E-mail, Pace.”
