I swear,it was a guy I hired to help us out who did it. I told him not to, butapparently he did it anyway. Is it just the pictures? I mean, does the postersay anything?'
'Of course it does, Harry. Listen, I'm notan idiot. Don't treat me like-'
'Doug, please, what does it say?'
Harry could hear Atwater sigh, trying tocompose himself.
'It says that this man is wanted for themurder of Evelyn DellaRosa, and that anyone with information should contact youat the number I just dialed. There's a fifty-thousand-dollar reward forinformation leading to his arrest and conviction.'
'How much?'
'Fifty thousand.'
'Fifty thousand?'
'Harry, Owen is berserk about this.'
'Tell him I'm sorry. I'll be calling toexplain and I'll take every one of them down.'
'It's more than just this hospital, Harry.University has called, and St. Bart's. I suspect there may be others.'
'I'll take care of it, Doug. I'll takecare of them all.'
'Who's the guy who did this?'
'No one you know. Listen, thanks, Doug.Thanks for calling me.' He set the receiver down. 'No one I know either,' hemuttered. 'Maura can you get hold of your brother?'
'I think so.'
'I want to know if there was ever alicensed detective in New York named Walter Concepcion.'
The call from Kevin Loomis came preciselyon time, at nine o'clock. By that time, three other calls had come in as well.One was from a maintenance worker at MMC, one from University Hospital, and onefrom Bellevue. Each of them reported seeing the man in the poster. Two of themwanted an advance on the reward before giving any information. Harry found anotebook in the study and began keeping a log. He also began letting hismachine screen calls.
'Goddamn Concepcion,' he said after eachof the calls. 'Goddamn Concepcion.'
Loomis, calling from a pay phone, wouldsay only that he was willing for the two of them to meet. He sounded tense, butnot excessively so.
'Be at the southeast corner of theintersection of Third Avenue and Fifty-first at eleven o'clock tonight,' hesaid. 'Wear a baseball cap. I'll pick you up.'
He hung up before Harry could ask anyquestions.
Over the next half an hour, there were twomore calls with tips and inquiries about the reward. Maura answered both.Neither seemed that promising.
'We're going to have to develop a systemfor evaluating these,' she said. 'I suppose we should say that if the callercan point the man out to us we're interested. Otherwise, thanks, but nothanks.'
'Maura, I don't
'Hey, first things first,' she said.'Don't you remember hearing the speaker say that at the AA meeting last night?'
'God, I've created a monster.'
The third call was from Tom Hughes. Hewould keep looking, but as far as he could tell, there had never been alicensed private eye in Manhattan or any city in New York State named WalterConcepcion. Harry slammed down the receiver, then snatched it up and calledConcepcion's rooming house. Walter himself answered.
'Concepcion, I want to know who the hellyou are, and why you've stabbed me in the back like this.'
For fifteen seconds there was silence.
'Your place or mine,' Concepcion saidfinally.
Chapter32
'. . I couldn't see the man's facebecause of the way I was tied up, but even through the drugs and the pain, Irecognized his voice. It was my boss, Sean Garvey. He was what we called afloater — sort of part CIA, part DEA, part above it all. It was his job tocoordinate our side of the undercover operation in northern Mexico. But he soldme out, and brought in his friend Perchek to work on me. .'
When the man Harry had known as WalterConcepcion arrived at the apartment, Harry immediately lost control. Withoutwaiting for any explanation, he spun Concepcion against the hallway wall andwas so close to striking him that Maura had to restrain him. Now, he and Maurasat together on the sofa in his living room, listening in stunned silence asRay Santana took them through his three years as an undercover Drug EnforcementAgency operative in Mexico, then his capture, and his torture at the hands ofAnton Perchek.
'. . After Garvey left the cellar,Orsino, one of the drug lord's lieutenants, told Perchek about an escape tunnelleading to a house across the street. With the festival going on in Nogales,and crowds of people all over the city, they would have a perfect chance toslip away from the Mexican police. Poor Orsino obviously didn't appreciate whohe was dealing with. It wasn't by accident that no pictures or reliable descriptionsof The Doctor existed. Perchek pulled a pistol from his medical bag and just ascalmly as you please, shot him through the mouth. Then he pointed the gun atme. But he was furious with me because I hadn't broken. It was the ultimateinsult to him. He wanted me to die, but not a quick death. Instead of shootingme, he emptied the whole syringeful of hyconidol into me.'
'Oh, God,' Maura said.
Santana shuddered.
'It was horrible. Indescribably horrible.But it was also a mistake. I didn't die…'
Fascinated, Harry studied the man as hecontinued. Santana's voice was animated enough, but there was a blankness inhis eyes — a strange, detached distance. Outwardly, he was telling his story,but in his mind, Harry realized, he was living it.
'. . Ray. . for God's sake, Ray. Comeon.'
A man's urgent voice pries into Santana'sconsciousness. Ray fights to stay within the darkness. Finally, though, hegroans, opens his eyes a bit, and strains to focus on the face behind thewords. His body feels as if it has been worked over with a baseball bat. He ison his back on the grimy cellar floor, a makeshift pillow beneath his head.
'Ray, it's me, Vargas. Ray, where is he?Where's Perchek? Come on, Ray. We've lost a lot of time.'
The face comes into focus. Joaquin Vargas.One of Alacante's most trusted lieutenants. One of the men Ray was preparing tohave arrested. Vargas — Mexican undercover all the time!
'Vargas … I never thought you-'
'Never mind that. Where's Perchek?'
With great effort, Ray pushed himself up.His head is clearing rapidly. Apparently, The Doctor does not know his reveredpain drug as intimately as he thinks. Or maybe he just doesn't know RaySantana.
'How long have you been here with me?'Santana asks.
'Half an hour. Maybe a little more. You'vebeen out like a fish on ice. At first, we thought you were dead.'
'He went out a tunnel somewhere overthere. It goes to the house across the street.'
'The tunnel.' Vargas orders.
Immediately, three uniformed policemenrace that way.
'They don't know what he looks like,' Raysays. 'I do. I need a gun.'
'Ray, you're too-'
'I'm fine. Joaquin, you have no idea whatthe bastard did to me. Please. Give me your gun.'
Reluctantly, Vargas hands over hisrevolver — a nine millimeter Smith amp; Wesson. Ray cradles the gun and patsthe Mexican on the arm.
'You sure as hell had me fooled,' he says.
Without waiting for a reply, Ray hurriesup the stairs. If the streets are as Garvey has warned, crawling with
