“Do people call you Kathy?”
“Not since they issued us Glocks.”
“Kate?”
“Friends and family only.”
“So it’s Katherine then?”
“No, it’s Hollinger. Detective Sergeant Hollinger if you want to be formal.”
“Okay, Hollinger. Why’d you bring me here? You’ve carted out everything that matters.”
“How do we know what matters?”
“How would I? I’ve never been here before and I didn’t really know him outside work.”
She pursed her lips and looked down and shifted her weight from foot to foot. When she had made up her mind about whatever she had been pondering, she said, “Sit.”
We sat on the leather couch.
She snapped off the gloves and indicated I could do the same.
“I hate these things,” she said. “Even the powdered ones make my hands clammy.”
“So why were we wearing them? If you’ve removed all his documents, surely you’ve processed the place.”
She held my gaze with hers, held it more gently than any cop in my experience ever had, and asked, “Who wants you dead?”
“Excuse me?”
“I thought I spoke clearly. Who wants you dead?”
“I’m not following.”
“Then you’re not trying. Your colleague, Ms. Raudsepp, provided an interesting piece of information this morning. Something you couldn’t have known.”
“Why?”
“Because it happened after you left the office Tuesday.”
“What happened?”
“According to her, Mr. Paradis came in sometime after three o’clock. He was there until at least seven. Just after six this call came in.”
Hollinger pulled a small chrome tape player from her briefcase. “All incoming calls to Beacon Security are recorded, correct?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Then have a listen,” she said, and pressed play. Franny: Hello? Male voice: You the detective looking into a nursing home called Meadowvale? Franny: That’s me. Who’s calling, please? Male: I have information. Franny: What kind of infor- Male: The helpful kind. As long as you can pay, say, five hundred cash. That a problem? Franny: It depends on the information, of course. It’s the client who pays. Male: You bring the cash, I’ll bring what I know. Then you decide if it’s worth it. Franny: I don’t think so. Male: Okay, three hundred. What I know about this place, your client can sue the shirts off their backs. Franny: Who are you? Male: I used to work there, okay? See what I’m saying? I know all kinds of shit about it but I got to keep a low profile. I don’t want them to know it was me who told you. Tell you what, man, we’ll start with a hundred, okay? Like a down payment. You like what I got, we’ll talk terms. Franny: Why don’t you come by the office now? Male: I told you why. Look, there’s a warehouse on Commissioners just west of the recycling plant. Erie Storage. Park behind there at twelve-thirty tonight with a hundred cash and I’ll tell you enough to show you I’m your man. Franny: I don’t think so. Male: You think I’m going to all this trouble to rob you of a hundred bucks? I could mug an old lady for more. Franny: I’m not worried. Male: Then be there. You’ll solve your case hands down.
And then the line went dead. The caller had suckered Franny cleanly, lowering his price until it was no obstacle, then making his information sound so tantalizing- the ex-employee who knows what really went on — that Franny had followed it blindly to his death.
“Jonah,” Hollinger said.
“Yes, Kate?”
Her smile all the way gone now. “The call came in on your line. Your buddy Francois answered it for you. Maybe he wanted to pay you back for everything you’d been doing for him. So let me ask again: who wants you dead?”
I said, “The voice on the tape sounded American. ‘You’ll salve your case hands down.’ Like from Chi- cah — go.”
“Or Buffalo,” she said. “They’ve got that Midwestern ah sound too. Does that ring any bells?”
“No.”
“I’m surprised you’re not being more forthcoming. Aren’t you still recovering from your last gunshot wound?”
I looked at her with new-found appreciation. “You checked me out.”
“It’s what I do,” she said. “So how’s the arm?”
“Much better, thank you. And you’ll have to take my word for it. I’m not up for arm wrestling.”
She gave me a quizzical look.
“Never mind,” I said. “Long story.”
“The gang you were investigating on that job, the Di Pietras. Heard from them lately?”
“No,” I lied.
She said, “Maybe they reached out to touch you.”
CHAPTER 28
When we got back to Beacon’s office, Hollinger went back to interviewing employees in the conference room; I stayed down at street level. I knew I should get back upstairs-Clint had made clear that we were all supposed to be on hand-but the thought that I had been the intended victim had my head buzzing like a hive of bees with anger issues. I called Dante Ryan instead and told him what had happened.
“All right,” he said. “That’s enough. Be outside your office in half an hour.”
“To do what?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there.”
“I can’t leave the office now. My boss’ll shit a brick.”
“Let him,” Ryan said. “You got other things to think about. Besides, you’re no use to him dead, right?”
“No.”
“Or to me, so get ready to take a ride.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Ryan, but when guys like you say let’s take a ride, guys like me usually wind up dead.”
“There a right way to take that?” he asked.
Ryan’s car was a three-year-old grey Volvo Cross Country wagon, with a child’s car seat strapped in the right rear position and shades on the rear windows that featured Looney Tunes characters: Bugs, Daffy, Elmer Fudd and Yosemite Sam. Elmer and Sam were both armed to the teeth, Elmer with a shotgun and Sam with a brace of pistols.
“You’re kidding,” I said as I got in.
“Not what you were expecting?” he asked.
“An SUV, maybe, or a Town Car. A Hummer. Definitely not the Dadmobile.”
“That’s the point,” Ryan said. “I drove a car like this even before we had Carlo. You know why? People see what they think they see. Someone sees this tub leaving a scene, they think I’m another witness, a passerby. Not the…” He stopped short of whatever he was going to call himself.
He adjusted his rear-view and side mirrors; he must have reset them while he was waiting for me, to give him a clear view of anyone approaching his car.
“How’s the DVP at this hour?”
I shrugged. The Don Valley Parkway is also known-for good reason and entirely without affection-as the Don
