“Good-bye, Lefebvre” he said as the coffin was lost from sight. The man deserved better than this, he thought. Then he remembered the gratitude the people in the church had expressed and Seth saying proudly that his father was a hero. “Not such a bad send-off, after all, was it? Something tells me you would have preferred that ceremony to bagpipes.” A slight breeze came up, making him shiver. He reminded himself that he wasn’t a superstitious man and walked away.
As he started his car, he saw a white Chevy van turn down the lane where the workers continued loading earth over the casket. The van slowed, then stopped. Frank could not see the plates from where he sat.
He waited, but the van didn’t move and the driver didn’t get out. He put the car in gear and drove closer to get a look at the plates. He saw the number — 2E98098. Commercial plates. He couldn’t see the driver; a set of curtains had been drawn behind the front seats of the van. He pulled ahead a short distance and parked again. He called the DMV and ran the plates.
A short time later the dispatcher’s voice crackled back at him. The van was registered to Garrity’s Flowers. Someone with a legitimate reason to be parked at a cemetery.
He pulled away from the curb and headed for the exit. He was out on the street bordering the cemetery when he saw the van behind him. He got held up by a large funeral procession making its way to the cemetery, and stopped to let them turn toward the entrance. The van would be pulling up behind him, and he would get a closer look at the driver. But the van didn’t slow. Just as he thought it would rear-end him, it swerved around him and cut across the procession, nearly causing a collision, then turned up a side street. Frank couldn’t lose the feeling that the driver didn’t want to stop near enough to be seen. He thought of pursuing him, but decided there would be little chance of catching up to him now. He stepped out of the car and walked up to the officer closest to him — the one who had stopped traffic from his direction — and showed him his identification. He was a weary-looking young officer. He had probably worked a regular shift then hired out to do the funeral work, which was contracted separately. “I know you’re working privately,” Frank said, writing the van’s plate number on the back of one of his cards and handing it to the officer, “but could you contact me if the van comes back? I’d like to know who was driving it.”
“So would I,” the officer said. “Asshole could have caused serious damage.” He turned the card over and suddenly seemed more awake. “This a homicide case?”
“Yes. I mean — there’s a slight possibility that the driver of the van is connected to a case I’m working. More likely that he’s just a jerk in a hurry, with no connection to it at all, but…”
“I understand, Detective Harriman. I hope to work Homicide myself someday.”
Frank figured this kid was only slightly less green than the reserve officer he had worked with a few days ago. He thought of Lefebvre and wanted to say, “Careful what you wish for.” Instead he smiled and said, “That’s great. Any help you can give me with this will be appreciated.”
“I should have followed him,” he said, as if he had failed Frank personally.
“You have a job here. It was probably nothing. Just let me know if he returns.”
Frank didn’t want to take too long to get over to Lefebvre’s condo. Despite her promises to Seth, Elena Rosario might change her mind about talking to him. On his way there, he called Pete on his cell phone. Before he could tell him that he wouldn’t be in for a while, Pete said, “Partner, you are brilliant. Damn, am I glad you let me in on this. So is Reed. That will teach Vince to be such an asshole.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The guy in the shades who was getting jacaranda sap all over his expensive suit? Myles Volmer. Whitey Dane’s number one man. I followed him right back to Dane’s lair. And the Organized Crime Unit took one look at that tape and knew exactly who showed up to mourn his old partner Lefebvre. Even Carlson is happy with you over this one. And I’m loving it, because he was giving me and Reed grief about being down there today. Hurry back while the lieutenant is in a good mood. If anyone can tie Whitey Dane to the Randolphs’ deaths, I know you can.”
Frank was silent. In spite of their disagreements over the last few days, Pete was his closest friend in the department. More than once they had risked their lives for each other. And he was going to lie to him.
“Something wrong?” Pete asked. “Aw, shit — you’re still sore about how things have been around here.”
“No. Honest to God, Pete, that didn’t get to me. But I’ve got a dozen other things I need follow-up on if we’re going to get further with this than a sighting at a cemetery. Not exactly illegal for Dane’s guy to show up there.”
“No, but it’s a start. First real connection we’ve had to Dane since the evidence disappeared.”
“It’s definitely worth pursuing,” Frank said.
“I knew you’d start to see it our way!” Pete said. “You need any more help, you let me know. No need for you to go it alone from here.”
“Sure, Pete,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”
He hung up and forced himself to think of Seth Lefebvre.
26
Wednesday, July 12, 12:30 P.M.
Lake Terrace Condominiums
She was waiting for him outside the building, leaning against the wall near the bottom of the staircase. The veil was gone, but he recognized her by her shape and the dress she was wearing. She was a good-looking woman, with long dark brown hair and beautiful sea green eyes — a winter sea, he thought. There was not the slightest bit of warmth in them at the moment. They bore the marks of her recent grief, but she regarded him coldly. She was lean and strong — the muscles of her calves and arms were so well defined, he wondered if she lifted weights. She wasn’t mannish, but there was physical power in her build. She looked as if she was sorely tempted to use some of that power to punch him, as if keeping her arms folded tightly across her chest was all that prevented her from doing so.
“You took advantage of my inability to deny my son’s request at his father’s funeral,” she said by way of greeting. “I don’t appreciate that. I know how the game works, and that children are certainly not off-limits, but still—”
He held up a hand. “Hold on — your son approached me, not the other way around.”
“After you played up to him the other day.”
