The Hidden Man

“Leave me alone,” I said through my hands as I rubbed my face.

“No.” Tasker walked in and surveyed my office. “No, I don’t think I’m going to do that.”

“Leave, Shauna. For your own good.”

I meant it. Smith’s people would come after me when Sammy’s trial was over, and they’d kill Pete even before they got to me. If I’d had any doubt on that subject-and I didn’t-their little present in my mailbox reinforced the point. They’d gone too far down the road with me and my brother. And I couldn’t let Shauna Tasker become the third target.

“You look like you haven’t slept in a month,” she said. “You’re running around like a crazed man, I see this affidavit from some guy named Marcus Mason talking about Pete and the drug bust-and you’re playing the Lone Ranger, thinking you can solve all the world’s problems by yourself. I don’t know what’s going on, Jason, but you need to let me help.”

“Anything you do puts you in danger,” I said. I looked up at her. “The truth is, Shauna, you might already be in danger.”

“Then I’m already in danger. Why not go all in?”

I shook my head.

“Hire me,” she tried. “Attorney-client. You got a dollar on you?”

I waved her off.

“Okay, pro bono, then.” I didn’t react to the joke, so she went on. “At least bounce this off me, Jason. I won’t participate. But you have to talk to someone, my friend.”

I let out an exhausted sigh.

“How’s Pete? I take it, from that affidavit, that you got him off the charges?”

I shook my head, no. “Attorney-client?”

“C’mon, Kolarich. Spill it.”

“They took him. They kidnapped him. I get Sammy off the charges, they say they’ll let him go. If not, he’s dead. Me, I figure he’s dead, either way, if I don’t find him.”

Tasker stared at me like I’d just proposed marriage to her. After a while, she grabbed a chair and pulled it up. “Talk to me,” she said. “Tell me everything.”

LOCALLO’S HAD LONG been Smith’s favorite Italian restaurant in the city, not owing to the owner, a longtime friend, but to the rigatoni, served with fresh mozzarella and sausage and red pepper. But Smith was beginning to associate heartburn with the place. Not a week ago, he’d dined here with DePrizio to discuss the chess move made by Jason Kolarich-the motion he’d filed in court requesting DNA testing of the dead bodies behind the elementary school.

Now he was back, once again responding to Jason Kolarich. This time, the meeting was even more surreptitious, not taking place in a private dining room but in the basement’s wine cellar, before the place had even opened.

It served no purpose, Smith knew, to replay what could have been. The plan had never been simple-the underlying circumstances were anything but simple-but it was not the first time they’d tried to exert pressure on a reluctant target. Jason Kolarich had proved unwilling to follow instructions, so they’d decided on a course of action that typically worked. They’d hit him where it hurt. They’d set up his brother for an arrest that, no doubt, would have held up under scrutiny. DePrizio had done it before. It was what made a cop useful to people like Smith.

But Kolarich had fought back, and now Smith and Carlo-and DePrizio-found themselves in the unusual position of playing defense, not offense. The difference, he knew, was that this time, the people exerting the muscle were as vulnerable as the target. Carlo had as much to lose as Jason Kolarich.

Smith approached from the alley and let himself in through the back door, which the owner had left unlocked. He took the stairs down to the basement, where he found Denny DePrizio nervously pacing. The scent of vintage wine brought memories of heady times, of celebration, but nobody was breaking out the party hats now.

DePrizio was smoking a cigarette, something he’d quit years ago. He raised his arms at his side, as if asking a question. Smith’s immediate reaction was to promote calm.

“Hold on, Denny-”

“The fuck am I supposed to do? IAD has me on tape, accepting a briefcase full of money from Kolarich. They’re saying I set up the bust and held him up for ten thousand, then got the charges dropped when he paid-”

“I understand,” said Smith. “What did you tell-”

“Nothing, is what I told them. I said it was bullshit. This is bullshit.” DePrizio stubbed out the cigarette, angrily blowing out residual smoke. He directed a finger at Smith, started to speak but held back. He resumed his pacing, mumbling, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Take it easy,” Smith said.

“You gotta pop that motherfucker,” said DePrizio. “You gotta do it or I will.”

“We will, Denny. We will. But not until the trial is over. It’ll be just over a week now, before the trial starts. And in the meantime, we’re working on Kolarich to get him to recant his accusations against you.”

DePrizio studied Smith. “How’re you ‘working on’ him? The brother?”

“We’re working on it, Denny. Believe me, we want this resolved just as-”

“Where is the brother? Where do you have him? I’ll rip his fucking head off.”

Smith held out his hands. “It’s covered.”

“And how’s Kolarich gonna walk this one back?” he said. “How’s he going to explain that him handing over that briefcase wasn’t what it looks like?”

“It’s covered,” Smith repeated.

DePrizio stopped his pacing, standing next to a rack of wine. His eyes narrowed. His hands were trembling. He’s losing it, Smith thought. He’s going to be a problem.

“I’m not gonna be hung out to dry,” DePrizio said.

“They haven’t even charged you yet, Denny.”

“They have my badge and gun. And they’re going to charge me.” He waved a hand. “You’re telling me to do nothing.”

“I’m telling you that we’ll do something.”

“When?”

“When we do something, that’s when. We have his brother, Denny. He’s not going to play around.”

“I’m not either,” said DePrizio. He slowly approached Smith, who braced himself. Up close, Smith could see it even more clearly, even in the dim setting. DePrizio’s eyes were deeply set and fiery. He was coming unglued. “You tell Carlo, you tell anyone you need to tell. I’m not playing around, either.” He drove a finger into Smith’s chest before leaving the wine cellar.

56

SHAUNA SENT OUR ASSISTANT, Marie, for sandwiches and coffee. I felt a little better after a thick, salty roast beef sandwich and a healthy dose of Starbucks, and even better after unloading everything on Shauna.

“I’m desperate,” I said. “I have to find Pete right now.”

“They’re desperate,” Shauna countered. “I mean, Jason, ‘desperate’ doesn’t begin to cover it. Kidnapping someone? They’ve dug themselves a pretty big hole here. Desperate? These guys have gone off the reservation.”

“Covering up a series of child murders will do that to you.”

Shauna nodded. “You think they killed Audrey and those other girls, and they’ll stop at nothing to make sure you don’t find that out.”