So Pope told him his story, filling in the details about The Ghost, Sharkey, and Troy and his connections to organized crime. It was a good story, and any law enforcement agent would be thrilled to stumble into it. But this guy didn’t seem all that impressed.
“Tell me about the assailant,” the detective said. “The guy with the knife.”
This was when the truth got bent a little. They had decided to blame The Ghost’s death on a squatter who had been hiding upstairs. The truth would only complicate matters and they’d be stuck here all night. Worthington said he didn’t know if the guy was performing a good deed or was simply a wacko, but he’d just killed a man and was behaving erratically, so…
“You shot him,” the detective said. “And it looks like you hit him.”
Worthington nodded. “I thought I had him cornered in there, but he got away.”
“So what did this guy look like?”
“About six-one, two hundred ten pounds, with short-cropped hair and a baseball cap. Red. It was pretty dark and I could be wrong, but I think he was a gypsy.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He fit the general type and had a tattoo of a wheel on the back of his neck. I’ve seen one similar on some of the Roma drifters I’ve busted.”
The detective shook his head in disgust. “Fuckin’ gypsies. We get a clan comes through every once in a while, but they usually get lost among all the other scammers and two-bit con artists in town. Looks like this one’s a hero, though.”
“Looks like.”
“But one thing I don’t understand,” the detective said, “is what you folks were doing here in the first place.”
Pope took his turn again. “Like I told you. This is my house.”
“Yeah, I get that, but it’s been closed up for quite a while. Neighbors say you haven’t been around in over a year. Why the sudden visit?”
Pope had an answer for that one, too. Not much of one, Anna thought, but it was all they could come up with.
“I’ve been consulting on a case for Agent McBride here. We came to get some papers I left behind.”
“This have anything to do with Troy?”
“Not at all,” Anna said. “This is actually the first I’m hearing about him.”
The detective nodded, then lowered his head for a moment as if weighing a decision. Then he said, “What I’m about to tell you can’t leave this car.”
They all looked at him, curious, and he shifted his gaze to Pope.
“Your friend Sharkey’s real name was Ed O’Donnell. He was on a deep-cover assignment involving possible departmental collusion with Troy.”
“Was?” Pope said.
“Sharkey’s dead. We found him in a Dumpster behind Leroy’s Bail Bonds downtown. His throat was slit.”
“Jesus,” Pope said, closing his eyes.
“We’ve got nothing that ties it directly to Troy, but we’re working on it. Only a few people in the department knew about him, and I’m one of them.” He looked at Pope. “And from what you’ve told me, it looks like you could wind up a star witness in all this.”
Pope opened his eyes now, and Anna could see that this proposition didn’t thrill him.
“As you might assume,” the detective went on, “this is still a highly sensitive case. So what I gotta know is if you’ve talked to anyone else about it.”
“Just the two uniforms,” Worthington said. “The first responders. But not in any detail.”
The detective nodded. “I’ll be talking to them shortly. But when we leave this car, I need the three of you to keep your mouths shut. Just until we can get this whole thing contained.” He looked at Worthington. “And I’d really like to get those two goons you’ve got locked up transferred out here. You think that can be arranged?”
“Consider it done,” Worthington said.
The detective turned to Anna. “Does the bureau have any interest in this?”
“Not as far as I’m concerned. I’ve got my own cases to worry about.”
“Then I guess all that’s left to talk about is protection.” He looked at Pope. “We need to get you someplace safe.”
“Forget it,” Pope said.
“This Ghost guy almost caps you and you don’t think you need a detail? From what I know about Troy, he’s not gonna give up easily.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“As long as there’s a gypsy around, right? Look, I don’t want to be an asshole about this, but it’s in my best interest to make sure you stay safe.”
“And it’s my right to refuse,” Pope said.
“I could take you in as a material witness.”
“Not if you want my cooperation.”
The detective studied him a moment, then shrugged. “Whatever you say. But if it were me, I’d be asking for my own goddamn private island.”
“We’ll keep him safe,” Worthington said. “You need anything else from us?”
“Not at the moment. But like I told you, keep your mouths shut. Until we can get this thing sorted out.”
He dug a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Pope. “For all our sakes, you be careful out there. You change your mind about that protection, just call the station and ask for Captain Brad Billingsly.”
3 7
“ A little house keeping before we get started,” Jake said.
They were sitting in a corner booth at Crandal’s Coffee Shop, which was just far enough away from the glitz and glitter of the city to afford them a small amount of peace and quiet. The choice had been random, but it was roomy, well-lit, and air-conditioned, and the waitress brought them coffee without asking. Pope figured they all looked like they needed it.
It was a little past 10:00 p.m. They were exhausted by the events of the night, and Pope wasn’t sure how much longer he could last on just a couple hours’ sleep.
“I talked to Ronnie before all the excitement,” Jake said. “She told me Evan checked out fine and she was taking him to her mother’s house for the night. They’re both probably in bed by now.”
“Good,” McBride said.
“I also spoke to my forensics guy and he had some interesting things to say about our gypsy friend.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“He didn’t get much from the shoe you managed to grab. Says it looks handmade and fairly cheap. But it turns out the cigarette butts you spotted are a Slavonian brand.”
“Where the hell is Slavonia?” Pope asked.
“Eastern Croatia. It has a pretty good-sized gypsy population.”
“That would explain the accent,” McBride said.
“Yeah, but what defies explanation is how our guy got the cigarettes in the first place.”
“What do you mean?”
“The brand is defunct. The manufacturer went out of business over thirty-five years ago.”
“Must be a mistake,” Pope said.
Jake shook his head. “The name is printed on the paper. So either this guy’s got a helluva stockpile, or he’s smoking nonexistent cigarettes.”
Pope thought he’d heard and seen just about everything at this point, but this new wrinkle only managed to deepen the mystery.
“None of which tells us who we’re dealing with,” Jake continued, “but maybe this will.”
