that she’d seen him on TV, and now she remembered where it was.
The afternoon news.
A few weeks ago she’d come home from school, flipped on the set. Channel Two had a story about a woman in a coma being transferred to a new hospital. The woman was young and pretty, but she’d done some really horrible stuff, most of which they blamed on the Svengali-like influence of her husband-whatever that meant-a big, badass bank robber that practically every cop in the country was looking for.
A big, badass bank robber with a ponytail.
Knowing he was now only feet away made Jessie sick to her stomach. A dozen different scenarios ran through her mind, none of which made any sense.
Why was he following her?
And what the hell did he want?
Sitting here wondering about it didn’t help. She had to do something and do it now.
One thing her dad had always drilled into her head, even when she was just a kid, was this: if you find yourself in a situation beyond your control, don’t be shy, do everything you can to regain that control- immediately.
And that’s what she intended to do.
Without even thinking about it, Jessie tossed her backpack off her lap and shot up from her seat.
Laura looked up in surprise. “Jess? What’s wrong?”
Jessie didn’t look at her. Her eyes were on the bus driver.
“Stop!” she shouted. “Stop the bus!”
13
Interrogation room 3 wasn’t much more than a table, two chairs, and four blank walls that always felt as if they were closing in on you. Whether they had an effect on Bobby Nemo was anybody’s guess.
Jack Donovan dropped a tagged and bagged submachine gun to the tabletop. An H amp;K MP5. Unlicensed. Fully automatic. They’d found it under Carla Devito’s bed-part of a shipment they’d been tracing for months. They’d also found something in Carla’s bathroom, something distinctly incriminating, but Donovan was keeping it under wraps for the time being. Saving it for leverage.
“Here’s how it plays, Bobby. Just on the HK alone, you’re looking at five in the bucket. Throw in Northland First and Trust and a handful of dead cops, and we’re talking some very serious sphincter time.”
Nemo sat in one of the aluminum and vinyl chairs, his shackled hands in his lap. He eyeballed Donovan, but said nothing.
Donovan grabbed his own chair, straddled it. “You hearing me, Bobby? Multiple counts means consecutive sentences, my friend, so you can kiss off any hopes of an early release.”
Nemo remained silent.
“I’d be happy to show you the guidelines.”
“Fuck the guidelines. What are you selling?”
“I think you know.” Donovan pulled a manila file folder from under his arm, flipped it open, and slid it across the table. Inside was a Most Wanted flyer featuring a grainy black-and-white photo of Alexander Gunderson.
Nemo snorted. “This is a joke, right? You think I’m some kinda half-wit?”
“I figure you’ve got enough rattling around in there to know when someone’s offering you the only prayer you have of ever seeing daylight. Gunderson’s underground and I’ll bet dollars to donuts you know where to find him. Help me out and I’ll talk to the AG’s office. Who knows, they might even go for immunity.”
“Bullshit.”
“Is that yes or no?”
“It’s you’re outta your fuckin’ mind, is what it is. Where’s my lawyer?”
So that’s how it’s going to be, Donovan thought. A month and a half searching for this piece of shit and the wall immediately goes up.
“Don’t make a mistake here, Bobby.”
Nemo shook his head. “You’re the one making the mistake. Gunderson’s had a hard-on for your ass ever since you turned his bitch into creamed cabbage. You think I’m gonna get in the middle of that?”
“Beats the middle of a federal cellblock for the rest of your natural life.”
Nemo eyed him dully. “You’re so anxious to find him, why don’t you give Sara a jingle, see what she has to say?”
“Very funny, Bobby.”
Nemo shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to be a problem for Alex.”
Donovan just looked at him.
“You think I’m kidding? Guy thinks he can commune with the dead, for crissakes-and I guess creamed cabbage is close enough to qualify.”
“Uh-huh,” Donovan said. He’d heard rumblings about Gunderson dabbling in mysticism, but had never taken them seriously. Was Nemo pulling his chain?
“He doesn’t make a big deal about it,” Nemo continued, “but you get him high enough, he’ll start spouting all this ancient Book of the Dead bullshit he picked up from his whack job of an aunt. Reincarnation, mind control, swapping souls and shit… Guy’s convinced he’s got a suite reserved in the afterlife. Tells me, ‘Don’t be afraid to die, Bobby, that’s when all the fun starts.’ ” Nemo snorted again. “Thanks but no thanks, baby. I’ll take my chances right here and now.”
Donovan remembered reading a report in Gunderson’s juvenile file about his wayward aunt, a two-bit fortuneteller. When Gunderson was twelve, she was dragged off to the nut farm after she strangled one of her clients. Proclaiming innocence, she told the arresting officer that the client had committed suicide. That he’d been taunted by “the voices.” When the officer asked her what voices, she told him matter-of-factly, “Why, the voices of the dead, of course.”
If Nemo was on the level, maybe the apple hadn’t fallen too far from the tree.
“So if Gunderson’s such a head case,” Donovan said, “why join his crew in the first place?”
“Shit, man, I was his crew until Sara and the rest of those idiots showed up. And for all his bullshit, there’s one thing you can say about Alex: he knows how to generate cash.”
“Doesn’t do you a whole lotta good right now.”
“Excuse me while I break down and cry. What’s your point?”
“I think you know,” Donovan said. “Why not use the only leverage you have and tell me where to find him?”
Nemo’s eyes glazed over. “Tell you what. You wanna deal?” He made fists with his shackled hands, then raised the middle finger of each and pointed them at Donovan. “Deal with this.”
Six weeks. Six weeks nursing a wounded leg that still hadn’t healed right, calling in favors from informants, staking out the homes of known associates, looking for something, anything that would lead him to Gunderson… and Donovan had popped a foul.
Finding Bobby Nemo had been pure luck. Nemo’s new girlfriend had flashed a Mormon missionary kid, who, despite the distraction (and Nemo’s freshly grown beard), had recognized a wanted fugitive parked on the naked woman’s sofa. The kid sat on the information for close to two weeks, afraid the incident would either get him in trouble with the Church or with Nemo himself. But he’d finally let good sense get the better of him and picked up the phone.
That was this morning. Donovan and his team had spent half the day staking out Carla Devito’s apartment, then decided to make their move when a take-out man showed up with a couple boxes of Chinese noodles. Donovan had high hopes that nabbing Nemo would get him that much closer to Gunderson, but now Nemo was playing hard-ass.
And there wasn’t much Donovan could do about it.
He slammed out of Interrogation Room 3 and found A.J. waiting for him in the hallway. A.J. had observed Nemo’s display of affection through a two-way glass.
