“I need to know who deals in South American poisons.”
“You want the short list? I can give you fifty names, maybe seventy-five. Most of them are illegal immigrants who go
Jacob’s laugh contained no humor. He looked away. “Why did you stint the Belinda Critch case?”
Canter shrugged. “Maybe I cut it short, but only a bit and mostly for your sake at first. You know things about me, Knight, about my lifestyle, my habits. Reasons don’t matter in our world. You finger me and I’m gone, not just transferred from Homicide to Vice, but all the way gone, in disgrace.”
“Who killed her?”
Canter stuck out his face. “I don’t know. I told you, I thought it was you, that’s why I skimped.” He broke eye contact, shuffled his feet. “Changed my mind later on.”
“Why?”
Canter swung away. He puffed for several seconds, then swung back. “Do you know how easy it is to make the slide from prescription to street drugs?”
“Yeah, I know how easy it is.”
A smile crossed Canter’s lips. “My God, is that compassion I hear? Or pity?” He kicked one of the trash cans, narrowly missing the tabby. “I don’t want anyone’s pity, not yours, or Harris’s or your squeaky-clean partner’s. How is O’Keefe, by the way? We don’t cross paths too often these days.”
“He’s O’Keefe.”
“Says it all, doesn’t it? Must be hell to be such a drudge, but at least his boat’s steady. Except for the divorce. And a little thing I heard he had with Belinda Critch.”
Jacob stared, and at length Canter deflated. “I know, I know, why did I stop thinking you’d killed her? I got a call after Christmas. I was hoping it’d be a tip, anything so we could put the case to bed and move on. There were other investigations going down, and I wanted in on them.” Canter ran his tongue over his teeth, made a face as if he tasted something bad. “Probably wouldn’t have worked out given that I was high on PK’s most days, but a guy can dream, right?”
Jacob let his head fall back, and regarded the starless sky barely visible between the two buildings. “Who called you, Gary?”
“Someone who wanted the Critch case closed. If that meant destroying evidence, so be it.”
“Did you destroy evidence?”
Canter took a long drag. “Didn’t have to. There wasn’t any. Killer cleaned up good, Knight. That’s why I thought it might be you. We had zip for clues. The case was going cold before I even got the call. But, hey, a man in need, cop or not, can always use a little extra cash.”
“You took the payoff.”
“You don’t sound surprised. But then you never were as squeaky clean as your partner.” His features hardened. “Yes, I took the payoff. Why not? Like I said, the case was going nowhere. There was no evidence to destroy, so technically I didn’t do anything wrong. Still, I found the offer rather intriguing. I figured we must have missed something, Stubbsy and me.”
Jacob shifted his weight. His arm was burning now, from whatever McGee had shot into him to counteract the curare.
“Are you going to tell me who called you, or do we stand here all night while I guess?”
“You’d never guess.”
“James Barret?”
Canter’s eyebrows shot up. “Not bad, old friend. Care to tell me where that came from?”
“Romana found a watch.”
“Huh.” Canter studied him. “Well, that’s cryptic.” His sneer faded. “How is Romana? I always liked her. Word is Critch has it in for her, too.”
“She stopped him from shooting me. Yeah, he has it in for her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Jacob regarded him steadily. The ache in his arm ran from shoulder to hand. The only thing worse was the throbbing in his head. “How much did your caller offer?”
“Enough to get me what I needed.” Canter tossed his cigarette into the blackened snow. “I’ve paid for what I’ve done. I’m stuck in Vice until I retire, and that’s a best-case scenario. We all have our skeletons, but you and me more than others.” At Jacob’s level look, he grinned. “Heard you and Romana have been tight lately. Maybe I’ll see her tomorrow night, huh?”
Jacob recognized a weakness when he saw one. “Unless Critch gets to her first.”
Canter’s mouth compressed. “You hit low, Knight.”
“Critch is getting close.”
“I don’t know about Critch. There’s no word on the street. We all know he wants to off you, but where he’s holed up…” He spread his fingers. “No clue. Have you talked to Hoag?”
“Talked to, worked out with, checked up on. There’s no sign of contact between them yet.”
“That Hoag’s a slick one, but he’s not stupid, only angry about Belinda.” Canter’s eyes sharpened. “You think Barret offed her?”
“It’s looking that way. Still…” Jacob shrugged. “Appearances.”
Canter’s shoulders slumped. He started to walk, but halted five steps away and sucked in a long breath. “You never said a word, did you? You knew about my addiction-prescription and otherwise-but you didn’t rat me out. I hated that you knew, hated that it worried me that you knew. Part of me wanted you to be guilty. The other part…I don’t know. But I like Romana. She called me sir, and she meant it. I can’t help you with Critch, but word’s out about Romana’s cousin going missing. You might want to look in Barret’s direction for her.”
With a nod, Jacob started off in the opposite direction. Canter’s hand clamping onto his bad arm brought his head up and swiftly around.
“Lose the daggers, Knight. There’s one more thing you should know. You were only half-right before. It was a Barret who called me six years ago. But it wasn’t James Barret.”
Chapter Twelve
“Romana?” Patrick North, bundled up and ready to leave the hospital, did a frowning double-take in the entranceway. “Why are you here?”
Romana walked back and forth near the double doors, swinging her arms to warm them. “I’m waiting for O’Keefe. He must have taken the polar route.”
“Maybe he was a taxi driver before he became a cop.”
A laugh escaped. “Why, Patrick, was that a joke? I’m proud of you.”
“Wait until I’ve had a few drinks tomorrow night. I’ll be the life of the party. Except-I’m worried about Fitz. She asked me to go with her. They’re honoring Dr. Gorman.”
“I know.”
“Too bad he won’t hear the accolades. He’ll sleep through them like he slept through most of his later autopsies.”
“Must have been some trick. Asleep holding a scalpel.”
“It was a Pavlov’s dog thing. Gorman saw a corpse and went through the motions. Eventually, we just started sitting him in the corner and carrying on by ourselves. It was our secret. I don’t think he ever clued in.”
A picture of Belinda’s silver watch appeared in Romana’s head. “‘May our secrets live on,’” she recalled.
“‘Forever.’”
“Please?”
“It’s an inscription. On a watch.” As a stream of exiting visitors swished through the doors, Romana halted. “You said you overheard Belinda telling someone that Jacob wanted her dead. Do you have any idea who was on the other end of the phone?”
“I thought maybe a woman, but only because I figure women talk to women more than they talk to men.”
“Belinda talked to you, and you’re a man.”
