“I don’t give a crap what he’s trying to prove. He’s about to compromise an ongoing investigation.” Annabel picked up her phone, dialed her assistant, and demanded he find Anthony and bring him in. “What’s the word on our gun?”
“The bullet we dug out of the back of the van was mutilated, but it does match the caliber of the rifle we found, so in all probability we have the murder weapon. The rifle itself had the serial number filed down, but the field agent shipped it to the lab at Quantico and they’re working on it. Since this morning they’ve raised the first three numbers,” Shelby said, reading from her notes.
“And?” Annabel glanced up at her from the top of her glasses.
“I ran that little information and got a list of possibles about a mile long. I took into consideration who the players were and narrowed the scope to one person.”
Annabel put the folder down and smiled. “If you tell me you can trace it to Casey I’ll nominate you for agent of the year.”
“It’s never that easy, ma’am. Giovanni Bracato, Sr. has a rifle of that caliber registered to him. He also has a license to hunt deer, which is what the rifle is most commonly used for. I won’t know for sure it’s his until they give me the entire serial number.”
She thought of Cain’s face as she confronted her the night before. No matter what, she was always relaxed, but never really smug like a person who always knew all the answers before the questions were really asked. “Not what we were expecting, but nothing ever is for me.”
“Then keep at it. All we need is one lucky break.”
Shelby pointed to the file on the rifle’s owner. “Some would call that one.”
“No, this is a dead end. Cain’s been lucky up to now, but that can’t last forever.”
Shelby laughed as she stood up ready to head out again. “I wouldn’t go that far. When it comes to the Casey family and luck, they have a lifetime supply. What you should maybe wish is for a little luck of the Irish to come our way.”
*
“Where’d you hear that?” Muriel asked. She was sitting at a table in Le Madeline Cafe across from St. Louis Cathedral. She wore a pair of dark sunglasses that gave her the freedom to study her surroundings.
After putting the last bite of croissant in his mouth, T-Boy brushed the crumbs from his fingers and pants. “My buddy told me he heard it from the man himself. Said the bitch running the show cut his balls off, and he wanted to work for someone who’d appreciate his talents.”
Muriel had forgone the French roasted coffee and ordered a carton of chocolate milk. It reminded her of a simpler time in her life when all she had to worry about was appeasing the nuns who taught in the school Jarvis and Dalton had picked for her and Cain to attend. “Anthony Curtis is out for hire?”
“To the highest bidder, and from what I hear, that Mexican dude wants to get his hands on him first. I thought Cain would want to know right away.”
She reached into the pocket of her leather coat and pulled out a roll of bills. “Thanks for the heads-up. Call me if you hear anything else.”
He wrapped his fingers around the money and nodded.
After he walked away, Muriel called Cain and told her what was going on. “Want me to dig some more?”
“You might have broken up with a certain agent too soon. Annabel probably figured you were her inside track to me, but sometimes information flows both ways.”
“That spigot’s been shut off permanently, so we’ll have to figure out something else.” Muriel started walking to her office, glad to see she wasn’t being followed.
“I’m not worried about Anthony yet.”
“That guy’s got it in for us, so you should worry.” As she reached Canal Street, a car pulled up and stopped, blocking her path. When she leaned down to see who it was, she figured her opportunity to find out what was going on had come.
“You know me, there’s more than one way to face a problem,” Cain said.
Muriel looked at Shelby and smiled. “For once I believe you.”
Chapter Twenty
“I haven’t been here in a few years,” Remi said, gazing out the window as Cain’s driver took them farther into the ninth ward. Outside, the houses were getting smaller and thinner, perfect examples of shotgun homes—if you shot a gun through the front door, the bullet would pass through every room before it went out the back. “What do you have in mind?”
“We’re here to introduce Vinny to our mutual friend.”
“So there’s soul food in my future?” Remi stretched her legs out as she laughed.
They turned right and four large African-American men stood in front of some street barricades. When the oldest-looking one tapped on the back-window glass, Cain lowered the window and stuck her hand out.
“How are the kids?”
“Costing me a fortune keeping them in shoes.” He shook her hand, then waved to Remi. “Good to have you two back in the neighborhood.”
“Does Maude have some chicken stew on?” Cain asked.
“She even changed into her best apron when she heard you were coming.” He looked behind them. “Go on in and we’ll keep the rats out.”
Cain peeled four hundred dollars from her wallet. “Thanks, and here’s something for your boys and your Nike
