Lynch tried to think like Gomez. What was the one thing that would hit home with this sled head? Putting his mind on his partner took him back to the arrest. The Reilly house. June Reilly, the matriarch.
She’ll have one son in the hospital. She’ll have another son and her only grandson in jail. They’re dropping off like…
He was driven where he needed to go. He spoke as if musing.
“The line ends with him, doesn’t it…?”
Ian’s breathing stopped.
“…probably anyway. Your sister has two daughters. Your younger brother is on the road 300 days a year. He’s not starting a family. Who knows what kind of permanent damage Kevin has suffered, and your wife may never have sex with you again after last night.”
The detective leaned in and lowered his voice.
“Braden’s it.”
Ian met eyes with Lynch, then slowly turned and shot the same daggers at Carrie. She leaned in and ran with the perfect pass she’d been thrown.
“Easy, Reilly. I’m trying to stop the boy. Right now, you’re a hero. No matter how much time you do, you’ll be regarded as a saint by your family. When word gets out what happened, the town will forgive you within twenty-four hours.
“But…if Braden succeeds, well, then you’re the father of a terrorist. The story will get national coverage. He goes away, basically forever. There isn’t a woman in the world that will go near him unless she has a fetish for felons. I, personally, wouldn’t trust those genes. Would you?”
The car purred. Warner went back to the top.
“Did you…tell your son…what happened to his mother?”
Something dripped down Ian’s cheek. Perhaps a tear; perhaps his regular flop sweat.
“No, but he’s a smart kid, and he saw her first.”
10. The Station
The exchange bounced back and forth across the table like a casual game of ping pong, each participant trying to out-smug the other. Rick had caught on to Agent Beck’s water trick.
Bitch Fibbie drinks from water bottle; punk Fibbie interrupts. Absolute genius.
She fired cliché after sickening cliché.
“You’re an intelligent guy, Rick. Put yourself in my place. Gang jacket…gang fight. Two crime scenes…your gang jacket is at one; your little Gordy gofer is at the other. You understand, I’ve got to make a connection, or I wouldn’t be doing my job. And I will. I’ve got billions of tax dollars at my disposal.”
“It wasn’t my jacket. It was Samuel’s. None of us have seen him since last year.”
“Is everyone we brought in going to say that, everyone else we dragged in here this morning?”
“They will if they’re telling the truth.”
“Even Arthur?”
Bullshit.
Arthur never went home after a painting party. He got off on waking up amidst the wreckage.
“Yes ma’am, even Arthur.”
The door opened, no knock.
“Agent Beck. You’re needed. It’s urgent.”
Her eyes twitched in the direction of her water bottle before she hopped to her feet. She left without taking it with her.
Rick was correct in his observation. She hadn’t taken a sip before the peon agent entered. The interruption was not planned.
11. Amid Chaos
Agent Beck Spoke.
“Stay cool, Ernie. I’m on my way, and I have two specialists that are going to beat me there by five minutes. Take a picture of the trunk and send it to me. Then check his computer. He probably learned how to do this stuff on line.”
“I did that already. He cleared his browsing history, and I don’t know how to get it back.”
“Don’t worry about it. My guys will suss it out. Was the kid at the confirmation?”
“You mean, do I think he drew the thing on the yellow paper? It’s certainly possible.”
12. The Station
All four interview rooms were full. Rick was in one. Steven was in another. The remaining two held lesser active members who claimed they hadn’t been to a painting party in months. The other three UJ’s they were able to track down were under observation in the holding tank. Arthur, Bubbs, Traci, indistinguishable Eric, and, of course, Kelly were not among them.
Things moved quickly.
Officers Truesdell and Simon brought Ian Reilly through the back entrance and right past holding. There were no signs of recognition between Reilly and the UJ’s … odd.
One of the two expendables was removed from his interview room and replaced with Reilly. Still considered hostile, his hands were cuffed to the table. Officer Simon offered one last courtesy before leaving the room.
“Can I get you a coffee or soda?”
“Brilliant, genius. How would I drink it?”
“We have straws.”
Lynch and Warner entered from the parking garage and crossed the foyer. Boris, the desk sergeant, was just finishing a call. There were three people seated in the station’s poor excuse for a waiting area. One of them, Lynch did not recognize. The other two…
Oh no. Not now!
Mrs. Weiss sprung from her chair.
“Detective Lynch, I need to talk to you. You were so nice to my boy last week. I was hoping you could talk some sense into him.”
“Ma’am, I…holy cow, Gordy, what happened to you?”
The boy kept his head down.
“Nuthin’”
“Forgive him, detective. He’s young. He got beaten up this morning on the way to school, and he won’t say by who.”
Lynch gave Gordy a hard stare…a detour worth taking? Little doubt, the kid knew the location of the cloister.
Couldn’t hurt I suppose.
“Where are they, Gordy?”
The answer came with feigned cluelessness after a twitch of an eye towards his mother.
“I don’t know what are you talking about?”
“Yes, Detective Lynch, what on Earth are you talking about?”
Instant dead-end.
He couldn’t question Gordy further without a guardian present, which meant the kid would have to admit to his UJ stuff in front of his mother. Was the threat of a bomb enough to make this frightened little fart with a loose grip on reality and low regard for the truth incur that kind of wrath?
Probably not.
It wasn’t worth the risk anyway. If Gordy couldn’t be broken, or the questioning took too long, Lynch would never hear the end of it from Special
