“Good read. So, either Jason has a pocketful of reassurance, or he’s clueless but hopeful.”
Hack nodded toward Jason’s place. “Can’t say we didn’t warn him but I can’t make him do nothing he don’t want to.”
“He thinks he’s got, or will get, a better deal.”
“He won’t.”
“Not even close.”
They climbed in The Rig.
“I’ll give Harper a call,” Cain said. “See what they have and where they are.”
Before he could do so, his cell rang. Mama B. Did she ever sleep? He answered.
“You’re up late,” Cain said.
“I’m always up late. Comes with being old. Us seniors sleep little and erratically.”
“You aren’t that old.”
She laughed. “Just wait a few decades and you’ll see.”
“I’m here with Officer Hackford. You’re on speaker.”
“Nice to meet you Hackford,” Mama B said.
“Mutual, I’m sure,” Hack said.
“Where’s Harper?” Mama B asked.
“She and Chief Crowe are rounding up Marla,” Cain said. “Getting her down to the PD.”
“Sounds like you’re heading to the bunkers.”
“More getting some potential targets out of harm’s way.”
“So, things are about to get hot?”
“It could,” Cain said. “But, I’m sure you didn’t call to wish us all sweet dreams.”
“Nope. I got a friend involved on the stuff you wanted on Simon Greene.”
“Simon Greene?” Hack said. “What’s he got to do with this?”
“Something,” Mama B said. “Just like you suspected, Bobby.”
“Tell it,” Cain said.
“So my guy, over at Meade, uncovered a few things of interest. Things I figured you needed to know ASAP.”
Meade. Fort Meade, Maryland. The NSA. Mama B had dug deep.
She continued, “Seems back a few years ago, during the Tommy Finley trial, Greene had a flurry of calls back and forth with a burner cell phone over in Memphis.”
“Any idea with who?” Cain asked.
“Not from those calls, but file this under criminals are stupid: one call came from a bar over there. Place called Turk’s Lounge. The owner of record is Frank Campanella.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope and it gets better. Seems like Greene deposited around ten grand, cash, into his bank a couple of weeks after the trial.”
“So Frankie hired Greene to get his boy off?” Cain asked.
“Smells that way.”
“He told everyone he did that pro bono,” Hack said.
“Maybe he didn’t charge the Finley’s anything,” Mama B said, “but he got his blood money.” She sighed. “Now it gets good. Greene received a call late yesterday afternoon from another burner. Local call. Someone in your neighborhood. The same phone called him again about two hours ago. And the cherry on top? That same phone just called Jason Epps.”
“Dalton,” Cain said.
“That’d be my guess. Mainly because that same number called Frank Campanella twice yesterday. Around the time of the call to Greene. All the calls originated from your location.”
“Wait a minute,” Hack said. “You’re telling us that Simon Greene, Jason Epps, Frank Campanella, and the late Tommy Finley are all connected?”
“At least electronically,” Mama B said.
“I suspect about every other way imaginable,” Cain said. “Anything else?”
“Isn’t that enough?” Mama B laughed.
“You’re amazing as usual.”
“That I am and I’m still on it.”
“Okay. We’re rolling,” Cain said.
“Go get them, Tiger.” She disconnected the call.
Cain cranked The Rig to life and spun out of the parking lot. He called Harper.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“We got Marla safely tucked away at the PD and we’re patrolling downtown. Not sure what we’re looking for since we don’t know what vehicle Dalton has now, but who knows? We could get lucky.”
“Meet us at Simon Greene’s place.”
“What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain later. We should be there in five.” He disconnected the call.
“This is a strange turn,” Hack said. “I mean, Simon Greene?”
“It would explain how Dalton knew there was a witness and how he knew we were on to his vehicle. Which made him call in a crew with a new car.”
“So they could move around undetected and wipe the slate clean.”
“Also means Dalton knows Marla’s name,” Cain said.
“Good thing she’s over at the PD.”
“Too bad Jason didn’t accept your offer.”
Hack shrugged. “His call. He’s an adult. Well, sort of.”
Cassie and Harper had beaten them to Greene’s place. Cassie’s Jeep was nestled to the curb out front. Cain slid The Rig in behind it. He and Hack climbed out and walked to where Cassie and Harper stood on the sidewalk beneath an elm tree.
“What’s the story?” Harper asked.
Cain ran through what Mama B had said.
“Simon Greene?” Cassie said. “He’s in this?”
“All we know for sure,” Cain said, “is that he’s had some calls from Frank Campanella and from someone nearby who uses a burner phone.”
“Dalton Southwell for sure,” Harper said. “Nothing else makes sense.”
Cain looked across the manicured lawn toward the neat, two-story brick house. A white trimmed porch extended the width of the structure, a two-person swing hung near one end and a pair of rockers sat just to the right of the entry door.
“Campanella paid him to defend Tommy Finley?” Cassie asked.
“Looks that way.”
“Son-of-a-bitch. He’s strutted around for years saying he did that for free. Playing the hero.”
“As far as the Finley’s were concerned, he did,” Cain said.
“I suppose.” Cassie sighed. “So what the hell is his connection in this?”
“Let’s ask him,” Hack said.
Cain peered through the front windows while Hack knuckled the front door. No lights, no movement. No answer to the knock.
“If he isn’t here, where could he be at this hour?” Cassie asked.
Cain looked at her.
“What?” she asked.
“We believe Dalton brought in more of his crew to clean house. That’s why we have Buck and Marla undercover. Maybe Greene is on that list.”
“Why? He defended a drug dealing punk. I don’t see that putting a target on his back.”
“But he knows Frank Campanella and apparently Dalton,” Harper said. “Based on the call logs.”
Cain jumped in. “The calls he’s received in the last twenty-four hours, from a burner that we assume is in the hands of Dalton, means he’s still in the loop. Could make him a prime candidate for Dalton’s list.”
“Freaking unbelievable,” Cassie said.
“We better have a look-see,” Hack said. “To be sure.” He shrugged. “Call it a welfare check.”
“You’re saying break in?”
“Maybe he’s a sound sleeper?” Harper
