She keened a low “Nooo.”
“I’m pretty sure it was his friends in Philly, the ones we talked about yesterday.”
“Omigod. I’m getting the kids and leaving now.”
“No need to panic. I don’t think you’re in any danger. They eliminated the threat and they may not even know you exist.”
Bram broke in. “I’ll call Tiny Tim for protection detail.”
“Marcy,” I said, “Spider’s associate Bram is sending an operative over to watch your house. You probably won’t know he’s there. Do you feel okay sitting tight until you talk to the police?”
“Are you really sure it’s okay.”
“I wouldn’t leave you in a dangerous situation,” I assured her. “There’s something else I need you to do. When the cops show up, can you play dumb about Hank’s past connections? They’ll discover it like we did, based on his fingerprints, but I’d rather they didn’t realize right away.”
With a little gulp, she said, “I see. So when they get here, I’ll let them tell me he’s dead and pretend I have no idea why.” She paused. “If it will protect my kids and me, I can do it.”
“As soon as the police take my statement and leave, I’ll drive over to your house. And Marcy, thanks. This will keep me out of hot water, too, although that’s not why I’m asking.”
“Come as soon as you can,” she said.
I ended the call and handed Bram what I assumed was his burner phone. “I’ll call 9-1-1 from my office line,” I said.
He nodded. “Men’s room down the hall?”
“To the right,” I told him. “But before you take the walk, are you sure you want me to involve you in this?”
He shrugged. “Your car’s at Holy Hill and you’re here. Somebody picked you up. Might as well be me.” With that, he left.
Fingers a little shaky, I lifted the handset and dialed.
“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”
“I just left Holy Hill. There’s a dead body on the path of the Stations of the Cross, below the church. Behind the grotto for the first station. A man. He was shot.”
“Are you in danger?”
“No, I left the area with a friend. We’re at my office in Milwaukee.” I gave her the address as Bram returned and settled into my client chair.
“Your name?” the woman’s voice asked.
“Angelina Bonaparte.” I spelled it and confirmed my phone number.
“Are you certain the man is dead?”
“Yes.”
“I’m notifying the Lisbon police. They’re closest to the scene. Please stay at your location. Someone will be there shortly.”
I disconnected and turned to Bram. “I should probably call Wukowski.”
“Did you tell him about Hank? About the case, that is?”
“No. It wasn’t police business then.”
I quickly placed my 9MM in the desk drawer. Although it hadn’t been fired, I didn’t want to explain why I had it with me when I went to meet Hank.
Bram took what looked like a folding knife from his pants pocket. Rather than a blade, it opened to reveal a set of picklocks, which he used to re-lock the desk and credenza. “No reason for the cops to think you secreted anything, right?”
I nodded, and we waited for the MPD.
Chapter 25
If intimidation is your game plan, I hope you have a better one. — Colin Kaepernick
In under five minutes, a siren sounded in the street below, followed by heavy footsteps in the hallway. The office door burst open and Wukowski rushed inside and stopped. “Jesus, Angie, you okay?”
“Other than being a bit shaken, yes.” I gestured to my visitor chair. “You remember Bram York, from the Johnson case. I called him after the shooting and he, uh, exfiltrated me.”
“Thanks for that,” Wukowski said to Bram. Then he huffed out a breath. “Look, I was the only guy in the bullpen when the call came in. The captain sent me with very specific orders. I’ll escort you downtown to make a statement. No discussion about the case before you get there.” His hands clenched. “I get the feeling they don’t trust me to be impartial. It burns me.” With a look to Bram, he said, “I’d appreciate you coming along, too. It’ll save time if we get your statement right away.”
“I can do that,” Bram said.
I reset the alarm panel and used the keypad to lock up. We all trooped downstairs and Bram and I followed Wukowski to police headquarters and homicide, where the captain dismissed Wukowski and put me and Bram in separate interrogation rooms.
It was forty-five minutes before the door opened, admitting a medium height overweight man, who wore a genial smile. “So, I finally get ta meet ya.” The south side speech pattern came through as he stuck out a beefy hand. “Art Penske. We spoke last year on tha phone.”
“I remember,” I said as my hand disappeared into his. “You were very kind about keeping me updated on the Johnson case when Wukowski brought in the perp and wasn’t able to break away and call me.”
“Yeah. About that …” With a grunt, he dropped into a chair on the opposite side of the table. “It wasn’t exackly like that. See, the brass din’t want Ted talkin’ to ya, ’cause of your dad’s situation.” He looked me in the eyes. “I gotta be honest, it’s the same thing now, only worse, what with ya bein’ a couple an’ all. Captain’s ’bout to blow up, he’s so red in the face. Seems the dead guy had the same connections as your old man. You know about that?”
“He told me when we met this morning.” Before Penske could continue, I raised a palm. “Are you saying that Wukowski is in hot water because of me?”
“Angie, ya gotta understand, a cop with connections to the mob, well, he’s under a
