us a little further than the current indictment and suspension.”
I stood there for a while, allowing all the lines to connect. “Then it’s Osgood.”
Gowder shook his head. “Not possible.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because I was with him at the fund-raiser the night Conliffe was killed.”
I was fully irritated now. “Then he had it done.”
Katz was watching me. “By whom?”
I was yelling now. “Toy Diaz by way of Shankar DuVall, I’d imagine!”
“You don’t have to raise your voice.” We stood there, looking at each other. “They don’t owe him any favors, and they’re not on the best of terms anymore.”
I stepped toward all of them. The ache in my ribs had receded with the increase of my anger. “Then how about William Carlisle White Eyes?”
Katz adjusted his glasses again. “It occurred to us.”
I wondered if I was up to throwing the two of them out the open window. “Partnership’s over.”
I started lumbering toward the stairwell, with Vic coming up behind me as Katz spoke. “What about the third note?”
Vic called over her shoulder. “If we find it, I’ll stop by and personally shove it up your ass.”
I only lasted two flights. Vic sat beside me on the flaking gray paint of the tread’s metal surface. After catching my breath, I spoke in a low voice. “That was stupid.”
She nodded and smiled. “I bet you feel better.”
“Not really.”
“Look, I know both these guys and, if it means anything, I don’t think they took it to heart. Anyway, they’re going to want to know about the third note, so I bet you’re forgiven by the time we get to the sidewalk.”
She was right.
Katz was waiting at the truck dock with his hands in his pockets and the ledgers under one arm. “We need that third note.”
I leaned against the concrete shelf with my good side. “Yep, and people in hell need ice water.”
He closed his eyes and gave the sun his face. “Nice day for it.”
“Where’s your playmate?”
“Caught a ride with Meifert; he’s decided you don’t like him.” Katz smiled. “On account of you getting in his face and yelling at him. He’s not used to that.”
“I’m sorry.”
He opened one eye and looked at Vic, who was standing beside me. “Yelling one of those law enforcement techniques you learned out in Wyoming?”
She was now sunbathing as well. “Yeah, that and lunch.”
Katz nodded. “Terminal?”
“Yeah.”
I hoped it was a location and not a result.
The Reading Terminal Market on 12th and Arch was created in 1892 when the Reading Railroad opened markets below the elevated tracks of the new train shed. It had consistently housed an undetermined amount of aromas since then by creating a gastronomic bazaar conveniently located at street level.
We walked past the Amish baked goods, farm produce, and fresh flowers to a little diner and sat on red leatherette stools at a stainless steel counter. I was in the middle and noticed that neither Vic nor Katz had picked up a menu. A heavyset woman of uncertain age and in oversized overalls set rolled flatware, glasses of ice water, and three cups of coffee in front of us. “What’ll it be, hon?”
The wave of nostalgia for the Busy Bee overtook me, and I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “The usual.”
She nodded. Evidently, it was a universal.
Katz slid one of the ledgers onto the counter, opened it, and glanced at the incomprehensible text. “So, you know where we can find an expert on Native American languages?”
I sipped my steaming coffee. “It just so happens…” I set it down to cool and took a closer look at the book. “He should be at the Academy; said he had to put the final touches on the exhibit.”
“Isn’t the reception tonight?”
“Yep.” I glanced at Vic. “But don’t you have to go to the opera?”
She rolled her eyes. “Puh-lease…”
I looked back at Katz. “Henry can translate.” I looked at the ledger to give him a little room. “Why didn’t you tell me William White Eyes is Billy Carlisle?”
“It’s IAD, special prosecutor for the DA’s office, and we really weren’t able to come forth with any of the information connecting the two.”
“Fair enough.” I lined up the suspects and started supposing. “Vince Osgood and Toy Diaz are in business.”
“It’s possible.” I looked at him, and he shrugged. “It’s likely.”
“Devon Conliffe, my daughter’s almost-fiance, was a hophead and a friend of Osgood.”
“Yes. And Devon was the money launderer.”
I nodded and stared at my coffee. “That makes sense. So, Osgood goes to bat for Shankar DuVall in his official capacity, leaving Carlisle/White Eyes to linger in Graterford.”
“Yes.”
“I have a question.” I placed my hands on the edge of the counter, bumped my finger guard, and felt the vibration all the way up to my elbow. “Who was Shankar DuVall’s lawyer?”
Katz thought for a moment. “Not your daughter.”
I smiled at him. “I figured there were other lawyers in Philadelphia; I was just wondering who it was?”
“Why?”
I thought about an itch I’d had in my head for the last few days. “I think there are more connections among all these people.” Katz scribbled in his pad. “So Carlisle/White Eyes did the cook, DuVall the muscle, Diaz the distribution, and Devon laundered the money while Osgood looked the other way.”
“That’s the way it’s headed.”
I thought about the things that weren’t adding up. “If Osgood sent Diaz’s brother Ramon up the river, why would Toy go into business with him?”
“It was not a happy family; if Oz hadn’t gotten rid of Ramon, Toy probably would have.”
“How did you find out about the money laundering?”
“We checked the files at Hunt and Driscoll; Devon was channeling large sums of money through clients’ accounts, but we’re having trouble finding all the numbers. You want to hear the kicker?” I continued looking at him. “They hired him on Osgood’s recommendation.”
“There’s got to be more.”
Katz studied me for a moment. “You’re thinking that more of these lawyers might be involved?”
“I don’t know.” I took a sip of my coffee since it had finally cooled enough to drink. “I’m just saying that part of this puzzle is still missing. Some connection is out there; somebody.” I thought about it, and it all made sense.
“Didn’t Meifert say Carlisle’s mother was killed when he was a kid?”
“Yes, it was a well-publicized case.” Katz gestured toward Vic. “Her father had that one.”
“Can you get me a psychological workup on Carlisle?”
“Absolutely, but why?”
“I think he was the one at the Franklin Institute the night Cady was hurt, and I think he’s the one that’s been sending me love letters, but I don’t think he threw Devon Conliffe off the Benjamin Franklin Bridge.”
Katz made a face. “Then why was he following you this morning?”
“Protection.”
He made a show of looking at my battered body. “You sure about that?”
