head, clotting with her hair. I eased her onto her back, cradling her head with my hand. Her eyes were open and she was moaning softly. She reached for my hand and squeezed it tight. All good signs.
“You’re going to be fine,” I told her.
“You?” she whispered.
“I’m good.”
“Latrell?”
He lay at angle to her, his head turned away.
“I don’t know.”
“What about Ruby?”
I scanned the room. She was hiding under the sofa, her front paws folded over her nose. I whistled and she came running, licked my face, and laid down next to Kate, who closed her eyes and squeezed my hand again.
Troy knelt next to Latrell, his fingers pressing gently on Latrell’s neck, searching for a pulse. He snapped an order in to the radio clipped to his bulletproof vest.
“I need two ambulances. Now!”
“Is he dead?” I asked Troy.
“He will be soon. I doubt he’ll make it to the hospital.”
I left Ruby in charge of Kate and cupped Latrell’s chin in my hand, tilting his head toward me. His eyes were?uttering and his breathing was shallow. Troy was on his knees, applying pressure to the wound in Latrell’s chest, but I doubted it would be enough to save him.
“Hang in there, Latrell,” I told him. “An ambulance will be here any minute.”
“That woman you brought messed it up for me,” he said, his lips barely moving.
I leaned closer to his face. “How did she mess it up?”
“I knew you would come. That’s why I only had two bullets. One for you and one for me. Then you brought that woman and I didn’t have enough bullets. She messed things up just like Oleta done.”
Latrell wasn’t going to live long enough to explain everything. I had to choose which questions I wanted answered, which meant that I had to fill in the blanks first on my own. If, by some miracle, he lived, it would take an army of government lawyers and a deaf, dumb, and blind judge to keep anything he told me in evidence.
“Did Oleta mess things up when you killed Marcellus?”
He nodded, his voice feathery, his words coming in gasps. “She was waiting for me when I come out of the house.”
“Where’s Oleta now?”
He opened his eyes wide. “Don’t matter. You followed me. You ruined all of it.”
“I followed you? Where? How did I ruin it?”
“Took my things,” he said, his voice rattling for the last time, his eyes open and dead.
Troy studied me. “You got something else you want to tell me?”
“I wish I did. I have no idea what he meant. I haven’t followed him anywhere and I haven’t taken anything from him. Looks like he’s good for the drug house killings, but we may never find Oleta.”
I looked around. The house had filled with members of my squad. Ammara Iverson was sharing guard duty with Ruby, one of them on either side of Kate.
“Who’s she?” Troy asked.
“Kate Scranton.”
“The jury consultant?”
“Yeah.”
“What the hell is she doing here? For that matter, what the hell are you doing here?”
“It’s a long story and you aren’t going to like any of it.”
“Well, you aren’t going anywhere until I hear all of it.”
I gave him a quick and dirty explanation of the Facial Action Coding System, told him about Latrell’s phone call to Ammara and why it seemed like a good idea at the time to bring Kate and the dog with me to talk to Latrell. When I finished, he stared at me with openmouthed aggravation.
“Is there any chance at all you will stay out of this without getting killed or arrested?”
“Once I know that Wendy is safe, I’ll take a long vacation. You have anything new on her or Colby?”
Troy shook his head. “They aren’t using their credit cards. They haven’t made any withdrawals from their bank accounts. They haven’t made or received calls on their cell phones. Either they don’t want to be found or they’re in real trouble. I’m sorry, Jack, but I don’t know any other way to say it.”
We both looked out the door to the street. It was a parking lot of police cars and ambulances. I glanced at Troy, not needing to ask the question out loud.
“From the far side of the BMW,” he said. “Sniper ri?e.”
“You take the shot?”
He looked at Latrell’s body, his shoulders sagging. “Yeah. It was me.”
“How did you end up there in the nick of time?”
Troy looked at Latrell again. “Wasn’t exactly in the nick of time. Latrell had two bullets. He fired one round and the other one jammed. If I’d known that, I’d be reading him his Miranda rights instead of waiting for someone to perform his last rites.”
“No way you could have known. If you hadn’t shot him, I probably would have,” I said.
“Doesn’t help much.”
“And doesn’t tell me what you were doing outside Latrell’s house.”
“We found a photograph in Javy Ordonez’s car. It was of a young boy, probably fifteen, and a woman. Both of them black. Photograph was taken outside a house. You can see the address numbers in the background. We ran the numbers to find every house in Kansas City, Kansas, that matched and then we checked the ownership records. The numbers matched Latrell’s address. He’s older now and dead, but he’s the boy in the picture.”
“The photograph doesn’t sound like enough evidence to go tactical.”
“It’s not enough but we got a few decent prints off the gun that was used in the drug house murders and that was used to kill Javy Ordonez. Latrell didn’t have a record, so we didn’t have his prints in the system, but we caught a break with his employer. Homeland Security requires that all employees at rail yard terminals be fingerprinted. The fingerprints on the murder weapon belong to Latrell. That was enough to go tactical.”
“I didn’t see you when we got here.”
“We staged out of Marcellus’s house. Figured no one was using it. Came through the backyard. Left some of the troops in back and I came around to the front. Saw you and your friend knocking at the door, so I took up position behind the BMW.”
“That was good work.”
“Always is when we get it right, except this one doesn’t feel all the way right. There’s too much missing,” Troy said.
“Like a link between Latrell and Javy Ordonez?”
“Yeah. We haven’t found one other than the photograph. Maybe the woman in the picture is the link. I wonder where she is?” Troy said.
“My guess is that she was Latrell’s mother and you’ll probably find her the same place you find Oleta. Still doesn’t explain why Latrell’s picture was in Javy’s car.”
An agent interrupted. “We found something downstairs.”
“What?”
“Two graves. One of them fresh, the other one pretty old.”
“Oleta and Latrell’s mother,” I said.
“I’ll be down there in a minute,” Troy said to the agent, dismissing him. He turned back to me. “Latrell is dead and we haven’t identified the woman in the photograph. Maybe she’s buried in the basement and maybe she is the link. Maybe she had a thing with Javy that went bad and Latrell is getting even.”
“You say Latrell looks like he’s around fifteen years old in the photograph?”
“About. Why?”
“Ammara interviewed him when she did the initial neighborhood canvass. She says he was thirty-two. That makes the photograph seventeen years old. Javy Ordonez was what, twenty-five, tops? That makes him eight years old when the photograph was taken. No way Javy’s murder has anything to do with the woman in the
