When he came back I said, “Somebody saw Gallagher that night.”
“Where did you see that?” he asked.
“The nine-one-one call. Whoever made that call must have seen him.”
“Unless Gallagher told him about it the next day.”
I shook my head. “He was a loner, had almost no friends, but he happened to see someone the next day and mention that he murdered a judge? Doesn’t make sense.”
“So someone saw him come home with blood on his clothes, made the anonymous call, but hasn’t come forward,” he said.
“It was nighttime, Steven was wearing dark clothing, but somebody saw the blood and knew that’s what it was? And then connected Steven to a judge’s murder twenty miles away?”
“Maybe they knew Steven, and knew Brennan had sentenced him.”
“It’s a stretch, but maybe,” I said. “How did Steven get to and from Brennan’s house? He didn’t own a car.”
“That’s bothered me as well,” Emmit said. “Brennan lived miles from a bus stop, and there’s certainly no bus that goes anywhere near a route from Steven’s house in Paterson to Brennan’s neighborhood.”
I nodded. “Have them check the buses anyway, and every cab company that services the area.”
“Will do. Maybe Steven has a friend that gave him a ride, then realized what had happened and called nine-one-one anonymously.”
“So how come we haven’t found the friend?”
Emmit shrugged. “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist. Somebody called nine-one-one, and we found the bloody clothes. With Brennan’s DNA. You can’t wish that away, Luke.”
Right then all I was wishing was that I hadn’t been so intent on developing a lie, because it had stopped me from searching for the truth. “Emmit, this kid was strung out on drugs. He lived in a dump with no locks on the windows. Almost never went out of the house. He had no friends. No support structure. Danny Brennan was about to sentence him to prison.”
“And?”
“And I’m not saying it happened, but can you think of an easier person to frame?”
Emmit didn’t seem convinced, which was OK, because I wasn’t, either. “This murder was done in the dark, with no one around. As far as we know, there wasn’t a single piece of evidence at the scene which would have led us to the killer.”
It was my turn to cut the speech short. “So?”
“So why bother to frame him at all? The killer got away clean. Why go to all this trouble? It would only add to the risk.”
“Why do you ever frame someone? So the dumb cops would stop looking for the real killer. And in this case maybe there was another motive. Maybe it wasn’t just the killer they were protecting. Maybe they were protecting the reason for the killing.”
“You mean one of Brennan’s cases?”
I nodded. “Maybe we’ve been looking in the right place all along.”
Emmit was clearly skeptical. “You believe all this?”
“Probably not, but there’s one other thing that bugs me,” I said.
“What’s that?”
“That the informant called us. The Feds had a hotline being advertised constantly on television; they even had a reward offered. But someone anonymously calls us. If it were one of our regular informants, I could understand it. But it obviously wasn’t. So why did he call us?”
“You have a theory on that?” he asked.
“I do. They thought we could be more easily manipulated than the Feds. That we’d take the bait, and maybe even go in shooting. They thought we’d be dumb enough to take it all at face value.
“And you know what?” I asked. “They were right.”
Bryan … we’re checking into weather patterns. Did you hear any thunder? Can you hear anything outside at all? Making progress, Brother … hang in there.
Julie said to tell you that she loves you. It wasn’t her fault … it was mine. You need to know that.
Finally Tommy Rhodes believed he was earning his money.
Well, maybe not all that money, but a lot of it. Because this was one of the most difficult things he had ever had to do.
Once again Frankie Kagan was along to provide protection against any unexpected intruders. Tommy would have preferred that Frankie help in the actual operation, since it involved some heavy work, but it also required a technical sophistication and expertise that Frankie didn’t possess. Frankie’s expertise was better suited to stabbing judges to death in their garages.
Explosives, by definition, are designed to destroy, to obliterate. As such, they often don’t have to be placed with great precision; if the bomb is big enough, the job will get done.
Sometimes, of course, the placement of explosives becomes an art. For instance, in the implosion of an aging building or sports stadium, they must be placed strategically, so that not only will the target come down, but it will come down in a specified and predictable manner.
Tommy had a great deal of military experience with all kinds of munitions, but this assignment was particularly challenging. It had to be done in darkness, in a period of a few days, but that was not what made it difficult.
Man-made structures are finite; like baseball managers who are hired to be fired, structures are built to eventually come down. Explosives can eventually hasten the process, but the end result is inevitable.
This was different. Nature was the target, at least the primary one. And the goal was to inflict damage that would take years, if not decades, to overcome.
He finished the job and set the timers for Saturday at 8 PM. For Tommy Rhodes that moment would be his crowning achievement, albeit a secret one.
But he would certainly have earned his money.
My dislike for Richard Carlton was pretty much instantaneous.
He deigned to see me in his suite in the Pierre Hotel on 61st Street, between 5th Avenue and Madison. I was greeted at the door by a guy who identified himself only as William, and who seemed to be an assistant of some sort. Or, more likely, based on the way William fit into his jacket, a bodyguard.
He led me into a private dining room, said, “He’ll be right out,” and left the room. Carlton came in a few minutes later.
In a bathrobe.
“You didn’t have to get dressed up,” I said.
He chuckled an annoying chuckle, which made me sorry I hadn’t been the one to blow up his guesthouse. Then, “What can I do for you, Lieutenant?”
I had decided to be aggressive about this interview. Since there was a very good chance that I was going to claim to Gallagher that the real killer was somewhere on the Carlton side of the court battle, I needed to act as if that’s what I believed.