Blood Trust - Eric van Lustbader [57]
“He doesn’t trust us—not really, anyway.”
“Smart boy. He has no reason to keep trusting us.”
Alli risked a quick glance over her shoulder. “I’m doing my best to change that.”
“Go slow,” Jack said. “The kid’s skittish.”
Alli nodded and stood up. Jack reached out and took hold of her hand.
“I’m okay.” She touched his bandaged hand, and Jack nodded.
She smiled, and went back to rejoin Thatë.
Paull appeared stunned. “What are you two, a team?”
Jack smiled. “Let’s say we have an understanding.”
“Jesus, I wish my daughter and I understood each other like that.”
“Every relationship has its own difficulties.”
“Nevertheless.” Paull glanced after Alli. “What’s the secret?”
The secret, Jack thought, is Emma, reaching out to both of us from her unquiet existence beyond the grave. But that explanation would mean nothing to Paull.
“There is no secret.”
“Sure. It’s personal. I get it.” Paull nodded absently and took a swallow of single malt from a glass that sat by his right elbow. “Do you know why the Warren boy was murdered?”
“I now know that Dardan gave the order.”
“Why?”
“Billy Warren had something going with Arjeta Kraja, even though Arjeta belonged to Dardan. That’s more than enough cause for a man like him.”
“So Dardan had him whacked.”
“Wouldn’t that tie everything up in a nice, neat package.”
Paull stared at him. “You think not?”
“You bet I think not. Dardan had Billy Warren tortured. Why? To teach him a lesson before he died? I doubt it. No, Billy was tortured for the usual reason: information. Either he had discovered something about Dardan or he was in possession of something Dardan wanted. I think Arjeta knew it, too, because Billy told her the night he was murdered. Remember that Alli got a panicky call from Billy, but when she went to Twilight, she saw them disappearing together into the shadows.”
Paull flexed his shoulders. “So what’s the information?”
“That,” Jack said, “is the ten-billion-dollar question.”
* * *
NAOMI AND McKinsey stayed late at the office, fact-checking the backgrounds of the three Fortress employees, plus pulling together a timeline of the murders from whatever other notes and intel they had gathered so far.
“There’s nothing from the forensic report on Alli’s room at Fearington,” McKinsey said.
Naomi picked up a plastic evidence bag. “Except this damn vial the roofies were in.”
“With her fingerprints on it.”
“And no one else’s.” Naomi shook the bag and hard light glinted off the yellowish plastic. “Jack thought that was odd and so do I.”
“Setup?”
Naomi nodded. “But who? And why?”
McKinsey looked at the whiteboard, where various possible motives were written out, and shook his head.
“How’s your look-see into our friends, the bogus O’Banion and Willowicz, coming?” she asked.
“It isn’t. The Metro police who interviewed us today took me off that. They say since the real Willowicz and O’Banion are on leave it’s an internal matter.”
“Do you believe them?”
“Metro police does not harbor spooks, Naomi.” He shrugged. “They’re two men without names.”
She glanced up. “Meaning?”
He shrugged. “For all intents and purposes they don’t exist.”
She looked vexed. “They must exist, just not under the names Willowicz and O’Banion.”
“Not our job now,” he said.
“It pisses me off,” she said, “those two running around, doing whatever the hell they please.”
“Leave it, Naomi. We have bigger rats to run down.”
Neither of them said anything for a while. The air system rattled and hummed, a cleaning cart rumbled down a hallway outside their office. A tuneless whistle approached, then was gone. The place stank of hamburgers, stale sweat, and anxiety. Silently, they got back to work. The hands of the wall clock ground slowly forward.
Around midnight, McKinsey said, “We’re never going to find Arjeta Kraja.” He threw a cup of cold coffee in the trash. “You know that, don’t you?”
She sighed, suspecting that he was right. “She’s probably buried deep.”
“More likely chopped into pieces.”
Naomi sat back, surveying the mess of papers, reports, and crime-scene photos,