Кэти Райх - A Conspiracy of Bones

“Who bought it?”

“A holding company called DeepHaven Ventures, LLC.”

“Who owns the holding company?” Heart spiking hard.

“The thing has a shit ton of subsidiary LCs, LPs, LLPs, SOBs, but only two principal investors. You ready for this?”

I wanted to reach across the line and strangle Slidell with his Kmart tie. Instead, I waited.

“Nick Body and Yates Timmer.”

“Sonofabitch.”

“Sonofabitch.”

“I’m telling you, everything circles back.”

All I heard was air whistling in and out of Slidell’s nose. Finally, “There’s no PO listed for Unger, and his LKA dates to ’09.” Cop code for parole officer and last-known address. “You got any idea where to find this mutt?”

“Yuriev gave me an address. Could be a misdirect.”

“Let me have it.”

I did.

“I’ll send a unit to haul his ass to the bag.”

“For what?”

“Pissing in public. Failure to register his pet iguana.”

“It’s going on midnight.”

“I’ll think of something.”

“You’ll let me know if you get him?”

“Sure.”

“Then what?”

“Unger cooks overnight, enjoys Sunday-morning pancakes. Then I open him like a can of sardines.”

“What time tomorrow?”

“Eleven.”

I vowed to be at headquarters by ten.

I’m a pragmatist. Karma, fate, destiny, call it what you will. It’s not my thing. But lying in bed, restless and tense, I couldn’t shake the feeling that my future was barreling at me like a wrecking ball. Two contradictory premonitions fought for dominance.

The first was—the faceless man’s suicide was the act of a soul guilty of nothing more than fraternal loyalty and possession of a malicious gene. All the rest was the product of my overcharged imagination. Vodyanov and Body were shameless cons but not criminals. My career in Charlotte would soon end.

The second was—Slidell and I would reveal the name of the faceless man, lay bare the web of evil emanating from Vodyanov and his brother, find answers for parents, maybe rescue April Siler, and expose Margot Heavner as the self-aggrandizing charlatan I knew her to be. The zombie ant’s reign would soon end, and I’d return from exile.

33

SUNDAY, JULY 15

A hush hung over the violent crimes division. Partly Sunday morning. Partly the fact that everyone was pounding the pavement to find April Siler and the woman in the baseball cap. It’s a cliché, but clichés exist for good reason. In child abductions, the first forty-eight hours are critical. The clock was ticking toward forty-two.

Slidell wasn’t in the squad room. I sat at his desk, drinking my Starbucks and fidgeting impatiently. He showed up at ten twenty, looking like he’d spent the night in a dumpster. I assumed he’d slept a bit without leaving the building.

Slidell had already ordered Unger brought up from holding. Together we walked to the same interrogation room occupied by Vince Aiello the previous Wednesday. On the way, he explained that Unger thought they were looking at him for defrauding seniors with a reverse-mortgage scam. He carried a legal pad and what I assumed was Unger’s file. He also carried a dummy folder similar to the one he’d employed with the kiddie-porn patent lawyer. I hoped the prop worked better with this guy.

I went to the same room I’d used to observe Aiello, stood by the same mirror.

Cue the lights. The audio. It was like watching take two of a movie shoot. Today the camera’s little eye was glowing red. And the male lead looked very different.

Floy Unger was built along the lines of dental floss—tall and skeletal, with skin the color of a toilet bowl. His scalp was covered with greasy brown hair whose longevity didn’t look promising, his body with a polo shirt, baggy shorts, and flip-flops.

Unger also wore handcuffs. I wondered if Slidell would have them removed. He didn’t. Nice touch. The guy looked cocky as hell. Make him nervous.

Slidell had Unger sign some sort of form. Tucked it into the fake folder.

“Should I have a lawyer?” Unger asked.

“Do you need a lawyer?”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Slidell spit-thumbed through the papers in his folder, pretended to consult one. “You know an old lady named Mary Ellen Hopper?”

“No. Who is she?”

“Sandra Sarah Lee?”

“No.” Hiking both shoulders as if to enhance his credibility.

“Carl Prendergast?”

“Look, I’m clean. I’ve been out of the game for years.” Unger’s voice made me think of the bottom of an abandoned well. Dark and dank and hollow. It sounded wrong coming from such a scrawny man.

“Uh-huh.” Slidell, light-years beyond dubious.

“I’ve got a job now. New skills.”

“Skills.”

“I work with the internet.”

“We all work with the internet.”

“I’m employed by a media celebrity.”

“Tell me about that.”

Unger’s eyes dropped to his hands, lying flat on the table. His wrists looked like two pale twigs rising out of the manacles.

“I can’t go into details.”

“Yeah? What’s this big star gonna do when you’re a no-show because your ass is in the can?”

The bony fingers reached for each other. Intertwined. My skin crawled at the thought of them grabbing a child.

Slidell flipped through Unger’s jacket, perused his arrest record.

“Tell me about Penelope Koster.” Unlike the aforementioned, a real person.

“What about her?” Grip tightening.

“In ’09, Koster said you broke into her place, fractured her nose and two of her ribs.”

“She’s a lying bitch.”

“You pleaded guilty.”

“To a misdemeanor. I was defending myself.”

“She claimed you were stalking her.”

“She also claimed she was going to be the next Taylor Swift.”

Slidell waited a long moment before going on.

“You’re a con man, Floy. I think you’re trying to con me now.”

“I’m telling you, you’ve got the wrong guy for this mortgage thing.”

“Maybe yes, maybe no. But I can jam you up for a very long time.”

Unger lifted his hands, spread them as wide as the cuffs would allow. “What do you want from me, detective?”

Slidell picked up his pen and pulled the pad close. “Tell me about Nick Body.”

If Unger was surprised, he hid it well. “Who?”

Slidell leaned forward, and his voice dropped lower. “I’ve dealt with a lot of con artists, Floy. Most of ’em a whole lot smarter than you. They waste my time. I don’t like people wasting my time.”

“I—”

“You’ve got exactly one minute to give it to me straight. Then I’m going to send you back to lockup and think long and slow on what charges I’ll use to book you.”

The cuffs made a soft clunk as they reconnected with the table. Unger stared down at them. Or his hands. Through the glass, I studied the top of his oily scalp, wondering if maybe Yuriev had scammed me .

Slidell waited as seconds of silence ticked by. Finally, he turned and reached for the phone.

“Send someone to collect the asshole in room three.”

“No. Wait!” Unger’s palms rose, pointed at Slidell in surrender.

Slidell stood. “I’m done pissing away time on you, Floy.”

“OK. I work for Nick Body.”

“I’m listening.”

“Mr. Body is obsessive about his privacy. Anything I say here must be kept in strict confidence.”

“Uh-huh.”

Slidell again dialed and spoke into the phone. “Hold off on that pickup.” Then he pulled out his chair and sat back down.

“Before I talk, can I get some sort of deal? Immunity or something?”

“Immunity for what?”

“I’m just saying.”