Archer Mayor - Gatekeeper

"Agent Gunther," she therefore said, the pleasure palpable in her voice. "To what do I owe this privilege?"

Joe, for his part, was considerably less doctrinaire. He'd tried to get her to at least call him "Mister," since the "Agent" handle still made him feel like an impostor, but it was clearly of no use. On the other hand, the respect was mutual. Never before had he met someone with such a mind for detail and such an instinct to pursue it. Even if she didn't know what she was looking at, chances were that Dr. Hillstrom would take a sample. Just in case.

"I'm on another fishing expedition, I'm afraid," he admitted. "Exactly what you probably don't want to hear."

"Nonsense," she countered. "Right now some fishing would be right up there with a bowl of ice cream."

"Doctor," he said with mock surprise, "I had no idea. Any particular flavor?"

"Never mind," she said, embarrassed not only that she'd admitted to a pleasure but that she felt awkward about her embarrassment. "What do you have for me?"

"James Hollowell, date of birth-"

"I remember Mr. Hollowell," she interrupted briskly. "Any problem with my findings?"

"None. Actually, this is a real long shot. No reason for you to have noticed. But I'm in a bind for ideas."

"Stop dancing around, Agent Gunther."

"Hollowell had a greasy smear on his left hand, along the back. Do you remember that?"

She nodded at the phone. "I do. Let me put you on hold while I get his file."

A minute later, she returned. "I have a photo of it before me."

"All right. Here's the long shot: any idea what it is?"

"None whatsoever," she stated flatly.

After a telling hesitation, he said, "Okay. Well. ."

"But I kept a sample," she added.

He laughed. "Nice. Break my heart, then bring me back around. Cruel."

"It's been that kind of day. Sorry. I couldn't resist."

"No, no. That's fine. Any way you could have it analyzed?"

"I'll have it delivered to forensics today."

They exchanged a couple of more pleasantries before Joe hung up the phone, still smiling.

Heather Hall was watching him. "What did she say?"

"She kept a sample. The crime lab'll get it later today."

Hall nodded, still not sure why this had any bearing. "What do you think they'll find?"

"Something to do with a car engine," he said brightly. "And if we all keep our fingers crossed, it'll be something traceable."

"Sam, where the hell have you been? You were supposed to call yesterday. I thought Rivera had you. I was about to call the cavalry."

Her voice on the other end sounded down and exhausted. "Sorry, Joe. I had to check something out. I've blown it big time."

"What do you mean? Where are you?"

"I'm at a pay phone. This whole thing's been a fraud from the start, Joe. I led us all down the wrong road."

Joe rubbed his forehead, trying to make sense of what she was saying. "We need to meet, Sam. Get off the phone and hook up with me at. . Shit, I don't know. . Are you in town?"

She hesitated. "I can meet you in an hour."

His hand tightened on the phone. There was something about the way she was speaking. "Things've changed since you dropped out of sight, Sam. In fact, I'm thinking we ought to pull you out. Come straight to the PD."

"What? Why?"

"I was going over the Hollowell case, like I said I would. Couldn't find a thing. Kept going around and around. Finally, I noticed a photo of a greasy smear on one of his hands, and a shot someone took on the bridge where he was hanged of a puddle of something oily on the road. I had Hillstrom compare the sample she collected with the one they got from the bridge, and just heard back they were both power-steering fluid-from the same source."

Sam didn't respond. He wasn't sure if that was because she was listening or had simply walked away, leaving the phone dangling. From the anxious tone of her voice, the latter wouldn't have surprised him.

"Sam?"

"I'm here."

"We got lucky. Most cars use standard power-steering fluid. Hondas don't, and that's what we found. I crosschecked everyone we have on our radar right now with the cars they own, and I got one hit. Lucky the bad guys don't think much of fuel efficient imports. It was Manuel Ruiz, Sam. That's why I think we ought to shut down."

"Manuel killed Hollowell?" She sounded stunned.

"Looks that way. We have a lot more homework to do. But, come in, all right? It's getting too screwy and it's not worth the risk anymore."

"You don't know the half of it," she said in her monotone.

"What?"

"Rivera doesn't have an organization. He's got a bunch of goons with guns in that building of his, but that's it. Until you just said that about Manuel, I thought he was Rivera's only operative. Now it looks like I was wrong about that, too."

It was Joe's turn to fall silent.

"You there?" she asked.

"Yeah. Sorry, but I thought it was Torres who pointed you toward Rivera in the first place."

"It was. Specifically, it was one of his lieutenants named Ricky. But I was conned from the start and let my ambition screw up the rest. Christ, Joe, even Bill Dancer pegged Rivera as a punk from the start, but was I going to listen to a loser like Bill? Hell no. I had to prove him wrong. I overestimated Rivera and underestimated Torres, and led us all down the wrong path as a result. I am so sorry. I'm thinking I should resign."

"Sam, this is crazy. Come on in."

"I will. I'm on my way-one hour."

The phone went dead in Joe's hand.

* * *

Sam walked up to the house, gave the signal, and unlocked the door. "It's me," she announced to no one, knowing that as usual Manuel would be lurking.

He was. He appeared from around the corner looking as lithe and trim as ever. "Where you been?" he asked, his voice guarded.

She looked at him for a moment, her head slightly tilted. Purposefully, she hadn't planned this, preferring to play it spontaneously, keeping inside Greta as much as possible. As such, on impulse, she walked up to him, took his face in her hands, and gave him a long, deep kiss. He responded, but only with his mouth, with which he smiled as she finally broke away. But his eyes were still watchful.

" Hola . Welcome home. Was it my cooking?"

She walked past him into the living room and sat in one of its worn armchairs. "No," she said. "I was in Holyoke, seeing Johnny."

Manuel perched cautiously on the arm of the couch. "Oh? Problems?"

"You could say that. I found out you were playing me for a putz."

"Sorry?"

"A jerk. You been funnin' with me. Fucking with my head."

He didn't respond.

She stared at him. "What was the point? What did I ever do to you? It couldn't have been that stupid comment I made when we first met. You're not that thin-skinned. Plus, I saved your butt a few hours later. I was good. My heart and head were in the right place. I was going to make us rich. Why did you lie to me?"

"What did Rivera say?"

She shook her head. "Right. Get your stories straight. Well, sorry, but he didn't say squat. That's the whole deal. That's what woke me up. I went down there to ask for his contact list so I could combine it with what I've been building. Reasonable request, I thought. But only if you're being straight with your partner. Dummy me. He puts on an attitude, says I haven't proven myself yet. I have to wonder why. I mean, I already know Torres hasn't been cut out of the Vermont business-I'm running into his Blue Heaven shit everywhere I turn. So I started asking around, calling my sources, traveling the whole Holyoke, Brattleboro, Rutland corridor. That's where I've been all this time. And guess what I find? Rivera has nobody out there. You've been running a scam. Using me and my strategy to build something you could only dream about."