J. Jance - A more perfect union

"What's the matter?" Ames called from the kitchen, where he was putting away leftovers.

Slowly I put down the phone. "I didn't tell her about Martinson, Kaplan, any of it."

"Of course not," Ames said. "Especially when you're operating under strict orders to act like a team player."

"But what if the team's screwing up?"

"That's not your problem," Ames said.

"The hell it isn't!"

Slamming my half-finished drink onto the table, I slipped on my holster and headed for the door to retrieve my shoes.

"What do you think you're doing now, Beau?" Ames demanded.

I stopped long enough to try dialing Martin Green's number. There was still no answer. "I'm going to Renton," I said.

"Renton," he echoed. "Why Renton?"

"Because there's somebody down there who may know something about all this and I'm going to ask him."

"You shouldn't be driving," Ames said. "You've had too much to drink."

"You drive me then, because I'm going, and I'm going now!"

During the twenty-minute drive to Renton we spoke only when it was absolutely necessary. I gave Ames terse directions, telling him to turn here or turn there. I was steamed, but I knew Ames was right that night, the same as he had been the night before. I was in no condition to drive and was surprised by how quickly the booze had snuck up on me. My mind was fuzzy as we started out, but it cleared as we drove, as I concentrated all my physical and mental energies on what had to happen.

When we pulled into the yard of Katherine Tyree's house, the television set was going in the living room. Ames got out of the Porsche and followed me into the yard.

Fred McKinney answered the door and recognized me as soon as he opened it. He didn't seem startled to see me. "We heard," he said.

"Heard what?" I was almost afraid of his answer, afraid someone had leaked the Don Kaplan story to the press.

"About Linda's mother," he answered. "It's a crying shame."

I breathed a sigh of relief. "And did you hear about her brother?" I asked. "He's in the hospital. Probably won't make it."

Fred nodded bleakly. "Will it ever stop?"

"That depends," I said.

"On what?"

"On whether or not someone finally has balls enough to come forward and say what's really going on."

"Who is it?" Katherine Tyree called from in front of the television set.

"It's one of those detectives," Fred answered. He looked at me, his eyes narrowing. "What do you want with us?"

"Do you have balls enough, Fred?"

"What do you mean?"

"You told me you came up here as a boomer. I want you to answer just one question. How did you manage to get to work on Columbia Center?"

McKinney dropped his gaze. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had him. "I bought my way on," he said quietly.

"How?"

"Five grand. Cash. I took out a second mortgage on my boat. I paid the second off when Logan bought Boomer from me."

"So you bribed your way onto that job?"

McKinney nodded.

"Who to?" I asked.

"You mean who'd I give the money to?"

"That's right."

"The guy who used to be in charge of book transfers."

"Who's that?"

"His name is Harry Campbell."

"Harry Campbell. Harry Campbell. The name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it right off. "You say he used to be in charge?"

McKinney shrugged. "That's right. When Green came in he kicked him back in the gang."

"Do you know where I can find him?"

"The last I knew, he was working in the raising gang down on Masters Plaza."

And suddenly I realized why Harry Campbell's name was so familiar. I had seen it before. In the newspaper. He was Angie Dixon's partner. The one who had sent her after the welding lead.

Leaving a puzzled Fred McKinney standing in the doorway, I wheeled and charged back toward the car with Ames right behind me.

"Where to now?" Ames asked.

"Back home."

As soon as we were back in my apartment, I dialed Martin Green's number for the last time. His mother answered. "I think he's down on the jogging track," she told me. "He said he couldn't sleep and that he was going for a walk."

I found Martin Green smoking a cigarette on a bench at the far end of the building. It was almost eleven. The rain had stopped. The gardens next to the jogging track smelled fresh and moist. Green was sitting with his back to me, looking at the same cityscape Don Kaplan had been looking at when I first met him at Martin Green's party.

When he heard footsteps approaching, he turned and glanced at me over his shoulder. "Did you get him?" he asked.

"He's in the hospital. They're removing his spleen."

"I never thought about Kaplan being involved," Green said. "It irks me that he suckered me that badly." Then he was quiet, taking a long drag on his cigarette.

"When do you go to Victoria?" I asked.

"Chrysler Air was all booked up. I go first thing tomorrow morning."

There was another brief silence between us. "Aren't you going to hassle me about not pressing charges?" Green asked after a pause. "Your friends were ripped about it."

"I don't give a damn what you do with Martinson," I said.

"You don't?" Green sounded surprised.

"I'm a homicide detective," I told him.

"So?"

"So Kaplan and Martinson are only two of the nine. One or more of those other seven is a killer. That's who I want. Have you identified any of the others?"

"Only one. I caught him red-handed and fired his ass."

"Who was that? Harry Campbell?"

Martin Green looked at me, startled. "How'd you find that out?"

"How doesn't much matter. Think back to when you were up on the building with Angie Dixon," I continued. "Is there a chance that someone up there could have overheard her agree to give you the tapes?"

For a moment Green said nothing, then as the realization dawned on him, he nodded, his mouth hardening into a grim line. "He was her partner, wasn't he?"

I nodded.

"Right off-hand, I'd say the chances are one hundred percent that he must have been listening."

"And is that crew working overtime again tomorrow?" I asked.

He nodded. "They start at six-thirty. If you want me to, I'll be only too happy to go along and point him out."

I didn't want to give Watty any ammunition about my not being a team player. Martin Green and I walked over to the Labor Temple and picked up Harry Campbell's address. When we got back to my apartment, I called Manny Davis at home, told him what was up, and gave him Harry's address in Edmonds just north of Seattle proper. He said to hold tight, that either he or Kramer would get back to me.

As soon as Ralph Ames caught wind of what was going on, he went into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. He brought the pot and three cups on a tray into the living room.

"Looks like it could be a long night," he said, handing me a cup.

I accepted it gratefully, but I was watching the phone, waiting for it to ring. Willing it to ring.

It did. Finally. Two cups of coffee later. But it wasn't Manny or Kramer. "Sergeant Watkins here, Beau. How's it going?"

"How the hell should I know how it's going? I've been sitting here for forty-five minutes, cooling my heels, and waiting for someone to get back to me."

"There wasn't time."

"What do you mean, there wasn't time?"

"We had to get a warrant and negotiate a peace treaty with the Edmonds Police."

"Wait one fucking minute here! Do you mean to tell me Kramer and Davis have gone up to Edmonds to pick him up?"

"Kramer was still here working. He took off as soon as we had the warrant. Said he'd pick Manny up on his way north."

"What about me?"

"I already told you, Beau. There wasn't time. We were afraid Campbell might get wind of what had happened to Kaplan and take off. Besides, the doc says Kaplan should be coming out of sedation about now. I thought I'd send you up to Virginia Mason to talk to him."