John Miller - Upside Down

“Sometimes I wonder about things too,” Suggs shot back. “Like what has Bennett done to get rid of any incriminating evidence? He did tell you that the Feds came to ask him questions? He must have told you that he didn't do very well in the interview. He mentioned my name to them. I am sure he would never give them your names.”

Marta held Suggs's eyes for a long time. Icily, she smiled. “Maybe near the lake is the safest place for Mr. Bennett to meet you. We should all be thinking about our safety. And our futures.”

“Maybe we'll see each other again real soon,” Suggs said. “I like the way you”-he tilted his glass to her in salute-“think.”

Winter and Adams went straight to Charity Hospital while Nicky stopped by the hotel to give the clerk a letter Winter had written, and an envelope. The letter said that if a child came looking for him, the clerks were to give her the envelope. It contained his phone number and a key to the suite. Faith Ann hadn't known where he was staying, because Rush hadn't known when they talked. If she called back, Sean would send her to the hotel and call him. He chose the hospital because there was a chance that the girl might show up, knowing Hank was there.

Winter was bothered by the amount of time that had passed without Faith Ann calling Rush. While he visited Hank in the ICU, Adams sat out in the waiting room, perhaps watching for the superkiller.

The young doctor assured him that Hank was showing signs of improvement as measured by the phalanx of machines that were charged with deciding such things. “We unhooked the respirator because he's breathing on his own now. I think we are going to set the bones we can set tonight and start bringing him out of the coma after the procedure. I wouldn't be surprised if he regains consciousness during the night.”

To Winter, his friend looked even worse than he had the last time he'd seen him. The facial swelling looked worse and Hank's skin, where it wasn't abraded or bruised, seemed to have turned to a light gray.

Winter suddenly felt the weight of the hours of worry and stress settling on his shoulders. He was accustomed to long stretches without rest, and although he couldn't think about sleeping yet, he needed to eat something and fill himself up with hot coffee. When the doctor left him, Winter slumped in the chair beside Hank's bed, put his elbows on his knees, and closed his hands over his eyes. He thought about Sean, Rush, and the baby that would soon join his family.

When Winter opened his eyes, Detective Manseur was in the room. The bags under the cop's eyes seemed to be larger and to have turned a darker brown in the two hours since Winter had last seen him.

“How's he doing?” Manseur asked in a soft voice.

“Doctor says much better,” Winter said. “I wish I could see it.”

“In the city with the finest restaurants on earth we're eating in a hospital cafeteria,” Winter said. “So where do we stand.”

“The transmitter I found in Trammel's Stetson,” Manseur said, “is an audio and positioning combination. My tech friend has never seen anything close to that size. Thinks it could be European. Probably a three-mile range. The body in the Rover had European dental work. That's about as far as I can go with that until we get I.D. on prints. I copied Interpol as well.”

Winter didn't let on that the dental work or the bug's origin being European were of specific interest to him. It added credibility to Adams's story about a Russian assassin targeting Hank and Millie to lure Winter to New Orleans. If that wasn't true, the two crimes were just one very large coincidence.

“I found out who the male half of the Latin couple was, without letting Suggs or Tinnerino know that I knew about them.” Manseur handed Winter a copy of a driver's license.

“Arturo Pena Estrada. How'd you find him?”

“There was no criminal record on the woman. But I ran her home and business addresses through the database and I got a separate hit on her home address. She owns the property. Estrada uses that address for everything, so he likely lives there.”

“He's not a cop?”

“A licensed private investigator, works out of the same address. He's in our files as a key consultant to the NOPD. In fact, despite his youth, he's been carried on the NOPD computer as a terrorism expert for three years.”

“How are the two of them connected?” Winter asked.

“With Bennett?”

“To each other.”

“She seems to be an antiques dealer. Seven years older. Could be married, lovers, business partners.” Manseur shrugged. “I've been going over Tinnerino's and Doyle's handwritten notes. They said they've been typing up a report as they went, but when they tried to retrieve it, it wasn't there.”

“The old dog-ate-my-homework excuse.”

“They obviously intended to write a report after they knew what had to be in it,” Manseur said. “They aren't much, but they are survivors.”

“So let's talk about motives,” Winter said.

“Porter/Lee or Trammels?” Manseur wondered.

“Trammels' hit-and-run might not be connected,” Winter said.

“They're connected,” Manseur said. “Both were professional hits. Porter/Lee was a silenced weapon, tight grouping, killer cool as a mint julep. Look at the sophisticated bug in the hat. The Rover corpse's old injuries and the European dental work, and the way he was killed. I don't see two separate pros doing this. The Trammel hit-and-run was planned, and so were the Porter/Lee hits. Faith Ann at both scenes…”

The Styer information presented a problem because Winter couldn't explain it to Manseur without risking bringing out everything Adams had told him. He would have to go into things that were not ever supposed to be talked about, because the authors of the weasel deals that made it possible-all cosigners being powerful and some certainly dangerous-wouldn't let them be known. It was bad enough that Nicky knew, but he trusted Nicky to keep it a secret.

“Any link to what happened to Hank and Millie Trammel probably sprang from the kid being there,” Winter added automatically. “To get rid of the witness. Trammels were collateral damage.”

Manseur nodded thoughtfully, sipped coffee. “Doesn't explain the bug in Trammel's hatband.”

“You didn't tell me if Suggs was involved with the Pond case,” Winter said. “Was Tinnerino or Doyle?”

“You mean the Williams case,” Manseur said, visibly stiffening in his chair. His features hardened. “Tinnerino and Doyle weren't. Suggs was the primary.”

“Your reaction to the name Horace Pond makes me think you have some connection to him too. Did you get on scene first or something?”

“Arnold and Beth Williams were close friends of mine. They lived near my parents. I mowed the judge's yard from the time I was ten until I went to college. They treated me as an equal, they introduced me to people, gave me advice. They were very dear people. If I could have gotten my hands on Pond the night he was picked up, we wouldn't be waiting for any execution.”

“You believe he's guilty,” Winter said.

Manseur burned Winter with a look of undistilled anger. “Pond violated Beth Williams with the barrel of his twelve-gauge, and he wasn't gentle. All the while Arnold, trussed up like a turkey, was forced to watch. Then Horace Pond blew their heads off.”

“That's tragic,” Winter said solemnly. Kimberly Porter may have believed her client was innocent, but Manseur was going to resist helping to save Pond. “Look. Just for the sake of argument, let's say Pond didn't do it. Let's say Suggs made sure the evidence fit Pond. He had a record. So Pond was interrogated by Suggs and his partner. Anybody listen in?”