Matt Hilton - Dead_s men dust

That didn't mean Molloy was pleased to hear from me. I'd saved his professional reputation, but I'd also made it very clear that rough treatment of a woman-paid or not-might just make me forget about helping him next time. He answered my queries curtly. Little more than yes, no, and kiss my ass.

"Thanks for nothing," I said as I placed the phone back in its cradle.

"Well?" Rink asked.

"As ever, Mr. Molloy was his charming self."

"But did he give you what you wanted to know?"

"Yeah," I said. "There are no cold investigations into murder victims subject to postmortem mutilation. Rules out the chance that John was killing before he came here." Rink hiked his shoulders. "Doesn't mean that he's innocent. Just that he didn't start killing until he arrived in the U.S." I shook my head as I got up and paced the length of Harvey's of?ce.

"You don't go from being totally inexperienced to hacking up bodies and taking skeletal remains as trophies. You build up to something like that. There's nothing in John's background that hints that he was even violent. Christ, he was a number one asshole toward the end, but that was because of the problems he was having. In all that time, though, he never lifted his hand to anyone. Not Jennifer, not his kids. He wouldn't even stick up for himself when

Shank threatened him. Does that sound like someone who's capable of murdering people?"

"Most murderers are nothing but low-down cowards," Rink reminded me. "It doesn't take a brave man to take a woman hostage at knifepoint."

"I agree," I said. "But it takes some balls to take out a man and a woman at the same time."

"Unless he took out the man?rst," Harvey said. He peered up at me from his swivel chair. "Sneaked up behind him and slit his throat or whatever. Then he could have done the woman."

Rink said, "Regardless if John's their man or not, the FBI is searching for him. Kind of complicates matters a bit, don't it?"

"Yes and no," I countered. "They've more resources than we have. They might be able to?nd him for us. When he's cleared of their suspicions, it could be as simple as going and picking him up."

"You think they're just gonna let you walk in and take him home?"

"If he's innocent, yes."

"And if he's not? If he does turn out to be this punk Harvestman?"

"Then they're welcome to him," I said. The words felt cold in my mouth.

"You think Jennifer's going to be happy with that?"

"Jennifer isn't going to be happy whatever the outcome," I told him.

"And what about you, Hunter? What if you don't take him home? How will you feel?"

"How d'you think I'll feel?" I pondered for a moment. "What about my family? How d'you think they'll feel when I have to tell them my brother's locked up in an American prison?"

"Won't be good."

"No, Rink, it won't."

Harvey swung his chair side to side. The machinations of thought whirred away behind his furrowed brow. In the end, he looked up at the two of us and said, "Neither of you boys thought about it yet?"

"Thought about what?" Rink asked.

"The obvious," Harvey said.

"Obviously we haven't or we'd have mentioned it already."

Christ, it was like working with Abbott and Costello.

"Thought about what?" I asked.

"When you spoke with Petoskey earlier, why didn't he mention that the FBI had been in contact with him? That they'd already talked to him about his car? That John was a suspect in the biggest hunt since the Unabomber?"

"Son of a bitch was lying to us," Rink said. "Unless he got mixed up when he said the CIA had been on his back." "Bit of a difference between the Feebies and the Spooks," Harvey said.

"It doesn't make any sense," Rink said.

"No, it doesn't," I said. "And John as a serial killer doesn't make any sense, either." "I'm beginning to think that nothin' about this case makes sense," Rink said. "Me, too," I admitted. "Petoskey knows more than he's saying, that's for sure." "What about Louise Blake?" Harvey offered. "Should we talk to her again?"

"Yes," I said. "Let's see her?rst thing in the morning."

"We'll have to be careful, Hunter," Rink cautioned. "With the heat on John over this Harvestman thing, you can bet your ass that the FBI is staking out her home." I nodded.

"Harvey, you said someone was watching Louise's place. You think they were feds?"

Harvey shook his large head. "No. They've been watching her since before Telfer became a suspect in these killings."

"Any ideas?"

"All I can say is they're not from around here. They look Mexican or Puerto Rican, could even be Cuban," he said. "I spotted two of them, but there could be more; looked like backing singers for the Kings of Mambo. Slick-dressed muthas."

Whatever involvement these two had, it wasn't good.

"We have to?nd these guys," I said.

"Shouldn't be too dif?cult," Rink said. "Ain't too many homeboys hanging around Louise's hood."

"Unless," Harvey reminded us, "the FBI are already there and they've beat a hasty retreat."

Rink sniffed. "You want to have a run over and see if we can round them up now?"

I glanced around, looking for a clock. Other than that it was late, I hadn't a clue what time it was. Finally I said, "We'll wait for morning. I don't know about you boys, but I need a couple hours' sleep. Jet lag's got to me, I think."

Rink shook his head sadly.

"Jet lag, my ass. Admit it-old age is?nally catching up with you."

I gave him a weary smile. "No, I just think it'd be better if we speak to them at a more civilized time."

"And," Rink asked, "in a more civilized manner this time?"

Only thing is, there's no such thing as dealing with scum in a civilized manner.

"Son of a bitch."

Cain sighed as the gun barrel pressed to his hooded forehead. Even cultured killers let a little profanity slip now and again.

"You've got that right," said the thief as he stepped out of the wardrobe. Pressure from the gun made Cain step backward. "Now drop the knife or I'll shoot you where you stand."

Cain dropped the knife. It landed with a faint thud on the carpet. "Kick it away," the thief ordered. Cain glanced at his bagged feet. "I might cut myself." "I don't give a rat's ass if you cut yourself. Kick it away now." Cain used the edge of his foot to prod the knife away. "Satis?ed?" The thief grunted. "Sit on the bed." Argument was pointless. He sat down. "Sit on your hands," the thief said. "What for? You have a gun. You think I'm crazy enough to come at you?"

"Humor me."

Cain sighed expansively. Could things get any worse? Of course they could, the thief could shoot him. He was no killer, but a nervous?nger could slip. Cain pushed his hands beneath his thighs.

"If you take your hands out I'll shoot you."

"Fair enough."

"You think I won't?"

Cain shrugged. "I have to give you credit. You got the drop on me."

"Good. It's best you remember that. Now… tell me. Who the hell are you?"

"You could call me a concerned member of the public."

"Bull."

"Honestly. I'm simply a member of the public attempting to right a wrong."

"So you say. Who the hell do you think you are? Dressed up like friggin' Batman?"

Cain tilted his head. "You don't like my costume?" he asked.

"You look like a reject from a beekeepers' convention. What's the deal? Your employers can't afford to buy you a ski mask or decent gloves?"

Cain frowned. My employers? Now what's that about?

The thief continued. "Who's with you?"

"No one."

"Bullshit! You assholes always hunt in packs. You're like a bunch of damn hyenas."

"I'm telling you," Cain said slowly. "I'm alone, so you needn't worry. You can stop waving that gun around if you like. I won't move. I only want what is rightfully mine. Then I'll walk out of here and leave you alone."