Michael Connelly - Blood Work

As he rinsed out the glass, he noticed two men coming down the main gangway to the docks. They were dressed in almost matching blue suits. Anybody in a suit stood out on the docks-usually, it was a bank loan officer come to chain down a boat for repossession. But McCaleb knew better this time. He recognized the demeanor. They were coming for him. Vernon Carruthers must have been found out.

Quickly, McCaleb went to the table and gathered up the bureau documents. He then split off the sheaf of pages that listed the names, addresses and other information about the savings and loan collapse. He put that thick packet in one of the overhead cabinets in the kitchen. The rest of the documents he shoved into his leather bag, which he then put into the cabinet under the chart table.

He slid the salon door open and stepped out into the cockpit to greet the two agents. He closed and locked the door behind him.

“Mr. McCaleb?” the younger one said. He had a mustache, daring by bureau standards.

“Let me guess, Nevins and Uhlig.”

They didn’t look happy about being identified. “Can we come aboard?”

“Sure.”

The younger one was introduced as Nevins. Uhlig, the senior agent, did most of the talking.

“If you know who we are, then you know why we are here. We don’t want this to get any messier than it has to be. Especially taking into account your service to the bureau. So if you give us the stolen files, it can all end right here.”

“Whoa,” McCaleb said, holding his hands up. “Stolen files?”

“Mr. McCaleb,” Uhlig said. “It has come to our attention that you are in the possession of confidential FBI files. You are no longer an agent. You should not be in possession of these files. As I just said, if you want to make this a problem for you, we can make it a problem for you. But all we really want is the files back.”

McCaleb stepped over and sat on the gunwale. He was trying to think about how they knew and it came back to Carruthers. It was the only way. Vernon must have gotten jammed up in Washington and had to give McCaleb up. But it was unlike his old friend to do that, no matter what pressure they put on him.

He decided to trust his instincts and call the bluff. Nevins and Uhlig knew Carruthers had run the ballistics laser comparison at McCaleb’s request. That was no secret. They must have then assumed that Carruthers would have forwarded him copies oaf the computer files.

“Forget it, guys,” he finally said. “I don’t have any files, stolen or otherwise. You got bad info.”

“Then how’d you know who we were?” Nevins asked.

“Easy. I found out today when you guys went to the sheriff’s office and told them to keep me out of the case.”

McCaleb folded his arms and looked past the two agents to Buddy Lockridge’s boat. Buddy was sitting in the cockpit, sipping from a can of beer and watching the scene with the two suits on The Following Sea.

“Well, we’re going to have to take a look around, then, to make sure,” Uhlig said.

“Not without a warrant and I doubt you’ve got a warrant.”

“We didn’t need one after you gave us permission to enter and search.”

Nevins stepped over to the salon door and tried to slide it open. He found it was locked. McCaleb smiled.

“Only way you’re getting in there is to break it, Nevins. And that won’t look much like permission granted, you ask me. Besides, you don’t want to do that with an uninvolved witness watching.”

Both agents started looking around the marina. Finally, they spotted Lockridge, who held his beer can up as a greeting. McCaleb watched as anger turned Uhlig’s jaw rigid.

“Okay, McCaleb,” the senior agent said. “Keep the files. But I’m telling you right now, smart guy, don’t get in the way. The bureau’s in the process of taking over the case and the last thing we need is some tin man amateur without a badge or his own heart fucking things up for us.”

McCaleb could feel his own jaw drawing tight.

“Get the fuck off my boat.”

“Sure. We’re going.”

They both climbed back up onto the dock. As they headed to the gangway, Nevins turned around and said, “See you around, Tin Man.”

McCaleb watched them all the way through the gate.

“What was that all about?” Lockridge called over.

McCaleb waved him off while still watching the agents.

“Just some old friends come to pay a visit.”

It was nearly 8P.M. in the east. McCaleb called Carruthers at his home. His friend said he had already been through the wringer.

“I told them, I said, ‘Hey, I turned over my information to Lewin. Yes, I put a push on the package at the request of former agent McCaleb, but I did not furnish a copy of the report or any other reports to him.’ Hey, they don’t believe me, then they can shove it. I’m fully vested. They want me out, I’m out. Then they can pay me every time I have to come in to testify on one of my cases. And I got voluminous cases, if you know what I mean.”

He was speaking as if for a third party listening in. And with the bureau, you never knew if there wasn’t. McCaleb followed suit.

“Same thing out here. They came around, tried to act like I had reports I don’t have and I told them to get off my damn boat.”

“Yeah, you’re cool.”

“So are you, Vernon. I’m gonna go. Watch the following sea, man.”

“What’s that?”

“Watch your back.”

“Oh, right. You, too.”

Winston picked up the call on a half ring.

“Where have you been?”

“Busy. Nevins and Uhlig just paid me a little visit. Did you copy them everything you copied to me last week?”

“The files, tapes, Hitchens gave them everything.”

“Yeah, well, they must’ve made the cannoli connection. They’re coming after the case, Jaye. You’re going to have to hang on.”

“What are you talking about? The bureau can’t just take over a murder investigation.”

“They’ll find a way. They won’t take it away but they’ll take charge. I think they know there’s more than the gun connecting the cases. They’re assholes but they’re smart assholes. I think they figured out the same thing I did once they looked at the tapes you gave them. They know it’s the same shooter and that there is something hooking all three of these hits together. They came by to intimidate me, to get me off it. Next it will be you.”

“If they think I’m just going to turn this whole thing over to them and-”

“It’s not you. They’ll go to Hitchens. And if he doesn’t agree to back off, then they go farther up the ladder. I was one of them, remember? I know how it works. The higher you go, the more pressure points.”

“Damn!”

“Welcome to the club.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Me? Tomorrow I’m going back to work. I don’t have to answer to the bureau or Hitchens or anybody else. Just myself on this one.”

“Well, you might be the only one with a shot at this. Good luck.”

“Thanks. I could use it.”

McCALEB DIDN’T GET to the notes and financial records he had taken from Amelia Cordell until the end of the day. Tired from all the desk work, he quickly scanned the notes and came across nothing in the widow’s recollections that sparked any interest in him. From the bank statements he quickly determined that Cordell was paid every Wednesday by direct deposit. During the three months for which McCaleb had statements, Cordell had made an ATM withdrawal on every payday at the same bank branch at which he was eventually killed. The significance of this was that it confirmed that, like Gloria Torres’s nightly stop at the Sherman Market, Cordell had been following a definable pattern when he had been murdered. It gave more credence to the belief that the shooter had watched his victims-in Cordell’s case for a minimum of a week, but probably longer.