Lisa Gardner - The Survivors Club

“Yeah, well, you can pat yourself on the back all you want. Providence is still taking the credit. As we speak, they're putting together a subpoena for Ohlsson's military records, plus bank accounts. He has a father listed as next of kin, also out of New York, so you can bet Boz and Higgins are doing the happy dance.”

“Road trip,” Griffin said. Boz and Higgins had worked in Providence's Detective Bureau for fifteen years. As Providence was a main way station on the I-95 corridor between New York and Boston, lots of the city's crime ended up tied to New York or Boston case files. Somehow, Boz and Higgins always got the New York trips. Always. The rumor was, they had a thing for Broadway shows.

“Given Ohlsson's military background,” Waters was saying, “our hired-gun theory is looking good. Of course, Providence also wants to check out Family ties.”

“With a name like Ohlsson?”

“Hey, haven't you heard? It's a global village out there. Everyone has gone multinational, including the Mafia.”

“Wow, you take a year's sabbatical and the whole geopolitical landscape of crime shifts on you. Who would've thought?” Griffin came to the exit for Route 1 North and headed up the ramp. “Anything from the state fire marshal's office yet?”

“After only two days? You are out of touch.”

“I prefer the term optimistic. Hey, Mike, can you touch base with the financial guys for me? Tell them Jillian Hayes donated the twenty thousand missing from her accounts to a Cranston parish. The priest has confirmed the donation, but we need to keep the details under wraps.”

“Since you didn't give me any details, that shouldn't be too hard. Aren't you heading back to HQ?”

“No, I'm on my way to see Dan Rosen.”

“ You're on your way to see Dan Rosen?” Waters's voice grew tight, and the silence that followed was immediately tense. Griffin understood. In theory, primary case officers didn't do much legwork. In theory, his job was to remain in headquarters, coordinating and overseeing detectives like Waters, who would handle interviews like Dan Rosen's. And in fact, if Griffin didn't appear at the command center shortly, his lieutenant was probably going to have a few words with him. He wouldn't like those words much.

“What are you doing, Griffin?” Waters asked.

“I have a theory. I need to play it out.”

“Tell me your theory. I can play it out.”

“You could, but I figured you'd prefer to spend your afternoon in a bar.”

“What?”

“I need you to go to Cranston,” Griffin explained patiently. “I need you to identify all the bars/pubs/watering holes in the near vicinity of Eddie Como's house. Then I want you to show the bartenders a picture of Eddie Como and find out if he spent a lot of time there, and more importantly, with whom.”

More silence. Long silence. “Griffin…”

“I know.”

“Fitz finds out about this, he's gonna be pissed.”

“Fitz was born pissed. Nothing we can do about that now. Besides, that's why I need you to do it. I'm counting on your charm.”

“Ah hell, Griff, nobody has that kind of charm. In a state this small, everything gets around. Providence is going to think we're sniffing at their rape case, and the next thing you know, their lieutenant will be on the phone screaming at our lieutenant. Morelli doesn't like being screamed at or haven't you noticed?”

“Look, we have a body. Our job is to find out who killed that body. Working up a victim profile, complete with names of friends and associates, is not outside the realm of our investigation.”

“So you say.” Waters wasn't fooled. Neither would Fitz be.

“If anyone asks, just tell them I told you to do it,” Griffin said. “I'll take the heat.”

“You know that's not what I meant-”

“Cranston accent, Mike. I'm looking for someone who knew Eddie well, who grew up in Cranston, and who was seen on occasion in khaki pants with a button-down shirt. Maybe I'm way off base. But maybe… I need you to do this.”

“Ah nuts.” Waters blew out a big huff of air, which meant he'd do it. “And if I find this mystery man?”

“Then I'm probably going to be even more confused than I am right now, but in a better sort of way.”

“Ah nuts,” Waters said again, and Griffin could practically see the gaunt detective rolling his eyes.

“I don't like the rape case,” Griffin said abruptly.

“So I've heard.”

“Something about this… I don't know. Something about this feels wrong.”

“You know you've been gone awhile. The first case back…”

“I should play by the rules?”

“It wouldn't hurt.”

“Yeah, but then how would I have any fun?”

More silence. A stranger silence. Griffin didn't like this silence.

“Griff, I got a call from Corporal Charpentier at the ACI,” Waters said.

Griffin honestly didn't get it at first. And then, all of a sudden… “No!”

“Yeah. I'm afraid so. Good ol' David Price reached out first thing this morning. He claims to have info on Eddie Como and wants to speak with you immediately. I guess we shouldn't be surprised. Your face was on the morning news and God knows he likes to yank your chain.”

“Goddammit…” Griffin smacked the steering wheel. Thought of his former neighbor. Thought of Cindy. Then hit the steering wheel again; this time his hand stung. He should remain calm. Little psychopathic shit. “Why the hell am I even surprised? The bastard sent me a letter just yesterday, congratulating me on the new case. Of course he wants in on the action.”

“He already knew about the case? But he had to mail that letter on Saturday, Griff, before Eddie Como was shot.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. He just wrote congrats on the new case, not the Eddie Como case, not the College Hill Rapist case, just case . This is David Price, remember? King of head games. He's bored, he's been waiting for some entertainment. And now that I'm back on the job, he's trying to bluff his way into the party. What could he know about Eddie Como anyway? They were both at the ACI. So are three thousand other humps and they aren't bothering us with calls. Como was held in Intake, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And Price is still stinking up Steel City, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Ergo, David Price doesn't know shit.”

“Roommate,” Waters said.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Yeah. Eddie Como's former roommate at Intake, Jimmy Woods, already had his day in court. He got sentenced to Old Max three months ago for a B amp;E job gone sour. Price is claiming that Jimmy Woods has been talking, and for a little consideration, Price'll give us the inside scoop.”

“Consideration.” Griffin spat out the word. “Price murdered ten kids. There is nothing he can give us ever that warrants consideration after that. He committed his crimes in a state without the death penalty. He got a big enough break right there.”

“Nobody's disagreeing with you.”

“Then why don't I feel good about this?”

Waters's tone grew more subdued. “Things are hot, Griff. You haven't been back to HQ yet, but let me tell you. Phones are ringing off the hook from the colonel on down. People are frightened. People with young daughters are freaky-scared. We know David Price. Corporal Charpentier knows David Price. Hell, the lieutenant, the major, the colonel all know David Price. The mayor and the governor, on the other hand…”

“First person who wants to open a serious dialogue with David Price gets full-color crime-scene photos,” Griffin said coldly. “I don't care if it's the fucking governor. Are we clear?”

Another pause. “We're clear.”

“Mike…”