David Baldacci - Daylight

“Exactly my point.”

“Then why go down to Georgia at all and do what he did?” said a puzzled Pine.

“It might come down to what we read in the letter. It didn’t say much, but it did tell us that Bruno had maybe tried to do the decent thing for once in his life—not turn in a mole that was going after the Mafia families—and he ended up getting screwed. Maybe that just snapped something inside Ito. That sounds more plausible than trying to make Ito some cold-blooded killer on a rampage. Because that does not square with what everyone has told us about him.”

Pine sat back and pondered all of this. “I checked the police records. Before Ito came down to Georgia, Teddy was charged with grand theft auto and got prison time.”

“So Ito perhaps had in his mind that Teddy was going down the same path that Bruno had?”

Pine said, “It’s possible. And that might have fueled his fire to do what he did. Remember what he told Castor, that he’d done something that ‘shocked him.’ ”

“So it was a confused and perhaps conflicted man who came down to Georgia, then?”

“I can’t feel sympathy for him, Carol. Never.”

“I’m not asking you to. But we need to understand the man at that moment in time because it will help us better arrive at what he might have done with your sister.”

Pine’s expression became agitated. “To finish our line of reasoning, if he didn’t kill her or abandon her, he might have given her to someone, like you suggested.”

“Human trafficking, then?”

“No, to take a page from your book, in coming to understand the man, I doubt Ito knew anything at all about human trafficking. Now, his brother might have, but he was dead by then. And I don’t see Ito gabbing it up with the dregs of the organized crime family his brother once worked for in order to get input on where to sell little kids.”

Blum said, “But if he gave her to, say, a family, wouldn’t Mercy just tell the family who she was and that she had been kidnapped? The account of what happened I’m sure made the press all over Georgia, if not the country. Her picture was probably everywhere. They either would have taken her in and then called the police, or just called the police right off the bat when Ito came by with her.” She hesitated and then plunged on. “So maybe Ito gave her to someone by prearrangement .”

“We just discussed that—human trafficking.”

“No, not human trafficking. Just a family perhaps in desperate need of a child.”

Pine looked at her. “What? But they would know—”

“They would know only what Ito told them. He could have lied about her background, how he came to have her. Maybe they thought they were doing good by taking her in.”

“But wouldn’t Mercy have rebelled at that? Told them who she was, what had happened to her, just like you said, Carol? Now you’re arguing against your own position.”

“No, I’m just trying to look at it from different perspectives. Now, even a precocious six-year-old can be made to believe and accept things that no adult ever would,” said Blum. “We don’t know what Ito told her. That her life could depend on her accepting her conditions. Or he could have threatened harm to you or her parents if she didn’t do as she was told.”

Pine sighed and slumped back against the car seat. “All of that makes perfect sense. Maybe more sense than any other explanation.” Pine fell silent, but as she sat there her expression changed, evolving from hopeless to curious.

“What?” said Blum, who knew her so well.

“Two questions. First, in the letter Bruno Vincenzo said he got screwed over. What do you really think he meant by that?” When Blum shook her head, Pine said, “I think he didn’t rat my mom out because he wanted to cut a deal and save himself. Only that deal didn’t happen. I wonder why.”

“And the second question?”

“One I’ve voiced before: How the hell did Ito Vincenzo know we were in Andersonville, Georgia?”

CHAPTER

18

THIS SHOULD NEVER HAVE HAPPENED . You shouldn’t be dead.

John Puller was staring down at the body of CID Special Agent Ed McElroy.

My agent, my responsibility. Buck stopped with no one other than me. No excuses.

His wife, and now widow, had been notified of his death and was on her way here to confront the absolute worst reality a spouse would ever have to face.

Puller left the facility and returned to his car. He drove across town to the police building, where he had been informed the investigative unit that was handling the shooting and Jerome Blake’s death was stationed. He met a stonewall at the front reception desk despite showing his creds, badge, clear connection to the case, and earnest manner in wanting to understand what was going on with the local side of the investigation.

The sergeant, who was called in to handle the situation when Puller had deemed the first two officers insufficiently senior and uninformed, seemed finally to take pity on him.

“Army, huh?” said the man, giving Puller the once-over with a pair of scrutinizing eyes.

“Chief warrant officer.”

“West Point?”

“No. I’m enlisted. Noncommissioned officer. My father went to West Point, but I chose another path.”

“My youngest boy’s in Iraq now,” the sergeant said, letting his guard down a bit. “Been there about six months now. Did you fight over there?”

Puller nodded. “Came back with metal inside me I didn’t start out life with. But it was a privilege and honor to serve my country.”

The cop, hefty and broad shouldered but with a softening expression on his features, nodded. “Hope my boy comes back in one piece.”

“Nothing about combat is safe, but the Army takes great pains to train their people for every situation and provide the best equipment to do the job.”

“Good to know, Agent Puller. And we all appreciate you serving our country.” He looked around. “Um, look, let me check on something. You hang right there, sir.”

While he stepped away Puller eyed the small space. It had photos of the current police commissioner, mayor, governor, and president. They all smiled at him from their official portraits. He had nothing to smile back about. What was happening to him right now made no sense, but it apparently made perfect sense to others. And that disturbed the hell out of him.

“Can I help you?”

Puller turned to see a petite young woman who looked to be in her late twenties standing behind the desk, the hefty cop nowhere in sight. She had large brown eyes and short dark hair that revealed a slender, freckled neck. The ID lanyard around that neck identified her as being with the public affairs office. The large eyes were looking at him questioningly.

Puller came forward and put out his hand. “CID Special Agent John Puller.”

She didn’t shake his hand. “I know who you are, Agent Puller. I’m just wondering why you’re here. I’m very busy, so I hope it’s nothing complicated because I really can’t spare the time. I’m sure you can understand.”

Every hair on the back of Puller’s neck stood up at her mindless and condescending statement. “One of my men was shot last night here in Trenton. I’m working the case in conjunction with the local police here.”

“I’m aware of the unfortunate death of Agent McElroy.” She stopped there and continued to stare at him as though challenging him to come up with a reason why their conversation should be extended.

“We’re doing the post on him now. We’ll have a bullet to provide to your unit to match to the murder weapon, which you have in your custody.”

“There’s no question about who killed your agent and what gun was used to do it,” she pointed out.